ch.7 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)
directory: read under the end for an author's note.
tw: heavy depictions of self harm, suicide, and depression.
now playing: hate yourself by tv girl.
when alfred had finally arrived back at the batcave with a full tray of hot teas and coffees in one hand, as promised, the atmosphere was almost exactly as he predicted.
tense.
heavy.
but alarmingly quiet at the same time.
like a single drop of a pin would be enough to shatter the glass-like silence blanketing the entire cave.
no one had said a word when the ding of the elevator had sounded, but the eyes all pointed at him were enough to tell a story. like they'd all been awaiting his arrival, a hungry pack of wolves desperate and in need of answers from the only man with answers to their questions about you.
just who you are. where you are. and why â despite never truly knowing you â do you matter so much to them?
answers enough to satiate that clawing grip of insanity, guilt, and collective desire to impulsively take you back from where you're hiding and find the answers through you instead.
alfred doesn't feel a sliver of goosebumps from the heavy stare of dick near the panel of computers, wrecked with swarming emotions, he tears his attention off the heavy clacking of barbara's keyboard searching for any clues about your whereabouts, he strides, slow, steady, and calm, towards tim who had been scrolling through his phone in a shared effort to stalk through your information, with duke watching over his screen from behind. he sighs when he finds stephanie, accompanied by cassandra patting her back and whispering assurances, leaning her body against a crate of artillery to find balance after another wave of nausea had overtaken her.
the butler walks forward, closer and closer to the section of computer screens, and he places the tray down with no haste. barbara pauses, hesitates â likely riddled with doubts if she even deserves to be given a chance to unwind when time was ticking in search of you â but still, she wheels herself closer, taking a cup of coffee for herself, thanking alfred with a hesitant quirk of her lips, then returns back to her place.
typing once more. quicker, like the guilt had settled into her thoughts right after.
beside him was bruce, who maintained his neutral, frowning expression. for a moment, memories of your own expressions emerged into his mind. of the day he first saw you, stone faced and neutral like your father. unresponsive, silent, and dangerously close to disappearing into the shadows, if not for your labored breathing; just like your father.
you two were always the like the sides of a coin.
he turns to see the culprit's eyes glued to the screen filled with tabs of barbara's online searches, unblinking, as if the goal of finding you would solve anything other than the questions about your locationâ
as if stalking you would be enough to compensate for the years he wasted turning his back on you, never knowing a single thing about who you are as a person. what your goals were. your aspirations. everything.
deep down, alfred knew how bruce had been the most troubled. had been riddled the most with guilt and regret. he knew bruce would stop at nothing until he'd done enough to earn an ounce of your forgiveness. he'd move the world, fight wars he knew would be impossible to win, twist every fabric of reality if he could, to undo the years of aching silence he'd unknowingly forced upon your life and be the father he was meant to be for you.
he knew, but doesn't speak up, only closing his wrinkled eyes and shaking his head after staring up at the man, your father's, face: glowering, solid, and lit up by the reflection of the screen. most likely thinking of all the ways to make it up to you, apologize, before he could even see you in person.
he was not surprised by anyone.
alfred doesn't even flinch from when behind him, damian's sword cluttered to the floor, its sharp clang! echoing across the room like church bells singing its last song.
the bats above have flapped their wings in sudden, waking alarm. the same way the pages of your heaviest, most tattered sketchbook flattered across the cave's floor, revealing, to the eyes of many who can see the papers closest to themâ
photographs, diagrams, illustrations, layouts, even notes about their vigilante identity.
displayed to them like artworks you'd find in museums. intricate pieces of evidences, headlines, even fucking graphs that gathered data comparing the frequency and correlation of their public sightings and presence along the manor. drawings of their hero costumes, old and new, from when dick was a young robin, to even the updated suits right after tim took charge of the mantle.
dick, who had been silent throughout the ordeal after jason had ended the call, was too shaky and afraid of what knowledge the entries hold. yet he had gathered all the willpower and courage to grasp the collection of paper that had landed right near his foot. his fingers rub along the frayed edges, but even with its age can he read the blurred ink lines running meticulously across the pages.
(yet his panicked eyes also run over the splotches of dried blood carelessly painting the papers. it wasn't just a tiny amount too. it was everywhere. like paint thrown across a canvas, it's smeared over some texts, blotched the sides and the bottom andâ why was there blood? why was there so much? whose blood was it? the questions flood endlessly in his brain, and he's afraid even the answers would devastate him to the point of no return if he ever discovered it was yours.)
despite his disbelief, he skims over some paragraphs, takes in every bitter word, every spiteful phrase that had filled every blood-stained page.
the first thought that came to dick's mind was... well, it was impressive. any child of bruce, adopted or not, was destined for great things. yet even outside of bruce, dick knew his baby bird was always capable. but he never knew the extent of how great those things were.
it was another failure on his part.
it was another failure as your eldest brother.
he never really knew you, had only seen a part of you in his memories, but never the true youâ
before he even discovered countless of your sketchbooks, journals, even the medals alfred had forgotten to store away, all hidden within your room; to dick, you were just the kid with shining, bright eyes in the face of your mother's tragedies. hopeful, naive, one of the youths dick had promised to protect as long as he lived. but he never had put an effort to know about your hobbies, your interests, your goals or your true thoughts.
not until now...
where even then he's hesitant to know, in fear that your hope for him had rotten and all that remained was rightful hatred.
so much so that when he flipped the paper to its back, his worst nightmares had begun to fester into reality.
he feels as if his heart had begun traversing its way up his throat, ceased, and then refused to move.
"journal entry #15: dick grayson and nightwing." it starts, followed with printed pictures of him swinging around the city, captured by cameras on standby. colored illustrations of his suits had a timeline plastered to its bottom, ranging from him as robin, to his transitions as nightwing.
you long knew about his identity of nightwing; your entries dated from nearly six years ago, when you were about to hit your thirteenth birthday markâ
then he vaguely recalls back-reading through one of your messages, and remembers your invitation to have him come to your small celebration.
"my bday's coming soon!" his phone screen had never looked so blurry until the time he'd scroll through the far dates of your texts, noticing how by every new message, your enthusiasm slowly dwindled. yet your first ones were once so full of life â and he realized he should've never dismissed your message as just some trick towards him; maybe then things would've been different. maybe you would be here, with him, laughing and painting the manor with your shining presence â he never realized you'd even went through great effort to ask for his number through alfred.
"you don't have to buy me a gift or anything, your presence is enough of one already!" you invited him alone. it should've done a great deal of pride to him, and yet all he ever did was make mistake after mistake, restricting your phone number to limit the spam.
you also said you planned cupcakes instead of a cake, said it was too much for you to finish. it was unusual at firstâ but then, sitting in your creaking room with the humid air of your tiny room clogging his brain, it took a little thinking to realize you'd been celebrating all your birthdays alone.
when your mother had died, when jason had already been dead, everyone, even alfred, was too wrapped up mourning and grieving. dick had spiraled enough with every argument towards bruce, then tim came into the frayâ without your mother, it had just been you and alfred. you were never close to tim.
you've been reaching milestones alone.
another failure as your older brother.
he wants to vomit, crumple on the floor and dry heaveâ he wants to die thinking some more.
you were so desperate to even have one guest to your birthday party. was it even a party in the first place?
you were so fucking desperate you'd even told dick you'll do whatever flavor of frosting he'd prefer. you never thought of yourself at that moment, you only thought about dick coming to your celebration, of anyone coming.
then all of a sudden, dick realized that during the date of your birthday, he had actually been in the manor.
and worse? he'd spent it with alfred by his side the entire time.
he spent your birthday with alfred.
fuck...!
he could've spent it with you!
it was only after the late hours of the night did the butler dismiss himself with a worried furrow of his brows, seeming more insistent in leaving early rather than staying with the athlete. dick before didn't understand why for the first time in a while, alfred had other matters to attend to when tim was at a sleepover and bruce was in the middle of press conference. dinner would come later that night, dick was about to ask alfred why if he hadn't left his side already.
at that, he shrugged his shoulders, returning to his room, opting to sleep the night instead and waking up at midnight where he'd follow up with bruce over patrols, see if they could talk things out.
he should've known.
alfred's hasty footsteps echoing across the hallways should've been a sign of suspicion, but dick had been far too consumed with other worries. about his team, about his argument with bruce, about bludhaven and everything else weighing his mind.
worries that he shouldn't have to prioritize when he'd done nothing that day except converse with alfred, ranting to the manor's butler about mundane things to distract himself with that clawing feeling that something felt wrong amidst the silenceâ
because then he wouldn't have to imagine his baby bird, standing there all alone in the kitchen, ingredients at stand by, looking around to find every hallway, with no one coming to their little celebration.
how many times has that happened?
how many times have you been left to your own device, hopelessly waiting for a miracle?
how many birthdays of yours had he rejected without knowing, in favor of prioritizing something else, someone else?
how many birthdays, milestones, celebrations did you have while the entire family spent nights separate from each otherâ or spending with each other, whilst without you, instead?
dick completely understands if you've fucking despised every bit of him after always ditching your invitationsâ
because now, you've written your personal notes about him beside all the drawings. even a single skim of the paragraphs of text was enough for dick to know this was written not out of awe. the more he reads under his breath, the faster the pace in his heavy heart quickens.
"dick is- is nightwing." he stutters, ignoring the squeak of barbara's wheelchair nearing him, too engrossed to even notice her grabbing some of the pages from his hands.
he continues to read, as if under an unwilling trance, mind fogged with every word that shifts into vivid imaginations of your self writing these entries in your too-small bedroom.
"it's- it's obvious from the way they share the same acrobatic moves that... that he does in secret in rooms where he thinks i'm not looking.
his eyes flip to another carelessly erased line, making out every letter through blurry eyes â a reflection to what you truly think, but still ashamed to admit â lips quivering as he whispers, "he- he does it in front of everyone but, but me. like he's ashamed of even acting like himself, like i'm undeserving of even seeing a part of him natural to othersâ
"no, little bird. you were never..." he disrupts through his narration, tries not to tear the paper out, which kept revealing every bit of resentment you felt for the athlete from the start. he could feel every venomous word injecting into his veins, he couldn't do anything to stop reading at the same time.
dick wanted to know every emotion you felt, and yet, biting his lipsâ
"it's me who doesn't deserve you. you shouldn't... shouldn't talk about yourself like this. nobody deserves you..."
it was all he could comment. he wish you could hear these sentiments in person, he wishes you were here just so he could disprove every line, every insult you'd written off as cruel jokes meant to hurt yourself.
cruel jokes that always came with dripping ichor.
no matter how aged and dry the blood may be, he couldn't wash away the scent of it clinging on shriveled paper; another wave of guilt clings to his heavy heart.
yet the truth continues.
"he does theseâ these flips i see him perform on TV as nightwing, and i remember all the times he'd mindlessly do handstands or jump from the second floor to the next, smiling to anyone who'd see. they don't know how lucky they are, dick was never this way to me...sometimes he'd also do it when i'd sneak into the cave and find him talking with the others...
"every time he does, he's got the same..." charming, was what was supposed to be written next, but you've scribbled over the word, violently, as dick's trembling fingers runs over the back of the paper, feeling the torn page, the heavy handed words engraved in every line; imagining just how much animosity had filled your entire being to the point you'd replace charming withâ
"he's got the same... dishonestâ the same disgustingly huge smile he always gave me whenever he made excuses that he's busy, that he's got work, hero work â he never says, i pretend to never suspect â to do.
"i- i understand that," he stutters, biting his lips at the sarcasm which bleeds into every word. "you can't stop someone like dick. when he's got his mind set on a goal, not even bruce or damian can talk him out of it. in that order of things, my opinion would never matter, hah. i just was never considered into a goal. so i understand. it's not like i can be mad for any longer when he still smiles at me while making all these excuses and- and sometimes even promises of next time's. at least he doesn't see me as a villain, he doesn't mistreat me or anything. so i can't blame him, he's... still nice.
"but then again, it's also so obvious, of course, that the only difference between me and the people he saves on TV is... is that the smile he shows them... is genuine.
"and the one he shows me is still just the product of an afterthoughtâ"
dick couldn't finish reading the entire entry before slamming the papers down on the panels beside him, quivering hands wracking across his hair and slamming into his face.
his eyes, they fill with salty water faster than he could swallow down the heavy lump residing in his throat.
for a moment, the manor's air stills once more.
his thoughts betray him and fill him with pictures of your younger self, your scarred fingers writing alone in your roomâ the blood dripping down and on to the paper from the deep cuts etched into your skin, from your swollen fingertips sore from all the words you've etched with faded ballpens. how, despite the pain wracking throughout your very body, you'd continue to write down the feelings too heavy to express, once hopeful eyes slowly dimming until it bursts to flames.
until all you felt was resentment dick deserved to feel from you.
the more he imagines your own pen stabbing every word into paper, the more it starts to feel like every word was a thousand knives stabbing into his very skin. if not for the panels keeping his stability, leaning to his side, he'd collapse.
"no..."
god no.
have you always thought of him this way? was he always like this to you?
he didn't mean to treat you like you were nothing.
he didn't mean for you to portray his tired smiles and his dismissive hands as a sign of disinterest, of falsified emotions, of dick acting like you never mattered when he was justâ he was just so oversaturated with the guilt of jason's death, his fights with bruce, his teammates, the teen titans, the loss, the grief. he didn't mean anythingâ
but that wasn't a fucking excuse.
not when he'd left you waiting for thirteen years, not when he'd treat you like a second option, waved you, told you, "not today!" with a smile betraying his every intention.
he'd never given you a chance, that was an undeniable fact. even when you were always home, even when he found the time to be home for all the others.
he doesn't understand himself, he wanted to so badlyâ
call you, his baby bird.
he wants to fix things, correct his mistakes, even if it were too late, even if the image of him, once bright and shining, was now tarnished into a stranger you'd despise. dick just wanted to â no matter how much he rubs his eyes with his arms to rid the spilling tears, bites his lips, crumples the fragile paper with shivering fingers to numb his emotions down before the guilt devours him whole â he wants to apologize a thousand times. he wants to take back every wrong action of his and consume you in all his emotions, the good, the bad, the uglyâ just so your opinion of him would change.
just so you wouldn't see him as the brother who was never there.
who was always running off to bludhaven to avoid you.
dick wanted to grovel, he wanted to crumple into a ball and remove the aching lump that had resided in his throat ever since he found your room. the tears he thought would never fall from his eyes were already bursting before he could even cease it. and ashamed as he may be from being seen in all his rawest form by the others; the pain, the guilt, the memory of your wide-eyed smile, the sensation of your tiny fingers holding tight against his palm overpowers any embarrassment he thought he'd felt.
god, he misses you.
he wants to see you â the paper has long since been shriveled by his powerful grip, his head buried in his arms, all the tears he'd been holding back came rushing out of him 'til it turned to dry heaves, and alfred's gloved palms patting his back doesn't compensate for anything other than unneeded sympathy. the silence that the others had allotted for your grieving older brother wouldn't change the fact that you're still the missing piece inside the manor. and for the first time in a while, he felt the same shadow that had cloaked his entire being from the moment he'd found out jason died after he'd returned from that space mission, that he was too late to even save the boy; too late to save you from yourself â dick had never despised himself as much as he did now.
he knew he could never be forgiven, he knew that for as long as he lived, he would never live up to the image of him you once held in high regard anymore.
yet as he laments all the moment he could've been your older brother, could've been your family, your heroâ he still pictures the quirk in your tired steps, the way your eyes lightened, the way your wide smile revealed your chipped teeth from the very moment he first left you at your room; and it only makes the tears run down faster.
he imagines that little child all alone in the kitchen on the day of their birthday, blowing on the little candle of their cupcake in the dark of the night, making a wish for a better one next year.
have you even received a gift from any of them before?
â god, his eyes clamp down harder, drowning the world in all the darkness â a sight you've probably been accustomed to living here, dick hates thinking about it â he doesn't even want to imagine anymore, biting down at his tense arms, trying to stifle his sobs.
yet no matter how much he tries, he couldn't get rid of the hole that had ripped right into his chest, the ache thumps louder in his heart every time your little smiling face appears in all his thoughts, it was a pain that clawed into emptiness, settled deeply in every scar wracking across his body.
a reminder that even with all his sacrifices, all the battles he foughtâ he still couldn't save you.
he still couldn't save his baby bird.
if you had wished for a new family in that lonely birthday of yours, he understands you.
if you had wished for one you can actually call your own, for a father who was never absent, for a family who never turned their backs on you, for an older brother to never once break any empty promises; he truly understands.
because dick could be the leader, the dependable older brother, the hope of bludhaven. he could spend his entire life saving others. he can grow, fix his relationship with bruce, with jason, raise damian, become the idol everyone knew and loved and never once doubted.
he can be the change his city needs to be a better placeâ
but no matter what, at the end of the dayâ
he'll always hate himself.
the voices within the cave remained silent.
at the same time, no words were needed to be said.
it was difficult to ignore dick's weeping all throughout, his lonesome bawling was the only sound that filled the empty space. the only sound that penetrated the suffocation everyone but alfred felt.
even the bats had stopped their panicked wings from flapping due to the earlier commotion. the stalagmites that once dribbled water had deafened into nothingness. if it was because everyone had succumbed to their own thoughts, or if it was because it seemed the manor had stilled the noise for youâ nobody knew the answers.
there was truly nothing filling the air except for dick, and even then his sobs were stifled by his arms.
the clawing silence remained, the volume of dick's sobs had grown softer. he had been mumbling "sorry's" and incoherent apologies all throughout. sometimes there were promises, other times he'd choke on his own tears and beat at his chest, begging for something they couldn't hear.
nobody could easily approach him, let alone ask if he was alright.
the answers were already obvious.
alfred had ceased from any physical comfort he'd offer to the shivering hero, withdrawing his palms and returning to bruce's side. bruce, whose face, once neutral, now softened when he shared a glance with the butler.
like him, he knew his words wouldn't do any help. it might even make things worseâ
it might make dick storm off the manor and find you alone.
as much as they felt pity, both alfred and bruce knew dick was too far gone to be even offered anything to make him feel better. any affirmations, small or big, words or not, couldn't soothe the all consuming guilt he'd felt.
all they could do was leave him to his own bubble, ignore the guilt eating at their conscience too. not even a remark was heard from a wide-eyed damian, who had watched his eldest brother the entire time, who felt like part of this was his fault too.
and yet he didn't mean to drop your sketchbook for the entire family to see.
he didn't mean to be a part of the spiral of events leading to dick's breakdown.
it was his sworn duty, an unspoken promise, to keep things of yours all for himself. the entirety of his early training inside the batcave was just a distraction for him to extricate any thoughts he had of you. he'd hidden your sketchbooks in corners of the cave, in cabinets where he's guaranteed nobody, not even tim, would open, let alone access.
then he tried to train with his sword as intended while waiting for the rest to arrive at bruce's announcement.
yet even if his slashes against the training dummies were harsher, even if he had to remind himself that you shouldn't be infecting his thoughts as much as you did for othersâ like dick, he couldn't erase any memories he had of you. he couldn't erase the gruesome illustrations you drew, your aggressive reaction from the last time you've talked to him, even that one memory you had together that had been pestering him long before you even left the manor...
in the end, he found himself in the middle of the open space, fingers running across the spine of your thickest sketchbook; one figured he hadn't opened before. with papers stuck in between pages, and pages ready to fall off if he even dared open the book.
the one he held was different from the others. it had no front cover title like it typically does. not even a name etched on any side. your other sketchbooks always had old and peeling stickers embedded into its covers. some were nonsensical, others were what he speculated to be your favorite characters from shows he also watched â he never realized just how similar you two were. if it were him in the past, he'd reject the notion, spit on the shoes of anyone who'd dare point it out â you'd use a white acrylic markers on some textured pages, draw stars, zigzags, swirls; anything that gave it personality.
anything that screams the fact it's yours.
but this one was fancier, a more expensive sketchbook. left blank and barren, like you didn't want any trace of it linked back to you.
everything about it was bizarre.
damian knew that although your voice was the one everyone heard the least, the things you owed had marks, titles, names that were unique only to you.
if anyone else had taken your possessions, even if you were a stranger to most, they'd know it'd be yours.
damian knew how desperate you were to be known.
to be seen.
that's why everything of yours had to be yours. it needed to have pieces of you stuck on every corner, it needed to scream you.
the fact that he knew all this, the fact that he knew information, unknown to others, about you at all, despite his inherent refusal to acknowledge your existence within the manorâ
he wouldn't explain.
but he knew either way, and that was all that needed to be said.
... hence why it was strange how this sketchbook of yours has no identity traced back to you.
but to damian, it also meant something special. something sacred if you were keen in hiding something. damian believed it's special if only he had the access to whatever knowledge you'd hidden in your sketchbooksâ
except when he'd open through the middle pages, he was greeted not by the more intimate journal entries you typically opt to write in blank pages, not by the graphic drawings he'd expected to seeâ but by an array of faded blueprints of the cave he stands in now, sketchbook spreads of their costumes: front, middle, and back; all drawn so accurately, it sends shivers across damian's spines to imagine just how intimately close you were to the suits to even know the patterns up close.
even speculations about the items they carry inside their utility belts, backed by newspaper clippings that show candid photographs of the vigilantes takings candies, ropes, and of the like out of their belts.
you weren't hiding something from them.
if you did, you'd have taken this sketchbook to your grave, you wouldn't have left it alongside your other belongings, things you thought would carry dust, be discarded by alfred. but you've known more about them far longer than they did you, you've compiled entries about what you've learned, little notes; passive aggressive remarks. you knew about their hero identitiesâ
damian wasn't horrified about you knowing about them, even if your compiled proofs were shoved right in his face, even if he felt the hairs on his body prick upâ he'd drawn a sword right to your neck at the first meeting; you were bound to be curious either way. about your half-brother. about the life he had prior to gotham. alfred had given you a quick rundown about the young boy before you'd greet him by the door.
the sweat running down his forehead, his legs feeling like jelly, his pupils dilating wasn't attributed to your discovery of their secret identities.
damian wasn't that afraid of that fact, even if there was a lingering ounce of astonishment.
no.
he was shaken by the thought that you knew so early.
that you were aware of the different life they led outside of yours. that you were almost purposely kept out of the picture and that you knewâ
you knew so well that your largest sketchbook yet, and it was by far one of the oldest too, spanning from inexperienced sketches of batman's costume from the very start, to the whiter, more untouched pages by the very back.
â his fingers had not shaken just carrying the sheer, behemoth-like weight of the book, but the weight of your knowledge, the regret that had suddenly invaded all his thoughts; it had him slip both his book and his sword right out of his hold like butter, just right before he could remember to tighten his grip.
the crash was deafening like the wringing in his ears. he'd stick to his spot for a second, frozen in place whilst the others had begun to notice the contents of the paper.
then the rest became a blur to damian, the young boy looking down at his hands, his scarred fingers, his calloused palms. he's sworn to use them for good as robin, as a protector of this city alongside batman.
it wasn't easy.
the change was not sudden for damian. you can't just undo the years of battle and gruesome training he'd went into being an assassin. but there was still an undeniable change. becoming robin by force, being treated like an outsider at first, dealing with judgemental stares, working with his father's disappointment, meeting steph and finally being treated like a kid by her, getting closer to dickâ having to prove his way into being a worthy holder of the mantle he had now.
damian asks himself:
was he worthy of redemption after all these years? was he worthy of atonement for all the blood he shed? when even in the path to proving himselfâ he'd never been good to you?
would forgiveness come naturally after he'd told you you were better off gone in the first place?
he'd taken a step back, sensations unwelcome but not unknown had invaded his every being: the warmth he felt when he first saw you, followed by the burning rage, the unworthiness, the envy.
your once unafraid eyes staring right at him, your welcoming nature, holding that damned tray of sweets staring back at him in mockery, all the traits he saw in himself in you if he wasn't raised to be like who he wasâ
you knew about their nightly endeavors, you knew of how often you've been left behind and excluded from everything, and yet you remained kind.
kind, but also afraid to take another step in his direction.
you've learned to shake under his gaze, learned to turn the opposite way when you've crossed paths, not only in the manor but in school, in public where anyone could see that these two half-siblings never acted like they were.
you changed your seating arrangement so you'd sit off at the far corner of the already long and winding dining table; only for the distance between you and your family to turn wider; eating with utensils barely clanking the ceramics, turning away from everybody, excusing yourself too early.
sometimes, you wouldn't even come down at all.
you shrink in your position every time he'd enter the library, leave without a word, watch him and dick become closer brothers than you ever had the chance of even spending a second with the eldest.
you both were the outsiders, and yet only one remained the victor.
you'd done everything to avoid more pain into your already miserable life. you'd done nothing wrong and damian had purposely inflicted more and more until your cup of patience was drained and you'd almost exploded at him. if he wanted to prove himself to be the rightful vigilante of the city, then why'd he act like villain to you...?
what was it about you that had him feeling so deliberately jealous?
... before his questions could be answered, he had already been counted into the family.
they were kinder to him now, less cautiousâ
he'd learn to speak less formally, gained friends at school, joined a football team, earned crushes, got teased; he had been counted in invitations before it was even considered.
he learned that it was alright to not act older than his age. he'd been treated like the boy he is, a young child still cluelessly navigating a world full of mysteries.
life was faring well, as well as it could get in gotham, and yet...
he was constantly reminded of how you were the only one in the family who was the first to treat him with compassion.
you were the one who'd open the door on him first before everybody else, despite alfred's cautious warnings, despite knowing the boy younger than you would be acknowledged far easier than you who had lived in the manor for the entirety of your life.
you were everything damian was not. you were everything damian wished to be.
he'd read your entries, learned about your bitterness, and you never took it out on him despite all your venomous words cutting through paper. you held yourself back from lashing out. you never reciprocated the same damning words he'd spew right at you. never fought back except for the very end; where you'd learn to avoid him if it meant a day of peace.
when he'd learn to miss you after.
where shortly after, the manor had become quieter.
he looks at his palms again.
these were meant to protect, meant to shield his older sibling from harm, to serve common people like you who had no power against the crimes of this city. you were the only non-vigilante in the family, the only person vulnerable enough to walk on the city's streets with the risk of danger with every footstep, and he was your baby brotherâ but he should've been far beyond that.
he should've been your protector too.
... and yet all these hands had ever done for him was hurt you.
no one else was there to protect you from his harm.
damian doesn't understand why. he remains lost in thought, lost for words.
lost in the regrets that'd pile up in his chest until all he could feel was the same sting, like an open wound poured with alcohol, when you'd glare back at him after another round of verbal assault, when you'd run away from the boy, when he stalked you all the way to your room and found you piercing through fragile, already scarred skin with yet another razorâ that he swore he'd thrown out before, that meant you'd went and bought another, unable to live a day without constant physical tormentâ
your head was tilted down, eyes drawn wide open, blankly gazing at the crimson droplets beading and dripping from your thighs. this had turned into a habit. just another coping mechanism.
this became routine.
numbing down every bitter emotion beating out of your chest by hurting yourself with something worse.
and damian could only watch you fall deeper into a hole he helped dig.
what kind of hero was he if he couldn't even save his older sibling?
he recalls you, peeking through your doors, how you hit back loud sobs, head buried on your quivering, bleeding thighs, still afraid of being heard, blood seeping out of lips from all the times your teeth would pierce through wounds meant to heal, your nail beds had been bitten raw, fingertips stained with red, too, as you run your hands, ripping, tearing at matted hair; even if you were located in the far, abandoned corners of the manor, you'd learn to regulate your sobs in fear of it echoing through the halls.
to him, you were like a wounded animal, a terrified dog who'd learn that noise meant another inflicted bruise, another horrific slash across your body. being heard never meant being seen, being judged for acting the way you do. you'd shrink in the far corners, until you could be mistaken for a faint silhouette, and it was far better than knowing you were only acknowledged, but you were never offered a helping hand.
whilst damian had all the help he could get into becoming better, you'd disappear into the sidelines, only to become worse.
even if damian himself had tried every means of delaying your hurt without you ever knowing, you'd always find another way. you'd always be one step ahead of him, and you'd be back to picking scabs, back to scratching your neck, biting your knuckles, running off to find alfred, to every corner of the room only to find nothingâ
because the butler had been busier in the batcave, day by day, caring for damian, losing his attention to you as a consequence.
back then, he found that a bragging right. another reason to shove in your face, another 'why' on why he's better than you. why your presence is a stain against the growing family. because the butler you love, who you thought would always be by your side had began catering and offering his own familial love towards the youngestâ the youngest who'd done everything to remind you you were nothing and nobody.
he thought, at the sight of you falling on your knees after hours of searching for alfred through winding hallways, empty rooms, dizzying stairways until you'd land inside the library, begging, whispering under your breath, to any god, to any deity willing to hear you, while tears had begun cascading down your swollen eyes and hollow cheeksâ he thought he'd laugh, thought he'd feel relief, like a heavy weight would be lifted from his chest just being witness to you falling into despair at the lack of alfred's presence.
he thought the pathetic sight would only make the pride heighten in his heart.
instead, all that came to him was his limp arms laying still on his sides, not a sound unable to escape his tightening throat. wide, terrified eyes had settled on your heaving body.
crumpling down on the carpeted floors, you were unable to breathe.
unable to release anymore of your pathetic sobs, you'd resort to clawing on furniture, the sharp edges of the coffee table violently hit your sides, you wince, you release a sharp cry, but still, you continue stumbling far deeper into the nook of the library, afraid of being heard.
the sight before him was a wretched show.
'but i've seen people suffer far worse.' his thoughts try to convince him, but his fingers tightly clenching the hems of his shirt tells another story.
'i've beheaded assassins before, i've seen guts mangling out of hanging bodies, stacks of corpses piled on top of another. the stench of rotten decay is as familiar as the polluted air in gothamâ'
... and yet you crumbling into a ball in the corner dealt a far worse nausea residing in his thoughts, a lump forming on his chest the same way it always does when he notices another round of makeshift gauzes had been carelessly slapped on your heavily clothed body.
damian was terrified at the way you carelessly threw yourself into more danger.
damian was terrified of what your carelessness might entail.
... your little brother imagines your dangling body suspended in the air, neck embraced by a rope. and nobody would've known you were gone, nobody would've been there by the time the last exhale has escaped your purplish lips.
you'd be dead, and you'd be mourned for far too late.
and suddenly his vision spins, a wave of bile clung stubbornly up his throat.
damian doesn't want to imagine anymore, then he feels a draw, a magnetic pull, like he'd want to come out of his hiding spot, reveal himself to youâ not to insult you, shame you for being weak. but your younger brother watching you hide behind bookshelves, gazing blankly, paired with the horrifying imagery of your deceased bodyâ
one he couldn't just erase from his thoughts...
he doesn't like admitting it: but all he wanted to do was to comfort you the same way alfred had always stuck by his side, the same way stephanie had brought him to that bounce house and treated him like a young boyâ damian wanted to, he needed to sit by your side. he doesn't want to see you cower in fear anymore, for your pupils to shrink, for your first instinct to turn the other way and away from him.
all he wanted was to lean his head against your shoulders, pretend like he had never once drawn a sword on you, like he had never committed any of his past mistakesâ all he wanted to be your younger brother.
maybe it was a way to comfort himself too.
maybe he just doesn't want to be ridden with nightmares of your limp, decaying body for every second he'd shut his eyes.
but he wasn't brave enough, not yet. he regrets not being enough. he regrets simply resorting to watching you over in the shadows instead. watching you curl over, nails blunt from being bitten raw digging deep in your knees. he watches you try your best to steady your lungs, to contain the nasty bile tethering over the edge of your lips. the longer you sat there, accompanied only by the dust motes floating under the dim, warm lights in the library, the more the shame, the regret, the undulating hatred in himself curled bigger and bigger until it became mocking voices, violent imagery of what could, what would happen to you if he doesn't come save you right now.
... yet despite it all, he never once came out of the obscurity of the shadows. he never had with you. he never did until it was too late.
he remained stationary, engulfed in nothing but guilty conscience.
and really, it was ironic: two siblings suspended in the dark night, and yet only one had truly seen the light.
and damian notices, he always notices, no matter how much he pretends to never care,
that the longer you cried all by yourself...
the more it seemed to never end.
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: oh my god, i poured all my heart and soul into this, cried a bit bec i was afraid of losing progress again, and then cheered some more when i finished. so i'm begging for comments, interactions, any of ur fave lines please. there's a lot of parallels between dick and the mc. and then between damian and mc too. and u guys don't know it, but your comments and submissions were so much help in making me finish this early đđ also, thank u guys for ur patience! i appreciate all the kind comments, all the encouraging words in my inbox. honestly, i never expected a&a to be as much of a passion project as it is now. it used to be an outlet for my emotions, and it still is, but i never realized how many people actually loved the reader as much as much. that's it, love y'all !!!
i cannot overstate how good it feels to watch older movies where the actors were still allowed to look kinda weird and not be conventionally attractive. like it is genuinely healing
Simon was on you as soon as your foot touched the wood flooring of your home. He'd been gone for almost three months and he was past the point of desperate.
You must have been moving too slowly for your husbands taste, as you find yourself suddenly in the air with two tattooed arms around your waist.
"You couldn't wait two seconds for me to take off my shoes?!" You scold.
"Need to be inside you, now." Simon said firmly, dropping you onto your large bed, both of you practically tearing fabric from your bodies.
Simon hovered over you once you were both nude, though he winced slightly. "Fucking shoulder."
You quickly yet gently switched your positions, knowing how Simons shoulder would play up after a mission because of the recoil from his weapons.
Simon went to protest, but the look you give him quickly silences him.
"You worked so hard, Si. Lemme make you feel good." You hum, reaching beneath you to line his cock with your cunt, oblivious to the confused look in Simons eyes for a moment. His cock felt unusually sensitive.
You sank down onto Simon, desperate to have him inside you. Though he grabbed your hips, letting out a pathetic moan.
Simon panics, "Fuckâwait no noâ" his hips stutter upwards into you. Gasping heavily as he fills you. He couldn't help it, your pussy was so tight and wetâand he'd never admit it but you praising him for working hard definitely brought him to the edge.
Once Simon opened his eyes, you were staring at him; Expression a mixture of shock and surprisingly awe.
"Don't." He says.
"I feel that good?"
"You know you do. Now give me five minutes and I'll fuck you dumb alrigh'?"
â§Â°. âđčâ°đșâ.°â§
Buy my cat a Christmas Present? âïž đ ° (âąË âąă.á
donât mind the amount of comfort fics in this list, iâm going through a breakup | note: please be aware of the authorsâ warnings before reading. fics include canon twâs like: violence, death, grief, torture and ptsd. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.
part one | part two | part three | part four | main masterlist | also check my sex pollen trope list!
SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS
delicate | donât blame me | king of my heart âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @alisonwritesimagines
dog tags | part two âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @marvelwitchergilmore
you never said stay | part two âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @screqmsqueen
right where you left me | part two âą thunderbolts!bucky barnes x fem!detective!reader
âł by @redemptive-truth
the divine âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @ironxangel
lips warm like summer | warm like loving you âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @majestyeverlasting
someone you couldnât lose | if itâs casual âą bucky barnes x time-travelling!reader
âł by @fxckingjo
ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HCâS
fingerprints âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @mind-empty-just-fictional-people (comfort)
a sweater affair âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @loveletterlore (fluff, hurt/comfort)
tell me you love me âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @raven-dor (fluff, miscommunication)
you are stuck with me âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @marvelouslizzie (smut)
plums and pancakes âą dad!husband!bucky barnes x mom!wife!reader
âł by @wildflowersandvibranium (very fluffy)
toxic heat âą bucky barnes x agent!fem!reader
âł by @nyletac (enemies to lovers, smut)
courting âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @inkdrinkerworld (fluff)
darling âą cacw!bucky barnes x reader
âł by @cassiemaebarnes (fluff, comfort)
who did this to you âą new avenger!bucky barnes x abused!reader
âł by @buckysleftbicep (mentions of dv, hurt/comfort)
dye me a lie âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @byhuenii (miscommunication, angst, fluff)
enchanted âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @plumsdoll (fluff)
lost in the wild âą bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader
âł by @daddyjackfrost (slow burn friends to lovers, smut, yearning, fluff)
hold your breath âą civil war!bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @danysdaughter (smut)
cool to the touch âą bucky barnes x avenger!reader
âł by @street-smarts00 (friends to lovers, hurt/comfort)
i don't see your mistakes, i see you âą thunderbolts!bucky barnes x enchanted!fem!reader
âł by @mannien (comfort, angst, smut)
down time âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @helvonasche (fluff, mild angst, smut)
wherever you are, iâll be âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @billionairebratenergy (fluff)
forwards beckon rebound âą beefy!bucky barnes x pregnant!fem!reader
âł by @em1i2a3 (domestic!bucky, fluff)
the beholder âą bucky barnes x artist!reader
âł by @aquaticmercy (hurt, angst, fluff)
make-believe girlfriend âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @parkers-gal (fluff, grumpy x sunshine)
migraine âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @skaye44 (hurt/comfort, fluff)
slow down, sweetheart âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @kitty384 (pregnant!reader, protective!bucky, fluff)
sick idiot âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @homiesexuallaj (fluff)
fifth time is the charm âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
by @shadyfestivalperfection (smut)
hearts on fire âą au!bucky barnes x avenger!reader
âł by @bcksbarnes (fluff)
everything comes out teenage petulance âą bucky barnes x curvy!reader
âł by @nickfowlerrr (angst, fluff, insecurities, hurt/comfort)
through the silence âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @spencessocks (angst, comfort)
blood upon the snow âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @cheekybarnes (hurt/comfort)
proof of return âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @/cheekybarnes (angst, comfort, a little fluff)
what love will do to you âą barista!bucky barnes x lawstudent!fem!reader
âł by @chipotleburritobowl (fluff)
safe with you âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @w1nterswidow (fluff)
donât let me go âą bucky barnes x avenger!reader
âł by @fxckingjo (angst, hurt/comfort, smut)
you like me too much âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @ibeetlebum (angst, fluff)
hot chocolate and unresolved feelings âą bucky barnes x afab!reader
âł by @eterna1reverie (angst, fluff, suggestive)
guilty as sin âą tfatws!bucky barnes x steveâs granddaughter!reader
âł by @redemptive-truth (angst, yearning, friends to lovers, slow burn, age-gap)
rover & done for âą tfatws!bucky barnes x reader
âł by @phoenix-in-writing (fluff)
wish you were sober âą avenger!bucky barnes x avengersâ assistant!reader
âł by @rome-ii6 (miscommunication, mild angst, grumpy!fem!reader, fluff)
chemical imbalance âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst)
my heart went oops! âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @myladybelle (avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff)
slow burn âą bucky barnes x new avengers!gn!reader
âł by @myladybelle (yearning, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, slightly suggestive)
the siren call âą bucky barnes x fem!reader
âł by @myladybelle (avenger!reader, miscommunication, bombshell!reader)
blush âą bucky barnes x telekinetic!fem!reader
âł by @lunexiax (angst smut, jealous!bucky, shy!reader)
bigger than loss âą bucky barnes x reader
âł by @brookghaib-blog (angst, infidelity, infertility)
synopsis. various nsfw links paired with dark and some milder tropes. you must be logged into your account to view these. viewer discretion is advised. side note, some of the captions of these videos are a bit graphic. i did not make them. just ignore.
an. this isnât following the order of my kinktober list but oh well. SECOND NOTE: THESE ARE ALL ACTORS THAT WERE POSTED ON A REGULATED SITE. EVERYTHING IS BETWEEN CONSENTING ADULTS??? NATURALLY? it's all just fantasy/roleplay!
ᥣ its ok if as long as it's not inside, right? ᥣ masked man + cnc ᥣ breeding + size kink + mild ass play ᥣ desk pet ᥣ morning sex ᥣ (tw) public sex in the train ᥣ deeeeep breeding ᥣ (tw) ghostface ᥣ somno ᥣ stuck! ᥣ fingering both holes ᥣ pussy eating in his car
locking you in place while he plays with you ᥣ he doesn't care if you tap out ᥣ toys ᥣ riding ᥣ public sex ᥣ pounding + hair pulling ᥣ fingering + pussy play ᥣ groping + rough sex ᥣ 69 ᥣ pussy eating ᥣ fucking sideways ᥣ full nelson + breeding + anal ᥣ he won't let you play your game... ᥣ doggy position ᥣ titty fuck
dryhumping ᥣ thigh fucking ᥣ cunnilingus ᥣ reverse cowgirl ᥣ no moving away ᥣ somno pt. ii ᥣ how he makes you give him head ᥣ fingering ᥣ groupsex ᥣ mutual masturbation ᥣ size difference ᥣ tummy bulge ᥣ using you as stress relief after work ᥣ sex in the woods ᥣ riding and breeding
pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader
synopsis. bucky canât help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. manchild au masterlist.
warnings. mdni! smut (pwp, service dom!bucky, unprotected piv, oral sex - f receiving, clothed sex for like a sec, fingering, creampie, tummy bulge, dirty talk, dry humping, possessiveness, dumbification, praise, temperature play, food play, nipple play, pussy pronouns, hair pulling - m receiving, multiple orgasms, consent kink, implied competency kink and cum eating, bucky barnes begs agenda 2025âą, both bucky and reader spend the whole fic towing the fine line between horny and pervy), no use of y/n, angst, fluff, frenemies to lovers, roommate!bucky, cocky+flirty!bucky, also guard dog!bucky (if that even makes sense) (it doesnât), jealousy, pining, so much bickering, attachment issues, miscommunication bc these two combined have the emotional intelligence of a chihuahua, buckyâs hobby is baking bc i said so.
reader inclusivity. bucky can pick the reader up (but heâs literally a super soldier so đ§ââïž), one mention of bucky trying to grab the readerâs hair, reader has a nut allergy and does not speak russian (neither do i, so please forgive the very small amount of google translated russian)
word count. 16.3k
hydeâs input. god bless sabrina for saving the summer again. also donât let this flop, itâs my birthday tomorrow and iâm not above crying over poorly-received erotica (iâm joking) (no iâm not)
Bucky Barnes is not someone youâd call a friend.
Heâs more of a nuisance, really. A fossil, dropped off at your door by one Sam Wilson with a simple request: âCan he crash here for a few days?â
That was four months ago, and Buckyâs still living on your couch.
Which is exactly where heâs sat right now, head buried in a book you barely even remember owning. The pages, so full of neglect, give him hassle as he tries to turn them, catching on one another and refusing to be pried apart by vibranium fingers.
âHow do I look?â You ask as you step out from your bedroom, hands fastening an earring into your right ear.
Unfazed by your appearance, he doesnât bother glancing up from his book as he sardonically replies, âWith your eyes, like the rest of us.â
You contemplate plucking one of your heels off and throwing it at his head. Knowing your luck, it will fly right past him and smash your coffee table into pieces. Just like your roommate, itâs vintage. Unlike your roommate, you willingly brought it into your home.
âHa. Ha.â Rounding the couch, you swat his feet off the table before snapping his book closed. âNow if youâre done playing comedian, would you answer the fucking question?â
âThatâs your generation's problem, you know? You swear more than you breathe.â
âBetter than waging a world war every few years.â
âConsidering the current state of the world, I wouldnât rest too comfortably on that one,â Bucky rises from his seat and squeezes past you, irritatingly close in a way that makes sure you feel each defined muscle in his chest as it brushes against your shoulder. âAnyway, you look fine, as always.â
âI look fine?â You parrot his words and follow his footsteps over to the kitchen. âCareful Barnes, donât get too excited, itâs not healthy for a senior citizenâs heart.â
âYou know what I mean,â a heavy sigh slips out the soldierâs mouth as he busies himself filling the kettle, glancing back at you from over his shoulder as he continues speaking. âI donât understand why you worry so much about all of⊠this.â He gestures at you, water splashing off the tips of his fingers.
âGod forbid a woman cares about looking good on a date,â youâre becoming annoyingly aware of the pout on your lips and try your best to correct it, whilst prying open the fridge door and fishing out a bottle of beer. âGee if only it were still the 40s, then I could slap some mercury on my lips and hit the town with a man ready to buy me off my daddy for the cheap, cheap price of two goats!â
The frustration within you only rises as you struggle with the bottleâs cap, the skin of your hand pinching as you put all your force behind removing it. Since when are twist-tops so damn hard to twist off?
Buckyâs by the kettle, pouring boiling hot water into a mug heâs wrongfully claimed as his and looking irritatingly fine surrounded by steam â which has your mind trailing back to a few weeks ago: an early morning, exiting your bedroom to find your lodger stepping out the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and the remnant dew of a steaming hot shower trailing down his very naked, very defined biceps, and pectorals, and- Heâs not even trying to mask the amusement on his face as he indulges in your failure.
âDonât you think youâre being a little ridiculous?â He asks and pries the bottle out of your hold, effortlessly ripping the cap off with a twist of his left hand. A familiar warmth curls between your legs, awakening a response from you that youâve sworn, under no circumstances, will happen due to Bucky Barnes. You barely want to exchange air with him, nevermind bodily fluids. âThereâs no way youâre worth two goats.â
âEvery day I wake up and resist the urge to smother you in your sleep.â
Your vitriol is met with a smirk taking over his lips. Watching as he brings the beer up to his mouth, you catch yourself forgetting to blink as the soldier engages you both in a staring contest, all the while heâs tilting the bottle up to steal the first sip. He presses the cold glass back into your hand. You try not to focus on his tongue, peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip and clean up a remnant drop of beer.
In a move that puts you even more on edge, Bucky shuffles closer to you. Delirium floods your mind as the smell of smoke, and musk, and a just a twinge of sweat floods your nose, a smell so masculine it has you debating setting feminism and your own self-preservation back hundreds of years by nuzzling your face into the pulse point of his neck, like youâre some damn animal being exposed to pheromones. Meanwhile, he appears none the wiser to the negative effect heâs having on you, too busy reaching his arm behind you and into the fridge.
âThose boys you entertain, do they ever pay you any compliments?â His voice is so gentle, you almost wonder if thatâs how it would sound whispering in your ear. Luckily, you donât actually wonder about that. Not at all, not even a little. âOr is that your job too, like the bill?â
As quickly as he caged you in against the fridge, he moves away and leaves the cool air to rush over your skin, dragging your mind back into reality and away from whatever thoughts it keeps trying to tempt you with. You track his movements towards the island counter as he sets down a glass bowl, marked by condensation and filled with a batter of some sorts.
It's becoming more and more common to catch Bucky pottering around in the kitchen, a recipe on his phone screen and a personalised âKiss the Bakerâ apron â which Sam bought as a joke for his birthday â tied around his waist. Heâll never admit it, but a part of you believes baking helps him relax, to shut off whatever thoughts are floating around in that disturbingly pretty head of his and let him focus solely on measuring, mixing, and making delicious sugary treats. You can hardly complain when heâs gifting you the privilege of an at-home bakery. Fortunately, he gives you plenty of other reasons to complain.Â
âBoys I entertain? Way to make me sound like a stripper,â you huff, sneaking over to dunk a finger into the batter as he turns to grab his coffee. âAnd Iâll have you know, they do pay me compliments.â
Licking your finger clean, you canât fight the humm of approval that creeps up your throat nor the way your eyes slip shut as you savour the cold, tangy sweetness of the cake mix. Something warm presses against your left side as Bucky returns to the island, setting down his mug and a cake tin.
âReally? What kinda things do they say?â Just as you go to double dip, he smacks the top of your hand with a wooden spoon, and you nearly freeze at the contact. For a few short seconds, the factory in your mind goes into lockdown as every single one of your brain cells scramble to not conjure up the image of him smacking that utensil on a very different part of you. âHands off. Itâs a lemon cake, not a lemon and your-dirty-fingers cake.â
You silence your thoughts with a swig of beer before putting a safety distance between Bucky and you, unsure whether to be relieved at his obliviousness to the less than ideal affect heâs having on you, or offended by his complete lack of reaction to being so close to you while youâre all dressed up and waiting for another man to take you out.
Not that you want him to be affected by that, or you in general, though.
Your phone lights up with a text from an unsaved number: im hear, r yu coming down or shuld i com up? You shut it off and stuff it into your purse, deciding it's best to keep a man waiting anyway; heâll appreciate your presence even more once you finally give him it.
Besides, youâve yet to answer Buckyâs question.
âIâd tell you but Iâm too sober to stomach you yelling âHeaven to Betsy!â and giving me a lecture on your medieval dating ethics.â
You earn a genuine laugh, in which his knees bend a little and his head is thrown back, while his vibranium hand winds up splayed across his midriff. The sun is setting beyond the window, lingering shades of orange warmth frame a heavenly glow around Bucky, highlighting a slight curl in his hair and the piercing blue of his eyes. The view is uncomfortably pleasant, so you bring the bottle back to your lips and turn your head away, suddenly utterly fascinated with the eggshell colouring of the kitchen cupboards.
âI think thereâs a leak under the sink,â the comment is absentminded, a meager attempt at steering your mind away from the man and his mixing bowl.
Bucky ignores it and drags you right back to the actual topic at hand.
âThatâs funny,â thereâs a shuffle of tin behind you. You glance back around to find him smoothing batter into the cake mold, wooden spoon clasped in metal fingers spreading the mix evenly. Youâve never noticed how good Bucky is at spreading things. âCause I swear I remember Sam mentioning something about the last guy moaning his own name in your ear.â
Beer shoots to the back of your throat.
In a spurt of coughing, amidst the burning pain of the carbonated liquid dripping out your nose, you hurry over to the sink. Mouth dropped open in a dry heave, you lean into the basin and try to minimize the mess you make in search of a breath. Heat envelops you from behind and a pair of sock-clad feet come into view next to your maroon heels. You briefly register the cool brush of metal against the back of your neck as he tries to tidy back your hair and, while you appreciate the action, you canât help note how completely unnecessary it is. Too distracted to care, your attention shoots straight to the weight of his flesh hand pressing into your lower back. Heavy, warm, large, it pollutes your mind with the knowledge of how it feels to have him soothe your skin â even if there is a layer of silk in the way.
The moment air returns to your lungs, you shoot up straight and ache to step away from him and his wandering-to-all-the-wrong-places hands. The battle against his touch is mute, not even one percent of his strength is put behind the way he grips your forearms and turns you to face him.
Buckyâs eyes scan over you, studying your features. You swallow back whatever feeling brings salivation to your mouth. His thumb reaches towards his own and you watch, transfixed, as a pink tongue darts out to greet it, licking a stripe over the pad of it. A splash of cake batter stains his ring finger. You swallow back more saliva; confusingly, your mouth feels drier than ever. Only when he delicately presses his thumb beneath your eye and swipes over your waterline do you realise youâre teary-eyed.
âSee how clumsy you are?â Thereâs a chastising lilt to his voice that sends blood rushing to your face, and then immediately back down to the overwhelmingly empty space between your legs. âCanât even swallow properly without ruining your mascara.â
You need distance.
You need to move.
You need to leave.
âHeâs here!â The words are almost a gasp as you turn out of his hold. The weight of his gaze trails over your legs as you rush around the kitchen island, fishing your keys out of your purse and rambling out the nerves heâs summoned. âOkay, thereâs some leftover pasta in the fridge if youâre hungry, and youâre welcome to the beers if you get thirsty. Big remote turns on the TV, the little one changes the channel. Behave and take care of the place while Iâm away, okay?â
âQuit talking to me like Iâm some kind of guard dog,â he complains as you pull open the front door and cross one foot over the threshold to safety.
âOh, Iâm sorry!â You cheer back, trailing the door behind you as you go. âI wasnât aware you were going to start contributing rent, Iâll send you my bank details.â
With that, the apartment door slams shut and you head out for a date in which three things will happen: youâll flirt, youâll fuck, and you wonât think about your roommate.
Only one of those things ends up happening.
Itâs not from lack of an offer that you wind up taking a cab back to your apartment. Your date had been nice⊠enough. He complimented your outfit, took a sufficient amount of interest in you, and he even bought you flowers â of course, heâd accidentally left them in his parentâs home. Where he lived. In the basement.
And the thing is, youâre not shallow. Timeâs are tough, the economy sucks, and the world is still adjusting to the sudden return to half its population post-Blip. So you were more than game to play sneak-me-into-your-bed-without-waking-your-parents, but, as the pair of you waited on a taxi to arrive, his hand found your waist and your treacherous mind noticed something it shouldnât.
Buckyâs hand was larger. And warmer. And more welcomed against your skin.
Sick to your stomach by your own thoughts, your night ended with you tip-toeing past the familiar figure sleeping on your couch â definitely not pausing to take in the sheer width of his naked shoulders dangling half-off the cushion â and crawling into bed alone, belly full of Thai and mind full of Winter.
When morning comes, the bedroom door creaks as you pry it open, a fist rubbing sleep out your eye and a yawn announcing your arrival.
âDid you eat my ice cream?â Bucky calls out from somewhere, voice muffled and full of accusation.
Despite barely finishing a glass of wine the night before, thereâs a throbbing pain beginning in your temples and souring your already bitter mood.
âWow, good morning to you too,â you stumble more than walk over to the kitchen, in search of the salvation of ice cold water.
Thatâs where you find him: laid out on his back, grey sweatpants clinging to bent knees, with everything from his shoulders up inside the open cabinet beneath the sink. His arms are inside too, tinkering away at something above his face.
âGood morning. Did you eat my ice cream?â If ever a thing such as a verbal eyeroll were to exist, Bucky would be doing it. From the lack of seeing his eyes, thereâs every chance he is literally rolling them.
Your journey toward the fridge is interrupted by the troubling sight of a glass full of water, a plate hosting a slice of lemon sponge cake, and two miscellaneous white pills that anyone who suffers the unusually cruel punishment of a menstrual cycle is likely familiar with. A post-it note with your name written neatly across it sits next to the unexpected care package.
âSo what if I did?â The painkillers go down effortlessly, though thereâs a lingering chemical taste that has you gulping down an extra sip of water. âWhat are you doing, anyway?â
âI paid for it!â For all his outrage, he doesnât care enough to poke his head out as he chastises you. âYou said there was a leak, so Iâm checking your pipes. Iâm quite good with my hands, you know.â
Is he dense, or is he saying this shit on purpose? The double entendre in his words is glaring, yet you havenât the confidence nor the will-power to address it, to poke the proverbial bear out of fear. Fear of him scolding your dirty mind, or fear of him doubling down on his suggestive wordplay, youâre not quite sure.
You choose to steer clear of the topic and, more importantly, the unexpected twinge in your chest in response to Buckyâs unrequested help.
âAnd I paid for the freezer you left it in, the electricity that kept it frozen, and the apartment you live in,â you donât intend to sound so snappy, like a sulking child fighting against their own self-confessed crimes. âSo I think you can spare me some goddamn ice cream.â
Youâve taken to joining Bucky on the floor, sitting across from him, cross-legged and back pressed against the cabinets that surround the kitchen island. In your lap lies the slice of cake, a mouthful already missing and melting its tangy sweetness onto your tongue. You almost moan, but itâs unclear whether the sugary treat just tastes that good or the visual of the soldier laid out on his back and tinkering away beneath your sink is just so stimulating.
If you mention the strange noise your carâs engine has been making recently, would he fix that too? You can already picture him slicked in sweat and oil, hands on his hips as he stands over the opened hood and assesses whatever the damage is. Youâd have to watch over the whole thing, of course â not out of your own self-interest but on the off chance something goes wrong and Bucky needs help taking off his oil-stained shirt, or pants, or-
âYour date was that good, huh?â You almost jump out of your skin when he speaks.
âHe bragged to me about how he and his college roommates used to play pool,â the pause in your sentences seems to capture Buckyâs attention, coaxing him out from beneath the sink. âUsing a shotgun instead of cues.â
As he sits up, elbows finding rest upon his knees, you canât help but note the five-oâclock shadow heâs sporting. For reasons that have nothing to do with the fraying seams of your sanity, you need him to shave.
To Buckyâs credit, he doesnât laugh. Yes, his lips glitch somewhere between a cheeky grin and a serious frown, but he does not outright laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he nods down at the half-eaten cake and tilts his head â an unspoken question, is it good?, that only weakens his argument about not being a guard-dog. Between the puppy-dog blue eyes and the yearning for approval, you half expect him to sprout a tail and start panting.
Scratch that last thought, actually. Bucky and panting should not coexist in a sentence together, nevermind in your imagination.
âMind feeding me a bite?â Yes, actually, you would mind, but one glance at his fingertips stained in whatever-the-hell is going on with your sink leaves you no choice but to tear off a corner.
Bringing the piece of cake to meet his awaiting mouth, you brace yourself for the tentative scrape of teeth stealing it out of your hold. The delicate brush of his lips enveloping your fingers throws you off your axis, and the challenge in his eyes as they hold contact with your own has your thighs involuntarily squeezing themselves together.
For a moment, you swear you catch him glance down at your lips.
Then you remember the health insurance your job provides does not cover the cost of being institutionalised, so you stop hallucinating and come back to reality where Bucky Barnes is not so much a flirt as he is a pest, a stray animal abandoned at your doorstep by a friend who decided to take advantage of your good-natured heart.
âCan you give me the exact phrasing your date used to describe this shotgun-pool?â The soldier is gone in the blink of an eye, flat on his back again and continuing his attempt to seal the leak.
âWhy?â
âIâm making this list,â he says, and he must shift his hands higher above his head because suddenly the soft cotton of his white shirt has ridden up his torso, presenting your eyes with a golden platter of sun-warmed skin. âIâm calling it âthe manchild filesâ.â
âThatâs not even funny,â neither is the way he inches deeper into the cabinet, exposing not only the glaringly white tan-line delineating where the band of his boxers should be resting but also the beginning dark curls of a happy trail.Â
âWell âthe stupid filesâ sounds so simple, I was worried youâd try to jump into bed with it.â
âAre you seriously about to slut-shame me in my own fucking kitchen?â Whilst slutting yourself out on my floor like your name is Mike and youâre about to show me some magic? is the quiet part you donât say aloud.
âIâm critical but Iâm not hypocritical,â there he does again with that verbal eye-roll. âI wasnât exactly the image of celibacy when I was your age-â
âYay, more grandpa lore!â Your interruption earns you a nudge from his leg, but you know it made him laugh because his shoulders gently shake.
âIâm not slut-shaming you, Iâm taste-shaming. I swear, being useless must be the precursor to having a chance with you.â
âIt is not!â You gasp, yet youâre hardly surprised â Buckyâs not exactly subtle in his disapproval of the men you date.
If there is anything to be thankful for, itâs the alleviation that comes with Bucky shimmying out from the sink again, happy trail redressed and a hand diving into the pocket of his sweatpants. With a dramatic clearing of his throat, he brings his phone up to his face and starts reciting.
âAfter being told you have a nut allergy, Carter B. said Wait, like, youâre allergic to cum?â Youâd always known showing him how to use the notes app would come back to bite you in the ass somehow. âTommy L. walked into a lampost because he got distracted⊠watching a squirrel run up a tree. You almost got stood up by Steve K. because he accidentally locked himself inside his own car. Lee B. asked you-â
âBucky B. is about to lose his other arm if he doesnât shut up.â
âI rest my case,â and he still has the nerve to open his mouth, awaiting another bite of cake.
You cave with no fight and give it to him.
Because youâre a nice person, not because you want to feel his mouth on you again.
Something cool drips onto the bottom of your naked thighs after Bucky reaches over you and grabs at the glass of water, stealing an obnoxiously large gulp; or is it just exaggerated by your stare zeroing in on the way his Adamâs apple bobs as he drinks?
A thought pops into your mind.
âDid you leave these on the counter because you expected me to be hungover?â Your tone is inoffensive, and unoffended, a simple curiosity you need answered.
âYou have a headache, right?â
âUh-huh,â your eyes narrow skeptically.
âYeah, I figured you would,â Bucky takes another sip, more condensation trickling down onto your legs. âYou always have one after eating Thai food.â
Something inside of you stops.
Your heart, or your lungs, or your mind. Your goddamn liver, for all you know.
This is not supposed to be happening. Bucky is not supposed to fix things just because you mentioned it, once in passing and as a scapegoat from focusing too much on him. And he certainly isnât supposed to notice things, useless little factoids that not even you know about yourself until he brings them to light. Hell, heâs not even supposed to still be here, sleeping on your couch and criticising your love life.
When the thing inside of you clicks back into place and starts again, a new weight rests atop your conscience.
Maybe itâs not so bad having a roommate, having Bucky be that roommate. Maybe youâre starting to get used to coming home to the smell of baked vanilla and the signature grouchy look he wears as he asks you about your day, about how your co-worker pissed you off, about why youâre home later than usual and not wearing a jacket out in the cold of winter.
âBy the way,â heâs calling out from beneath the sink again. âYouâll be happy to know Iâm touring an apartment next week.â
âOh.â The bite you just took turns sour in your mouth. You struggle to swallow it down. âThatâs great. Finally! Youâre going, and Iâm staying here, and Iâll have my apartment back to myself. Thatâs⊠Great. Itâs great!â
No, really, itâs great.
âYouâre joking,â a palm on your lower back guides you to the right, just in time to avoid being trampled beneath a cart.
âI wish,â you say, and saunter over to some colourful packaging thatâs captured your eye.
After a moment of inspecting the product in hand from every angle, you put it back on the shelf.
âLet me get this straight,â Bucky pushes the cart along behind you, grabbing that same colourful packaging and dropping it in with the rest of the groceries. âYou lean through his window, kiss him goodbye on the cheek and then he just⊠What, crashed his car?â
âInto a wall with street art of a cliff painted on it,â as you add the most important detail, laughter is already bubbling up your throat. âHe literally crashed his car into a cliff without even getting to switch out of first gear!â
The pair of you make up quite the sight.
An entire morning of tiptoeing through the limbo of delirium, after an entire night spent trying to block out the relentless banging from the upstairs neighbours. The door to your bedroom crawled open some time past four and there was Bucky, head poking through the space and looking rather pleased to find you wide awake â despite his claims of just wanting to make sure you were asleep.
Seated on opposite ends of the couch, both of you found a quiet solace in the otherâs inability to sleep. While a movie marathon played over the TV, the sex marathon above continued. When exhaustion took claim of your body, you drifted off with your arms resting on the armchair and your head resting on your arms. You awoke atop a pillow and beneath a blanket, legs stretched out over the couch and Bucky curled up on the floor by your feet â like any good guard dog would be.
After a botched attempt to sneak past the soldier, only to have him scare the living daylights out of you by grabbing your ankle as you tried to step over him, you both came to the shocking realisation that the fridge was void of any food.
Which brings you to here: standing in aisle 7, laughing an ache into your ribs over yet another one of your failed dates, with a half-filled cart and matching bags forming under your tired eyes.
âI think itâs time we had an intervention about where youâre finding these men,â Bucky says that last word like it's covered in poison, burning his tongue on the way out.
âThey find me!â You say, as he reaches for the box of strawberries you just put down. âAs generous as I am, do you want to maybe slow down on how much shit you load into our cart?â
His hand freezes, the box of red fruit clasped in a confusingly delicate grip of vibranium fingers
âYou picked it up,â his tone is riddled with confusion. âDonât you want them?â
âContrary to popular belief, Iâm not made of money.â
âOkay?â He replies, like itâs the most irrelevant piece of information youâve ever given him â and you once spent an hour ranting to him about the inefficiency of the ink cartridges in your officeâs printer. âIâm paying, so do you want it or not?â
âSince when do you have money? Did your pension finally come through? I mean⊠You are old enough. Also, arenât you literally a vet?â
 âYou managed to say all that in one breath, yet you failed to answer a yes or no question.â
A bubble of silence surrounds you both. Bucky blinks, slowly, exaggeratedly. Itâs the perfect opportunity to stare at his face and notice the five o'clock shadow has grown. A gruff âexcuse meâ, followed by a man shoving between you both to grab some strawberries, pops the bubble.
Without a word, you snatch the box and place it in the cart.
Half-way up the fruit aisle, Bucky gets the genius idea to open his mouth again: âYou wanna know what my theory is?â
âNope,â you say, popping the p and glancing back at him over your shoulder. âBut youâre going to tell me anyway.â
He looks vexingly domestic like this, wearing a sweater and pushing your shopping around. Thoughts betray you, wandering off into dangerous territory as they begin to question how others perceive you from the outside.
What do strangers see: two roommates that quarrel like itâs a biological need, or a couple doing their weekly shop? Two strangers forced together by a circumstance named Sam Wilson, or two lovers unwilling to voice that the metal container between them is too much distance?
âI think you date idiots because theyâre idiots.â
âGee whiz, grandpa, thatâs so insightful. I sure do hope Iâm as wise as you when Iâm your age, but Iâll probably just be dead.â You feel the cart meet your back in a gentle bump, a non-verbal warning to cut the teasing.
âDating those incompetent men, itâs likeâŠâ he pauses, searching for the right words, and plucks a bunch of bananas from your hand, dropping them in with your mounting pile of fruit. âJumping out of a plane! You get the thrill of falling but, the moment something a little too real and solid appears on the horizon, you pull out the parachute and, thatâs it, youâre safe. No danger of falling flat on your face and getting your feelings hurt.â
âI donât know when you last jumped out of a plane-â
âRemember that Karli situation a few months ago?â
âBut not ejecting your parachute leads to a little more than just falling flat on your face.â
âSo my metaphor isn't perfect,â Bucky trails off, eyes staring past you and mind lost in thought. You follow his line of sight and find a couple at the end of the aisle, hands intertwined and smiling at each other like theyâre the only two people in the world. An unnamed emotion tugs at the soldierâs lips, but he wonât let it take over his stoic features. âBut you get my point. If you were actually looking for something serious, youâd date someone better than those men.â
Unprompted and unwarranted, his words spear your heart.
Memories replay in your head, a kaleidoscope of the featureless faces you let take you out, dine you, wine you, kiss you. A handful of immeasurables: how many times youâve brushed off mispronounced versions of your name, how many excuses youâve made for the way they talk to you, how many times youâve lowered your own standards to help a man feel desired. In your wake lies a graveyard of failed relationships, with no proper funeral nor mourning.
You swallow back the lump in your throat.
âOkay, psychoanalysing me aside, whatâs left on the list?â You ask, making your way round to Buckyâs side of the cart.
âWell, I still need to write down Jeff G.âs cliff accident.â
âThe other list.â You watch as he struggles to fish out the scrap of paper from his pocket.
âEggs, pasta, feta, toilet roll,â his brows are furled, his eyes are glaring, and with each item he lists off, his words grow more unsure. âGrapefruit? Your handwriting is shit.â
âI was in a rush!â
âAnd sitting on a jack-hammer?â
âGimme that,â you snatch the list, he yields it with no protest. As you scan over the scribbled ink, a frustrating truth comes to light. Buckyâs right, your handwriting is shit. âIs grapefruit even in season?â
âHuh,â itâs the sound of hollow amusement.
âWhat?â
âJustâŠâ His presence looms over you, infecting your senses with the woodsy smell of his cologne and the arduous heat that radiates off of him. When he nods his head to the right, scoffing out a laugh and poking his tongue into his cheek, you find yourself wrestling between temptations of slapping him or pulling him closer. âYou really donât notice whatâs right in front of you, do you?â
Lo and behold, on the right side of the aisle, grapefruits.
You make it through the rest of the shopping list in relative silence, with the occasional side-comment from the super soldier that either rouses a grin onto your lips or has your eyes rolling in faux disagreement. Little by little, you peruse the aisles and fill the cart; and, when Bucky picks out the only ice cream flavour void of nuts, you bite your tongue and choose to say nothing.
âI forgot to ask,â you finally speak, standing in the self-checkout zone and struggling to find something to do with your fidgety hands as Bucky scans each item â you insisted on helping and he insisted heâd get it done quicker alone. âHow did the apartment viewing go?â
âOh. Fine,â you grimace as he says your least favourite f word. âThe current lease isnât up yet, so youâre stuck with me a little longer.â
Are you supposed to feel this relieved?
In theory, you were never supposed to feel anything in regards to Bucky Barnes. In practice, itâs a lot more complicated, a pendulum that seems to swing in constant motion between red hot aggravation and red hot something else you refuse to give a name.
All you know is there are times where you wonder if his back is okay sleeping on the couch, and you contemplate asking him to come meet you during your lunch breaks, and you crave to have the anxious shake in your leg quelled by his daily check-in calls whenever he and Sam go off on another misadventure. Whatever reason lies behind your behaviour, the familiarity of ignorant bliss tempts you away from seeking the answer.
Besides, Bucky will be leaving soon. Heâll no longer be your roommate and youâll both fall out of whatever routine convenience has forced upon you both.
A series of beeps capture your attention.
At the epicentre of the noise stands an elderly woman, grey hair pristinely curled and an outfit that screams Sunday-bests, struggling with the check-out machine. With no employee in sight and no do-gooder fellow customer stepping out of their way to help, the womanâs distress grows with each beep the machine makes at her.
Knuckles brush down your arm, and thereâs Bucky at your side, waiting for you to pay him any mind.
âYou mind handling the rest?â He asks, in that softly-spoken tone of his that would make anyone feel like swooning. Maybe thatâs why it takes you a few moments to notice the wallet heâs holding out to you. âCash is in the back pocket. Iâll be a few minutes, okay? Just finish bagging everything, leave the carrying to me.â
Thereâs no time to get a single word out before youâre staring at the back of his head and watching as he makes his way over to the elderly woman.
For every item you scan, you sneak a glance. The butter beeps onto the screen, and you peek how Bucky has effortlessly become the womanâs personal helper. You pass the strawberries through and reward yourself with the sight of Buckyâs cheeky grin â with the way the elderly lady laughs and swats at his arm, you can only assume heâs made some flirtatious comment. Clicking on the option to pay cash, you nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn to watch them again, Buckyâs just about finishing bagging her groceries while the woman opens her shopping-trolley bag.
Waiting on the receipt to print, your reflection stares back at you on the self-checkout screen: a hue of endearment glowing off your features. The smile quickly melts off your face when you realise that he⊠Oh no.
Bucky is charming.
Part of you has always known he was handsome â youâre stubborn, not blind â yet the sight of him now, all dashing smiles and twinkling eyes playing rescuer to a woman who, despite the difference in their physical ageing, is closer to his own age than you, it troubles you. The acid burn in your throat is not a manifestation of jealousy, no; itâs the queasy feeling of knowing youâve never looked across at a date, caught him in a moment of content, and felt the unyielding desire to be the reason behind it.
Someone clears their throat beside you, a man with a wrinkle in his forehead and an agitated look upon his face, so you quickly excuse yourself and, with plastic handles digging into your fingers, you approach Bucky and the elderly lady.
Upon noticing you, Buckyâs quick to tug the bags out your grip, a scolding already falling off his tongue: âI told you to leave these to me.â
âYeah, well, Mr. Frowny-Magoo over there didnât appreciate me hogging up the cashier,â the comment is meant as nothing more than a lighthearted joke, yet you swear you see something shift in the soldierâs stance, his shoulders tensing and his jaw clenching as he glances back at the stranger.
Fortunately, the elderly woman interrupts whatever heâs contemplating doing to him.
âĐĐœĐ° ŃĐČĐŸŃ Đ¶Đ”ĐœĐ°?(Is she your wife?)â Sheâs looking between you both expectantly, speaking words you donât understand. âĐŁ ĐœĐ”Đ” лОŃĐŸ Đ°ĐœĐłĐ”Đ»Đ°. (She has the face of an angel.)â
Whatever she says, it clearly has an effect on Bucky. His head turns to the side, to you, and a visible softness overcomes his gaze as it traces over your face. His shoulders are relaxing, his jaw is unclenching, and heâs switching the bags over to his metal hand, renewing his grip and freeing up the hand that now hangs right by yours, knuckles gracing over your own in a way that feels like a dare, a challenge, a temptation to lace your fingers together.
You clench your fist shut.
âĐŻ Đ·ĐœĐ°Ń. (I know.)â He says, eyes lingering on you a few moments longer than necessary, before heâs back to smiling at the elderly woman.
Halfway home and doubling your pace to keep up with his effortless stroll, curiosity finally gets the better of you.
âWhat did she say back there, that lady you helped?â
A stranger rushes past you both, phone glued to their ear and stressing down the speaker. Bucky takes grip of your arm and tugs you closer to him.
âDo you spend your time getting bumped into when Iâm not around?â His fingers give your arm a squeeze before releasing you. âAnd, if you must know, she said I was the most handsome man sheâs ever seen.â
Little force is put behind the shove you give his shoulder.
Youâre too busy agonising over how much you agree with her.
Bucky leaves.
Not forever, but three weeks away on some stealth mission with Sam sure begins to feel like it.
It happens on a Friday. After the week from hell at work, a friendâs mid-week engagement party, and the unexpected downpour of rain during the journey home, you walk into an unlit apartment and a note stuck to the fridge.
Sam needs me. Be safe, donât bring strangers home. B.Â
The batch of freshly baked cinnamon rolls sweeten your night up, at least.
Thereâs a quiet that always seems to blanket the house whenever you lose Bucky to missions.
Before he was dumped on your front door, youâd been used to living alone and the peaceful silence that came with it. Independence, the ability to need no one and want nothing, a trait of yours that once brought pride, now brings you nothing but the static sound of a muted television and the hum of the microwave spinning a meal fit for one.
Mornings become a ritual of waking later yet leaving earlier, no one is there to distract you from drinking your coffee. Though the workload is the same, somehow the slow drag of hours still finds a way to pass quicker than ever, the revolving doors of the office building spit you back out onto the streets of New York before youâre fully ready. Your evenings waste away, starved of noise and company, while you run out of shows to watch and books to read, and count the hours down until all that silence becomes necessary for your eyes to close and your mind to rest.
Itâs when darkness rules over the sky and the hour is a single digit that the phone finally rings. A blocked number, untraceable, pulling you out the hands of sleep and filling your room with the noise of your ringtone. He never speaks first, not until thereâs an echo down the line of your own sleep stained âhello?â.
âYou can go back to sleep now.â
You never stay on the line long enough to find out how quickly he hangs up after he speaks. Because itâs only ever meant to be a way to let you know heâs safe, alive, somewhere out there doing who-knows-what and stopping who-knows-who. Itâs just an unrequested favour heâs granted you, after the incident in which both he and Sam fell-off the grid for five days and you were nearly rounding up a search party. Heâs not missed a call since, once a day while heâs away.
So, when he doesnât call, itâs only natural that you worry.
The alarm bell rings when you wake up to birds chirping, sun spilling through the crack between the curtains, and not a single missed call nor voicemail awaiting you.
Itâs Saturday and thereâs no work to occupy your mind, so you force down a bagel, toss a tote bag onto your shoulder, and head out to the local market. But thereâs no joy in perusing fruit stands without a six foot soldier trailing your heels and muttering to himself about how exotic fruit has gotten, and how âback in my day you had your apples, your oranges, and your pears.â
You wind up home by noon, and the dwelling begins to grow, still no call.
Thereâs a weight on your chest, and a balloon of anxiety that grows in your throat, and an unwarranted agitation burning at your skin as you read over his note again, still very much stuck to the fridge and taunting you â Be safe, says a man who clearly canât take his own advice.Â
Then, why should you?
You agree to go on a date, one youâve been dancing around agreeing to for a few weeks yet reach for it the moment you decide youâre not pleased with the way Buckyâs lack of a call is ruining your well-earned free time.
And, hey, the guyâs not a complete loser this time. On paper, at least. Heâs handsome, tall, and an athlete â ex-athlete, really, but you donât bother to point that out while he talks about the gymnastic studio he runs. Most importantly, heâs eager to call a cab and get you home, screw Buckyâs warning. If you want to bring a stranger into your home, youâll do it.Â
Brooding, uncalling soldier be damned!
After stumbling through the dark of your apartment into your bedroom, and fumbling with your bra long enough for you to grow tired and just take it off yourself, you and Mister Gymnast tumble into the sheets for a performance so lacklustre, it warrants taking all his medals away. At least your date seems to enjoy himself, spilling onto your stomach and falling asleep the minute his head hits the pillows.
âI finished,â last you checked, he hadn't even started.
You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and try to will the phone to ring. Encased by a strangerâs snoring and a guilty feeling, you let Lady Sleep whisk you away. When your eyes open next, morning has broken and youâre alone in bed with a remnant trace of warmth on the sheets. But the silence is finally gone.
Beyond your door you hear the faint thud of footsteps, the ding of the fridge being opened, the whistle of the kettle. You almost trip in your rush to get dressed, and nearly rip the hinges off the door as you tear it open. Then the smile falls from your face.
âYouâre up!â Everyoneâs favourite gymnast is there to greet you, a mug in hand as he goes to pull you in for a kiss. The way you swerve is automatic, unplanned, leaving his lips to land on your cheek. âUhh, I was hoping youâd sleep a little longer, I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed but-â
âHe couldnât figure out how to boil the kettle.â
And thereâs Bucky, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. Aside from the butterfly stitches above his left brow, he looks unharmed. Fine, even. Dressed in all black, with a t-shirt thatâs hugging his frame a little too tightly for your liking, the double-combo of his dog-tags and vibranium arm on display. Perfectly safe for a man who couldnât call.
Your date laughs and sheepishly scratches the back of his head before you get the chance to speak.
âYour brother was kind enough to help me.â Itâs unclear who laughs first: Bucky or you. âWhatâs so funny?â
âOh, nothing, nothing, justâŠâ Bucky says, shaking the laughter away with a nod of his head. âIn what world do me and her look related?â
âWait, if youâre not her brother then, are you-â Fifty shades of horror spill over the gymnastâs face, his head darting between looking over at Bucky and back at you. âHoly shit, is he your boyfriend?â
âHusband, actually,â the soldierâs all too quick-witted, pushing off the counter and reaching for a mug of brewing coffee. âBut donât worry, weâre open. What do you think of our kitchen lights, by the way? My wife here likes them dim.â
Dumb as he is, your date tilts his head up to inspect the light fixtures.
âOh, theyâre nice!â
That does it for you.
âBucky, shut up!â You snap, finger pointed over at the menace whoâs biting back a smirk and stirring away at his mug, face as innocent as sin. Is this some twisted version of revenge, a punishment for bringing a stranger home? Youâd prefer the punishment to be a little more⊠hands on. Preferably in the form of your slapping that twinkle out of his eyes. âHe is not my boyfriend, or my husband. He is the bum that lives on my couch.â
âYou see how she treats me, Vince?â
âItâs Lance,â the gymna- Lance corrects him.
Moving towards the kitchen, your eyes check over your roommate once more, as though they expect some previously unseen injury to make an appearance on his skin. Come the end of your search, youâre left looking into a face that is sporting a split brow and a cruel level of entertainment from the situation at hand.
Thereâs a relief to having him back, and itâs wrestling with the exasperating emotions a single missed call conjured up.
âWhat are you doing here, anyway? Arenât you and Sam still meant to be⊠I donât know, on a homoerotic getaway, fighting crime?â The questions fire out of you as you slip into one of the islandâs stools.
âWe finished early,â Bucky appears by your side as though from thin air, hand clasping the back of your seat and pushing you in closer to the counter top.
âAww, donât worry, big boy, it happens to the best of you,â you tease, an empathetic pat against his shoulder.
The mockery backfires when you notice his brows shoot up and his stare shifts towards your date, whoâs too busy trying to open the sugar jar to notice the dig at his own sexual inabilities.
Wait, when exactly did Bucky get home?
âHow do you take your coffee?â One-Thrust-Lance asks you over his shoulder.
Before you can answer, a cup is nudged into your grasp and Bucky looks over you with triumph, metal fingers reaching out to drag over a plate of freshly-baked cookies. The smell of warm vanilla pairs well with the soft musk of his cologne, your eyes nearly roll back inhaling it.
âMmm,â one sip of your coffee is all you need to know itâs perfect, made exactly to your taste. âCoffee and baked goods⊠I knew I kept you around for a reason.â
In lieu of any verbal response, the soldier takes to dunking one of the cookies into your mug before stealing a bite out of it. You watch as he chews on the sweet treat, head nodding in approval at his own skills. After he dips a second time, you expect him to take another bite, only to find him offering the chocolate chip goodness up to your mouth. Two eyes, blue as any winter, stare encouragingly while you sink your teeth into the cookie.
Heaven couldnât taste any sweeter, you think, as the perfect blend of coffee stained dough and the sharpness of the dark chips flood your tastebuds.Â
âSo messy,â Bucky tuts quietly, his right hand grabbing a steady hold of your chin while his thumb swipes away the crumbs dusting the corner of your mouth.
That thing inside of you stops again as you watch him bring his hand up to his own mouth, a pink tongue poking out to lick his thumb clean.
Arousal thrums through your blood, a pulsing rhythm that spreads straight to your clit. A squeeze of your thighs brings momentary reprieve, yet the ache fights back with renewed force, drying up your throat and knocking the sense right out of you.
Squirming where you sit, your legs switch position until one foot finds itself tucked beneath the opposite thigh, the heel of it sitting perfectly against your clothed core. You find no mercy, no chance to roll your hips forward in search of the balm only friction will bring to your burning skin. Instead thereâs simply Bucky, eyes trailing down the length of you and settling on your short-clad legs. As though his behaviour is not cruel enough, he wets his bottom lip with his tongue
âYou like that?â More than youâll ever know, you almost scream until the logical side of your brain takes the wheel again and you notice him pointing down at the half-eaten cookie. Of course heâs enquiring about his baking skills, what else would this scrambled-egg-for-brains senior citizen be talking about? âAre you gonna make me wait all day for an answer?â
Something smashes behind Bucky, just in time to startle away the racy thoughts from your mind.
âMy bad!â Your date â who you damn near forgot was even here â is apologising, bending at the waist and trying his best to collect the fractured pieces of a mug off the floor. âWhere do you guys keep your dustpan?âÂ
Bucky pushes away from the island counter, taking the smell of his cologne with him; if you werenât fully back to your rational senses, youâd miss it.
âIâll get it, Vince, you just stand there and look pretty.â
âOkay!â Lance, it seems, is just as eager to please the ex-assassin as you almost were a moment ago.
You decide you need to move, to stand up, to stretch your legs. This has nothing to do with the lingering effect of Buckyâs antics, nor the damp patch gathering against your panties.
Slipping off the kitchen stool, you work on chugging down gulps of coffee with every intention of dumping the empty mug into the sink, dashing to your bedroom, and conjuring up the best plan you can come up with to get not only yourself, but also the trash you brought in with you last night out of the apartment and away from an infuriating roommate.
Something on the floor derails you, however, dragging you away from the path to sanctuary. The tiniest red petal, lonesome and neglected upon the cold tile. Three steps over, and thereâs another petal. One step until the next petal. You follow the breadcrumb trail all the way over to the garbage can where, with one gentle push of a button, the lid opens up to reveal the unexpected, thrown away like a dirty secret.
A crumpled bouquet of roses.
Everywhere you turn, thereâs tension.
In your neck, from sleeping at an unfavourable angle. Within your stomach, where a queasy feeling keeps threatening to spew your guts out onto the bathroom floor. Between you and Bucky, a foreign energy thatâs grown over the course of this last week, during which youâve been avoiding eye contact and his stare is full of accusation.
Retracing your steps, they take you back to the moment Lance left the apartment and you found yourself drowning in Buckyâs company for the first time in weeks. He was barely half-way through poking fun at the choices you made in his absence â most of his focus being on the blubbering fool you brought into your bed â when your patience ran thin and snapped.
Now here you are, bearing the consequence of your own short temper, wiping lipstick off your teeth whilst mentally preparing yourself to go on a second date, planned sheerly out of spite and the need to prove a point.
Poor Lance is none the wiser to his role as pawn in your game of âScrew You, Barnes!â.
âEverything okay in there?â Think of the devil and he shall knock on the bathroom door, apparently. âThought you had your big date at seven.â
The gymnastâs text thread stares back at you, a wall of grey bubbles. You have to swallow down the lump in your throat to speak, âHeâs not answering my calls.â
âYouâve been stood up? By that loser?â Thereâs every chance your storm of emotions is impeding you from thinking straight, but you swear you almost hear a hint of disbelief in Buckyâs voice. Disgust, even.
Thereâs no point dwelling on the thought.
After a quick wash of your hands, you pry the door open and watch as the soldier leaning against it nearly topples forward before catching himself against the frame. Heâs entirely too close for comfort, close enough for you to notice the different shades of blue in his eyes.
âMaybe he broke his phone?â The lack of assurance in your voice has you cringing, the fear of being called out suddenly doubling.
Bucky scoffs, arms crossing over his chest.
âMore likely he forgot to charge it.â
Is that what happened to him? Is that why he left you to dwell in the dark over his whereabouts and wellbeing, rendering the usual distraction of a night-time companion useless? Only for you to find him the following morning, right as rain and as annoying as ever, standing in the kitchen and casting judgement-filled glances at your overnight guest?
Thinking about it, about him, brings on an onslaught of anger youâre not willing to address. Not right now.
âShut up!â It comes across as less independent girlboss and more petulant child, but youâre too busy noticing how firm his chest feels under your palms as you push past him out of the bathroom to care.
Prying open the freezer, you hear the soft click of the toilet door closing. Good, you think, heâs gone away. Out of sight, out of mind. Even if it is only for the short time it takes him to do his business.
That time ends up being even shorter than expected, for only minutes after youâve dug your spoon into the creamy, frozen goodness of vanilla fudge, the object of both your fascination and your torture is making his way towards the kitchen.
âDidnât I tell you to stop eating my ice cream?â
âDidnât I tell you to move out?â Mouth full of vanilla, you shoot him a toothy grin and relish in the grimace it earns you.
Satisfaction melts away when Bucky invades your personal space, metal arm reaching over head and pulling open a cupboard.
âDonât do that,â you swat at the vibranium bicep, a futile fight that simply makes you all too aware of how smooth it feels beneath your fingertips.
âDo what?â Brain of a caveman, Bucky continues his rustling through the cabinet behind you, features as stoic as a rock as though heâs none the wiser to how your chests brush against one another with each exhale.
âThat,â another swat at his arm, though this time he yields. The space between you doesnât grow, however. It worsens, his attention fully falling onto you now. âReaching over me like you canât just ask me to move.â
âFine, if it really bothers you that much,â are the last words you hear before youâre airborne, two hands squeezing at your hips and moving you two steps over and out of the way.
The soldier doesnât struggle, not even for a moment, the serum thatâs altered his DNA leaving him primed and ready to manoeuvre the most steadfast of objects. Manhandle them, too. Pick them up, turn them over, pin them down, make them scream⊠Objects, of course, or those big, bad guys he and Sam are always chasing after.
The anger in you is renewed, burning brighter than a star ready to die. You shove his hands off of you and secure another step of distance between you.
âWell arenât you a ray of sunshine today.â With the rate heâs going at, one would think the soldier makes a living out of deepening the frown on your face. âIs this princessâ first time being stood up?â
Youâd slap him, right here and now, if it didnât mean moving closer and touching his skin; the current top two of your âThings To Not Doâ list.
Luckily, the tub of ice cream sits just within reach and your eager fingers take grip of it, sliding it over the counter towards yourself. A mouthful of coolness precedes the burning question on your tongue, âWhy didnât you call?â
âAre you serious?â Now heâs the one scowling and taking a step closer.
âDeadly,â you dig the spoon back into the carton. âNow answer the question.â
âYouâre pissy with me for not calling, meanwhile Iâm the one who came home to some asshole in your bed?â
Heâs moving closer. You try to step backwards.
âYeah, well, if youâd called like you were supposed to, I wouldnât have ended up with said asshole.â
Buckyâs eyes narrow, âOh, so now itâs my fault that you date degenerates?â
The cackle that escapes you could break the soundbarrier.
âWow! Everybody, give it up for another original dig at my love-life from James Buchanan Barnes!â Voice dripping with seven layers of venomous sarcasm, you give three slow claps of your hands. The cynical smile that overcomes your face feels borderline deranged, something plucked right out of a horror movie. âOkay, yeah, I date losers! Happy? Jesus Christ, Bucky, what do you expect me to do? Itâs not exactly like thereâs anyone else lining up to date me.â
âI am!â His voice is raised, his eyes are wide, his chest is heaving. âMaybe Iâm the biggest idiot, rushing home last week to surprise you. Even brought you flowers. I just⊠Fuck!â
You donât move, donât blink, donât breathe.
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, knuckles going white as he pulls on the tresses.
There it is again in his eyes, the accusation.
Even though heâs shaking his head, he steps closer.
The kitchen counter is right behind you, thereâs nowhere for you to run.
The heels on your feet almost give out beneath you, you try to steady yourself with your hands.
Bucky has other plans and grips both your forearms.
âI am,â he repeats, softer. Slower. The icy exterior of accusation melts away to reveal vulnerability.
A hand meets your cheek and holds you like you are glass, breakable beneath his touch. Your heartâs in your throat, and thereâs a current of electricity running down to your toes, and that neglected hunger in your loins creeps in again. His eyes search your face, while his thumb gently swipes over your bottom lip, prying it out an involuntary capture from your teeth.
Itâs unclear who reaches for who first, whether he dips and takes possession of your mouth, or you grab him by the collar of his shirt and lay your claim over him. In a matter of seconds, a tentative press of lips against lips divulges into loss of breath, tongues in mouths, and fevered kisses.
The soldier kisses with starvation, like he has walked through the desert of loneliness and at last stumbled upon an oasis, like a bee seeking every last drop of nectar from a flower dying off with the spring, like a body clings to sleep in the throes of exhaustion. Itâs a necessity, a human need, a matter of survival to keep your lips interlocked.
The hand on your face holds you steady as he tilts himself deeper into the kiss. Noses brush against the swells of cheeks, eyelids rest close, feet shuffle closer in search of eradicating the crevice of distance between you two. Metal fingers curl around the nape of your neck, a gesture you reciprocate while your spare hand lays flat-palmed against his beating chest. One of his legs winds up between yours and, as he shifts weight from one foot to another, thereâs the faintest relief of friction against your cunt and a whine gets caught between your throat and Buckyâs eager mouth.
Despite how you chase his lips, he pulls back and grants you the sight of pure endearment.
âLook at you, whining already. Whereâs all that fire gone?â Itâs practically a whisper, spoken with fascination. âOr were you just needing Old Bucky to touch you, huh?â
Second-hand embarrassment burns the tips of your ears, while your own unspoken agreement to his question has your stomach twisting up. Survival instincts, that have never been much of a friend, scream at you to flee this feeling, to throw away Pandoraâs box before you risk fully opening it and having it consume you.
Bucky intercepts your attempt to push out of his arms.
âAh, ah, get back here. Not done kissing you,â his words divulge into a barely coherent mumble as he reconnects your lips.
Beneath the heat of his kiss, the discomfort in your chest turns to ashes. Because, while instinct tells you to run from danger, this is Bucky.
Bucky who fixes cupboard hinges, and sleeps with both eyes on the door. Bucky who carries all the shopping, and holds every door. Bucky who calls to hear your voice while heâs away endangering his life, and brings home the silliest trinkets he finds on missions. Bucky who wakes you when you miss your alarm, and knows if youâve had a bad day simply from looking at your face.
How could you possibly be in danger when it comes to him?
While youâre overcome with epiphany, heâs taken to tracing his lips over the slope of your jaw and mouthing at the skin of your neck. Itâs when he lifts you up onto the kitchen counter that your wandering mind is reeled back in, to the physical present where your legs rest on either side of the soldier and the prized possession of vanilla fudge once again sits within reaching distance.
âAre you stealing my ice cream right now?â His lips tickle your collarbone as he speaks, barely a moment after youâve scooped the spoon into your mouth.
âIâm warm, and it's melting,â his head pops up just in time to accept the spoonful of vanilla you deliver. Thereâs a glow in his eyes, one that has you questioning if it's been there all along or if it's a consequence of touching your skin. âDonât want it to go to waste.â
His mouth is on yours again, a rush of three chaste kisses seared against you before he replies, âThen letâs cool you down.â
At a teasingly slow pace, you feel his fingers tug down your dressâ straps, leaving the silky fabric to slip down your frame and pool around your hips. Under the golden hue of the kitchen lights, his gaze studies your bare skin like it's a work of art, an eighth wonder of the world, the greatest poem never written woven into it. Yet it still manages to pale against the face that overcomes him as he removes a final layer of lace.
Unlike Vince, he has no trouble removing your bra.
âSo responsive,â he talks as though only his ears are meant to hear it, his vibranium palm gently taking hold of your left breast and rolling the hardening nipple between two fingers.Â
Heâs studying your reaction, bewildered by the goosebumps spreading over your flesh.
When was the last time he truly touched another person? Weeks, months, years, decades? The thought of his hands on a faceless shape makes you sick. First with envy, and then with hypocrisy, an amalgamation of all the men youâve taken to bed flashing before your eyes. But none of them ever touched you like you were porcelain, and none of them looked at you like you held the key to eternal pleasure. None of them were Bucky.
A chill runs down your spine and a gasp rips out your chest as Bucky swipes the spoon over your skin, leaving a trail of ice cream atop your right breast for his tongue to follow. He plants a garden of kisses along the swell of your chest before pulling away to give the left side equal treatment, another creamy river along your skin for him to clean up.
Moving at their own volition, your hips grind gently against his steady figure as Bucky coats your nipple in vanilla, moaning into your chest as he lays claim over you with his mouth. Spoiling you in his kisses, the soldier begins to yearn for friction, meeting the careful roll of your hips with his own.
Your hand finds his hair and his stare meets yours, intense and all-consuming as he releases your nipple with a scrape of his teeth. You want to soothe his kiss-swollen lips but theyâre already wrapping themselves around your other breast, not even patient enough to lather you in the vanilla goodness this time.
Instead, the coldness on your skin stems from metal fingers, perched on your thigh and creeping up the length of it, inch by tormenting inch. A hesitant hand wraps around a vibranium wrist, tightening its grip before you begin guiding his touch inwards, upwards, to where you need it most. Bucky's stronger, more resistant, and holds off your interceptance, left hand continuing its intended path beneath the skirt of your dress and grabbing hold of your naked waist.
Heâs everywhere, all over you. Mouthing at your chest, gripping at your hip, rutting into your pussy. The sweet drag of his bulge over your clothed core sires a wet patch against your thong and has your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, winning you the hair-raising hum of a groan against your breast.
Desperate to feel more, you renew your efforts to lead his hand to the space between your legs and are met with a shake of his head.
âNo,â he mutters, and robs you of a hand beneath your dress, using it instead to cradle your jaw while his lips skim over the shell of your ear. âWanna feel you.â
The warmth of flesh brands your thigh, Buckyâs right arm now leading the charge beneath the silky fabric. With bated breath, you brace yourself against his strong chest and try not to squirm in anticipation of his touch. With one final squeeze at your inner thigh, the soldierâs hand engulfs your clothed cunt and his breath cracks in your ear, a strangled out, feral noise that has your toes curling.
âSheâs so wet, darling,â his voice has you delirious, breathy against your ear. His fingers flex against your pussy and a moan catches in your throat. âYou gonna let me touch her?â
Something about the way heâs speaking to you, the words heâs choosing, makes you want to fall apart. Your sex-life has always been liberal, you know what it is to have a manâs hands all over you, trying to take ownership of parts of you he thinks belong to him. Men who take, and take, and take, until there is nothing left of you to give, and not once do they care to win your favour, to plead for permission. But BuckyâŠ
âPlease, say I can touch her, wanna give her what she needs,â heâs pleading for it, begging for you â wrecked and desperate, breath run ragged from no more than the relief of rolling his groin against your thigh. âPromise Iâll be real sweat, make you feel good.â
Too caught up in his own head, he doesnât notice you nodding, until youâre granting him salvation verbally, âTouch me, Bucky.â
He doesnât hesitate, doesnât waste time on taking off your underwear, just moves it to the side and drags the tip of his fingers down the inseam of your pussy. You hear it, more than you feel it, the moment he touches your opening, a sharp inhale at your ear telling you heâs exactly where he wants to be.
As his middle finger slips in, itâs hard to tell which of you reacts louder, both a mess of guttural moans. Once it's fully sheathed within you, he curls it and presses against your soaked walls, grinning against your skin at the reaction it coaxes out of you.
âDonât hold back,â he chastises you as you bite back another pathetic whimper, a second finger slipping into you. âLet me hear what Iâm doing to you.â
He must have a magic touch, youâre sure of it. Thick fingers that fuck into you at a steady pace, curling and teasing at that world-bending spot inside you, while his thumb makes itself useful against your clit, a firm force for your bucking hips to grind up into while you chase the pleasure heâs unleashing on you. In a matter of minutes, the room is alive with your melodic moans, Buckyâs endless hums of approval, and the damn-right embarrassingly loud squelch of him fingering your drooling cunt.
You make the mistake of letting your eyes slip shut, relinquishing yourself to the way he touches you with the rough hands of a soldier yet the delicate stroke of a musician playing his favourite instrument. He must feel the shift in you, for heâs instantly prying his face away from your neck and tightening the metal grip on your jaw, fingertips digging into squished cheeks.
âLook at me,â his words are both a command and a plea. An order you follow and a prayer you answer, eyelashes fluttering open to find his face in front of your own. His lips are a hard line, his brows furrowed in disapproval, and thereâs a vein threatening to split down the middle of his forehead, but his eyes. His eyes are affection incarnate, two pools of lust and worship that pose no threat of drowning. âDo you want to cum?â
Never has a more needless question been asked.Â
You nod into the force of his vibranium hand, but thatâs not what he wants, frown deepening.
âSay it,â needy, helpless, spoken like heâs the one on the brink of ecstasy. âPlease.â
âBucky,â it feels good to say his name like this, brain melting into mush and heart racing in your chest. âI want you to let me cum.â
âLet you?â Heâs offended by the word, fingers burying impossibly deeper inside of you while he continues to stare you down. âI beg of you.â
No warning precedes the coil in you snapping. The muscles in your core tense, your back arches into his broad figure, your pussy squeezes at Buckyâs fingers with a death grip. He guides you through it, ignoring the cramp in his wrist in favour of continuing to fuck his hand into you, a smile finally cracking over his face as he watches you fall apart atop the counter, nothing but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky surrounding you.
He tries to give you reprieve, a moment to breathe and savour the buzz in your veins, the hand around your jaw shifting to stroke at your cheek while the hand between your legs soothes you with featherlight touches.
You donât let him, hand pawing down his torso and gripping at the belt of his jeans, delighting in the familiar clang of a buckle being undone, nimble digits that tear leather out its loop and tug down his zipper. Buckyâs bringing his lips back against yours just as you palm at his bulge, his tongue licking into your mouth when you finally release him from the confines of his boxers.
Fingers coated in your own slick grip at your thigh while the soldier makes it his mission to steal your breath, rendering you blind to the sight of his cock. But you can feel it. The weight of it in your hand, the burn of want ingrained in his skin. The width of it, and the length of it, and the perfectly mushroomed tip that has him keening into your touch as your pointer finger drags over the head.
âIs this what I do to you?â Still lost in the maze of your orgasm, you manage to gain back crumbs of your usual confidence watching Bucky fall mute. When he merely nods, you play him at his own game, fingers back in his hair and forcing him to look you in the eye. âSay it.â
He doesnât.
He says something much better.
âDâyou even realise how many nights Iâve laid on that fucking couch, hard as a rock and willing you to come out your room?â
âThatâs your generation's problem, you know?â You whisper teasingly, incapable of fighting off your own laughter. âYou swear more than you breathe.â
âCâmere,â heâs rolling his eyes and pulling you in, kissing you like itâs been a milenia and not a minute, hand nudging yours out the way to take a hold of himself.
Your teeth graze over his tongue as he drags the head of his cock through your folds, and he groans into your mouth before pulling back. Resting his forehead against yours, heâs teasing you both as his tip brushes over your hole before continuing its rutt up, bumping against your sensitive clit.
A wicked voice takes control of your mouth.
âLance would have fucked me by now.â
âVince would have cum by now, too,â heâs still rocking his hips, no sense of urgency behind the way he soaks himself in you.
Meanwhile, youâre a handful of seconds away from screaming at him to just stick it in already.
âYou- Oh!â Prayers answered, hallelujah, his cock finally sinks into you. Itâs a shallow thrust, barely more than the tip before heâs retreating, yet it's enough to mess with your head. âYou heard us?â
âUnfortunately,â and he means it, the most subtle of pouts forming on his lips before he feeds himself a little deeper into your pussy. âIâm not great when it comes to timing.â
âI only slept with Lance because you-â Right on cue, he fucks into you even deeper and your words dissappear before they can reach your tongue.
âNew rule,â a hand rests on your knee and encourages you to spread your legs wider. âNo speaking another manâs name when youâre in bed with me.â
âTechnically, this is the kitchen counter-â The bastard does it again, cuts you off with his dick â if it didnât feel so damn good, youâd slap him.
Heâs bottomed out at last, buried himself fully in your cunt. Hands snake around your waist, one palm flattening against your lower back while the other rests a little further up and guides your spine to arch into him, closer, like thereâs anymore space left between you to devour.
His pace is still slow, teasing. A toe-curling drag of his cock out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein before his hips promptly snap back into you and send your eyes rolling back, your head falling back â and smacking loudly against the cupboard door behind you.
Bucky freezes, one hand quick to cradle the back of your skull while his eyes scan over you.
âJesus, doll, you okay?âÂ
âPlease donât stop,â you plead, ridiculously unfazed by the faint ache when youâve got him inside of you.
Even though he rolls his eyes, he complies.
âMight have just given you a concussion and all you care about is getting fucked?â He asks, like you could possibly care about anything else when his arms are hooking themselves under your knees and rucking you up off the counter, away from any rogue cupboard that means you harm.
If anything, youâll gladly shoulder the burden of any possible injury, if it means being granted the sight of his biceps tensing as he effortlessly stands there and fucks you down onto him. Were you in any sane state of mind, you wouldnât think it, but god bless that super soldier serum.
âYou can give me a cockcussion for all I care,â head perched on his shoulder, you watch your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt and wish it would disappear and gift you the naked view of his back.
âAdding that to the list,â he whispers against your forehead, pressing a kiss against it.
Legs bent at the knee, you watch how, with one particularly deep thrust, they bounce at either side of him and one of your heels clatters to the floor.
The room pivots as Bucky turns, you still in his arms and your ankles locked behind his back. At first, you believe heâs aiming to move things into the bedroom, where the only thing your head will be hitting is the mattress when he lays you down. He proves you wrong, however, the cold press of marble against you once more as he settles you down onto the kitchen island.
Much to your chagrin, he slips out of you, cock now sitting pretty against his clothed abdomen and glistening with the sheen of your essence. In the blink of an eye, the soldier is sinking to his knees, metal finger reaching back for your fallen shoe.
The scene plays out like something stripped right out of a morally dubious, low quality pornography retelling of Cinderella, in which Prince Charming has his dick out, Cinderellaâs gown is half-way off, and the infamous glass slipper is just a pair of heels you bought on sale.
Bucky is delicate and slow, mouth tickling at your inner knee as he secures the shoe in place. He rests back on his haunches and fully takes in the sight of you, perched upon the counter, hands splayed out on marble, a tangle of silk around your waist, lips parted in search of steady breathing.
Thereâs an intensity to his gaze, burrowing itself beneath your skin and becoming part of your bloodstream, spreading throughout your body. It makes you want to hide, flee like you do best, but Bucky has other plans.
âThe shoes stay on, but this,â Buckyâs fingertips tug lightly on the hem of your dress, exposing a sliver of new skin. âI need this gone. Am I allowed to take it off?â
There he goes again, face the model of innocence while he asks for permission to your body. If you werenât already dripping against your panties, you would be now. Luckily, he doesnât push you to verbalise your agreement this time, more than eager to comply the moment you nod your head.
You wiggle your hips as he pulls the fabric out from beneath you, his grip snagging on the waistband of your thong and dragging it away alongside the dress. When your ass cheeks press back down onto the cool of the counter, reality hits you like a freight-train: youâre completely nude, with Bucky on his knees before you, in the middle of the kitchen.
âBuck,â the y of his nickname disappears as you feel him peppering kisses of your leg, inching that little bit higher each press of his mouth. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to remember where your rational thoughts are stored, conjuring up images of friends, of Sam sitting at this very surface. âI donât think we should⊠I mean, people eat off this counter!â
âDonât worry,â reaching the threshold of your thigh, his kisses seem to speed up, that sauve and composed exterior chipping away to reveal a man who no longer wants to take his time with you. âI intend to eat.â
No sooner than the words reach your ears, Bucky swipes his tongue up your pussy and any fight left in you melts away as you turn to putty beneath his touch, soft and malleable, willing to sit there and take whatever he wants to give.
Give, he most certainly does. Lips latch onto your clit, hands hold your squirming hips in place, tongue dances over your most delicate areas before dipping into your entrance. He drinks from you like youâre the sweetest honey, the richest of red wines, the Holy Grail promising an eternal youth to a man whose time was stolen from him.
âYou should see her, doll,â thereâs a rasp in Buckyâs voice, a feral undertone to the growl that rests in the back of his throat. One hand tugs his shirt off while the other snakes between your legs, two fingers spreading your lips open in an obscene gesture that has you clamping down on your bottom lip. âSheâs drooling for me, all pretty and wet.â
Dropping both your legs over his shoulders, he tugs you right to the edge of the counter and dives back in. You feel his nose bump against your clit and your hand grabs onto your thigh, nails piercing into flesh as your mouth sings a whined symphony.
Vibranium curls around your wrist, prying harm away from your own skin and silently imploring you to hurt him instead, nestling your fingers back into his hair. Heâs renewing his effort, a touch thatâs more determined than ever to make you fall apart, on his knees and worshipping the altar of your body â fealty and devotion seared into each lap of his tongue, each brush of his lips, each stroke of his fingers.
Who are you to reject his piety? You welcome it, with closed fist and glassy eyes. The soldier shudders â a full-body shiver that shakes down his spine â as the point of your heel digs into his back and your fingers squeeze at his scalp, no mercy shown as you lose yourself in the throes of lust.
When you cum, a silent scream rips through your chest and a burning-too-bright white light turns you blind. He doesnât let up, tongue still buried in your convulsing walls as your thighs clamp around his head and your feet kick at his back, shoes flying elsewhere into the kitchen. He pays none of it any mind, content to prolong your orgasm for as long as youâll allow him, slowly rising off his knees with two hands pinning you back against the counter while he continues to feast on your pleasure.
âJa-mes,â a fractured call of his name is all it takes for him to stop, pupils more black than blue as they stare down at the picture you paint atop the counter: teary-eyes, swollen lips, heaving chest.
Heâs hardly the image of composure either, red lines along the expanse of his back, hair a tousled mess, the scruff on his face covered in a sheen of your juices. And, yet, never have you wanted to kiss him so bad.
All you manage, after minutes of floating atop the cloud of your peak, is a cheeky grin and a comment that makes him roll his eyes: âFor a fossil, youâre pretty kinky.â
âWar camps arenât exactly known for being fun,â as he speaks, he slowly lowers your legs off his shoulder. âYou find ways to keep yourself entertained.â
âBet you were quite the pleaser, huh?â Trying your best to play it cool, you lay your head fully back on the counter and stare up at the ceiling, praying he doesnât notice the hypocritical pit forming in your stomach as you listen to your own words. âProbably had all the prettiest nurses fighting over who gets to tend to your poor, aching, throbbing co-â
âJealousy looks cute on you,â he interrupts, amused, as his hands soothe over your hips.
âIâm not jealous!â You exclaim, barely believing yourself.
One hand reaching out for him, you watch your fingers intertwine with the prosthetic digits and let him tug you back up, chest to chest when his hand finds your cheek.
âI was,â his confession is crooned whilst staring right into your eyes, the tiniest up-turn to his mouth. âEverytime you walked out the door to go date a new loser.â
âWho knew,â your voice is as gentle as his own, nonchalant as a finger dances down the well-defined muscles of his abdomen and elicits a groan out of him. âAll along I had my own loser at home.â
Bucky opts for silence as your hand reaches his groin and pays no mind to his cock, red-tipped and leaking, flushed against his stomach. Youâre more interested in his jeans â in removing them, to be exact. It doesnât take much, a sharp tug at the hem before theyâre slipping off, meeting restraint as they cling to his muscled thighs and implore him to finish the job on your behalf, shucking them off blindly to where the rest of your clothes lie.
You must have saved a village in a past life to be rewarded with the view of a completely nude Bucky Barnes, skin stained by lust and laced with gold beneath the kitchen light. You must have saved the rest of the world, too, to watch how his eyes roll back and his mouth falls slack when you take his length in hand and give one slow pump of your wrist, releasing it just to watch it slap back against his abdomen.
As you reach for his dick again, his hand secures itself around your own and guides it up and down the length of it. Once, twice, thrice, till heâs breathing heavily and dripping in pre-cum.
âYou must be close,â a statement you make with his own bodily reaction as evidence to back it up, yet thereâs still room for doubt â to what extent does that soldier serum interfere with him?
âPut me back down on my knees and Iâll cum to the taste of you,â the soldier certainly makes a tempting offer, one that it almost pains you to refuse.
Almost, if you hadnât already felt the sweet stretch of him inside you.
âPretty sure putting you back down on your knees might be considered elder abuse, ole buddy.â
âMy age may be a hundred and six but-â
âExactly my point.â
âBut my body isnât,â heâs using that stare of his, the one Sam always warns you about, while youâre full-on cheesing, a rush of adrenaline shooting through your veins as you wind him up.
âRemind me, who threw their back out a few weeks ago pulling a tray of muffins out the oven?â
His flesh hand grips behind one of your knees and tugs you right to the edge of the counter, while his left one, still clasped over your own, drags his tip over your folds.
âI donât remember hearing you complain when you drunkenly ate half the tray and then threw up over the rest,â admittedly, not one of your proudest moments.
âShut up and fuck me, Barnes.â
âYes maâam.â
Just like that, youâre drowning in him again, gasping for breath as you lose yourself in a flood of lust. Bottomed out, stuffing you full, Bucky barely graces your pussy with the chance to adjust to his stretch once more before heâs moving, the sweet graze of every inch being dragged along your sensitive walls.
Your nerves are still reeling from his mouth, a quiet hum of electric pleasure reawakened by his throbbing cock and his vulgar mouth.
âShe fits me like a fucking glove,â his hands are pawing at your waist, your breast, your face, never in one place for too long as he begins to settle into a rhythm of thrusts. âDoing so good for me, darling.â
The softness put into his term of endearment births an ache in your chest, one that will accept no medicine other than your arms around his neck and his lips on yours. Mouths tangled in kisses and sweat dripping down your skin, Bucky halts â your hips pressed together, the swell of his balls resting right against your swollen cunt, the head of his cock resting right against your sweet spot â and grinds.
Slow, deliberate, delicious. You whine into his mouth and feel how he swallows it, feasts on your ecstasy with a willing tongue, and a smiling mouth, and possessive teeth that tug at your lip as he pulls back. He stretches out the feeling, grinding a second time as your noses bump against one another.
âBucky,â his name is an anchor, a paperweight, something to ground you amidst the floaty feeling of being two orgasms deep with a third approaching any time now.
âI know,â he says, and you believe him. Believe that he knows, that heâs known, that he always knows when it comes to you.
You lay your head to rest upon on his left shoulder when he returns to chasing a high between your thighs, a renewed vigor behind each thrust that has your hips rolling to meet his and your nails raking over the straining muscles of his back.
âI lied,â an unprompted confession stumbles out his mouth, fingers flexing into their grip on your waist. âAbout the apartment viewing. I didnât go.â
âBucky,â is all you can manage, branded into his skin with a kiss along his neck.
âIs that all you can say? Huh?â His voice carries a teasing lilt, paired to perfection with the pad of his thumb rubbing at your clit. âIâm giving pivotal revelations here, and youâre just gonna reply with that?â
Another echo of his name, walls fluttering around his dick.
âBucky, Bucky,â heâs mocking you, a torturerâs laugh as he moans his name into your ear. âKeep going, you sound so pathetic itâs almost cute.â
Beyond words and beyond sense, you give in to the weight of his palm splaying against your stomach and guiding your back down onto the island. The soldier hooks your legs over his elbows, deepening the angle that his cock fucks into you, and you swear you see stars dance along the kitchen ceiling.
A hand smooths over your gut and you look back at Bucky to find adoration in his eyes.
âYou see that?â You almost want to cry when his movement switches back to a slow drag â innnnn and outtttt â until you notice it: the smallest hint of movement beneath your flesh, a subtle visual of the outline of his tip bulging against your skin from inside you. âSee how full she is, how good Iâm making her feel?â
Pressing your hand against it, you canât help but giggle as you feel him poke at your palm, only to fall back into a puddle of incoherent noises when he keeps pushing at that sweet spot, over and over. Harder and faster with each draw back of his hips, you feel rivulets of your own arousal roll down your ass and onto the marble, tainting the counter forevermore in the sins the soldier commits against you, the sins you welcome with open legs.
Youâre near the edge again, and he feels it, pushing you closer and closer as he slowly spirals into a mess of phrases that barely begin before heâs cutting them off with something new.
âDonât deserve this-â He catches himself, rips the insecurity in his voice out by the roots. âCâmon, let me see it one more time. Need to see you fall apart.â
âWant you to fall apart too,â you manage to beg, unwilling to watch him hold back or pull out before he finishes. âPlease!â
Like any good soldier, he obeys.
Crashing over you like a wave, heâs doubled-over by the waist and sandwiching you between the counter and him. You feel him spill into you, hot ropes of cum painting your walls white as a third crescendo washes over your body.
Both of you seek out the other as his thrusts grow languid and your walls spasm, milking him for every last drop heâs got. When your mouths meet, itâs less of a kiss and more of you simply breathing into the other, exchanging air and body heat.
âSo,â you croak eventually, exhausted and spent atop the counter yet completely unwilling to relinquish him from blanketing you. âAre you gonna do that every time I steal your ice cream?â
Somewhere between jello-ed legs and cold compresses, you wind up in bed.
Skin clammy, lips swollen, lust satiated, you practically melt into the buttery softness of your bed sheets as Bucky lays you down. Despite how youâre still basking in the glow of your third and final orgasm, the soldier seems to think, for a second, you can handle another.
With gentle hands prying open your thighs and a curious tongue diving in for a second helping, licking up the dribble of his own cum spilling out your hole, heâs quick to be corrected when you roll away from his touch with a whine and a plea, âthink I might actually die if you make me cum again, Buck.â
Heâs unbothered by the rejection, wholly embracing it as he curls up behind you and snakes his arms over your naked skin. Itâs you who drags the sheet up and over you both, turning in his arms to plant your head on his chest. His heart races beneath it, but you hold off on teasing â your own isn't any better.
âSamâs going to kill me,â you whisper out into the room, when moonlight is peeking through your curtains and both of your heartbeats have calmed down.
âIâm sorry,â you feel him shift beneath your head and, though you canât fully see him, you feel that blue gaze land on you. âHave I not made it clear enough what name you should be saying in bed?â
âThereâs a serious chance Iâll die and youâre thinking with your dick,â he squirms as you pinch at his nipple. âYouâre no better than the men on your list, Barnes.â
Silence floats back in between you for a moment, peaceful as the slow stroke of his fingers dancing up your spine.
âWhy would Sam kill you?â He pauses, hand pressing a little harder down against a knot in your shoulder. âHe knows you have a crazy guard dog.â
Your crazy guard dog just pressed a kiss against your forehead, how frightening.
âHe made me swear I wouldnât get involved with you. He said you werenât in the headspace for a relationship, that you needed to focus on inner peace first.â
âTurns out inner peace is being inside of you,â you pinch at his nipple again. This time, he doesnât run from it. This time, you almost swear you hear a little moan creep up his throat. âSo, Wilsonâs to blame? I can get behind that.â
âTo blame for what?â
His handâs now running up and down the back of your arm, leaving goosebumps wherever its tender touch goes.Â
âWhy it took you so long to jump my bones.â
âYou think I jumped your-â Your head rises off his chest and you stare into the navy darkness of the room, trying to make a concrete shape out where you see shadows of his face. âWait, so these past few weeks, Iâve not been hallucinating? Youâve been⊠flirting?â
âItâs been more than a couple weeks, sweetheart,â Bucky seems to have no problem finding you in the dark, hand cupping your cheek and dragging you up to press a chaste kiss against your mouth. âYou donât seriously think I waited until morning to check that sink without hoping to be caught, do you?â
âSo you were slutting yourself out on the kitchen floor!â
âThink the kitchenâs seen worse,â worse might be the understatement of the century.
Clothes still lay discarded, counters unwiped, ice cream completely melted. Cleaning you up had been the soldierâs only priority, and you werenât in the mood or the mindstate to argue with him on that.
A fingertip tickles down the slope of your nose.
âStop fighting it, youâre tired,â you hear him whisper.
âI want to hear more about your desperate efforts to get my attention,â itâs nothing but a weak protest.
âWe have all the time in the world for that. Sleep,â you donât hesitate to comply when Buckyâs hand presses you back down against the warmth of his chest. âYouâre going to need it. Our upstairs neighbours still need a taste of their own medicine.â
+ extra hyde !
· 70% of this fic is just dialogue, these two losers would not stfu!
· writing banter + sexual tension feels more exposing than writing literal porn.
· lore accurate photo of me whenever bucky barnes exists:
main masterlist | note: as the trope includes smut, all of the fics include +18 content. also since at least one party is under the influence of some kind of a chemical, this is dubious content. please proceed with caution and minors dni. enjoy!
toxic heat âą bucky barnes x reader | by @nyletac
summary: while waiting for the extraction team after a successful mission, bucky leaves you and runs into a greenhouse room in the mission building with strange plants. accidentally breathing in the gas from the plants he returns to you, but something is off. (smut) (6,4k words)
take you there âą bucky barnes x reader | by @heli0s-writes
summary: sam plays a game called fuck or die. it's like he willed it into existence as you and hucky explore the basement of an old hydra lair. (smut, dub-con) (3,8k words)
louder than fear âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @godmadeaterribleerror
summary: missions involving hydra often go very wrong. this is different. this is worse. this is a strange bioweapon, nobody telling you exactly what's wrong, and staring at the ceiling as bucky roars you name. itâs echoing in your brain. and you love him. (smut, light angst) (8,5k words)
lustful agony âą bucky barnes x plus size!reader | by @fatecantstopme
summary: after getting hit in the face with a pink dust during a visit to an old hydra lab, you are confused as to what happened. thankfully, your mission partner knows what it is, and thankfully he knows the solution. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, masturbation)
what was rule number #2 again? âą tfatws!bucky barnes x reader | by @satinestales
summary: messing around in banner's lab, the night before your mission wasn't as good an idea as you thought, and you begin to question your actions the moment you step out of it. things worsen when you realize the super soldier serum isn't immune to an unknown contagious disease. (smut)
delirium âą bucky barnes x reader | by @flowersforbucky
summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, angst, friends to lovers, avenger!reader) (4,1k words)
play pretend | part two âą bucky barnes x reader | by @wkemeup
summary: when bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (smut, dub-con) (7,8k words)
summary of pt.2: in the aftermath of munich, bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. but now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. (smut, mutual pining) (5,8k words)
strawberries âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months? (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, size kink, fuckboy!bucky) (7,5k words)
does it hurt? | bonus chapter âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that hydra was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. when you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. anything. (angst, smut, unprotected sex, abduction, violence, voyeurism, mentions of sa) (24,3k words)
summary of bonus ch.: when you're finally out of hydraâs clutches, the recovery process drives you and bucky farther and farther apart. you can't decide if what you felt between you was real or chemically-induced. what will it take to sway you? (smut, angst, non-descriptive smut) (12,4k words)
untitled âą bucky barnes x reader | by @myfictionaldreams
summary: it was your first mission out with your mentor, bucky, but not all goes to plan when you stumble across an old hydra laboratory and accidentally trigger a trap. (smut, dub-con, grumpy x sunshine, rough sex, praise kink)
high for this âą new avenger!bucky barnes x reader | by @buckysleftbicep
summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, itâs not the mission that haunts you both, itâs what happened behind that door. (smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, angst, regret) (3,8k words)
desperate | uncertain an sure âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @buckets-and-trees
summary: enemies? rivals? it's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the winter soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered. (smut, kidnapping)
desperate measures âą bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader | by @simplyholl
summary: when you encounter a mysterious substance during a mission, it forces you and your mission partner to get closer. (smut)
petals âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @biteofcherry
summary: it was supposed to be so simple. a boring reckon mission. just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former hydra doctor ran the place. however the unexpected comes in the form of a flower. (smut, dub-con, fingering)
unleashed âą avengers!bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @veltana
summary: during a mission, bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions and all he wants is you. (smut, slight fluff, possessive!bucky, unprotected sex) (4,2k words)
crimson fever âą bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @mandoalorian
summary: in the icy shadows of 1944 occupied europe, you uncover a dangerous hydra secret that could shift the warâs tide. but hydraâs ruthless scientist, arnim zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drugââcrimson feverââthat set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. as you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with sergeant bucky barnes, your childhood friend from brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the warâs chaos. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, violence, torture) (6,7k words)
summary: you're in charge of keeping the avengers schedule clean and functioning properly. what happens when two super soldiers divert from what their original plans are, and you walk in on them getting it on? now, they won't leave you alone.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, no use of y/n, established relationship (steve n bucky), threesome, piv, creampie, cum eating, oral (f + m receiving), fingers will be put in mouths, language, dirty talk, dom ?? bucky, switch steve, sub reader, they lowk talk you through it, lots of orgasms, riding, handjobs, pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweet girl, pretty girl, baby), steve and bucky are gambling, this is just filth idk what to say
word count: 10.7k
a/n: me??? freaked out??? never!
masterlist
You were going to kill someone.Â
You werenât sure how you were going to do it, seeing as the people that you worked for were all highly trained assassins, soldiers, or flew around the sky in metal suitsâ but you were going to kill one of them. Or all of them.Â
You gave them one task. Just one. Not even a taskâ a simple request. To put their dry cleaning out in the hallway every Tuesday morning so you could run it out to the cleaners. That way, if there was a party that Tony was throwing Friday night, there would be enough time for the cleaners to go through all of the clothes and have it ready for pick up by Friday morning.Â
Now, you were going through all of their rooms. You had their permission, of course.Even if you didnât, they didnât particularly mind. Youâd been working with them for a while now.Â
In terms of keeping their lives together off the field, you were their saving grace. You kept them in the good graces of America and the rest of the world. You worked overtime to do any damage control online, combing through forums and squashing any potential harmful rumors that could possibly appear. At this point, you could be an agent yourself with the amount of computer and investigative work you were doing.Â
You kept track of their meetings with government officials because they sure as hell didnât want to meet with anyone. You took notes since they didnât care to pay attention, then condensed them later and dropped it off at their roomsâ personalized notes in a way that you knew they would actually pay attention. Then, you would be the one to form up some sort of reply to those same government officials to tell them to politely fuck off in a way that made Captain America smile at you gratefully.
You kept the pantries and the fridge stocked with all of their favorite goodies, even the more hard to find, out of season fruits. You once found the personal phone number of a companyâs CEO and demanded they put you on a special delivery list because Sam was getting pissy that his favorite preworkout mix was always out of stock at the wholesale market down the street. Wanda was very particular to this strawberry farm in Japan. You learned an entire new language just to make sure you could communicate with the owner.Â
It wasnât totally thankless work. There were more than a few perks that you had when it came to working for the Avengers.Â
For one, your salary was through the roof (thanks to Tony), and you didnât even have to spend it on rent in New York. They gave you your own room with a bathroom, and you were free to use the common areas in the compound as if you were part of the team yourself. You could use their kitchen and gym, walk around the floor in your pajamas during and after work hours if you really wanted to, and no one would say a word to you.
It was assistant work, but you werenât required to wear fancy pants suits or skirts to work. The last time you wore something nice to a full day of work was your first day, when you didnât know how relaxed they were.
You didnât know any other assistant that clocked into work wearing sweatpants and a tank top. When you were wearing your nicer clothes, the others would make a face at you and ask you who died. You would only roll your eyes at them before going into a conference room. After your meetings, you would simply go back to your room to change into something more casual.Â
The added security they gave you was nice, too. They treated you like a friend, not just an employee. They invited you out for their team gatherings because to them, you were part of their team. You may not be fighting on the field with them, but you helped keep their lives in check. They made sure to let you know that they appreciated you.
Oftentimes, when they would come home from missions that were overseas, you would find different trinkets and souvenirs waiting for you. Bucky was the type to leave them in your room without ever saying a word to you. In the beginning, you had no idea that it was him. Steve and Natasha presented you their presents directly, handing them to you with smiles on their faces. The others would leave them on your desk with a note. At this point, you had an entire bookshelf in your room dedicated to the little things that they had brought back for you during their trips.Â
It touched your heart every single time that they even thought about you while they were out there. That they saw something on the street in the middle of their mission, thought that you would like it, and paused their pursuit just to get it for you.Â
One time, Bucky got you an obsidian rock with a gold shine on it. It looked like his arm. Steve later told you that he found it on the ground, and thought youâd like it. He was right. You polished that rock and put it on your nightstand.Â
You had to remind yourself of those sweet gifts right now, as you were hauling laundry through the halls. Your blood pressure was rising with each step.Â
No one was around.Â
Steve and Bucky should be down in the gym around this timeâ it was their allotted training time. Everyone knew better than to try and get in the way of two super soldiers in training, though sometimes others would just watch them spar. It wasnât a good idea to try and get in the middle of it though.Â
Natasha and Clint were most likely in the firing range practicing some new tricks with the arrows that Clint had just designed in the lab. Heâd been so excited to finally play around with them, to show off his new toys to Natasha. Heâd been waiting for her all week to give him some time, and she finally followed him down there.Â
Sam told you that he would be spending his free day in the lab, messing with Redwing. This morning, he grunted to you that he completely had to fix the poor machine. During their last mission, Bucky had âaccidentallyâ slammed into Redwing, squashing it into a wall. Something about the look in his eyes lets you know that Sam doesnât believe that it was an accident.Â
Tony was completely out of the compound for the next two days. He and Pepper were on a much needed couples trip. If you remembered correctly (and you did), it was their anniversary trip. You had tried convincing the scientist to take a longer tripâ you even cleared out his schedules completely, and planned the trip for him months ago. He merely gave you a smile and let you know it was okay. You still didnât expect to see him for another week.Â
Wanda was in the kitchen, with Vision. It was her turn to cook lunch for the remaining members in the compound, and Vision insisted on assisting her. That means, her prep and cooking time would be increased by triple as she attempted to walk him through every single step patiently.Â
Honestly, there was no party since Tony wasnât around. There was no reason that you should be grabbing their laundry, but it was the routine. If you broke routine now, after doing this for so long, then you might as well throw away your entire schedule. That, and you were slightly afraid of the amount of clothes that would pile up in their rooms if you simply let it rot for another week.Â
You shouldâve let the fucking laundry fester.
âFuckââ Steve groaned at the same time Bucky moaned his name.
You saw sin and felt regret fill your entire body. Then, they met your eyes. Both men, stopping in their actions of pure pleasureâ wide eyed, breathless, flusteredâ staring at you with shock. They were both sweaty, tangled in each other, completely bare. Youâd seen more of them than you ever thought youâd have the privilege of witnessing.Â
You tore your eyes away as quickly as you could. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your neck as you searched for the laundry basket that you knew was to the right of Buckyâs doorâ and snatched it like it owed you some sort of debt. You didnât say a word before you slammed the door shut, and ran down the hall, dragging everyoneâs dirty clothes and secrets with you.Â
From what you could tellâ no one knew about the relationship between the two of them, and you sure as hell werenât going to sell them out either. If this was something that they would keep private between themselves, then so be it. It was just a damn shame that they had to be all over each other when you were doing your job.Â
You did what any logical person would do in this situation.Â
You avoided them.
In hindsight, it shouldnât have been too difficult. You knew their schedules like the back of your hand. You knew what time Steve woke up to go run outside because he preferred to breathe fresh air instead of using the treadmill. You knew what time that Bucky generally fell asleep after his insomniac brain calmed down for the night. You knew what time both of them sat down for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You controlled their meeting schedules, debriefs, and other things. You had full access to the security cameras in the compound from a few taps on your phone, and you could definitely look for them if you thought they were hiding somewhere. Avoiding them should not have been hard for you.Â
Then again, you really did think you knew their schedules. But if you really did, you wouldnât be in this predicament in the first place. They were supposed to be in the gym, working up a sweat by avoiding each otherâs fists, not working up a sweat by fisting each otherâs cocks.Â
You pushed the mental image out of your mind as you walked down the hall, squeezing your tablet to your chest a little tighter. You needed to focus. You had a meeting with some officials later that you couldnât fuck up. You needed to complete a presentation on why they should leave the Avengers alone for the thousandth time that year.Â
However, it was like both men decided overnight to make your life a living hell.Â
Both Steve and Bucky were in the conference room that you were supposed to be in. Their hushed conversation died down when you entered. Your steps faltered, but you gave them a small, polite smile. There was a chairâs distance in between them, and your eyebrows furrowed briefly at it. Usually, they sat beside each other during the team meetings and debriefs.Â
âGood morning,â you greeted. âYou guys donât have to be here for this meeting. Itâs not on your agenda.â
âYouâre defending us to assholes every other week. I think itâs fair we sit in, maybe intimidate them a little bit,â Bucky muttered, sitting back in his seat, relaxed and poised. His ankle is crossed over his knee as he stares at you, a tilt in his head. Every single one of your movements is being observed. Heâs watching you like some sort of predator, and youâve never felt smaller.Â
You looked at Steve next, for help, but maybe you shouldâve known better. Of course he would agree with his fucking boyfriend because he just gave you a pretty smile, and nodded.Â
And the committee that came in didnât know about your inner turmoil, and none of them wanted to sit in between either of the super soldiers. Once the chairs had filled up, once you finished shaking hands with everyoneâ you realized this was their plan from the start. You had to sit yourself right in between them, pretend that you werenât screaming inside, and start the meeting.
It was a little easier once you got going. You could ignore both men. They didnât say much, only nodded in agreement with your words or grunted in disapproval when the committee said something fucking stupid.Â
Eventually, thanks to your pie charts and eloquent words, you managed to push back and gain some more freedom for your bosses-slash-friends after a two hour long argument. You watched as the committee left, giving them a pretty, satisfied smile as they muttered under their breath about getting you next time.Â
âIs that how these meetings always go?â Steve asked you.Â
âJust about,â you sighed, running your hand through your hair. âThey just spew bullshit at me, and they think theyâre right. Obviously, theyâre not.â
âYou hold your ground pretty well,â he murmured. âIâm sorry that we leave you to deal with this. With them.â
You could only shrug, though there was a little tingle of pride that began to blossom in your chest. Well, to be fairâ this is why they hired you to begin with. To make their lives easier in every single aspect. Not just laundry and snacks.Â
âYou guys fight out there. Itâs my job to make sure that you guys can keep fighting the important battles,â you told him, briefly meeting his eyes.Â
Steve stares at you, for just a few moments. Heâs studying your features, looking you up and down. Briefly, you recognize something in his eyes. Thereâs admiration. It makes you feel giddy. Noticed. A smile comes onto your face.Â
Itâs quiet in the conference room for a few moments as you finish organizing the notes and packets that you received from the useless officials that were just in the room moments ago. You grab your tablet next, and move to stand.
âAbout what happened earlier this weekââ Bucky began to speak, and your body bristles.
No. You do not want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. You can go the rest of your life pretending that you never saw them, actually.Â
âI have another meeting to get to,â you cut him off, shoving the rolling chair behind you so hard that it hits the wall. Itâs a lie. You have no meeting. This was your only calendar item for the morning, and youâre free until after lunch.
Still, youâre all but running out the door seconds later. You donât turn back even when Steve calls out your name to try and get you to stop. Youâre disappearing down the hall, rushing to your private office as fast as you can, and locking the door behind you.Â
Neither man gives up on attempting to corner you.
Youâve found solace in latching onto another team member every single chance that you get.Â
Youâve stuck by Clintâs side in the hallways, chatting with him over updates on his kids when you know that Steve and Bucky are waiting for you around the corner to ambush you. You give him ideas on what gifts to give to his kids, and you even start an Amazon wishlist for him so that he can easily send some presents back home.Â
When Tony returns from his anniversary trip with Pepper (that you accurately guessed he would take a week instead of two days), you started to spend your free time in the lab with him. You even started allowing him to spew random science terms at you that you normally would nod off to. Right now, itâs the best thing you couldâve ever asked for, especially when you can see Buckyâs shadow in the corner of your eye, stalking you.Â
You wondered if this is what it was like to be hunted by the Winter Soldier.Â
You avoid Sam, though you know it confuses him. Sam is a little too close for comfort with both super soldiers. He would invite them into a conversation, and then Sam could possibly be dragged away from that same conversation, and leave you alone to confront the same demons that youâve been hiding from for over a week now. Youâre still polite with him, but you try not to be caught with him alone.Â
You donât even try with Vision.Â
Wanda and Natasha are definitely your safest bets. Out of everyone on the team, they were the ones that you got closest with firstâ that broke down the wall of boss and assistant. They were more than overjoyed when you were hired, and they were the only ones on the team that listened to you when you asked them to set their laundry out, and to update the digital list when they wanted more snacks or supplies.
So, you remained glued to one or both of their sides. You didnât tell either of them what was going on, even though they both could tell you were on edge.Â
You still remained professional throughout each debrief meeting and team gathering. You conducted each mission report with ease, ignoring the gaping hole that Steve and Bucky were burning into the sides of your head. You smiled politely, and quickly excused yourself out of the room each time. You didnât want to be caught alone with them.Â
If, on the off chance, you didnât have anyone to grab onto, you locked yourself into your own room or office. You knew you couldnât keep living like this. You just hoped that both of them would drop it, and the three of you could just forget about it.Â
And it seemed thatâs exactly what happened.Â
After about another two weeks of avoiding them, they both stopped staring. Stopped waiting for you around corners, stopped sitting in during your personal meetings with the committees, and they continued as they were before. Steve would give you his polite smiles from across the room as he greeted you. Bucky would wish you a good morning in the hall as he walked by.
Your world finally went back to normal. You didnât have to use a buddy system to go around your workplace. You didnât have to leave the compound entirely, spending the night at your parentâs place because you didnât feel like using the designated room you had in the apartments complex in the compound in fear that the men would somehow catch you off guardâ and you definitely didnât have to look over your shoulder trying to hide from soldiers that had much more experience than you did when it came to hunting.Â
You could finally breathe again. Â
You looked down at your tablet, running the stock of the weapons room before cursing to yourself. Very briefly, you wondered if someone on the team forgot to sign off on their casingsâ if they took more than they thought they did.
You looked through the lot numbers with a frown, shaking your head. You needed to get more, order more of the generic kinds of bullets that they had for their rifles and handguns. Then, you needed to go beg Tony to make some more of the special kinds of bullets and have to ask him to forgive you even though it wasnât your fault for not noticing. He always would.Â
Except you knew this would end in another impromptu team meeting where Tony would stress the importance of signing when you take shit from the collective team armory. You know a few of them, like Clint and Wanda, would tune out during the meeting. After all, they didnât use guns.Â
âYou would think that F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be programmed to have this shit weighed like one of those hotel mini fridges that auto charges the room,â you muttered to yourself, tapping your screen. You sat down on the bench behind you, letting out a deep sigh.Â
âOh, shit. Are we going to be pulled into another meeting?â
You straightened at the voice, turning around. Bucky was at the entrance of the door, a frown on his face. He looked a little breathless, and he was wearing a compression shirt with the Avengers logo on his bicep, along with sweatpants. He mustâve gotten back from the gymâ actually from the gym.Â
You couldnât help the smile that came onto your face at the slight despair in his voice. You turned back towards the shelves, shaking your head.
âItâs not a meeting. Think of it as a⊠get-together. Just a chat,â you replied.
âRightâ because being yelled at by Stark is just a chat,â Bucky snorted as he walked into the armory, going towards his locker. He unlocked it, grabbing a towel to wipe at his forehead.Â
âI mean, I donât see your sign-outs on the log,â you hummed, pulling up the spreadsheet onto your screen. âAnd you sound pretty defensive. Seems like youâre guilty of something, Bucky.â
âNot sure what youâre talking about,â he responded. âIâm not the only one that doesnât use the sign out sheet. I know Sam doesnât.â
âAre you just ratting him out now to save your own ass?â you scoffed.
âIâm lessening my load of the blame.â
You rolled your eyes, your smile growing just a bit wider as your eyes scanned the shelves one last time, checking to make sure you did a proper count before you placed the order.Â
âIs there anything you need me to get for you?â you asked him, scrolling through the cart on your tablet screen one more time. âAny spare parts or wiring for your arm that Tony doesnât have? Do I need to contact Princess Shuri for anything?â
You could hear the gears in his arm whirring, and you looked up at him. You watched as Bucky flexed, and you felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you stared. His arm was prettyâ but Bucky himself was just pretty. The compression shirt he wore also did little to hide every single line and contour of his muscles as he flexed. You followed the line of sweat that went down his neck, disappearing down the collar of his shirt.Â
He was looking down at himself, thankfully, and not at you. He couldnât see that you were blatantly ogling a taken man. You moved your eyes up towards his face right as he looked back at you, and you gave him a trained smile, waiting for his response.Â
âArmâs good. Thank you,â he answered, giving you a nod.
âAnytime. Just let me know, or send me a text if you need me to get you something,â you said, looking back down at your tablet.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him still turned towards you. Still watching you. Briefly, you felt a flash of PTSD wash through your bodyâ like how you felt over a month ago when you were trying to avoid him and Steve entirely.Â
You forced your body to relax because that war had already passed. Youâve had several conversations with both Steve and Buckyâ just like this one that youâre having right nowâ and youâve been completely fine. You busy yourself with the order, input Tonyâs business card number that you know by heart, and choose the express delivery option.Â
You let out a sigh of relief when you see that the delivery will come within two days. Enough time before their next mission.Â
âLucky for you, no team meeting needed,â you said, standing. âOnly because I caught the low stock in time.â
âMy savior,â he chuckled, shaking his head.Â
Youâre moving now, thoughts already occupied to your next taskâ which is the pantryâ when Buckyâs hand clasps over your upper arm. His grip isnât hard at all. You could easily slip out of his touch if you wanted to. No, this is just to stop you from leaving. Not to hurt or harm you.
âDid you think of something?â you asked, eyes dropping down to where he had his hand on you.Â
âYeah,â he nodded, and released you.Â
Your arm feels cold without him there. Then, you feel something behind youâ a presence. You look over your shoulder, and Steve is standing in the doorway, blocking your only exit route. You freeze, looking between them for a few seconds.
Dread is filling your stomach as you clutch your tablet in your hands. Bucky gently takes the device from you before you can break it, putting it into his locker so you canât even create an excuse for needing to be somewhere else. You look at him damn near helplessly as he shuts his locker, and presses his back against it.Â
âI thought we were over this,â you said slowly.
Steve shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. âWe just let you think that we were. I didnât realize that the civilian we hired was actually an agent when she didnât want to be caught.â
âTake a seat,â Bucky told you, gesturing back towards the bench.
You canât do anything but listen. Once youâre seated, Steve enters the armory, closing the door behind him. He doesnât linger too far away from the door. Maybe itâs to ensure that you canât run. Even if you get close, you donât have that much faith in yourself to outmaneuver them. They hold you with too much regard in their heads.Â
âWhy canât we just⊠I donât knowâ not talk about this?â you frowned at them as they stood in front of you. âIâm pretty sure Iâm not the first person thatâs walked in on their friends fucking each other like rabbitsâ we do not have to discuss the logistics of me seeing all three seconds of your possibly extensive intimate life.â
âYou⊠have a very indecent mouth,â Steve said slowly, and Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.Â
âYou havenât told anyone?â Bucky asked, looking you up and down.
âWhy would I?â you asked, exasperated. âThatâs not my business to tell! Is that what this is about? I could care less if you were fuck buddies or marriedâ literally, I do not care. Is this some leftover stigma thatâs instilled in your bones from the forties? Guys, weâre in the 21st Century. Men being in a relationship is not uncommon these days. I grew up with gay uncles. This is not new for me or literally anyone on the street.â
âIs that what we are to you? Gay uncles?â Steve asked. Thereâs an amused look on his face that makes you want to laugh, but nothing about this scenario is funny to you. You want to leave. Run. Start looking over your shoulder, and jump at shadows again.Â
âGrandpas, maybe, with the way you both hold a fucking grudge,â you muttered.Â
The way Bucky raised his eyebrows at you makes you straighten up completely. You clear your throat, slightly intimidated, and you look everywhere but their face as you try to come up with your next words.
âListen, okay, Iâm sorry,â you said, swallowing thickly. And you really do mean itâ you donât want to walk in on any of your friends doing the deed. âI thought you both were in the gym. Like you were supposed to be, and it was laundry day. If you guys just put your fucking baskets out in the hall like Iâve told you several times, then I wouldnât have seen you guys naked, and heard you guys moan each otherâs names, but I promise I havenât told anyone. Iâll take this to my grave.â
Theyâre both silent for a few moments, and you mustered up the courage to look at them. Steve and Bucky arenât looking at you. Theyâre looking at each other, having some sort of silent conversation that you know only couples that have been together for years can have.Â
You honestly have nothing else to lose.Â
âBy the wayâ who the fuck has sex on a Tuesday morning, and doesnât lock their bedroom door?â you added, watching both of their heads snap back towards you. âEspecially a couple that is trying to remain hidden?â
A laugh fell from Buckyâs lips as Steve chuckled beside him, shaking his head. Just like that, the tension you felt in your body was disappearing.Â
âYou got us there,â Steve nodded, hands on his hips. Â
You let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging just slightly. You rubbed your palms onto your thighs, and closed your eyes briefly as you let yourself relax for a second. âCan I go now? Are we done here?â
âNot quite.â
Your head snapped back up. âWhat? Is this not it?â
âI heard something interesting, a few months back from Nat,â Steve started, and your eyebrows furrowed at him. You had no idea where the conversation was going now. âYou know, sheâs always trying to set me up on dates, and I keep shooting her down.â
âRight,â you nodded slowly, then gestured between them. âAnd now I know why. Do you want me to try and get her off your case without alerting her?â
âNo, no. Thatâs not it,â Steve shook his head, smiling at you. âShe tried setting me up with you.â
Your lips parted, and you blinked at him. You could feel the color draining from your face as your heart worked overtime to keep all your bodily functions working properly. You were going to kill Natasha. Yeahâ thatâs who you were gonna murder in cold blood.Â
âShe told me that you confessed to her something about climbing me like a treeââ
âStop fucking talking,â you cut Steve off, raising a hand up in the air. You couldnât look at him, and your eyes were trained on the ground as your other hand came to cover your face. You tried focusing on your breathing. Slowly, you lowered your hands to your lap as you took in a breath. âObviously, I didnât fucking know you were a taken man. I wouldnât have said that shit if I knewââ
âShe also said that you stare at me a lot during training,â Bucky interjected.Â
âYou know⊠I used to think talks between girls were sacred, confidential⊠Iâm gonna kill her,â you murmured, more to yourself than either of them.Â
The armory was silent, save for the thumping of your heart wreaking havoc in your chest out of pure shame and embarrassment. Maybe you wouldnât even have time to kill the assassin. You were certain that you were going to die here. Maybe from heart palpitations.Â
Your leg started to bounce up and down as you pulled your lip in between your teeth. Your clothes were clinging onto your skin uncomfortably, and your blood was burning, heating and blossoming in color that you were certain that both men could see. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, never pulling away, consistently watching you.Â
You canât even deny it. You canât deny what Natasha said, try to say that sheâs lying because that wouldnât be right either. You did say that about Steve, and just moments ago you were looking at Bucky like you were going moments away from having a wet daydream. You were attracted to both men, and that was a clear and obvious fact.Â
You took in another breath, and held it for a few moments.
Youâre scared. They must be disgusted with you, you think. Youâre not only their friend, but their assistant. You work with them, handle their private schedules, and you know everything about them. Itâs not right for you to be having these kinds of thoughts about them, let alone voicing it out loud to anyone. Forget about losing your jobâ youâre afraid of losing their trust.Â
âIt was⊠inappropriate for me to talk about you, and look at you like that,â you decided to say, coming up with the best professional apology that you could muster. âIâll be careful to make sure that it doesnât happen again.â
âSweetheart, what? Noâ weâre actually about to ask you if you wanted to join us in bed.â
The pounding in your chest stops abruptly as your head snaps up towards Bucky. Youâre certain he could see the shock and confusion all over your face, and he gives you a smileâ almost boyish. Thereâs no repulsion on his face. He almost looks a little giddy, relaxed.
âDonât get me wrong, I love Steve, but heâs all fuckinâ muscle. Thereâs nothing soft about his body,â he continued, a deep sigh escaping his chest.
âYou think thereâs anything soft about you?â Steve demanded, raising an eyebrow at him. âYou have a vibranium arm. Do you think thatâs comfortable to sleep next to?â
âI have another arm, Rogers. I donât know why you insist on taking the left side of the bed,â Bucky shot back.Â
âItâs my preference,â Steve grunted.Â
Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, crossing his arms as he turned slightly to look at his boyfriend. Theyâre engaging in some light hearted banter, one that you donât care enough to tune into. Not when youâre trying to make sense of what was just said to you. Â
Time doesnât exactly feel real, but youâre watching them argue in the way that youâve watched your parents argue many times before. Youâre certain that theyâll make up soon, give each other a light peck on the lips, and then walk out of the room holding hands and talk about what theyâll eat for dinner soon. But, the question still remainsâ
âYou want me to sleep with you? Both of you?â you finally asked.
They both turned to you, not like they just suddenly remembered that you were there. No, they were fully aware of your presence the entire time. Steve gives you a smile, and nods. And Bucky hums.
âOnly if you want to,â Steve said.
âWhy me?â you asked. Itâs the only logical question you can think of at the moment.
âBecause youâre the only one who knows about the two of us,â Bucky shrugged, like itâs the most obvious answer in the world. âAnd youâve shown obvious interest in us. Itâs a win-win scenario for all of us, isnât it?â
âIn that case, then it doesnât have to be⊠me right? Iâm sure you could go find a third to join you somewhere else. Someone discreet that can keep secrets,â you quickly said, your mind reeling. âI donâtâ I donât want to be some last minute option to some fantasyââ
âHang on,â Steve quickly cut you off, coming forth. Heâs kneeling in front of you know, hands closing over yours. Heâs eye level with you, stopping all of your self deprecating thoughts before it can start spilling out. âYouâre not a last minute option. Truthfully, youâre the first option and the only option. Since we heard what Natasha said, weâve actually been discussing itâ discussing you. Thereâs just not an easy way to bring all of⊠this up. Also, itâs not just a fantasy, sweetheart. Bucky and I have been with girls before, you know that right?â
âI⊠have been made aware,â you nodded slowly.
Steve shrugged at you. âSo itâs just us wanting to get back into it, just sharing someone with each other. And we like you. Youâre reliable, smart, and very pretty. Youâve kept our secret for the past month, and we are very thankful for that. And like we saidâ no pressure. If this isnât something that you want to do, then we donât have to. You donât have to. Itâs just an offer.â
Man. You hate Captain America.Â
The leader of the Avengersâ fuckinâ great at speeches and good at talking people down from heightened emotions. Heâs talking to you incredibly softly, gently. His hand is warm on top of yours, grounding you in place where you sit. He doesnât stray away from eye contact, and the blue of his eyes are cozyâ if that even makes sense. It does, to you.Â
You look behind him, towards Bucky, and he offers you a nod of agreement.Â
âYou donât have to decide right now, doll,â Bucky added. âJust let us know whenever youâre readyâ oh. Steve rarely uses his room, by the way. So, if you make up your mind, you know where to find us.â
With that, Steve stands. He offers you one last smile, and they both leave you there in the armory to sit with your thoughts. Your dirty fucking thoughts.Â
A week went by since that afternoon. They had gone on an overseas mission, came back with a few cuts and scrapes. You sat through a few government meetings with fake smiles plastered onto your face. You greeted both Steve and Bucky whenever you saw them over those seven days. You had regular, civil conversations with them.Â
They came up to you when you did your regular tasks, asked you about things around the compound. You found a new gift on your bed from Bucky when they returned from the mission. Steve asked you about the debrief that was scheduled next week. Both of them asked you if it was really necessary for them to attend Tonyâs party at the end of the month, and if they really needed to be fitted for a new suit. When you said yes, they both groaned. You threatened to drag them to the tailor if they missed their appointments.
It was too normal. As if the conversation you had with them never happened, as if they didnât offer to turn your world upside down. Wellâ they didnât say that. You had just laid awake in your bed, imagining what they would do to you.
Those three seconds that you witnessed were all you had as a preview, but those three seconds felt like a lifetime. You could only imagine what would happen if you were involved in the mix between two super soldiers with insane amounts of stamina. They reserved the gymâs sparring area for two hour blocks because they could keep fighting for hours at a time. The only reason they didnât go for longer was so they could go for the punching bags instead, and work on their forms.Â
Would you even survive a single night with them?
The question echoed heavily throughout your mind as you stood in front of Buckyâs door. You knew better this timeâ you knocked. And you waited, but not for long. It opened, just a crack, and you saw the soldier peek through the sliver he created, then visibly relax when he saw it was just you.Â
âCome on in,â Bucky told you, opening the door wider for you.Â
You forced your feet to move, to step through the threshold of his door. Steve was already in bed, but moved to sit up against the headboard when he saw you. Both men were in pajamasâ Steve in a t-shirt and shorts, Bucky wearing a white tank top and cotton pants. They were both watching you, curious.
âIâve never done something like this before,â you told them, feeling a little exposed under their gaze. You laced your hands together nervously, just to give yourself something to do. âHave you guys?â
âNope,â Bucky answered. âItâs new for all of us.â
That made you feel slightly better. You watched as Steve came off of the bed, and both men moved to stand in front of youâ just a singular step away. You looked up at both of them, breath caught in your throat.
âAre you sure about this?â Steve asked, voice soft, reassuring. You nodded, and he let out a small laugh before he shook his head. âYou gotta say it, pretty thing. We wonât do anything youâre not comfortable with.â
You studied their faces for a moment. They were both being patient with you, waiting for you to give them permission. Steveâs gaze was gentle, soft, just like he was in the armory, but there was something darker swirling behind his eyes. Bucky was a little more blatant in his hunger. His jaw was clenched as he looked at you, storm grey eyes looking you up and down, before settling on your face as he waited for your answer.Â
âIâm sure,â you whispered, finally releasing the breath you were holding.Â
They mustâve really talked about this in depth because their actions were coordinated. Careful. Almost like a dance.Â
Bucky reached for you first, pulling you into him while Steve sidestepped you to stand behind you, effectively sandwiching you behind both men. In one quick second, Buckyâs lips were on yours, while Steve busied himself with gathering your hair to the side to attach his mouth to your neck and shoulders.Â
âYou smell good. Did you just shower?â Steve hummed against your neck.
Of course you showered before coming here. Why wouldnât you? You scrubbed and shaved every part of your body until you were silky smooth. You lathered on your lotion to ensure that your skin was bouncy, then made sure to layer on your perfume and waited the perfume amount of time to ensure that it soaked into the crevices of your pores before you made the journey to Buckyâs room. You didnât just do your regular date night ritualâ you went above and beyond.Â
âYeah,â you murmured against Buckyâs lipsâ and he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldnât help but let out a soft noise against his mouth, and he squeezed your waist in appreciation.Â
Steveâs hands shifted at your hips, tugging at the hem of your shirt, tugging the material upwards. Bucky released your lips briefly to allow Steve to pull your shirt over your head, and watched as Steve cupped your breasts from behind. He kneaded the mounds slowly, your breath hitching as he experimentally massaged you, trying to see what you liked the most.Â
âMm⊠Youâre right, Buck. It is nice to have someone soft,â Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
âAh, Steveââ you gasped, pressing back into his chest as Steve took your nipples in his fingers, rolling the slowly hardening peaks between his fingertips.Â
âYou owe me money,â Steve said to Bucky, and you could hear a grin on his voiceâ almost bragging. âI made her say my name first.â
âThereâs still more bets on the table,â he grunted, swatting Steveâs hands away from you. You were being torn away from the warmth of Steve, and pulled into the cool touch of Bucky. The temperature difference was alarming, but it wasnât unwelcome.Â
âBets?â you whispered to Bucky as he hoisted you into his arms, your legs being wrapped around his waist.Â
Youâve been in Buckyâs room before, but not for long periods of time. Youâve only been here to grab his laundry basket, hang up his dry cleaning and his suits in his closet, and drop off any new gear that had been developed in the lab onto his bed. But now, Buckyâs bringing you to his bed.Â
âDonât worry about it, doll,â he hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he laid you down onto the mattress. âJust relax.â
Then, you were being dragged away from under him, and up the bed. You were half laying, half sitting against Steveâs chest, who was resting back against the headboard, like he was when you first walked into the room.
âYouâre hogging her all to yourself, Buck,â the blonde soldier clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His hand came up from behind you, cradling your jaw to turn you to face him, to kiss him. Unlike Bucky, who was trying to take it easy on you, it seemed like something had snapped within Steve. The kiss was hungry, deep, and he didnât ask for entry. He demanded itâ licking into your mouth and exploring like he owned the space.Â
If Bucky cared that Steve was suddenly taking all of your attention, he didnât show it. No, Bucky busied himself with other matters that were more important to him. Like taking your shorts off of you.Â
Steve didnât let you break the kiss from him. In fact, his hand tangled into your hair, holding you in place as Bucky dragged the last remaining fabric off and away from your body, then settled himself between your legs and Bucky kissed your other lips.Â
You couldnât keep kissing Steve back, not when Buckyâs tongue was doing pretty circles around your clit, and one of his fingers was poking at your entrance, but never fully pressing inside. Steve didnât hold it against you thankfully. He kept one hand in your hair, keeping your head tilted to the side to give him some space to watch the show in front of him while his other hand paid attention to a hardened nipple.
âJesusâ fuck, Bucky,â you whimpered, your hips twitching up into Buckyâs face.Â
Bucky chuckled against you, and his vibranium hand came to your stomach to gently keep you in place, warning you to stay put. You would say that it wouldnât be too hard not to, with two super soldiers having their hands all over you, but you were having a difficult time staying still.Â
Their touches were barely anything at all. They continued to ghost over your skin. The only real pressure you got was Buckyâs tongue, but even that wasnât much. He was enjoying every single little sound you made, every little tremble of your legs around his headâ and Steve was humming right beside your ear. Both of them were enjoying the sight in front of them.
They were trying to break you, and it was working.Â
âPlease,â you begged, so impossibly needy.
âPlease what?â Steve asked you, pressing a kiss to your temple. âWhat do you want, sweet girl?â
Anything, at this point. But Buckyâs moved away from your core, and Steveâs also removed his hand from your chest. Theyâre both on the same fucking wavelengthâ theyâre adamant on making your life harder. What did you expect though? These two grew up together, fought in the same war together, and went through hell and back for each otherâ of course they would have each otherâs back like this.Â
âYour pussy is soaked, doll,â Bucky said, cutting through your mental conflict. You looked back down at him, and nearly sob when he takes his fingers, and parts your folds, and tilts his head at the sight of youâ fully on display for him. A smile comes to his face when he watches your aching hole squeeze around nothing at all.Â
A moan rips through your throat as Bucky sinks two fingers inside of you without warning, all the way down to his knuckles. Steve adjusts his hold on you, locking his arm around your waist as he presses a comforting kiss onto your shoulder.Â
Just as quickly as Bucky filled you, heâs leaving youâ and the loss is immediate. You let out a whimper, but Steve moans when he sees the arousal left behind on Buckyâs fingers.Â
âShitâ she really is wet,â Steve muttered, and Bucky grinned, shifting onto his knees between your legs. You can only watch with uneven breaths as Bucky brings his fingers to Steveâs mouthâ and he licks all of your juices clean off of Buckyâs fingers.
âOur poor girl is so deprived, huh?â Bucky hummed, watching Steve for a few moments before looking back down at you. âAll you do is work. Never heard you talk to the other girls about getting fucked good. Donât worry, pretty girl. Weâll take care of you. Just gotta let us know what you want.â
âGodâ I want your cock,â you whimpered, breathless. You met his eyes as a grin came over his features, and he lowered himself on you, capturing your lips in an open mouthed kiss. You could feel the outline of him through his pajamas pressing against your leg, hard, thick, and waiting for youâ
âFuck,â Steve cursed behind you. It wasnât one that sounded like he was enjoying what he saw. In fact, he sounded annoyed. You and Bucky broke the kiss, and looked at him. His eyebrow was creased, and his jaw was clenched.Â
Confusion and worry washed over your features as you looked between both men, but Bucky quickly pressed another kiss to your lips, a silent reassurance that everything was okay before he sat back on his knees and pulled his tank top over his head.Â
âNow you owe me money, Steve,â Bucky told him, relishing in his win as he undid the tie on his pants.
Oh. Another bet, you realized. Â
âShut the fuck up, and fuck her already,â Steve grunted, reaching forward to grab your legs, spreading you open for his boyfriend.
âWorking on it. Be patient,â Bucky chuckled, and kicked his pants offâ now just as naked as you were. Your eyes immediately traced down his body, watching as the length of him stood proud, slapping against his stomach as it came free from the confines of his pajamas.
Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. All of it went straight down to your core, producing extra arousal for him to allow him to just slip in easier because there was no way that he would fit otherwise. In fact, you could feel Steveâs dick against your back this entire time, hard and thick, and you didnât even know if he would fit you eitherâ
âYouâre staring,â Steve murmured behind you, nipping at your neck.
âAm I not supposed to?â you whispered back, making him chuckle as his lips moved up to your jaw, trying to catch your lips again. He was distracting you, while Bucky got into position, dragging himself between your folds. It wasnât working well.
You felt the head of Buckyâs cock slowly press in, and your mouth paused against Steveâs lips. Bucky cursed above you as Steveâs hands tightened behind your knees, keeping you just where you needed to be for Bucky as he slowly pressed in, bottoming out completely.Â
âHoly shit,â Bucky groaned, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist. You leaned your head back against Steveâs shoulder as you nodded in agreement. You couldnât say a word in response. âSteveâ fuckâ youâre gonna love her pussy.â
âStretch her out good for me,â Steve said.
Bucky took those words like a challenge.Â
You were already so tightly wound up from Buckyâs mouth on you, their hands all over you but not doing anything much, and now? Your first orgasm ripped through you without any warningâ and you found out another bet was won by Bucky at that moment. Even so, Bucky continued fucking into you like this was the only thing task he had to complete, and he was doing it well.Â
He pulled out all the way until only the tip of his cock was left behind, and then dove right back inâ hardâ meeting your hips with such vigor that made you see stars behind your eyes. You were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess under Buckyâ and he was eating it up. Your chin fell to your chest, and you could see itâ you could watch where he entered and exited you with each thrust, and the sight made you tremble in Steveâs arms.Â
âAre you gonna cry?â he cooed at you, almost mockingly, grabbing your face to force you to look at him. All the while, he never stopped fucking you. If it wasnât for Steveâs assistance, you were certain that you wouldâve tried wrapping your legs around his waist now, or pulling away from him out of pure overstimulation. âSweet thing, you gonna cry on my cock?â
âThink you broke her, Buck,â Steve chuckled from behind you.Â
âAll stupid and cock drunk, arenât you?â Bucky grunted, hips slamming into yours to force a noise out of you, and his fingers slipped into your mouth. âGotta wake up, baby. You gotta fuck Stevie after me, remember? We canât leave him hanging. Heâs being so good for us, so patient.â
You could only give him a muffled reply with his fingers stuffed into your mouth, tears prickling into the corners of your eyes, and he hummed in responseâ satisfied with your answer.
Buckyâs fingers left your mouth, much to your despair, returning to your waist. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, less calculated. You heard Steveâs breath hitch behind you, felt him shift a little against your back. You could feel Buckyâs cock twitch inside you.
âShit, dollâ can I cum in you?â Bucky moaned, meeting your eyes. His voice was softer now, a little desperate. âTell me where I canââ
âInside me,â you choked out, your voice a little hoarse. âPlease, itâs okayâ Iâm on the pillââ
His hand was wrapping around your throat a second later, his mouth on yours in a wet, messy kiss. Your own walls began to tremble around him as your legs began to shake. Moments later, you felt it. The warmth of his load spilling inside you, the tremble of his body against yours as he came, and he was moaning into your mouth, your name falling from his lips.
Slowly, Steve let go of your legs. You could feel your muscles scream with the release, finally happy to be resting in a more natural position as they came down. Bucky still continued to kiss you, murmuring soft praises about how good you are and how sweet you feel around his cock.Â
Heâs slipping out of you moments later, partially soft, and your body goes rigid as his fingers scoop up his cum and shove it back into your hole.Â
âCanât waste a drop, doll,â Bucky clicked his tongue at you, leaning back down to press another kiss to your lips. âDonât let any of it spill before you get on Steveâs dick.â
Gently, heâs pulling you up. You have no feeling in your bodyâ youâre sated and boneless, but heâs right. Steveâs been waiting, patiently, quietly, and you turn to him.
âTake this off, Steve,â Bucky grunted, tugging on his shirt as he dropped onto the bed beside the two of you. Youâre also reaching for the hem of Steveâs shirt, pulling it off of Steveâs body, and tossing it off to the side somewhere.Â
You rested your hands on Steveâs shoulders, looking down at himâ his bare chest, as his hands rested on your hips. He was also checking you out, looking in between your legs where you definitely failed to keep Buckyâs release fully inside of you.Â
He sucked in a breath at the sight, and looked back up at you.Â
âFeel good, sweetheart?â he asked you.Â
âYeah,â you nodded, giving him a smile. âWanna make you feel good, too.â
âJesus,â he groaned, head leaning back and hitting the wall. You took the chance to trail your hands down his chest, and Steveâs lips parted, watching your every move as his hands on you tightened. Your hand dipped below the waistband of his shorts, going directly for his cock, feeling him out.Â
Ah.
Bucky definitely stretched you out for Steve, but the fit would still be tight. Where Bucky was long, and filled you in all the way, Steve would be ripping you apart.Â
You stroked him just a few times, spreading the precum that leaked over his length, and you watched Steveâs expression for a few moments before leaning forward, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips.Â
Bucky wasnât having it.Â
âYouâre stalling,â he tutted, pulling you and Steve away from the headboard.Â
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, and there was nothing left between you and Steve as he laid beneath you, your hands on his abdomen for stability.Â
âBuckââ
âShut up. She feels so good when sheâs overstimulated. Iâm doing you a favor, Stevie, and sheâs trying to recover,â Bucky grunted.Â
Bucky was behind you, kneeling, an arm wrapped around your waist as you straddled Steveâs hips. Between your legs, heâs holding Steveâs cock, lining him up with your entrance, and sinking you down in one fluid motion that makes both you and Steve gasp out in unison.
Steveâs hands reach for both of youâ one hand on your thigh and one hand grabbing Buckyâs hand as he shifts to hold onto your waist.
âBuckyâ Bucky fuck slow downââ Steve cuts himself off with a moan.
You can only whimper in agreement, fingernails digging into Steveâs body as Bucky himself sets the pace. Heâs controlling thisâ heâs fucking you directly onto Steve, hands on your waist, lifting you up and down with ease on Steveâs cock.Â
âWhat? You donât like it?â Bucky chuckled from behind you. âIsnât she so warm, Stevie? You donât like how your cock is soaked with both mine and her cum right now?â
You clamp down around Steve in response to Buckyâs words, and a loud curse falls from Steveâs lips as his eyes fall shut.Â
âJesus fuckingâ Buckâ shut the fuck up, you saying all that shit isâ just making herââÂ
Steve canât even finish his own sentence, not when Bucky is grinding your hips against Steveâs, humming in approval at his own handiwork. Heâs enjoying this, watching both of you fall to pieces in his hands.Â
âYouâve been doing this all night. Since when do you talk back to me?â Bucky asked Steve, lifting you up off of Steve. You see the panic in the soldierâs eyes at the realization, and he pushes himself onto his elbows to meet Buckyâs gaze.Â
And you are empty. Youâre dripping all over Steve, soaking him beneath you, and a whimper falls from your lips.Â
âWaitâ waitâ why am I being punished?â you forced out, grabbing onto Buckyâs hands quickly, looking over your shoulder to him. You sound damn near pathetic. âI didnâtâ I didnât do anythingââ
âLook, Stevie. Look at what happens when you canât be good,â Bucky shook his head before he leaned in closer to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to placate youâ but itâs not enough. âOur girl gets punished, too.â
Your head whipped immediately to the other man. âSteve,â you begged softly, helplessly.Â
âIâll be good,â Steve muttered, sinking back down into the pillows.Â
And Buckyâs feeling merciful because you donât even think thatâs a good enough apology, but heâs returning you to Steveâs cock within the next few momentsâ or maybe itâs a punishment with how hard heâs slamming you down onto him.Â
Punishment for who? Youâre not certain.Â
Both you and Steve canât keep up with the new, sudden pace. Steveâs hands are all over you, hands on your hips and thighs, but also reaching past you to touch Bucky. He never closes his eyes though. Heâs watching every single movement, every single motion, and heâs vocal. It sends tingles down your spine that goes straight down to your core, and he feels every single twitch and spasmâ and he lets you know heâs felt it.Â
âCum whenever you want, doll,â Bucky whispered into your ear, one of his hands slipping between your legs to rub your clit. âOnly Steve canât cum without my permission right now.â
You let out a shaky moan, nodding deliriously at the added stimulation. It didnât take long, not with Steve continuously spearing you with Buckyâs help, and the tight circles rubbing into the overly sensitive nervesâ you came for the third time that night.Â
Bucky didnât stop fucking you onto Steveâs cock the entire time.Â
âYou feel good?â Bucky continued. âStevie making you feel good?â
âHear that, Stevie? You might deserve to cum tonight,â Bucky chuckled.Â
âLet him cum in me,â you whined, grabbing onto Buckyâs wrist. âWant it.â
âGod,â Steve groaned from under you, his fingers digging into your thighs. âYou want my cum, too? Want me to mix with Buckyâs?â
âPlease,â you nodded frantically.Â
âBucky,â Steve called out, his voice broken and hoarseâ he was asking for permission. Begging for it.Â
âYou heard our girl,â Bucky hummed, releasing your hips, and relinquishing control to Steve. âDo what she wants.â
Steveâs hands replaced where Buckyâs was, and you were no longer being slid up and down Steveâs cock. He held you right in place above him, his hips pistoning up into yours. You barely caught yourself on his chest, grounding yourself as he uses your body to get exactly what he wants from youâ doing exactly what you asked him to do.Â
It doesn't take him long, not when heâs been watching Bucky fuck you for the past hour, and being deprived of his own release due to Buckyâs words. Soon enough, youâre not sure whoâs release is whose, but youâre filled to the brim, warm, and sticky.Â
Youâre both panting, and youâve collapsed onto his chest. His hands are on your back, holding you against him as his cock softens inside you, and slips out.Â
You feel Bucky shift beside you, pressing kisses to your spine in appreciation, before heâs muttering your name for some attention. When you lift your head, he catches your lips, kissing you.Â
âBe a good girl and clean up Steveâs cock,â he murmured against your lips.
A shiver runs down your body and you nod, lifting yourself up from Steveâs chest. You kneel between his legs again, and lower yourself down to his softened member. Itâs kinda cute when you see it like this.
Steve flinches when your tongue meets his head, and you taste itâ all three of you on Steveâs skin. Heâs kinda squishy in your mouth in a way that makes you want to giggle. Itâs slightly endearing, in a strange way.Â
Both men are watching from above, eyes glued to every single one of your movements as you lick Steve clean of the remnants of your sin. When all thatâs left is nothing but your saliva, you lift back up, and they both give you lazy, satisfied grins.Â
Bucky beckons for you to come closer, pulling you to settle in the middle of them before he reaches between your legs.Â
âWhat the fuckâ?!â you gasped out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself as two fingers dipped inside of you and curled. You watch as he pulls away, taking the mixture of your releases, and brings it to Steveâs lips, just like how he did earlier.Â
Except, Steve doesnât fully swallow. It settles on his tongue, and Bucky meets his mouth, both men groaning at the taste. You can only watch as their tongues mingle, as their bodies press closer together, and a sense of heat begins to bloom in your stomach again.
And they donât forget about you. Steveâs holding your hand, thumb rubbing along your knuckles while Buckyâs fingers are moving up and down the side of your thigh slowly.Â
When they part, Steveâs tilting your head up to kiss you, and Buckyâs peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. Then, it switches. Buckyâs mouth is against yours, while Steve marks all over your collarbone and chest.Â
âWanna do this again?â Bucky murmured against your lips.Â
Your eyes widen as you pull away from him.Â
âRight now?â you demanded, slightly horrified.Â
âI meanâ I can. I donât think you can,â he said. Steve chuckled from beside you.Â
âWe could make this a regular thing, if youâd like,â Steve offered. âI wouldnât mind.â
âIâ Huh? Like regular fuck buddies? A friends with benefits kind of situation?â you asked, frowning.Â
Bucky made a face. âI donât do fuck buddies, sweetheart. I donât enjoy sharing.â
âYou would be sharing me with Steve.â
âThatâs different. Exclusive sharing with Steve is acceptable,â he dismissed.
âAgain, you donât have to make the decision right now,â Steve quickly told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. âTake your time. Just rest for right now.â
You settled in bed with both of them, in the middle. Steve fell asleep relatively fast, his chest pressed to your back and his face in your hair. Bucky was to your front, face all up in your breasts. Both men had their arms draped around your waist, murmuring about how nice and how soft you were to hold.Â
I just know Gaz gets so condescending when he fucks you stupid
HeÂŽd already made you cum with his mouth, fucked you for over an hour until he came inside you. And when you thought you were getting a break, he flipped your trembling body around and thrust into you again before pulling you against him.
Now youÂŽre sitting on top of him with your back against his chest, your legs straddling his. His cock is deep inside you, just grinding while some of his load leaks out of you. One of his hands toys with your clit, the other wrapped around your waist while your head lays against his shoulder.
You whine while shaking around him, and with his kindest voice he says ÂŽÂŽWhat is it, sweetheart? Does it not feel good?ÂŽÂŽ pushing his cock even further into you. You lift your head and buck away from him, itÂŽs too much, too good, but you canÂŽt formulate sentences right now. ÂŽÂŽNo, no, no, love -ÂŽÂŽ he says, using the hand between his legs to pull you back into him ÂŽÂŽ- youÂŽre supposed to stay right hereÂŽÂŽ, the hand around your waist lifting to hold you by your neck.
ÂŽÂŽKyle...ÂŽÂŽ you whine, eyes rolling back ÂŽÂŽI know, baby, I knowÂŽÂŽ, itÂŽs almost mocking, his hand lifting even further until his fingers press against your mouth and you start sucking them ÂŽÂŽYou get confused sometimes, but donÂŽt worryÂŽÂŽ he kisses your temple ÂŽÂŽIÂŽm right hereÂŽÂŽ
11.2k words of porn with plot. Going out with a bang for Halloween (pun intended). Everyoneâs hands are everywhere and I may or may not have lost track at some point. Mâbad.
It was honestly Gravesâ fault.
Not that youâd admit that to him, the manâs ego was insufferable enough without adding fuel to the fire. But the chain of events that led to⊠well, everything that came after, started with him and his inability to keep his goddamn mouth shut.
Though to be fair, he couldnât have known what he was triggering. He didnât understand the fundamental truth about Task Force 141, the thing that everyone who worked with them learned eventually:
They were the most competitive bastards in the entire British Armed Forces.
It wasnât just legendary; it was documented. There were actual incident reports.
Like the time Soap and Gaz had turned a simple training exercise into a competition over who could complete the obstacle course faster, which escalated into them sabotaging each otherâs runs, which culminated in both of them dangling from a cargo net theyâd somehow set on fire. Price had made them write individual apology letters to the base commander. Theyâd turned that into a competition too, each trying to write the most eloquent apology. Price had been furious. The base commander had been confused. The letters were still pinned to the bulletin board in the rec room as a warning to others.
Or the time Ghost and Soap had disagreed over the best way to clear a building, and instead of just⊠discussing it like normal people, theyâd run the same scenario seventeen times in a row, each trying to beat the otherâs time by mere seconds. Theyâd only stopped when Price physically removed them from the kill house and threatened to make them do paperwork for a month. Even then, Soap had muttered that heâd been winning.
Even Price wasnât immune. There was a pool table in the officerâs lounge that no one was allowed to use anymore after Price and a visiting colonel had gotten into an increasingly intense game that lasted six hours and ended with the colonelâs transfer request. Price maintained heâd won fair and square. The indentation in the wall from where the cue ball had been hit with unnecessary force suggested things had gotten heated.
They competed over everything: marksmanship scores, mission completion times, who could do the most push ups, who could hold their breath longest, who could spot the enemy sniper first, who could drink the most without getting drunk (that one had ended poorly for everyone), and once, memorably, who could go longest without speaking. That had been a peaceful week for you, right up until theyâd all broken at the same moment and started arguing about who had technically lasted longer.
Ghost had won that one by pointing out he never spoke much anyway, so it hadnât been a challenge. Soap had thrown a boot at him.
The thing was, it made them excellent soldiers. That competitive drive pushed them to be faster, sharper, better than anyone else. They held records across multiple bases. Their mission success rate was unmatched. When Task Force 141 was assigned to an operation, people breathed easier because they knew it would get done.
But it also made them absolutely insufferable when they decided something was a competition.
And they decided everything was a competition.
Which brings you back to Graves.
The rec room was unusually crowded with Shadow Company temporarily stationed at the base. Youâd been dealing with Graves and his people for three days now, and while professionally everything was running smoothly, personally you were ready for them to leave.
Graves had a way of taking up space, his Southern drawl filling every room he entered. He wasnât a bad guy, exactly. Just⊠a lot.
You were refilling your coffee when he sauntered over, that trademark smirk firmly in place.
âWell, well. Didnât expect to see you here,â he said, leaning against the counter in a way that was probably supposed to be charming.
âItâs my base, Graves.â
âPhil, sweetheart. Weâre past formalities, arenât we?â His eyes gleamed with something that made you tense. âEspecially considering.â
Across the room, you felt the 141 paying attention. Price had looked up from his report. Soapâs conversation with Gaz had died mid sentence. Even Ghost had shifted slightly in his seat.
You shouldâve known then. Shouldâve recognized the signs. The 141 had a sixth sense for potential competitions, and they were already alert, already watching.
âConsidering what?â you asked, keeping your voice level even as warning bells started ringing in your head.
âOh, come on now. No need to be shy.â Gravesâ smile widened. âThough you werenât particularly shy that weekend in Berlin, as I recall. Great even.â
The room went very, very quiet.
You sighed internally. Of course he was going to do this. Of course he was trying to posture and mark his territory. âThat was two years ago, Graves.â
âPhil,â he corrected again, clearly enjoying himself. âAnd I gotta say, youâre looking even better now than you did then. If you ever get tired of the 141, Shadow Companyâs always recruiting. Iâd be happy to conduct your⊠interview process.â
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Oh no.
You saw it happen in real time: Soapâs hand tightening around his mug, Gaz going unnaturally still, the way Priceâs report crinkled ominously in his grip, how Ghostâs head tilted in that particular way that usually preceded someone having a very bad day.
âIâm good where I am,â you said firmly, trying to de-escalate. âThanks.â
âYour loss.â Graves straightened, addressing the room now, playing to his audience. âBut between you and me, and well, everyone else hereâ he stage whispered conspiratorially, âtotally worth the operation debrief we had to sit through the next morning half dead from exhaustion, if you know what I mean.â
Oh no.
âGraves-â you started.
âIâm just saying.â Graves straightened, clearly enjoying the attention. âBut hey, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Iâll make sure to clear my schedule. Maybe we can recapture some of that Berlin magic.â
He winked- actually winked- and sauntered off to join his team.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
Finally, Soap broke it. âBerlin?â
You shrugged, returning to doctoring your coffee. âIt was a joint task force operation. Two years ago, like I said.â
âAnd youâŠâ Gaz trailed off, eyebrows raised.
âYes.â
âWith Graves.â Soapâs voice was flat.
âWith Commander Graves, yes.â You turned to face them, meeting each of their stares head on. âIs there a problem?â
Price folded his paper with deliberate precision. âDid we say there was a problem?â
âYouâre all looking at me like I kicked a puppy.â
âWeâre just⊠processing,â Gaz said diplomatically.
Ghostâs voice cut through, dry as bone: âDidnât take you for someone with poor judgment.â
You snorted. âIt was one weekend. Casual. And for the record, it was perfectly good judgment at the time. Mission was over, we were both consenting adults, and I have no regrets.â
âNo regrets,â Soap repeated, something dangerous in his tone. âAbout Graves.â
âShould I?â You challenged, feeling your own temper stir, offended as they questioned your life choices. âIâm pretty sure Iâm allowed to have a past.â
âCourse you are,â Price said, but his jaw was tight. âJust didnât realize your past includedâŠâ
âIncluded what? Men you donât like?â You crossed your arms. âGrow up.â
âHow was it?â The question came from Ghost, and everyone turned to stare at him.
âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me.â Ghost leaned back in his chair. âHow was it? With Graves.â
You couldâve deflected. Probably should have. But youâd never been good at backing down, and something about their collective judgment made you want to defend yourself even if a voice in the back of your head said you were just going to poke the bear.
âIt was alright,â you said with a shrug. âBetter than most, if Iâm being honest. ActuallyâŠâ you paused, taking a sip of coffee, âprobably one of the best Iâve ever had.â
The reaction was immediate and visceral.
Soapâs mug hit the table with a thud. âYouâre joking.â
âOne of the best?â Gazâs voice had gone up half an octave.
Priceâs knuckles were white where they gripped the report.
Ghost had gone preternaturally still.
You blinked at them, genuinely confused by the intensity of their reactions. âWhat? You asked.â
âOne of the best,â Soap repeated, standing now. âGraves. Commander Philip Graves, who canât shut his mouth for five seconds and wears those ridiculous sunglasses indoors-â
âI didnât say he was perfect, I said the sex was good. Thereâs a difference.â
âBetter than-â Gaz cut himself off, glancing around the room. They were still in public, even if most people had cleared out when the tension started rising. âBetter than most?â
âAre you actually offended right now?â You stared at them. âThis is ridiculous.â
âItâs not ridiculous,â Soap said hotly. âItâs-itâs-â
âItâs Graves,â Price finished, and somehow that explained everything.
You looked between the four of them and suddenly understood. This wasnât about you having a past. This was about their egos. Their pride. Their absolute inability to accept being second best at anything, especially to someone they considered inferior.
And especially not at this.
âOh my god,â you said slowly. âYouâre jealous.â
âWeâre not jealous,â four voices said in unison, which was probably the least convincing denial in military history.
âYou are.â A laugh bubbled up despite yourself. âYouâre actually jealous of Graves.â
Soap had started pacing. âOne of the best. One of the bloody best. What does that even mean? Top five? Top three?â
âIâm not ranking my sexual encounters like a mission debrief, Johnny.â
âWhy not?â he shot back. âSeems like useful information.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose. âCan we not do this here?â
âDo what?â Price was genuinely curious now.
âHave a breakdown because I slept with someone and thought they were good.â
âItâs about-â Gaz gestured vaguely. âStandards. You have standards, right? And if Graves meets those standards, then what does that say about-â
âAbout you?â You finished. âNothing. It says nothing about you because youâre not in competition with my past.â
The look they exchanged said otherwise.
âDonât,â you blurted out preemptively.
âDonât what?â Soap asked, voice too casual.
âWhatever youâre thinking. Donât.â
âWeâre not thinking anything,â Gaz said, which was absolutely a lie.
You knew that tone. Youâd heard that tone before, right before theyâd decided to turn a simple reconnaissance mission into a competition over who could get the most actionable intelligence. It had been effective but exhausting.
âIt was two years ago,â you said firmly. âIt was fine, itâs over. Can we please move on?â
âFine?â Soap pounced on the word. âYou said fine? But Graves was great.â
âIt was an exaggeration.â
âWas it though?â This from Ghost, who had actually stood up now. âIn my experience, Graves is many things, but he doesnât usually undersell his own accomplishments.â
You stared at him. âAre you defending Graves right now?â
âIâm establishing accurate parameters.â
âParameters for what?â
The look they all exchanged was brief but telling. In that single moment of silent communication- the kind theyâd perfected over countless missions- you saw them come to some kind of collective decision.
âNothing,â Price said, but his slight smile suggested otherwise. âJust thinking itâs interesting, thatâs all.â
âWhatâs interesting?â
âThat you considers Graves some of the best youâve ever had,â Gaz said thoughtfully. âMakes a man curious about the standards being applied and if someone can raise them.â
âOh my god.â You could see where this was going now, clear as day. âNo. Absolutely not.â
âNo what?â Soap asked innocently. Too innocently.
âWhatever competitive insanity youâre all cooking up right now, the answer is no.â
âWeâre not cooking up anything,â Price said. âAre we, lads?â
âNothing at all, Cap,â Gaz agreed.
âWouldnât dream of it,â Soap added.
Ghost said nothing, but his silence was somehow the most ominous of all.
You pointed at each of them in turn. âI know how you people think. Iâve seen you turn loading supply trucks into a competition. Youâre not turning my sex life into another one of your challenges.â
âYour sex life?â Price raised an eyebrow. âNo, love. This isnât about your sex life.â
âThen whatâs it about?â
He moved closer, and despite everything, your breath caught. âItâs about performance metrics. Ensuring quality control.â
âQuality control,â you repeated faintly.
âWeâre the 141,â Soap said, appearing at your other side. âWe donât do second place. In anything.â
âAnd if Graves-â Gaz made a dismissive gesture, â-thinks heâs set some kind of benchmark, wellâŠâ
âSomeone needs to correct that misconception,â Ghost finished.
You looked around at all of them, these competitive, stubborn, absolutely impossible men who apparently couldnât stand the thought of anyone- especially Graves- being considered the best at something.
Even this.
Especially this.
âYouâre all insane,â you managed.
âProbably,â Price agreed easily. âBut youâre still here.â
You were. God help you, you were still here, and you werenât walking away, and they all knew it.
Which is how you would up on Priceâs bed with Soapâs head between your legs.
One second youâre in the rec room and the next youâre ushered upstairs, Soapâs mouth on your cunt, and your whole body jerks like someone plugged you in.
Itâs wet and hot and pressure. Not a fluttery kiss, he seals over you and pulls, drawing your clit into his mouth and your hips come off the mattress a good inch. His hands slam to your thighs and push, spreading you wider and pinning you at the same time.
âF-fuck- oh god- Johnny.â Thatâs when your pulse drops, leaves your throat and settles between your legs in a hard, responsive beat. Every time his tongue flicks, it kicks. Every time his mouth sucks, it swells. The nerves there go loud, drowning out everything else.
You can feel your own slick on your inner thighs now, warm and a little messy. When he drags you closer, you slide on it. The sheet under your ass is going to be damp.
He angles his head and finds the exact spot.
You know it because your calves tense and your fingers curl. You try to close your legs around his head, curl around the pleasure, and he just laughs into you, low and smug, and forces your knees apart again. Your hip flexors burn from the stretch. You can feel the tremor start in them.
Above you, the bed dips; someone leans in. A broad, callused palm plants over your lower belly and holds you down. That single extra point of contact changes everything; now you canât roll, canât run, canât arch away. All you can do is feel.
Soap increases his tempo.
Slow at first; long, wet licks from your entrance up to your clit, pausing there, circling. Then tighter, faster, little pulls of suction. Then when you gasp right, he adds tongue and lips and pressure and it becomes this relentless little engine of sensation, over and over, no mercy.
Your stomach knots. Your thighs start to shake properly now, not just twitch. Your nipples rub against the fabric of your bra every time you breathe, and theyâre hard, throbbing, needy from the rubbing.
You make a sound.
Itâs not pretty. Itâs a half choked, wet, needy thing, and it spills out without permission. Someone coos at you for it. A thumb strokes your cheek. Fingers thread through your hair. It all blurs together because the center of you is flooding with heat.
He pushes two fingers inside you and the stretch is immediate; fullness to match the drag of his tongue. A sharp, perfect ache along your inner walls where your body says yes, there. Your cunt clenches around him like itâs trying to pull him in farther. The wet sound is obscene. You hear someone suck in a breath and say âFuck, look at âer.â
Your chest heaves. Your ribs canât expand enough. You canât get a full breath because every time you try, Soap does something with his tongue to take it.
Youâre right on the edge of that bright drop and your thighs try to close again. He forces them open again.
Your hips try to lift. The hand on your belly forces you down.
Your head tosses side to side, too much, too big, too good. Fingers- whose? Priceâs? Gazâs?- catch your jaw and bring you back to center.
âLook.â
So you do. You blink through the blur and look, and thereâs a pair of baby blue eyes watching you come apart, and that alone tips you.
You break.
Itâs hot and itâs fast. Your whole pelvis locks, then pulses. Your cunt clamps around his fingers in hard, greedy squeezes. Your clit is burning from the drag of his mouth and you are so wet you can feel your slick slide down toward your ass. Your toes curl, calves cramping, thighs shaking. At the crest, your vision goes white at the edges and your ears rush.
You come hard.
He stays on you.
Thatâs the killer. He doesnât back off. He gentles, yeah, but he doesnât stop. He licks you through it, slow, teasing, gathering everything he pulled out of you, making you feel every last pulse.
Your body shudders in aftershocks. Little heat flares. The muscles in your stomach flutter. You canât do anything but take it.
Someoneâs hand comes up to your chest and rubs, grounding. Another slides under your knee and bends it, easing the strain in your hip. Another strokes the inside of your thigh where his stubble has made it pink.
You sag.
Youâre warm everywhere now, skin buzzing, limbs heavy. Your cunt still pulses in little sympathetic squeezes around nothing. If Soap slid his cock in right now, youâd pull him in to the hilt, no resistance.
They move you, fabric drags over your oversensitive nipples and you hiss, arching away, and someone laughs softly and unhooks your bra, slipping it away, soothing your nipples with their thumb. The bed squeaks, wood complaining. A knee slots between your legs and you ride it without meaning to because thereâs still ache there, still want.
Another mouth finds your throat. Teeth scrape, gentle. A hand cups you, broad and warm, palm pressing over your still wet clit.
You were still shaking when they decided one orgasm didnât prove anything.
The bed dipped and shifted around you, weight moving like a tide. You were on your back, knees loose, underwear somewhere halfway down one thigh, trying to remember how to breathe, when a warm hand slid up your stomach and settled just under your ribs. Big palm, callused, heavy enough to say stay right here. Price, then.
âEasy,â he murmured, more in tone than words. You felt it in your skin, not your ears. âYouâre alright.â
You were. Your muscles, though, hadnât caught up. Your thighs had that post release tremble, the one you couldnât command away. Your belly kept fluttering in little afterpulses. Between your legs you were hot and slick and sensitive, pleasure still fizzing under the surface like it hadnât decided to leave yet.
And they were all still there.
You were aware of them the way youâre aware of heat behind you. Soap, breathless and smug near your knees. Gaz, closer to your head now, arm along the pillow so you could lean if you needed. Ghost, solid at the side of the bed, one knee on the mattress so he could reach you without crowding.
Four men. Four sets of hands. Four different temperatures of want.
Your body knew it before your brain did: weâre not done.
Priceâs hand slid down from your ribs to your hip, then lower, thumb brushing the still damp inside of your thigh. He hummed, quiet, pleased. âGood,â he said like he was noting it for the record. âSoft and wet.â
That shouldâve been embarrassing. It wasnât. Not with the way they were looking at you- like this was data, yes, but also like it was a gift you were like this for them.
Gaz tipped his head, watching your chest rise and fall. âSheâs coming back,â he said, the way he mightâve said her vitals are up. âLook.â
You opened your eyes. The room swam into focus- concrete walls, rain on the window, four shadows leaning over you.
Soap grinned down at you, face flushed, mouth a little swollen. âSo?â he said. âBetter than Graves?â
You meant to snap at him. You really did. But the second your mouth opened, a thumb- Ghostâs, gloved and warm- smoothed over your cheek, and whatever retort youâd had melted.
âDonât make her talk through it,â Ghost said, voice low. âSheâs floatinâ.â
You were. Your head felt light, your limbs felt heavy, and under all of it, your cunt still pulsed, slow and needy, because that first orgasm had taken the edge off but not the want. If anything, the want had gotten worse; looser, lazier, more give me more of that.
They saw it.
Price shifted, sitting on the edge of the bed so your back could rest against his thigh. The fabric of his pants was rough against your bare skin, but his palm was warm, moving in soothing circles over your belly. You let your head fall back against him without thinking.
âThere we are,â he said voice like gravel. âLetâs get you comfortable.â
Comfortable was relative. Comfortable meant supported while we do more to you.
Soap crawled up again, this time on your left, bracing a hand beside your shoulder, his body radiating heat. Gaz mirrored him on the right, thigh pressed to your hip. Ghost stayed at your feet, big hands sliding up your calves, over your knees, pushing your legs apart again with maddening patience.
Your thighs quivered under his hands. He didnât let them close.
âLook at that,â Soap said, and there was honest admiration in it. âStill shiverinâ.â
âSensitive,â Gaz agreed, eyes crinkling. âMakes it a fair fight.â
A fair fight. You almost laughed. Nothing about this was fair. It was four world class overachievers deciding one loud American didnât get to be the gold standard in your head.
Ghostâs hands were firmer now, thumbs pressing into the tender spot where thigh met hip, easing you open inch by inch. You felt the cool air on you again. Felt your own wet, slick and warm against the inside of your thighs. Felt the ache start to build again, low and heavy, because even being held open like that sent a pulse of want through you.
He didnât touch you right away. That was almost worse. He just kept you open and looked, head bent, breath brushing your inner thigh through the mask. His gaze flicked up to yours, unreadable.
âStill want more?â he asked.
You swallowed. Your throat felt dry. âYes.â
Priceâs hand on your belly stilled for a beat, then resumed, slower. You could practically hear the satisfaction in his silence.
âGood,â Ghost said. âBecause weâre not lettinâ Graves win on a technicality.â
Then he touched you.
He dragged two knuckles through your slick and the sensation was so sharp after what Soap had just done to you that your hips tried to jerk away. Priceâs arm across your middle kept you exactly where you were.
âEasy,â Price murmured, mouth close to your ear. âBreathe for me.â
You did. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Your body settled, but only in the loosest way. Every nerve from your navel down was on.
Ghost circled you first. Slow, deliberate, dragging wet over the most sensitive part of you in lazy, cruel little loops. It made everything there swell, throb, wake up. It made the ache bloom again, hotter, until you were whimpering into the air, panting from the heat of it.
Then, when you were looking at him, when he had your eyes, he slid two fingers into you.
You gasped. Couldnât help it. Couldnât hold it back.
It felt deep immediately. You were still soft and open from the orgasm and your body took him to the knuckle. You could feel your walls flutter around him, a helpless, greedy squeezing. You could feel just how wet you were, how easily he moved, how the motion made obscene, slick sounds between your thighs.
âFuckinâ hell,â Soap breathed. âListen to her.â
You heard it too. The wet. The way you caught on his fingers on the way out, then sucked him right back in. Your cheeks burned. Your body didnât care. Your body wanted more.
Ghost set a rhythm- deep press in, slow pull out, lazy twist at the top that nudged right where you were still sensitive. Every stroke made your hips roll, made your breath catch, made moans spill out past your lips, made that warm, liquid feeling in your belly spread.
Priceâs hand slid up to your breasts, fingers curling over the weight of them, thumb brushing your nipples. They were already sensitive and the touch made them tingle more. You arched into his palms without thinking and he made a pleased sound low in his chest.
âResponsive,â he said, mostly to himself. âLike that, do you?â
You managed a nod. Your voice was somewhere under the bed and you could only answer him with moans.
Gaz leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth. âYou look wrecked already,â he murmured, smile against your skin. âThatâs good. Thatâs how we like you.â
Ghost crooked his fingers inside you.
The pleasure changed. Went from warm and spreading to sharp and right fucking there. It sent sparks up your spine. Your thighs tried to close again and Gaz and Soap clamped their hands on the fat of your thighs, held you wide and open, while Ghost worked that spot over and over.
Your breathing went ragged. Your hips started to chase. Your toes curled in nothing. Your hand flew up, searching for something to hold, and landed on Soapâs forearm. You clamped down hard. He just laughed, turned his arm so you could get a better grip.
âYeah, thatâs it,â he said, eyes hungry on your face. âHold on.â
You could feel yourself climbing again. Already. So soon. Your body didnât care. It liked his fingers, liked the way they filled and dragged, liked the way Priceâs thumbs kept circling your nipples in lazy counterpoint, liked the way Gazâs mouth kept brushing your jaw, your cheek, grounding you.
âStill with us?â Price asked quietly.
âYes,â you got out. Barely.
âGood girl.â
Your cunt clenched around Ghostâs fingers at that. Hard. Instinctive. You felt the heat in your face flare.
He felt it too. âOh, you like that,â he said, tone gone velvet dark. âThat what he said to you?â A pointed reference- Graves? Did he say it like that? It shouldâve annoyed you but it didnât. It just sent another pulse of want through you.
âDoesnât matter,â Gaz said, amused, kissing your temple. âSheâs gonna hear it better from us.â
You were too close to answer with a retort. The pressure was right there, sitting low, throbbing. Your thighs were fully trembling now, little uncontrollable shakes. Your belly was tight. Your breath came in hot pants. You knew if he just-
He did.
He added his thumb.
The extra point of pressure on your clit lit you up. It was too much and exactly enough. Your head tipped back on Priceâs shoulder. A sound tore out of you, high and helpless.
âLet it happen,â Price said into your hair. âLet it.â
You did.
It rolled over you harder than the first, because your body was already primed, because you were being held this time- one hand at your throat, another at your breast, hips braced, legs kept open. You didnât have to hold yourself up. You didnât have to be quiet. You didnât have to pretend you werenât falling apart for them.
Your climax ripped through you in tight, fast pulses. Your walls clutched around Ghostâs fingers like you were trying to keep him. Slick flooded out around him, hot and embarrassing and perfect. Your thighs shook, heels digging into the mattress. You mightâve said someoneâs name; you werenât sure which.
They talked but it washed over you. What stuck was touch: Priceâs hand on your sternum, grounding; Gazâs thumb catching a tear you didnât realize had slipped; Soapâs palm tightening on your knee like there you go, thatâs our girl; Ghostâs fingers slowly, carefully easing out of you when the aftershocks got too sharp.
You sagged back, boneless.
Your cunt still fluttered, slow little squeezes in the afterglow. Your thighs glistened. Your skin hummed. You were warm all over, skin prickling, heart finally starting to settle.
Somewhere near your ear, Price chuckled. âThatâs two,â he said, smug. âHe give you two?â
You huffed a breath that was half laugh, half groan. âOh my god.â
âSheâs not arguing,â Soap crowed.
Gaz leaned his forehead to yours. âThatâs because weâre winning,â he said, delighted.
Ghost wiped his fingers on the sheet, then rested his big hand over the inside of your thigh, thumb stroking once, slow. âWeâre not done,â he said, and the promise in it made your already overworked nerves spark again.
You believed him. Every part of you, flushed, wet, and trembling, believed him.
Price shifted behind you.
âAlright,â he says, voice low, that command layer threaded through it. âMy turn.â
You feel him move, feel the bed dip differently, feel his thighs open so thereâs room for you. A hand slides under your knee and guides your leg over his until suddenly youâre straddling one of his legs, back against his chest, his arm a wide band across your front, holding you steady.
Heâs warm everywhere you touch him. Solid. Bigger than you in all the places that matter for this. You can smell him, too, smoke, wool, the faint metallic smell of weapons oil. Familiar. Comforting. Infuriatingly hot right now.
Youâre still soft from coming. Still wet. When he palms your hip and pulls you backward over him, you feel just how wet; you slide on yourself, on the inside of your thigh, on the sheet. You make a small, uncontrolled sound at your own slickness.
âYeah,â he murmurs against the side of your face. âThatâs what I thought.â
Thereâs movement below you: a belt unbuckling, the soft metal jingle, zipper down. You donât have to look to know what heâs doing. Your body knows; your muscles get ready. Your hips go loose and expectant. Your cunt gives a slow, hungry little pulse like yes, now.
He fits his hand between your legs first, checking like he didnât just watch Ghost make you flood. His fingers drag through you, gather you, stroke you. The touch is gentler than Ghostâs was, not searching for a spot, just confirming youâre ready for weight.
You are. God, you are.
âStill open,â he says, and you can hear the approval. âThatâs good, sweetheart. Gonna make this easy.â
You donât even realize youâve tipped your head to his shoulder until his beard scrapes your temple. His mouth is right there, breath warm, words for you, just you. That alone makes your chest go hot.
âHands on me,â he says. âHold on.â
You do. One arm goes back around his neck, dragging his collar down so youâve got something to grip. The other braces on his thigh. You can feel the muscle there, hard even relaxed.
The others have gone quiet.
Theyâre still close. You can feel Soap at the edge of the bed, practically vibrating. You can feel Gaz leaning in to see. You can feel Ghost standing sentry, watchful, but thereâs a charged waiting in all of them now; the kind you get right before breaching.
Price angles his hips.
You feel his cock thick, hot, and heavy pressing against you from below. Itâs blunt at first, just a nudge at your entrance, sliding in your wet. Your breath stops. Every muscle lower than your ribs goes tight, held in that exquisite almost there.
He hears it. âBreathe,â he reminds you softly. âDonât lock up on me.â
You force air into your lungs. It shudders on the way out.
Then he pulls your hips down.
Itâs a slow, controlled push. Heâs too big and youâre too sensitive for him to just drive in, so he eases you over him, inch by steady inch. The stretch is immediate and deep. You feel it all the way up your spine. Your body parts around him because youâre open and slick and primed, but it still burns for a second and tells you youâre getting full.
âThereâs it is,â Soap said somewhere off to the side, almost reverent. âLook at how sheâs takinâ him.â
You felt it even with your eyes closed: three men leaning in, watching the way your body gave for Price. You were too busy feeling it to be shy.
Because once he got past that first thick resistance, your body just⊠went. The muscle ring eased, the wet did its job, and you sank. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the heat of him. You could feel the difference between the blunt, stretching first half and the deeper, thicker second half. You could feel your own slick being pushed up around his cock.
Your breath came out on a shaky, âOh-â
âGood girl,â Price said in your ear, voice gone rough. His arm tightened around your middle to keep you from scrambling away from the intensity. âKnew youâd take me.â
That praise lit you up. Your cunt clenched around him hard. He groaned low in his throat, vibrating against your back where you felt it more than heard it.
âFuckinâ hell,â Gaz muttered, delighted. âSheâs squeezinâ him already.â
âCourse she is,â Soap said. âSheâs still warm from before.â
Ghost didnât say anything, but you heard the small, sharp inhale he always did when something impressed him.
Price held you there for a beat, fully seated, your ass on his thighs, your back to his chest, his cock buried in you to the hilt. It was a lot. Full, hot, so deep it nudged at places Ghostâs fingers hadnât reached. It made your stomach feel heavy and your chest feel light. Your body wanted to move, to rock, to chase, but he didnât let you. Not yet.
âFeel that?â he asked quietly.
You nodded, too breathless to speak.
âTell me.â
âSâfull,â you slurred, cheeks hot. It felt silly to say, but it was the truth. âYouâre- full.â
âThatâs right.â He sounded indecently pleased. âThatâs the bit he couldnât give you.â
Your back arched when he pulled almost all the way out.
The drag was obscene, long and slow, your walls gripping, reluctant to let him go. You could feel the way you narrowed again around the thickest part of him, the way your wet clung, glistening on his cock. At the top of the stroke he stayed right at your entrance, head just inside, letting you feel the emptiness heâd leave if he pulled out.
Your whole pelvis tipped, chasing him back.
Price laughed, low. âOh, you liked that.â
Then he pushed back in, a little faster.
It rocked your whole body every thrust translated through his thighs and into your spine. Your breasts jostled; his forearm across your chest pushed them up. Your head fell back on his shoulder, mouth open.
He found his pace quickly, not jackhammering- he wasnât showing off for the lads. He was demonstrating. Deep, confident strokes, bottoming out every time, giving you the full length so you couldnât accuse him of holding back.
Every thrust pressed you down onto the mattress and up into his chest at the same time. Every thrust made your clit drag against the heel of his hand where it was braced on your hip. It stacked sensation- deep stretch inside, blunt friction outside- and your nerves lit right back up.
Your thighs tried to close and his big hand slid down and caught the inside of your knee, pushing it back open, letting the others see him inside you.
âSheâs made for it,â Gaz said, softer. âLook at her.â
You were half gone already. Your breathing had gone high, breathy, those quick little pants that always came out of you when you were being taken instead of doing the taking. Your hands had locked on him, your cunt fluttering around him every time he bottomed out, that desperate, helpless squeezing.
He felt it. âThere she goes,â he murmured. âSheâs climbing again.â
You were. Faster than before. It hadnât even been five minutes since Ghost worked you over and already your body was stringing itself tight again because now you were full, now you had weight, now you had rhythm. Your clit, still tender, zinged every time he drove you down. Your belly tightened. Your toes curled.
Price angled his hips a fraction and suddenly he was hitting a spot that made your vision blur.
You made a sound- high, keening, moaning.
âThere?â he asked, voice tight.
âYes- yes- donât stop- please-â
He hit it again. Again. Held you down this time so you couldnât wiggle off it. Your mouth dropped open. Heat flooded your face, your chest, your whole pelvis. Your legs shook against his hand.
âThatâs the one,â Gaz said, almost delighted. âRight there.â
âKeep her there,â Ghost said. âMake it clear.â
He did.
You couldnât run. You couldnât even think of running. His arm was a bar across your chest; his hand was a clamp on your thigh; his thighs were solid under you. He just kept driving up, slow and merciless, right into that spot, each stroke punching a breathless sound out of you.
Your first and second orgasms had been waves. This one built like pressure. Tight, hard, insistent. Your cunt started to clamp in short, frantic squeezes. Your nails dug into his shoulder. Your head tipped back, baring your throat.
He bent and bit you there making you gasp.
That did it.
You broke around him, muscles locking and then spasming. Your walls gripped him so hard it dragged a groan out of his chest. Heat rushed down through you, out along your thighs, up through your spine. Your whole body shook. You mightâve said âCapâin,â you werenât sure.
He didnât stop. He rode you through it, pace steady, letting your spasms milk him, letting you feel every inch of him inside you while you were at your most sensitive as he groaned and spilled deep into your cunt with a groan.
âThatâs three,â Ghost said, satisfied. âHe do three?â
You couldnât answer. Your brain was white noise. All you could do was gasp and babble and hold on and feel.
Price finally slowed, then stilled, cock still deep, arm still locked around you. You were limp against him, boneless, chest heaving. Sweat was cooling on your stomach. Your thighs were a mess between wet and shaking and being forced open.
He kissed the side of your head. âGood,â he said, praise thick. âThatâs my girl.â
Around you, the others moved.
You felt Soap climb onto the bed properly now, not just hovering. Felt Gaz shift closer to your knees. Felt Ghost come around the foot, big and quiet, watching you with that evaluating look.
âYou want a turn?â Price asked, still inside you, not even pretending heâd pull out yet.
âOh, absolutely,â Soap said, hungry. âSheâs soft as fuck now.â
Gaz laughed. âYou just want to see if you can top that.â
âMate, I know I can top that.â
Ghostâs eyes flicked over you, taking in the flushed face, the trembling legs, the way you were still clenching around Price even as you came down. âShe can take more,â he said.
You made a weak, protesting sound that wasnât really a protest.
Price chuckled into your hair. âHear that?â he said. âShe wants it.â
Price kept you on him for a moment longer, big arm banded across your front, chest to your back, thighs snug under your ass. You were still pulsing around him in little, involuntary squeezes, and every one of them made his breath hitch warm against your ear.
âWell?â he asked the room, smug. âThat feel like Berlin to you?â
Ghost shifted at the foot of the bed, mask tipped like he was taking notes. âSo far,â he said, dry as bone, âthatâs us: 3. Graves: fuck all.â
You managed a laugh, weak and breathy. âYouâre all⊠ridiculous.â
âCompetitive,â all four of them said at once.
Price finally eased you off him. You felt every inch of it; felt the drag, the last thick stretch, the way your body tried to hold him and then had to let go. You gasped softly at the loss, hips twitching. He steadied you with both hands, murmuring, âEasy, love,â as he guided you forward.
The second you were clear, Soap was there.
âCâmere, then,â he said, hands already on your waist, warm and eager. âMy turn.â
Soap pulled you onto your hands and knees near the middle of the bed, the mattress complaining. You were loose limbed and shaky, so he did half the work himself, tucking your knees under you, keeping a palm between your shoulder blades so you didnât fold.
âOh, look at you,â he said, a low whistle in his voice when he got a full view. âMessy wee thing.â
You flushed hot. You were messy: your slick on your thighs, Priceâs cum dripping out of your on the blanket, thighs still trembling. You wouldâve dropped your head in your arms if Gaz hadnât reached in and tipped your chin up.
âDonât hide,â he cooed. âWe wanna see you.â
Ghost made a little approving sound. âThatâs the point.â
Soap looked over your shoulder. âSo?â he challenged. âCap do good?â
Price, still catching his own breath, wiped a hand over his beard. âShe came,â he said, a little too pleased.
âThen Iâll make it four,â Soap said. âAnâ then we can tell Graves to get fucked.â
âYou did tell him that,â Gaz reminded him.
âAye, but now I can tell him why.â
You felt Soap line up behind you, heat against the back of your thighs, chest to your back for a second as he reached down to guide his cock towards your entrance. His left hand stayed right in the small of your back, keeping you in position.
Soap pushed in.
He wasnât as patient as Price- he was eager, and you felt that in the way he rolled his hips, in the way his hand tightened on you when he felt how easily you took him. You were wet enough, and already open; your body gave. You gasped- couldnât not, after being so full already. Your arms shook. Gaz immediately slid closer on the bed and let you grip his wrist.
âPrice did the hard work,â Gaz said, but he was grinning, cupping your cheek with his free hand so youâd look at him. âHowâs he feel, love?â
âSâ good,â you got out, words breaking on a breath. âHeâs-â
âBetter?â Soap said, smug, starting to move for real now.
You couldnât answer right away because Soap fucked differently than Price. Price was heavy and deep and sure. Soap was energized. He rolled through his hips like he fought, like he danced, like he couldnât keep still if you paid him. Every stroke had a little snap at the end, a little lift of your hips, a little grind that dragged over every sensitive place Price had already woken up.
Your arms almost gave. Your elbows dipped. Gaz caught you around the shoulders and pulled you up, settling you half against his chest so you werenât bearing your whole weight. It changed the angle, your back curving, your hips tipping, and Soap groaned when he felt it.
âOh, thatâs better,â he said. âFuck, thatâs better.â
Price moved in behind him, one hand landing on Soapâs shoulder like, pace. âDonât blow your load in five seconds, Sergeant.â
âWouldnât dream of it, Captain,â Soap said, but he slowed just enough to keep you from being overwhelmed.
Your body, though, was already there. Every thrust pressed slick heat up where you were still tender. Every time he bottomed, you felt that deep, aching fullness, your walls clinging to his cock. You could hear yourself wet, obscene, a steady rhythm under the creak of the bed. Your thighs started to shake again, traitorous.
âSheâs goinâ again,â Soap said, awed, angling his hips, his dick pressing deeper and making you whine against Gazâs throat.
âSheâs not gonna last long with you showboatinâ,â Price said.
âShe doesnât have to,â Gaz said, mouth at your ear. âThatâs the point.â
Ghost had moved closer, right at the foot now, one knee on the mattress, watching you from the best angle. You could feel his eyes on where you were joined. You could feel the heat of him even not touching you.
âLook at that,â he said, voice gone low, almost hungry. âThatâs four. Sheâs taken two cocks and sheâs still asking for it.â
You were. Your hips were pushing back to meet Soapâs, small desperate motions. Your hand on Gazâs wrist had gone from holding to clutching. Your breath came in high, sweet bursts.
Soap slid his hand around your front, over your belly, down.
His fingers found your clit, already swollen and slick and went straight to steady, tight circles, timed with his thrusts. Your whole body jolted.
You made a noise that wasnât words.
âThere she is,â Gaz murmured, holding you upright. âThere we go. Let it happen, pretty girl.â
Soap laughed, ragged. âAye, let it- fuck- listen to her.â
You couldnât hold it back. Your body was too ready, too worked, too wet. The combination- full inside, rubbed right there, held and watched and praised- ripped another climax out of you. This one was messy and loud, your muscles going tight-tight-loose, thighs shaking so hard Soap had to clamp his arm around your middle to keep you from dropping as he buried deep and came, flooding your sensitive cunt with his release.
âThatâs four,â Ghost said immediately. âGraves: still nowhere.â
You dropped your forehead to Gazâs shoulder, breath tearing in and out of you. He cupped the back of your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. âGood girl,â he said. âSo good. You with us?â
âYeah,â you panted, tears sliding. âYeah.â
âNeed a minute?â Price asked, voice back to that command soft.
You thought about it. Your body was thrumming, muscles liquid, thighs sore in a good way, your cunt still fluttering around Soap where heâd slowed to a lazy grind to keep you from getting shocked. You could have taken a minute.
You didnât want to.
âNo,â you said, surprising yourself with how sure it came out. âDonât⊠stop.â
You felt all of them react to that.
âFuck, I love her,â Soap said, groaning, pulling out slow, another long, obscene drag that made your eyes roll. âRight. Trade.â
Gaz laughed, delighted. âMy go.â
He was smoother about it.
While Soap eased out, Gaz was already shifting you, rolling you gently onto your back again, then tugging your hips toward him. His hands were warm, steady, different from the other two: less force, more coaxing. He bent, kissed you once, slow and deep, like a palate cleanser.
âHow we doing?â he asked against your mouth.
âFuzzy,â you murmured. âGood. Fuzzy.â
âFuzzyâs good,â he said. âMeans weâre doing it right.â
He pushed your knees up, opening you again, and glanced back at the others. âYou lads want to see?â he asked, shameless. âCome round. Sheâs gorgeous like this.â
They did.
Price came to your left, hand braced by your head, beard shadowed, eyes heavy. Soap flopped to your right, still flushed, watching like he wanted to dive back in the second he got the nod. Ghost stayed at the foot of the bed, looming, mask down, eyes dark.
Gaz stroked you first, just fingers, slow up your slit, spreading your slick and Priceâs and Soapâs cum along your cunt. âStill so wet,â he said, low. âGod, youâre perfect.â
Then he pushed into you.
He was between Priceâs deep and Soapâs eager. He sank in steady, watching your face, slowing when you gasped, pushing when you relaxed. Your body welcomed him, open and dripping and aching for it. Even so, the stretch made your breath stutter and your hands grab for whoever was closest.
Price gave you his, lacing his fingers in with yours. âHere,â he said, and you held on.
Gaz bottomed out and stayed. You could feel him everywhere, thick inside, pressing low, your walls hugging him after so much use. Your belly fluttered again.
âFuck,â Soap whispered. âSheâs still clenchinâ.â
âMeans weâre not done,â Gaz said, beginning to move.
His pace was cruel in its own way. Not the driving authority of Price or the showy roll of Soap, this was measured. Just fast enough to keep you on the high, just deep enough to hit where you were tender. He knew he didnât have to prove he could make you come, Price and Soap had already done the heavy lifting. He wanted to prove he could keep you there.
He did. Within a minute you were right back on the ledge, breath short and hiccuping, thighs trembling, slick loud between you, hands switching from Priceâs wrist to Soapâs forearm, back to Priceâs shirt, sobbing and sniffling with each thrust. Your clit was throbbing, begging for touch.
Gaz gave it, of course. Thumb down, gentle circles, perfectly in time.
âYeah,â he murmured when your mouth dropped open and your back bowed and lewd desperate sound fell past swollen lips. âThere she is. Gimme another.â
âAnother?â you gasped, half pleading, half hysterical laughing.
âYou said Graves was âone of the best,ââ he said, smiling through the words. âWeâve got to bury that score, love.â
You couldnât even argue because you could feel it right there again, that tight, spiraling tension building from the inside out; because the others were watching you like they were cataloguing every twitch; because Price was murmuring, âCâmon, love,â and Soap was chanting, âThere ya go, there ya go,â and Ghost was saying nothing but looked satisfied.
You shattered again.
It rolled over you like a breaking wave, less sharp than the last, but wide, everywhere, making your toes curl and your back arch and your fingers dig into whatever you were holding. Your cunt spasmed around Gaz in hot little pulses. He groaned, hands tightening on your thighs, but kept moving slow to draw it out until you were scrambling and wiggling and sobbing from the sheer pleasure of it.
It was the wild look in your eyes, the near frantic pleasure at being overstimulated, blubbering into the air as Gaz kept thrusting, prolonging your orgasm into too much, that broke him, pushing in deep and stilling with a groan as he added his cum to Priceâs and Soapâs.
You whimpered, overstimulated now, hips trying to twist away. Gaz caught it immediately and slowed, then stopped, still inside you but not moving. âOkay,â he said softly. âThere we are. Breathe.â
You did, trembling all over now, thighs, stomach, even your arms. Sweat dripped on your neck. Your hair stuck to your cheek. You were aware of everything: the wet between your legs, the steady heat of a cock still buried in you, the weight of hands on your knees, your chest, your cheek.
Then there was Ghost.
âShift,â he said quietly.
No one argued. Gaz eased out carefully making you whine- God, you felt that- and ghosted back. Price and Soap moved enough to give him room. You were boneless, pliant. You watched him take off his gloves, one finger at a time, setting them on the nightstand.
He came to the foot of the bed and took your ankles in his bare hands. His palms were hot, big enough to wrap nearly around. He slid you down toward him, closer to the edge. Your ass met the edge of the mattress, thighs spread over his forearms, knees kicked up, your back arched because there was nowhere else to go.
You were already wrecked.
Everything from your navel down felt wet, hot, loose. Skin clammy from sweat. Inner thighs slick where your own arousal had dried and then been replaced and then smeared again. Your muscles had that aftershock tremor- little twitches in your quads, belly fluttering, shoulders quaking when you tried to push up on your elbows.
He took one look at you and huffed behind the mask, low and satisfied. âYeah,â he said. âThatâs more like it.â
He wasnât rushed, but he wasnât delicate either. He hooked your right leg up over his shoulder; high, opening you farther than the others had and the stretch at the back of your thigh burned.
âEasy,â Price murmured from somewhere by your head, palming your shoulder. âHeâs got you.â
Ghost caught your other knee and shoved it out with his hips, there was nowhere to put him. He took up the whole end of the bed, arms, shoulders, chest, all of it. You were small against him now, laid out, thighs spread over a frame that could pin three people if he wanted.
You felt his size before you felt him.
His shadow blocked the ceiling. His thigh brushed the mattress and the whole thing groaned. His hands spanned your hips like they were handles. When he bent a little, bracing one palm beside your ribs, the bed dipped like someone had dropped a sandbag.
âWant more?â he asked.
You nodded, breath already short.
âGood.â
He dragged his cock through you once and that alone nearly short circuited you.
Because you were soaked now, used and soft, and he was thick. Thicker than Price. Different shape than Soap. Longer than Gaz. He slid through your mess in a long, slow stroke, head bumping your clit, smearing heat everywhere. Your hips jumped like youâd been shocked.
âOh-â
âChrist,â Gaz breathed, watching from beside your knee. âSheâs still that wet?â
âYeah,â Soap said, all wonder. âWe did that.â
Ghost lined up.
You saw it only in a flash- cock big, flushed, heavy in his fist and then it was gone, pressed to your swollen cunt, right where you were open. You felt the blunt head nudge and everything in you locked, not from fear but from pure instinct: big, big, big.
âBreathe,â he said, like heâd been waiting for it. âOr itâll hurt.â
You pulled air. Chest rising, shaking. Priceâs hand slid up to your throat thumb under your chin to tip your face up so he could see your eyes.
âRight here,â he said. âWith us.â
Ghost pushed.
There was zero give for the first second. You were open, but you were also swollen and sensitive, and he was a lot. The pressure was deep, powerful, like someone slowly forcing a fist into clay. Your mouth fell open in a silent oh, eyes going wide.
âFuckinâ hell,â Soap said again, because apparently that was his phrase tonight. âLook at her-â
âJohnny,â Price warned, but his voice was tight too.
Ghost didnât slam. He didnât have to. He just leaned his weight in, inch by relentless inch, and let your own wet do the rest. Your body had to yield. And that was the moment your brain just⊠flickered.
Because it was too much.
Stretch, deep in your pelvis. Burn, not sharp but huge. Fullness that pushed on places the others hadnât. Your back arched hard, heels digging into his shoulders, trying to find leverage that didnât exist.
âSi-â you gasped, name torn out of you.
âYeah,â he said, voice low, pleased. âSay it.â
He was halfway in and you already felt full. Crowded. Your cunt squeezed around him in shocked little spasms, trying to pull him in and push him out at the same time.
âFuck,â Gaz said, softer. âSheâs clamping down on him.â
ââCourse she is,â Price said, hand still at your throat, thumb rubbing your jaw. âHeâs wreckinâ her.â
He was. He absolutely was.
Ghost gave you maybe two seconds to adjust, then he pushed the rest of the way.
It knocked sound out of you. A strangled, punched out cry that wasnât even a word. Your vision went hot white at the edges. Your hands flew out, grabbing for anything- blanket, shirt, wrist. Soap shoved his forearm under your palm on reflex so you had something solid to claw at.
âGot you,â he said, eyes wide. âSâokay, sâokay.â
Your body took Ghostâs cock, because it had no choice, because you were so wet he couldâve slid forever, because the three men before him had already made you pliant. But where Price and Soap and Gaz had felt like they fit, Ghost felt like he filled. Like there was nowhere he wasnât.
He bottomed out and held.
You could feel him in your belly- cock heavy, hot pressure low and deep. You could feel him nudging at your cervix, you could feel your own slick squeezed around him, you could feel your pulse beating against the underside of him.
Your brain went white.
Not âI canât think of a comeback.â Not âwow, this is good.â Actual blank space. Everything narrowed to heâs inside me, heâs so big, I canât- I canât- oh god-
You stared up at the ceiling, mouth open, chest stuttering. Sound was distant- men talking, praising, swearing- but it was like it was happening down the hall. The only thing close was his weight and the bed and the way your body was struggling to remember how to relax around him.
âBreathe,â Price said again, firmer. âCâmon, love. In. Out.â
You dragged air. It trembled.
Ghostâs big hand slid down your thigh, over your knee, to the underside of it. He hitched your leg higher over his shoulder, angle changing, hips dipping so he wasnât ramming your cervix, just pressing deep.
âGood girl,â he said then, and you felt the words more than heard them. âTook me. Look at you.â
You couldnât. Your eyes rolled a little. Your fingers dug into Soapâs arm; he hissed and let you.
âLook at her,â Soap said, voice gone soft with awe. âSheâs floatinâ.â
Gaz laughed under his breath, gentle. âSheâs gone.â
Ghost started to move, a slow, dragging pull, to the point where you could feel every ridge of him, your own walls clinging desperately, and then a steady, heavy drive back in that rocked your whole body. The mattress creaked. Your breasts bounced. Your mouth kept making these little punched out sounds you couldnât control.
The best and worst part was the weight. Every time he came down, his hips met the backs of your thighs with a solid, meaty thock, and because he had your legs hooked over his shoulders, it pinned your pelvis to where he wanted you. You couldnât lift to meet him. You couldnât squirm away. You could only take that deep, filling stroke.
Your eyes unfocused.
Your mouth went wet and open.
Your thoughts- what was left of them- ran in circles: big, deep, canât, yes, yes, yes-
âYeah,â Soap murmured, almost proud. âThatâs the one, Ghost. Thatâs the one thatâs gonna wipe Graves right out of her head.â
Ghostâs eyes flicked up at him, dark and amused. âThat the brief?â
âAbsolutely the brief,â Gaz said. âMission critical.â
âThen hold her,â Ghost said. âSheâs slippinâ.â
Priceâs arm came under your shoulders and lifted you partway so you werenât flat, so you had him to lean on. Your head flopped to the side against his chest, lips parted. He cupped your jaw, thumb on your cheek, steady.
âCome back,â he said quietly. âWant you to feel him.â
âI-â you managed, voice thin. âI feel him.â
âOh, I know you do.â
Ghost changed the angle again, just a small shift of his knee, a deeper drive of his hips and that was it. That was the key. Suddenly he was stroking over that spot inside you the others had found, but from lower, heavier, fuller, and your whole body spasmed.
âOh- oh, fuck-â
âThere she is,â Gaz breathed. âThere it is.â
Your climax came up like a sucker punch.
No build. No slow climb. Just here. Your cunt clenched around him so hard it wrung a low, filthy sound out of Ghost. Your back bowed against Priceâs arm. Your legs tried to close around his shoulders and couldnât, he was too broad, he kept you open, made you take every pulse of it.
It was the kind of orgasm that blanks a mind.
Sound dropped out. Vision whited at the edges. Your ears filled with rushing. Your body just contracted around him over and over, pulsing, milking, trying to drag him even deeper. Hot slick spilled around him, down over your ass, onto the sheet.
âFuckinâ look at that,â Soap said, half-laugh, half-disbelieving. âSheâs squeezinâ the life outta him.â
Ghostâs jaw flexed. He held your hips down, taking it. âThat,â he said, voice gone rough, âis better than Graves.â
Price laughed, low and triumphant, hand stroking your cheek as you rode it out. âThere we are,â he said. âThatâs the record.â
You could only whimper, body shaking, cunt still fluttering around the thick length still buried in you. You werenât thinking about Berlin. You werenât thinking about Graves. You werenât even thinking words. You were just full, and held, and done.
Everything cut to soft static; weightless, cotton wrapped nowhere. Sound went muffled, like youâd ducked under warm water. Your body was still humming on some deep, molten frequency, but your mind hadâŠlet go. Like someone had hit the breaker.
You felt big hands moving you, but from far away.
Your leg was lifted- careful, careful, donât cramp her- then lowered. Cool air on your thighs for a second, then something warm pressing in. You twitched, a tiny reflex, and a palm smoothed down your hip right away.
âShhh. Sâalright.â
You heard it as vibration, not words.
Your body knew them, though. Knew the cadence of their voices, the way each one sat in your bones. Even floaty as you were, they were still buzzing in your nervous system. Nobody else couldâve touched you right then.
You were rolled, whining because you were sore, onto something broad and warm. A chest. Hair rough under your cheek. Beard bristle against your temple. Arms closing around you, not tight, just there. A heartbeat under your ear, deep and steady. You made a small noise, half sigh, half childlike hum, and melted.
âThere we are,â Price murmured, and even though you barely heard it, your neck relaxed. âThatâs it. Got you.â
Everything else turned into hands and heat.
Someone at your legs, wiping between your thighs in slow, respectful strokes. He paused every time you flinched and whimpered, waited, then kept going. Someone else tugging the sheet away and swapping it for a cleaner blanket. Someone tucked the blanket under you so you stayed warm. Someone lifting your limp hand and putting a bottle in it, then guiding it to your mouth.
âCâmon, sweetheart,â Ghost said, low and uncompromising. âNeed water.â
The rim tapped your lip; you didnât open.
A thumb stroked your jaw, firmer now. âOpen.â
Your mouth parted on reflex. Cool water slid in, shocking compared to all the heat. You swallowed slow, almost lazily. It dribbled from the corner of your mouth; someone thumbed it away.
âSheâs barely there,â Gaz said, voice soft with that pleased note medics get when a patient is post op and not distressed. âLook at her eyes.â
âSheâs lookinâ right through you,â Soap said, proud. âWe sent her to fuckinâ space.â
You werenât following the words, but you were following the touch. Every time you slipped a bit deeper- down, down- someone reeled you back just enough. A hand over your sternum. Fingers in your hair. A palm cupping the back of your neck. You didnât have to do anything. They were moving you like a sleepy doll.
Your arms wouldnât work. Your legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Your whole pelvis was one slow, warm ache, like the echo of being filled was still there even though you feltâŠempty? Clean? You couldnât tell. Everything was soft.
ââŠnever seen her this quietâŠâ
ââŠyou almost did break herâŠâ
ââŠwell she asked for itâŠâ
ââŠGraves couldnât do thatâŠâ
You drifted lower, your nervous system had finally decided, oh, we donât have to do anything now. We can just exist. Your breathing slowed. Your mouth stayed parted. Your eyes blinked slow and out of sync.
âChrist, look at her eyelashes,â Soap repeated, grinning. âSheâs fuckinâ gone.â
Price huffed a laugh, hand big and slow on your back. âYeah. Sheâs ours now.â
Ghost was the only one still a touch clinical. âSheâs pale?â
âFlushed,â Gaz said, checking your cheek with his knuckles. âWarm. Sheâs good.â
âHeart?â
âSteady. Bit fast.â
âYeah, well.â Soapâs grin turned sharp. âWe were spectacular.â
That actually tugged a weak breath of a laugh out of you, more an exhale with a shape. Four heads turned toward you instantly, like you were a radio that had just crackled.
âThere she is,â Price said, pleased. âBack with us?â
You were and you werenât.
You could hear them better, now that youâd taken water and your brain had floated a smidge closer to shore. But your body was still out in the warm sea, rocking. Every sound was filtered through cotton. Every touch was in slow motion. You had no urge to move. No urge to talk.
You were aware mostly of warmth. Warm arm under your shoulders. Warm thigh under your hip. Warm palm at your nape. Warm blanket over your legs. Warm, satisfied men around you like a wall.
âAlright,â Soap said, mischief back, because of course he would ruin the soft moment. âMoment of truth, then.â
âJohnny,â Gaz said in warning.
âWhat? We have to know.â
âWe already know,â Ghost said, perfectly calm. âLook at her. She canât remember her own name.â
âYeah but I want tâhear it.â
âAsk her later,â Price said. âSheâs milk-brained.â
Milk-brained. That made you want to laugh again. It came out a tiny smile against his shirt.
Soap saw it and crowed. âSee? Sheâs not dead.â
âFine,â Price sighed, indulgent, rubbing your shoulder. âOne question. Then you let her sleep.â
âDeal.â Soap leaned over you, upside down in your vision, eyes bright, hair a mess. âHey. Sweetheart.â
Your eyes slitted open. Barely.
âYou with us?â
A slow blink. âMhm.â
âGonna ask you a very important thing, yeah?â
Another blink. You were so tired. But his tone was playful and your body trusted him, so you let the sound out: âMm?â
âHow,â Soap said, sounding like he could burst from smugness, âdo we compare to Graves?â
The name hit your fogged brain like a stone dropped in deep water- plop⊠sink⊠gone.
Your brows knitted faintly. Your mouth worked. You genuinely searched and came up empty. Not a coy empty. Not a âIâll say this to boost your egoâ empty. A real, floaty, no file found empty.
âWhoâŠ?â you mumbled, voice slurry, eyes already sliding closed again.
The room erupted.
âFuckinâ yes,â Soap yelled, triumphant.
âTold you,â Ghost said, not loud but so satisfied it rang.
âGod, thatâs beautiful,â Gaz said, laughing, head tipped back.
Priceâs chest shook under your cheek. âThat,â he said, pressing a kiss to your hair, âis what I wanted.â
You were already gone again, body boneless in their hands, drifting on their voices like sleep:
ââŠwrite that downâŠâ
ââŠnext time he shows up Iâm tellinâ himâŠâ
Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader
Word count: +800
Content: humour | flirting | reader is 141 member
Warnings: bad English
Summary: Flirting during stakeout.
A/N: I haven't written for Gaz anything in previous post. It's not like I don't like him (I do, I really do) but when I look at him I see him as a younger brother that I can mess around with. Maybe a cousin. Nothing sexual, just some fun. So, yeah @alexriley2929, @strawberryyybb, @catchthesemonkhands here you go, loves :)
You sat across from Captain Price in a corner booth, a mug of coffee cradled between your hands. To anyone else, you were just another pair sheltering from the rain, but beneath the table, the weight of your sidearm pressed into your thigh, reminding you that casual didnât exist here. Your comms whispered softly in your ear, and you couldnât help the tiny thrill that ran through you every time Gazâs voice cut through the static.
Price sipped his drink with the slow patience of a man whoâd done this too many times to count. âAny movement?â he murmured, low and unhurried.
âNothing yet,â you replied, scanning the slick street outside. âEither heâs late or heâs smart enough to know heâs being hunted.â
Static crackled softly before Gazâs voice broke through, smooth and lazy, like he was lying back on some rooftop with nothing better to do.
âI see something dangerous.â
Priceâs brow lifted slightly, eyes still on the street.
From somewhere above, Soapâs Scottish burr came immediately: âWhere? You got eyes on the bastard?â
âReport properly, Sergeant. Donât start games mid-op.â Ghost followed, tone clipped and dry.
There was a pause. The kind of pause that told you trouble was about to start.
Then Gazâs tone dropped, rich with amusement. âSheâs sitting with our Captain⊠looks like she could easily strangle a man with her thighs.â
You didnât even blink, a slow grin spreading across your face as you traced the rim of your mug with a finger. âYouâre right about that,â you said sweetly into the comms. âWant to find out for yourself?â
Across from you, Price groaned quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose. âFor fuckâs sakeâŠâ
Ghost muttered flatly, âJesus.â
Soap was wheezing with laughter, his mic crackling. âGaz, mate, youâre digginâ your own grave.â
But Gaz only sounded delighted. âIs that an invitation, love?â
He didnât miss a beat. âEarn it? How exactly?â
âKeep focus,â you said, voice smooth, eyes tracking the street outside. âOr donât. Depends how much you want to be distracted.â
A pause. Then his voice came back, low and playful. âAnd if I wanted to be distracted?â
You tilted your head, pretending to think and then smiled into your cup. âI might spill this drink all over my chest. Warning â Iâm not wearing a bra.â
Price choked. Violently. He sputtered into his coffee, coughing into his fist as his eyes watered. âFor bloodyâ Christââ He slammed the mug down and gasped for air.
Soapâs laughter exploded over comms. âCAPâS DOWN! I REPEAT, CAPTAIN PRICE IS DOWN!â
Even Ghost let out a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. âThis team is an absolute disgrace.â
Gazâs laughter came next, low and utterly unrepentant. âYouâre gonna kill the Captain, love.â
Price, still coughing, shot you a look that could have curdled milk. âFocus,â he rasped, wiping his mouth. âFocus before I make you lot scrub the armoury with toothbrushes.â
You batted your lashes innocently. âYes, sir.â Then, with a sugar-sweet lilt: âThough from what I gather Gaz wouldnât mind me on my knees.â
Soapâs hysterics reached a new octave. Ghost groaned audibly. âFuckâs sake.â
But Gaz wasnât done. âSheâs not wrong. Not wrong at all.â
Price exhaled, long and slow, the sound of a man deeply regretting every choice that led him here. âNext mission,â he said darkly, âyou two are on opposite continents.â
You grinned into your mug, tapping it lightly against the tabletop. âShame. Was planning to tick âmile-high clubâ off my bucket list.â
Gazâs laughter crackled through comms, warm and teasing. âSay the word, love â Iâll sort the flight.â
Soap was still giggling like a lunatic. âBest bloody stakeout ever.â
Ghostâs tone was bone-dry. âThis is a professional operation. Or was, five minutes ago.â
Price muttered under his breath, âGoddamn children.â
You kept your gaze on the street, pulse still quick with laughter â and maybe something else entirely. Your fingers traced the rim of the mug again as your eyes flicked to the alley. Then you saw it: a shadow moving swiftly through the rain, ducking near a doorway.
The teasing drained from your voice in an instant. âTarget in sight,â you said, eyes narrowing.
All humour vanished from comms. The warmth that had lingered between you and Gaz shifted into sharp, professional focus, like steel sliding from its sheath.
Gazâs voice, calm but edged with that familiar grin, came next. âCopy that. Eyes on.â
Price leaned forward, tone all business. âHold positions. Wait for the mark.â
You let out a breath, steady and quiet, then murmured into comms â just for Gaz. âStill distracted?â
A low chuckle. âAlways.â
Priceâs sigh was deep enough to rattle the mic. âEnough.â
You allowed yourself the faintest, secret smile, eyes still locked on the street. âCopy that, sir.â
adrian and you settling a bet that you can't do 100 squats on his dick.
stupid? maybe. a waste of time? no doubt.
cut to you hanging over him on his bed while he stares up at you, counting under his breath while you bounce in his lap.
"oh, wait! fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fuck," he rushes out with a wrinkled face, pulling himself out just as he spurts out several ropes of thick cum. choking a frustrated groan, adrian curses. "shit. it's okay, it's okay. we can keep going. my penis has the ability to stay erect for an impressive amount of time. it's hereditary. thanks pop popâ"
"please don't talk about your pop pop if you want to continue fucking me."
adrian frowns, holding your hip. "this isn't fucking. we're not fucking, we're betting... which, now that i think about it, you've won by default because i climaxed. but. it actually does feel pretty good andâyou're a great rider, props to youâit would literally be so rude to stop before you got to experience the beauty of climaxing."
blinking at the toothy grin he finishes speaking with, you mumble a quiet fine and slide him back inside, trying not to whine as the thick of his head splits you open.
you grind instead of bounce this time while adrian relaxes into the mattress. his palms drag against you, resuming his quiet counting.
"53... 54... 55âoh, i liked that one. 56... 57... 58..."
It was too bloody hot. So hot you felt you could melt. So hot that Price had given the team the rest of the day off because none of you were any use in this heat. Slinking back to his own bunk probably to strip down and pray for some cooler weather.
You, Johnny and Kyle were all in the breakroom, absolutely miserable. Simon had claimed the one private shower, refusing to let anyone else join him under the ice cold spray.
Johnny had claimed the last can of beer from the fridge and shoved the thing down his pants with a pleased groan before flopping onto the couch. Kyle was lounged out on Price's armchair, a glass of ice water pressed to his forehead. Leaving you on the floor, sitting in front of the one shitty fan in the room. It barely shifted your hair, let alone combat the blistering heat.
Despite it all you were still somehow ravenously horny. You couldn't take your eyes off Kyle. Fixated on the way sweat dripped down his neck. He had stripped his shirt off as soon as you all made it to the breakroom. And it was a delicious sight. His glistening chest made your mouth water more than the heat.
Crawling from your spot by the fan you neared him. Moving silent while he had his eyes closed. He didn't know you were there until your hot breath fanned across his collarbone, followed by your tongue dragging across the salty expanse of skin. He groaned, hand on your cheek as he shoved your away.
"You are so fuckin' nasty. It's too hot for you to be such a freak."
You giggled as you wriggled closer to him, nuzzling between his legs and grinning up at him. Teeth gazing over his bare thighs and grinning even wider when you saw his cock twitch through his shorts.
"Gazzy let me blow you..."
His head dropped back against the chair with a sigh. While he was considering it you started to undo his shorts. Knowing he would wind up saying yes. Wrapping his hand around his cock and drooling as the smell of him filled your nose. He shifted in his seat with a groan. But hissed through his teeth when wrapped your lips around his tip.
"Too fuckin' hot."
Gripping your chin Kyle tilted his head upwards. Tipping the last of his ice water into your mouth. You let it sit there for a moment, enjoying the chill against your tongue before swallowing. When you swallowed his cock a second time he whined loud enough to draw Johnny's attention. As if the scot wasn't already jerking off to the sight of Kyle's sweaty chest before you had even moved.
"That's so much better, love. Jus' like that..."
He guided your head lower. He got a cool relief around his cock, and you got the taste the salty sweat coating his skin. A win win.
the thing that bothers me with 7 deadly sin based characters is when they cant decide if they embody the sin by suffering from it or by drawing it out of others. ie. if your gluttony demon is a guy who loves eating then your lust demon should be a gooner sex pest. and if your lust demon is a seductive girlboss then your gluttony demon should be a 5 star chef. does this make sense.
Johnny is absolutely the kind of man who comes all over your stomach or back and slump down next to you to start drawing fuck knows what into his load.
If he isn't creating some museum worthy piece he's probably drawing a cat and laughs while burying his face against your skin, "it's ye. Wit th'way ye was yowlin' an scratchin' at me."
And if you're not passed out from exhaustion already he pushes his calloused fingers past your lips to make you lick them clean. And if you are out, he's licking them â and your bodyâ clean himself.
