✨ Lexa ✨

31 | Queer | Zionist Jew | Married What you’re looking for is in the #me tag. 💜

[oxythoughtin]

I know for sure the pussy worth more than an Hermès purse, i got the best on earth, so that dick better come with some perks.

[birdbyt3]

guys it’s not funny anymore i need someone’s teeth dragged across my throat

[godmadeaterribleerror]

take what you want

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: you and dean hate each other. there isn't a moment you aren't fighting, just like there isn't a moment you don't wish he'd love you back, and there isn't a single second he doesn't want you more than you can imagine. ✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), jealous!dean, angst, overprotective dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, feral smut (manhandling, praise kink and degradation kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, stripping, thigh riding, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, light nipple play, begging, fingering, face sitting, jerking off, pussy slapping, rough sex, some edging, cockwarming, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, light dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 11.5k✦

✦author's note: monthly voted fic! he's yearning so hard guys✦

The bar is loud, but you expected that. It’s what you needed. Between that and the drink in you hands, it’s going to quiet your thoughts. They get lost in chatter of the crowd, and the bass drum of the music. It pounds in your chest and dislodges your heart. You let it. You don’t want to feel it right now.

You check your phone, even though you’ve told yourself not to. The case is sticky from the bar counter, and you wrinkle your nose at the screen before you even read the messages.

Five missed calls from – Dean Winchester.

A sixth one comes through, your phone buzzing angrily. You roll your eyes, and for a long second you seriously consider drowning the damn thing in the abandoned beer glass next to you.

He doesn’t get to call you, like you’re some wandering child. He doesn’t get to get angry about you being out, when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place. And you told Sam to tell him that you’d be here. So really, this is Dean’s fault, then Sam’s, then yours.

The call goes to voicemail. You flip the screen back over, and take a long drink. If it’s really that big a deal that you’re out without him, he can put on his pants and come get you himself.

And he won’t. And that’s part of the problem.

Dean’s going to lecture you about safety when you crawl back in the morning, and you’re going to roll your eyes. He’ll ask you if you think something’s funny, sweetheart? You look him dead in his pretty eyes and say I don’t know, is it? He’ll get angrier. You’ll get angrier. Sam will try to mediate, and you’ll throw something at him before stomping off. Dean will chase after you, and wrestle you back into the room while calling you a brat.

When you get tossed down on the mattress, you’ll sink your nails into his shoulder, because you do every time. You want to drag him down with you, to make him feel this the same way you always have.

To big, too much. Too soft in all the wrong places, and too spiked everywhere else. There’s a sharp, angry shell around your heart that’s grown like an exoskeleton. It’s got wires and teeth that snap, whenever Dean gives you a little too much attention. You can never tell if it’s trying to eat him or latch onto him anymore. You don’t think it really matters.

Dean hates you. He thinks you hate him. He’s going to grab your knees and pin them to your chest, and you’re going to be the only woman in the world who he doesn’t notice flush against him. He’ll hiss that you can’t just go running around alone. That it’s not like you, to be reckless. You spit a fuck you, his grip will get tight, and he’ll shove you away to go take one of his long showers.

Sam will tell you to stop testing him. You’ll tell Sam to eat himself, and go back to sulking like a child in the corner.

Only Dean can do that to you. You hate and love him for it.

When you met—on a hunt that didn’t matter, until it did—he made you all giggly and dumb. Years of training and a mind that could never slow down, turned to goo from one roughish, lazy smile.

“You like trouble?” He’d asked you, trying even then to talk you out of a hunt.

“No. No one likes trouble.”

Dean had chuckled. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart. Most girls like you love it.”

You’d snorted. “Girls like me? What’s a girl like me?”

“Gorgeous.” He’d smirked, like he’d been dying for you to ask. “Smart. Mouthy-“

“Mouthy?” You’d cut him off, rolling your eyes. “Are you from the 60s?”

“No. But you’re provin’ my point.”

“You didn’t have a point. You were just trying to sleep with me.”

Dean had raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But- Is it working-“

“No.”

It had been. If Sam hadn’t come back to the car two seconds later, you would’ve climbed into Dean’s lap like a whore. Which wasn’t what you were. It wasn’t what you did. Sex with a half-stranger, sex in general, you didn’t toss your body around easily. You’d never been able to do the removing emotions part of casual sex. You’d always managed to come up with a million reasons not to, most of them looking something like have a hookup, get pregnant, the father’s already gone, the baby’s born with cancer, you love it anyway and it dies in your arms, if you’d been more responsible the baby would’ve solved climate change, everyone dies in a fiery explosion.

But you’d looked at Dean, and seen no death or path out that didn’t end in light. He’d grabbed your thigh in the dark of the car, and you’d flushed and smiled to yourself like a schoolgirl.

“You wanna know my middle name?” He’d whispered to you, later that night.

“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard-“

“It’s not a pick up line! I’m askin’ you a question-“

“But it’s going to turn into a pickup line.” You’d said flatly, and Dean had given you a boyish smile that almost made you forget that he was covered in vampire blood.

“You already know me so well,” he’d cooed, and you’d snorted.

“You’re predictable.”

“So you’re never gonna wonder what I’m thinking.”

You’d shoved his face away with a hand, still giggling. This was usually the point in a hunt where you started thinking about what came next. How long you had to get out of town, how much food you’d need to eat now before you got to your next stop—if you eat too much, you’re going to overstuff and get sick, if you don’t eat enough you’re going to be weak and pass out behind the wheel and cause a fifty car pile-up—and if there are any strings you needed to wrap up on the case.

But Dean had been smiling at you. And that had felt like the only thing that mattered.

“C’mon, ask me what my middle name is-“

You’d covered his mouth with a hand, shooting him a stern glare. His eyes had gleamed with affection, and something deeper you try not to think about now. It hurts too much. It makes you mourn for something that was never even yours to have.

“Only so you shut up,” you’d whispered. “What’s your middle name.”

You’d dropped your hand, and Dean had touched his lips like he was in some telenovela. You’d fought a smile. You’d never known someone could be so handsome it made your heart ache, and so cute you thought you’d explode.

He’d puffed out his chest, and grinned at you like he won the lottery.

“It’s Trouble-“

“It’s Adam.” Sam had called from the table. Dean had looked at  him like he’d just murdered a puppy, and you’d laughed so hard you almost fell off the bed.

And you’d thought something was growing. You’d been a foolish girl, who thought the dorky, handsome hero in front of her would give chase, when she turned him down.,

If you could go back, you’d slap yourself in the face and tell you to get it together. Dean Winchester is Dean Winchester. You listen to the what the shadows whisper. You knew his reputation before he smiled at you in the low light of his car. You’re smart. Sam goes to you for research advice, you’ve come up with whole new ways to kill demons and trap angels. You fucking knew better, than to fall in love with Dean.

You should’ve known better.

You didn’t.

So you attached yourself to them like a little, leeching parasite. You followed them around, the Winchester’s shadow, and fell more in love with Dean, and got your heart broken every night when he slipped out of the bar with another woman on his arm.

You’d gotten mean. You’d started getting short with him, and he’d fueled the fire building in the cavity of your chest by being a dick. Suddenly you were too inexperienced for every hunt. Too young to be out alone—you’ve had that fight more times than you can count—or too tense and tightly wound to think clearly.

He’s the one who doesn’t think clearly. He’s the one who drinks himself to death after a hunt and has literally fucked monsters because he can’t be bothered to plan ahead. He drags you and Sam to towns because he’s got a good feeling about them. He tells you to just relax, princess, and you want to punch him in his stupid, pretty face.

But you still love him. You love him so much you think it’s going to kill you. And you keep that locked in the deepest chamber of your heart, because he never needs to know that you still get stupid and soft for him. If he finds out that the first time he tried to leave on a hunt without you, you almost started crying in the middle of the bunker kitchen, he’ll look at you like you’re crazy.

And you are crazy. You know that. You’re a fumbling, wild ball of worries and sneers, and Dean would never want a nagger. He’d never want a younger woman who acts like she knows better—even though you do—and who needs him to be perfectly attentive and affectionate every second of every day.

You’re in love with a man who hates you. And if you had to listen to him fuck that secretary through the wall all night, you were going to kill yourself on their bed.

So now you’re at this loud, disgusting bar, drinking something that you’re praying numbs the pain, and smiling so wide it hurts your face.

The abandoned beer’s owner came back. He’s a broad shouldered, smirking man with a clean cut face, and lighter hair. If you get a little more squint, he looks just like Dean. If you get a little more buzzed, he’ll sound like him too.

You hate causal sex. It doesn’t count if you’re pretending it’s Dean. It doesn’t count if it makes this stop hurting.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here?” The man drawls, leaning across the bar.

You giggle, and it sounds distant to your ears. “Drinking.”

“Yeah?” The man smirks. “You like drinkin’, doll?”

You shake your head, swinging your feet and spinning in the bar stool. The man raises his brows.

“You sure you don’t? You’re goin’ through that thing fast.”

“It tastes bad.” You wrinkle your nose. “Feels good.”

The man’s smile turns wolfish. Your phone starts to buzz again, and you glare at the screen before shutting it fully off.

“Boyfriend?” The man asks, and you shake your head.

“He wishes.”

No, he doesn’t.

That’s the problem.

And you keep flirting—if it can even be called that, because you mostly babble about hating the drink you got and hating Dean and loving the man’s drink because Dean likes that one too—and the man’s hands find their way to your lower back and thigh.

“Why don’t I help you forget about Dean?” He winks at you, and you shrug.

The world is mostly just blurred colors and lights now. Everything feels awfully light, in a way you’re not sure you like.

But you like forgetting about Dean more. So even though you want to tell this man that it’s impossible to forget about Dean, you’re also just lost enough to want help finding your way out.

“Okay.” You beam at him.

You make it to the parking lot—his arm around your waist, herding you like a lost lamb—before Dean ruins everything. He always ruins everything.

There’s a shout of your name, almost ripping through the hazy fog of your drunken mind. You were feet from the man’s car. Just a few more steps from having fun, which you’re bad at doing, but maybe if you practiced, Dean would like you more.

From the look on his face when you turn around, it might’ve actually made him like you less.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He marches across the lot with a scowl, hands balled into fists and gaze fixed solely on you. “I almost made Sammy file a missing persons report-“

“’M not missing.” You stick your tongue out at him. “’M right here. Stupid.”

You mutter the last word under your breath, and Dean freezes. He blinks slowly, gaze raking over your body. That’s not fair. It makes you feel all warm and puddley. Your core floods with heat, and your knees get weak, and he’s get looking at you.

Dean takes a half-step forward, his voice dropping low and rough. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

There’s a larger gust of wind. Dean’s eyes gleam in the golden light of the parking lot. He looks a little like an angel. You trip standing up, then giggle when the man pulls you back up. Dean’s jaw drops, his brow knitting tight.

“You’re fuckin’ wasted.” He mutters, shaking his head. “Jesus, sweetheart- C’mon.” He steps forward, reaching out a hand. “Let’s go.”

“Nuh uh.” You pout, shaking you head. “I’m not drunk-“

“You’re standing like we’re on a freakin’ ship. Come on.” He flexes his hand, and you cross your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t get to win. “I’m having fun.”

“We can have fun back at the room-“

“The lady said she’s having fun.” The man next to you pulls you tighter into his side, fingers curling on your hip like a lock. “Screw off, pal. I got here first.”

And Dean recoils, looking at the man like he’s noticing him for the first time. You can’t read his expression in the low light, but it seems angry. Or just annoyed. Or indifferent. His jaw looks sharp and clenched. You want to lick it.

“Listen, bud.” Dean snaps, glaring down at the man. “This ain’t a who got here first thing. My girl’s drunk. I’m takin’ her home, or I’m punching you in the face.”

The man is silent for a moment. He and Dean glower at each other, and you frown between them. There’s something poking at your drink addled brain, but it’s spelling a word you can’t read. All you can really figure out is that they’re being weird.

“You Dean?” The man asks.

Dean’s eyes narrow. His shoulders square, the way they do before he’s about to swing at a demon. “Yeah. And?”

“Nothin’.” The man smirks. “Just… Thought you’d be God, based on how she was talkin’ about you. But,” he chuckles, tipping his chin. “You’re just a little bitch.”

Dean’s jaw ticks. You don’t need the lighting to figure out what he’s thinking now. You can almost feel it, rolling off of him in waves.

He’s pissed.

He looks the man up and down, and if he throws a punch, you know he won’t be the one who goes down. You’re drunk enough not to worry about the violence of it. All your useless thoughts can spin around is the idea of Dean fighting for you. Of his massive arms flexing as he knocks down the other man—who, the longer your Dean stands in front of you, looks less and less appealing—and scoops you into his arms like the princess he mocks you with being. Then he can wrap his arm around your head and fuck you against the hood of his car, until you’re drooling all over his cock.

You giggle at nothing, a unignorable heat pooling between your legs. Dean’s attention snaps back over, and you beam at him.

Something in his gaze shifts. He lets out a slow breath, and stretches out a hand.

“Let’s go, princess.” He beckons with two crooked fingers, and you almost stumble forwards. “We can watch whatever you want, alright? I’ll get you some of that ice cream you like, and- Sammy can watch with you, if you don’t want me around. Just-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Get over here. Please.”

He sounds so tired. Tired and almost sad. Your feet move without your permission, and you reach to take his hand.

The man yanks you back, and you yelp.

“Remember what you told me, doll.” He drawls in your ear, loud enough for Dean to still hear. “Remember how he treats you.”

Dean scowls. “You stay out of this-“

“He doesn’t care.” The man ignores him. “You told me, he doesn’t love you.”

Dean opens his mouth, something stricken flashing over his features. You feel a little sick.

“C’mon. I got you.” The man rubs your hip, smiling gently. “Show him what he’s missing. He can bitch about it, alone all night while you get fucked real good.”

Dean’s face is a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has an expression like someone just punched him in the gut.

And it’s not the fucking real good that steels you. It’s the reminder that Dean won’t be alone. He has his secretary. And you’re allowed to have your random bar man, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Dean rasps your name. “Come here-“

“You come here.” You snap, and it’s meant to be a sharp, killing blow that makes him sigh and give up.

If you were a little less drunk, you would’ve known that was never going to work.

Dean’s throat bobs. He exhales like he’s going through the trials of Hercules, rather than arguing in a parking lot. He rubs his jaw, looks up to the sky like he’s praying, and chuckles. It’s dry and flat, but so deep and rough. You shiver at the sound, and almost fall right into him again.

“Alright.” Dean mutters, shaking out his arm. “Fine.”

He marches forward, clocks the man across the jaw, and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It happens so fast your body is still catching up with it, by the time he’s halfway back to the car. You realize you should be thrashing and shouting when you hear the Impala door unlock. Your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate though. Dean’s back is warm, and his hand is resting near your ass, and it’s making you putty for him to play with.

He did it so fast. He didn’t even break a sweat or give the man a chance to fight back, before he grabbed you. When he lowers you into shotgun, he does it so gently. Like even after getting on his nervous, you’re precious cargo. He brushes the hair from your face, hunched over as you settle into the bench.

You blink at him, still drunk and confused. Dean still has that strange look in his eyes, his lips parted as you just stare at each other. His hand lingers on your cheek. You lean into the touch, and his nostrils flare.

Across the parking lot, there’s a roar of his name.

Dean sighs, and stands up. He walks around the hood of the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the car. You watch his fingers move like a starved woman. You want him to put them in your mouth, and you almost tell him when there’s a slam on his window.

The man is shouting at him, veins bulging and eyes bugging. He looks nothing like Dean now.

And Dean doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even look at him. He just puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the lot. If the man gives chase, you don’t see. You’re too busy staring at Dean.

The first half of the drive is silent. Low music plays on the radio, and you watch Dean in the moving light of the road. Long shadows and dim streetlamps make him look like he fell out of a dream. Your arms twitch to wrap around him. Your eyes are heavy, your head intoxicated by the rich, amber and smoke smell of his cologne. If you lay your head in his lap, you wonder if he’d shove you away.

“You weren’t actually gonna go with him.” Dean mutters suddenly, and you blink.

“Huh?”

“That douchebag.” His fingers flex on the wheel. “You weren’t gonna fuck him.”

You frown. Useless, exhausted tears prick at your eyes. You don’t even know where they’re coming from. Just that you feel small, and you’re tired, and Dean’s dragging you back to the motel just so he can fuck another woman with peace of mind.

“He’s not even your type-“

“You don’t know what my type is.” You grumble, sinking into your seat.

Dean huffs a laugh. “I’ve seen what kinda guys you find hot on TV. He was ugly.”

“He wasn’t ugly-“

“Yeah, he was.”

“You’re ugly.” You snap, and Dean laughs. You get why. You didn’t even convince yourself.

“Only on the inside, sweetheart.”

Your lips wobbles. For some reason, that pushes the tears out of your eyes. You sink into the bench, wrapping into a tight little ball that Dean won’t be able to pry apart. You can’t stop the tears, but he doesn’t get to have more leverage.

Dean clears his throat. “Are you crying-“

“Shut up.” You sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

He murmurs your name, voice softer than before, and you lean against the window.

“Shut up-“

“You’re fuckin’ crying-“

“Dean!” You glare at him through the blur of the tears. “Just- Leave me alone!”

Dean’s silent for a second. But only a second.

“Did he hurt you?” He grunts, something hot and angry lining his words. “Before I got there, did that son of a bitch-“

“He barely even touched me, you just- You fucking-“

“I what? What the hell did I do-“

“You hate me!” You shout, and Dean goes horribly still. 

“Don’t be insane.” He mutters your name, glaring out at the road. “I don’t hate you.”

You scoff, hugging your knees tight to your chest. “Yes, you do. You hate me, and you- You never let me have any fun-“

“That wasn’t fun, that was a lawsuit.”

You don’t even have a good comeback to that. He’s probably right. It just makes you angrier.

You turn away from him all together, watching the trees blur past in the window. You’re certain you’re going to be sick now. You close your eyes, the tears still flowing, and hide your face behind your hair and in your knees.

Dean sighs. His voice gets softer again.

“Listen, you’re drunk, alright? You’re gonna feel better in the morning-“

“No.” Your words are muffled, but you know he’ll still hear them. “I won’t.”

“Yeah, you will. I get a million of these drunken… feelings.” He says the word in an oddly tight tone. “You just gotta sleep them off.”

You laugh, wet and weak. “Whatever, Dean.”

“I’m trying to help-“

“No, you’re not.” You hug yourself tighter. “You just wanna get back to her.”

He’s silent again. You can hear his fingers drumming on the wheel. Almost hear the frown in his voice when he finally speaks.

“Who the hell are you talking about.”

“Your secretary lady.” You grumble, bitter and tired.

“You mean Katy?”

You grunt. “I hate her.”

“I- Princess, I sent her home like- Two hours ago.” He pauses. The air in the car feels oddly heavy. “Moment Sammy told me you were gone.”

You huff, but don’t respond. You can’t think of anything. You can barely understand what that means.

“You hate her?” Dean’s voice is so quiet you almost miss it.

“Mhm.” 

“You barely even talked to her-“

“I don’t care.” You mutter, rubbing away the tears on your cheeks. “I hate her.”

“Why-“

“’M tired.” You pull your face out of your knees, and find Dean staring at you.

He clears his throat, and looks back to the road. You think you’re going to start sobbing again, when he stretches out an arm around your shoulder.

Neither of you say anything, when he slowly pulls you into his side. You haven’t been this close to him in a while. He’s just as warm as you remember. You’re already half-asleep, just from a few seconds of his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder and your face pressed into his neck.

“I didn’t like him that much either.” Dean mutters suddenly. “Your bar guy.”

You hum, nosing at his jaw. He smells good.

“I wish you’d tell me.” He adds. “When you were goin’ out. I’d come with you-“

“I don’t want you to come with me.”

Dean tenses. He doesn’t pull away. “I’m fun at bars, sweetheart..” His voice is too casual. “We’d have a good time-“

“You’d have a good time.” You grumble. “I’d be alone.”

“I wouldn’t- If we went out, I wouldn’t ditch-“

“Yes, you would.” You yawn, and you’re crying again, but it’s softer.

Even now, Dean makes everything easier.

You wish you could hate him more than you love him. You don’t think you’re ever going to manage.

“You hate me.” You whisper, sleep already pulling on the corners of your brain. “’S not fair.” 

Dean swallows. His fingers still on your arm. “Why not?”

“’Cause I-“

You cut yourself off with a yawn. Dean mutters your name, and you shake your head, burrowing further into his side. You need to be as close as possible. You need to sink something into him that he can never wipe away, the same way he did with you.

“I love you,” you mumble. “And you hate me. And- It’s not fair, Dean.” You tremble, letting out a soft, pained breath. “Not fair.”

And sleep drags you under. But right before the world fades, you could swear you hear Dean’s low voice, and it floats through your dreams.

“I don’t hate you, baby.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Dean hasn’t spoken to you since last night.

You get up in the morning with a migraine and shame burning your face. You remember all of it. Every painful, whiny moment. You acted like the lovesick, annoying girl he accuses you of being. You told him the thing you swore you’d never say aloud. Once Sam tried to make you admit it, and you dumped a glass of iced tea over his head. You’d whimpered Dean’s name into your pillows while you touched yourself, and you’ve told yourself to get it together in the bathroom mirror, but you’ve never said it aloud.

And you just told.

You ruined everything.

He gives you meds and a glass of water to help the hangover, but he doesn’t look you in the eyes. You pack up the rooms and hit the road, but he doesn’t look in the rearview mirror to check on you even once. You bite the inside of your cheek and refuse to cry again. That will just make you seem more pathetic than you already are.

“What’s going on with you two.” Sam mutters when you stop at a gas station, hanging over your shoulder in the candy aisle.

“Nothing-“

“Don’t lie.” He gives you a flat look. “You’re not even fighting, which means you’re fighting.”

You peer up at him with a flat expression, and he sighs.

“You know what I mean. What the hell did he say to you.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

Sam mutters your name, and you grab a candy bar, flipping him off over your shoulder.

“Just drop it, okay?”

“No! I can’t drop it! I live with you guys, and- This is so much worse than when you were acting like you hated each other-“

“Sam-“

“You can’t see his face while he’s driving.” Sam hisses, grabbing a pack of almonds. “He’s either going to punch himself or cry, and that’s gonna be a whole freakin’ thing. Just- Talk to him-“

“He can talk to me.” You grab a pack of jerky. You can’t help it. Dean must be hungry too, and despite all your common sense, you still love him so much the world is slipping out from under your feet. 

Sam pleads with your name. You shake your head.

“Please. Drop it.”

He examines you for a moment, then sighs. He agrees to drop it. It doesn’t make anything better at all.

Because Dean’s not even being mean or overbearing or annoying. He’s just silent. And Sam’s right.

It’s so much worse.

Normally by this point in the ride, you’ve been fighting so much that Sam turns up the radio until you can’t hear each other. You’ll poke his neck to annoy him, and he’ll swat you like a fly before cornering you against the car when you stop for food. You’ll shove him and march into the diner. He’ll stomp after you and sit too close in the booth, making you press your thighs together with every mocking word. He’ll flirt with the waitress, and you’ll daydream about throttling her every time she bats her eyes. Dean will keep your knees against each other’s, while he gets her number, and you’ll pour a bunch of salt over his pie when he goes to the bathroom.

You’ll shove at each other, until one of you snaps and stomps away. You’ll cry yourself to sleep that night, because he hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

But you don’t even have any tears left, and Dean doesn’t hate you.

He just can’t stand to look at you, now that he knows you love him.

Sam gives you worried looks, while Dean glares silently at the road. His fingers drum on the wheel, and you hug yourself tight. He might not be looking at you, but you can’t stop looking at him. If he asks you to leave, it will kill you. If he doesn’t ask you, but never speaks to you again, you’ll just wither away into nothing. But you can’t be the one to break the silence. You’ll only make it worse.

You stop at a diner, and the waitress has the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen and the kind of honeyed smile that usually makes Dean smirk.

Today he doesn’t even look at her. You have to order for him, which makes the waitress glare at you, as if you’re responsible for him sulking so much he doesn’t care about boobs—and you are, but she has no way to know that—and you give her a tight smile.

Dean doesn’t thank you for the food, but he looks at you for the first time all day. You blink at him, biting back the pout threatening your lips. You’re not going to break here, in broad daylight, with Sam right there.

Dean lets out a slow exhale through his nose, and looks back to his food. You blink away the useless sting behind your eyes, biting your inner cheek until it’s swollen. Sam gives you a pitying look. You shoot him a glare.

“He still sat next to you.” Sam mutters while Dean checks you into a motel, that night. “Whatever happened, he’s not that mad at you-“

“Sammy!” Dean calls from the desk. “The lady needs our IDs!”

Sam sighs, going through his pockets as he walks over.

Dean’s gaze meets yours, and you flush. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you fucking hate it. You thought you knew all his expression. You thought you knew him. You thought he’d at least have the guts to turn you down like a man.

Instead his tongue flicks over his lips, and he rips his gaze back to the desk attendant. You hate her. You hate him. You love him. Your head hurts, overflowing with too many thoughts that you can’t even pick them apart. You want to scream and cry and run and sink into the floor. It’s not fair of him, to do this to you. You’re going to be sick. You want to drown your sorrows in as many drinks as you can find.

You settle for curling into your bed, hiding your face in the pillows, and crying until your body is limp and your throat is sore. He knows you love him. He hates you. He’s never going to look at  you again, and you’re going to turn into a ghost. An evil, angry ghost. One of the ghosts that he has to kill. Then he’s going to kill you, and you’re going to turn into a demon, then you’re going to start the apocalypse again, and everyone ever is going to die because you told Dean you love him.

You cry until you can barely breathe, then a little while after. It was silent. There was no way Sam and Dean would hear it, even through the door joining your rooms.

But there’s a creak, and you sniff, turning your head just enough that Sam will be able to hear you.

“I’m fine, Sam-“

“Not Sam.” Dean mutters, and you freeze.

You don’t move. You don’t dare. Dean clears his throat, and you hear him shifting on his feet. He’s close enough to be fully through the door. You hear it close behind him, and bunch the sheets in your arms.

“I- Uh- I was hopin’ we could talk?”

You still don’t move. Dean coughs. His voice is even rougher than usual. Normally, if you had the brainpower, you’d be worried about him.

“Can you look at me?”

You scowl at the pillow in your face. “No.”

Dean mutters your name, and you cut him off with short words.

“Go away, Dean.”

“No, we need to- I got some shit to say, alright-“

“I don’t care.”

“Trust me, princess, you’re gonna care about this-“

“Stop calling me that!” The words rip from your throat, sudden and broken.

You flip over, moving to your knees, and Dean stumbles back like you punched him. His face is red, and there are bags under his eyes. He’s still handsome.

Asshole.

“I-“

“Shut up.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at his slack expression. “Stop- Stop calling me princess and sweetheart and- and acting like you fucking care about me! It’s fucking cruel, Dean, it was a dick move before and now- Now you know.” Your voice cracks. You can’t even say it again. “Now you know, alright? You know what I- How I am! And I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have told you, but I was drunk, and I- I was tired, and you were being nice and you’re never nice to me-“

Dean opens his mouth, and you chuck a pillow right at his chest.

“No.” You spit, pushing up higher on your knees. “No, you don’t get to talk now. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t need- You don’t have to tell me! I get it, I know what you’re going to say!” You thought you were out of tears. You were wrong. “I’m just a stupid little girl, and you see me like a fucking sister or whatever, I don’t know what I’m talking about and I don’t know how I feel and you- You’d never-“ You choke on your own words. “You’d never feel-“

He moves quickly. You don’t even get the chance to throw another pillow.

Dean grabs your face between his hands, pulling right up into his. Dean kisses you, and your sharp words dissolve into a surprised sound, then a tiny moan.

His mouth is demanding. Your lips are already parted, and when the moan pushes its way up from your chest, Dean pushes his tongue over yours with a grunt. It’s a messy and desperate, noses bumping and spit mixing. You try and shove back, but Dean just pushes further over you, and you dissolve into his touch. 

You’re panting, when he pulls away. He keeps his hands firmly planted, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lips and his shoulders heaving. His fingers are tangled in your hair. You feel small under his gaze, but not in the painful, ignored way like before. It’s like you’re being shielded. Like he’s trying to protect you from your own, spiraling thoughts by sucking them out of your face.

It’s working. You stare at him with an open awe you can feel in your chest, bubbling and light.

He kissed you.

His lips were soft and chapped in the best way, and he was even better at kissing than you imagined. He tasted a little sugary from the pie he had with dinner, and something richer that was just Dean. His touch on your is almost reverent, and you want to suck on his thumb to see if it tastes as good as his lips. You want to suck on every part of him. For science. You want, you want, you want. Dean kissed you, and now all you can feel—thundering through your bloodstream—is want.

He murmurs your name, scanning over your slack features. Your eyes flutter. His throat bobs.

“I’m gonna talk now.” He says, and you nod.

You should be shoving or fighting him, but he’s looking at you like you matter. And you’re far too tired to bother with anything but tears or pleas for more kisses right now.

“I thought-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low, dry laugh. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I got that now.” He gives you an amused, tired look. “But- Sweetheart, you called me a seductive manwhore last week.”

Your face burns a little. He’d been flirting with another waitress, at another diner. You’d wanted to slit her throat.

“Seductive is a compliment.” You mumble weakly, dropping your gaze to his chest. Dean chuckles.

“From where I was sittin’, it felt like you wanted to kill me.”

 You shake your head, the movement small between his hands. “You looked like you wanted me to fuck off. You always looked like you wanted me to fuck off-“

“No.” His grip tightens, and your attention shoots back up.

And you think you understand that expression. It’s heavy, and you have seen it before. But it’s always been a dull glint in his eyes, before he looks away.

Longing.

“Dean…” You whisper, and he leans down, pressing his brow to yours.

“I never want you to fuck off.” He mutters. “Never. Please- Don’t.”

His voice breaks. You reach up to grab his wrists, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I know I ain’t perfect. I know I’m old, and a dick, and I don’t got much to offer-“

“I like what you have to offer.” You whisper. His brow knits tighter. “I always liked it.”

Dean chuckles. “You shot me down. First time I offered it.”

“You wanted a hookup, I- I can’t do that-“

“I couldn’t either.” He looks at you under hooded eyes. “Not with you.”

You press your lips in a thin line, years of anger and sparring fading into a blur of a dull, bruising ache. He was always a wound you refused to heal. If he cuts you open any wider, you don’t think you’re going to have the option anymore.

“You didn’t seem interested.” Dean rasps. “You started- Lookin’ at me all weird and calling me names and-“

“I loved you.” You say it before you can think. Dean lets out a sharp breath, his weight pressing further down.

“But- I- You too.” He winces, like he hates the words. “I didn’t- It was never- Son of a bitch-“

He looks like it’s paining him to try and say it. And you know. You know he can’t, because he doesn’t even say it to Sam. 

But he looks like he’s going to cry. Dean never cries.

He means it. The thing you never let yourself dream of, he means it.

“I- You just- I wanted shit, and you seemed like you wanted nothin’ to do with me, so I-“

You move carefully, tugging that collar of his shirt down into the kiss. Dean goes rigid for a single, horrible second.

Then he almost melts.

His fingers dig into your skin like he can’t bear to let go. His body collapses over yours, his kisses going from the soft ones you started to fast and desperate. He kisses you like he’s trying to leave a mark, and you meet him with every bit off passion.

Dean folds you down, until you’re flat on the mattress. Your legs fly up to wrap around his torso, and he grabs one of your hands, tangling your fingers together. The kisses turn slow. A little more certain and controlled, Dean sucking on your lower lip before kissing the corner of your mouth, then your upper lip. You smile into the kiss, and a broken sound rumbles from his chest.

He pins your hands next to your head, squeezing once before he breaks away. He looks wrecked. He stares at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and your head buzzes, nice and clear of what ifs.

All that matters right now is Dean above you, and the electric heat in your body. How his hand fits so perfectly in yours. How your bodies are already molding together, and you’re both still fully clothed.

“You deserve better, baby.” He mutters, and you almost laugh.

There’s nothing better. There’s Dean, glorious and unreachable, and there’s everyone else.

“No.” You whisper, beaming up at him. “I don’t.”

Dean’s throat bobs. He lowers himself down slowly, pressing his lips slowly over yours. Like he’s still not fully sure. You hum happily into the kiss, and he takes the cue easily.

You lose yourself in him quickly. His lazy, passionate kisses and his hands, slowly tracing over your body. He starts with light touches near your hips and waist, every brush of his fingers making you shiver. You arch into it, when his thumb grazes the bare skin of your midriff. Dean groans, testing the waters with another slow graze of his fingers.

“Deeean…” You breathe against his lips, and he grunts.

“You’re so soft.” He mutters, slipping his hand under your shirt. “So fuckin’ reactive and soft.”

You whimper, heels digging into his back as he teases his fingers up your spine. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Not teasin’.” He nips at the corner of your mouth. “Just sayin’ things that are true, baby. Not my fault they make you all stupid.”

Your breath hitches, your head tipping back as your legs spread slightly. Dean hums, interest flashing in his gaze. He noticed. Of course he did. He notices everything.

“You like that?” He drawls, kissing over your cheek, then down your neck. “You like bein’ called baby? Or called stupid.”

His hand drifts up your side, until his thumb is grazing under your breast. The sensation, combined with his dirty words, makes your hips roll. A dizzy, pleased sigh escapes your lips. Dean chuckles, rubbing his thumb in a tight circle. His lips graze a sensitive spot on your neck, and your hips roll again.

“I think you like both.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Dirty girl, bet you’re already wet for me.”

You whimper, the sound turning to a sharp gasp when Dean shoves his knee right between your thighs. You buck off the bed at the sudden pressure, eyes glazing and mouth hanging open.

Dean sucks on that sensitive spot, and your whole body shivers. You can’t stand to not move, not with the heat of him all around you. His thumb drags up, brushing over your nipple right as his tongue flicks against your skin. You start to mindlessly grind against his knee, chasing just a little bit more friction. Dean chuckle, biting softly at your neck before bullying his knee further against your clothed cunt.

“That’s it.” He growls in your ear. “Messy fuckin’ girl, already humping my leg. You need it that bad, sweetheart? Can’t even wait for me?”

“I- I’m sorry-“ You whine, trying to stop your body from moving.

It doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Dean slips his hand from under your shirt and grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze onto his, and his attention just fuels the wildfire under your skin. You need him, and form of him you can get. You need him harsh and all over your body, until there’s are marks you won’t be able to wash away in the morning. You need him to claim you so deeply neither of you can back out.

Dean watches you with a gentle, but sharp awe. Like he’s trying to memorize the scene below him, that you’re sure is quiet a sight. You fucking his leg like a dog in heat, your adoration and love finally allowed to pour all over your face.

“Need you,” you breathe out, grabbing his wrist. “Need you so bad, Dean.”

A low rumble leaves his chest, his eyes getting darker with every tiny moan from your lips. His attention is almost too much. You try and turn your face into the sheets, but he tugs it back with barely a flick of his wrist.

“Dean, please-“

“Look at me.” He taps your cheek with one finger, slamming his knee forward.

Your glossy, tear-stained eyes dart to his, and he smirks. It’s soft, but dangerous. He smiles down at you, and another breath of his name escapes your lips.

“What do you want, sweet girl?” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Use your words.”

It takes you a second to remember how. “You,” you breathe out, and Dean’s jaw ticks. “Want you, Dean, always wanted you-“

“I know, baby,” he coos, leaning slowly down. Your noses bump, and you whimper, closing your eyes. “You want me so bad it hurts, don’t you. Bet your little pussy is fuckin’ calling my name, begging me to stuff her up.”

“Yes,” you nod, bobbleheaded and dizzy. “Oh my god, yes-“

“But how.” His voice turns stern, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Do you want me? Soft? Or,” he pushes your further down onto his knee, and your eyes roll a little back. “Hard?”

Dean drags his thumb over your lips, squeezing your cheeks into a tiny pout. You try to keep fucking his knee, but he’s got you pinned so hard against it that you can’t move. You’re trapped in a cruel kind of heaven, with everything right on the brink of falling, and Dean holding you over the edge by the nape of your neck.

“Hard,” you whisper, dragging your eyes open to meet his. He needs to see it. How bad you want him. “Wanna- Ohh-“ Your lashes flutter, as Dean starts to slowly grind his knee against your core. “Wanna feel you. All of you. Don’t- Don’t hold back.”

His grip on your jaw tightens. His voice drops a full octave. “Baby, are you-“

“Yes.” You smile at him, already a little drunk on his everything. “I trust you.”

And that seems to be what gets him. Dean blinks at you for a second, the façade of pure control slipping. You know it’s a game, and that when you’re done he’s going to coddle you like a princess. But you’re not sure he knew you knew. Not sure he understood that, even when you thought he hated you, you would’ve placed your life in his hands without even a beat of hesitation.

Dean leans down, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. His hand pulls from yours, and he wraps his arm around your lower back. His fingers tickle your sides a little, teasing the side of your breast, and you giggle. Dean grunts, pushing you further into the mattress. It just makes you giggle more.

“Somethin’ funny?” He mutters, and you can hear it again. He’s back in this. It sends a shivering thrill through your body.

You need more. And you shake your head, trying to test just how much it takes him to snap.

“You’re laughin’ like something’s funny.” Dean leans back up, glaring down at your lovedrunk, giddy expression.

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You’re about to be fucked into next week.

“Look at you.” He mutters, palming at your breast through your shirt. You gasp, arching into the touch, and Dean chuckles. “You’d do anything I told you, huh. Just to make me fuck you.”

You shake your head, and Dean chuckles.

“Don’t lie, princess. Good girls don’t lie to me.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs press around Dean’s knee, the grind of your hips short and uncontrolled. He lets you writhe below him, smirking at the pants that escape your lips.

“Does it hurt?” he coos, smearing some spit over your cheek. “Your pussy aching, baby girl? Already can’t take it?”

“N- No.” You choke out. “I can take it-“

“Doesn’t seem like you can.” He mutters, scanning over your limp body. “I’m not even touchin’ you and you’re about to cum. Can’t believe you’re that fucking easy.”

You whimper, shaking your head. “I- I’m not easy-“

“Yeah?” Dean mocks. “How many other guys you fucked?”

“Two. Just two-“

“They make you feel like this?”

“No- Never-“

“Damn right. They don’t.” Dean grunts. “You’re mine, princess. My fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, heat rushing through you at the possession in his voice. You are his. He has no idea, how completely and totally his you are.

“Say you’re mine.” Dean orders, and you nod.

“Yours. All yours, Dean, I’m- Fuuuck-“

He pinches your nipple rolling it between two fingers. Your hips try to buck off the bed, but he’s pinned you down too well.

“Fuck- Dean- You can’t just-“

You moan, and he chuckles.

“Oh, baby.” He leans back down, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Dean nips on your lower lip, then rises back up, patting your cheek.

“Open.”

You do, without a thought. He chuckles, leans down, and spits right into your swollen lips.

“Swallow.” He grunts, and you obey.

You lick your lips for good measure. Just to see how he’ll react. His mouth falls a little open, a deep, possessive sound rumbling chest.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost fully to himself. “So fuckin’ eager. You ready to listen, princess?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and add for good measure. “Please.”

 Dean’s lips twitch. “Beggin’ and I don’t even have you naked yet. We should fix that.”

“Fix what-“

“Stand up.” Dean drags you upright with steady, but firm hands.

You follow his lead, letting him move you off the mattress and onto shaking legs. He keeps you between his spread knees, smirking up at your confused expression. He’s got one hand, steadily rubbing the back of your thigh.

“Strip.” He orders, and your cheeks burn.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off, when he just raises his brows. God, if he wasn’t begging you for attention fifteen minutes ago, you’d be putting up more of a fight. Just for the show of it. To prove that you’re perfectly capable of thinking for yourself. That you don’t need him at all.

But you think he knows that. And for once, you don’t want to have to think at all.

You peel off your clothing slowly, burning under Dean’s gaze. He’s tracking every movement, dragging over every bare inch of skin. Your top goes first, and his hands fly right up to palm your breasts. His hand is big and warm, and you bite back a tiny moan.

Dean smirks, leaning slowly forward to trail open, wet kisses over the valley of your breasts. You weave your fingers through his hair, your breath stuttering. You fumble with your bottoms. It’s a little hard to focus, with his tongue swirling around your sensitive, peaked nipple.

“Shit- Dean-“ You take a deep breath, tugging at his soft, short locks. “That’s- Mmmm-“

He sucks lightly, and you lean fully over his chest. He chuckles, flicking his tongue back and forth, and all you can think of is that sinful mouth against your core.

“I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” He kisses your nipple, before switching to the neglected one. “For me.”

You swallow, grabbing at the hem of your bottoms and tugging them down. Dean grabs a handful of your ass, slapping it once before dipping his fingers down between your thighs. You collapse over him with a weak noise, and Dean just laughs. The shame in how quickly he’s unraveling you, how wet you know you are, it just makes you ache for him more. He’s got you, needy and in the palm of his hand. He knows it. And still, he touches you like he’s been waiting to his whole life.

“That’s my girl.” He mutters. “Son of a bitch, you’re so fuckin’ wet. You been walkin’ around like this? Waiting to get bent over and turned into my little cockslut.”

“Ye- Yes.” You press your face into his hair, nails scratching at his neck. “Oh my god, Deean-“

 “Yeah. That’s right.” Dean hums as you grind down onto his fingers, teasing between the lips of your pussy. “Barely even fuckin’ touching you, and you’re soaking my hands. Jesus,” he laughs, the sound vibrating against your chest. “You’re getting wetter every time I talk.”

You keen, when the tip of his forefinger grazes your clit. It’s like being struck by lightning, making your whole body rush with pleasure and your pussy clench around nothing. He flicks it, just that once, then pulls away. You hug his head tighter, begging between your every moan.

Dean doesn’t budge. He rubs over your pussy without touching your clit again, muttering dirty words against your skin.

“Look at you,” he kisses your shoulder. “My pretty fuckin’ girl.”

“Dean-“

“Come on.” He slaps your ass again, and your knees give a little. “Like I couldn’t make you cum just from talkin’ to you.”

You flush, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you fully into his lap. Dean pauses, at the way you shiver, and pulls back. You try to avoid his gaze, but he isn’t having it. He grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, eyes gleaming and playful.

“Oh, I could, couldn’t I.” He smirks. “You’d cum for me just sittin’ here, letting me call you names.”

“No.” Your protest is short. Weak. Dean looks at you like he’s just pulled the sweetest bunny into his trap, and he wants to eat you alive.

He pulls you down for one of those kisses that’s too slow and sweet. It’s almost mocking, with how his cock is straining against his jeans, pressing into your thigh. You dissolve into it, lowering your guard against your better judgement. Dean squeezes your ass, rubbing where he’d spanked before. Your knees are jelly, your core pressed right against his denim-clad bulge.

Jesus, he must be massive. Just the idea makes you shiver, and Dean smiles against your lips.

“You’re bein’ so patient,” he coos, massaging your hips. “You trust me, don’t you? You know I’m gonna fuck you real good.”

You hum an agreement, smiling from the praise. Dean combs his fingers through your hair, sucking on your lower lips before pulling slightly back.

“You’re ready, aren’t you? I could fuck you right now and you’d take me like I was lubed up.”

You whimper, and Dean pushes you further onto his bulge.

“You gonna let me own you, sweet girl? Let me make you the dirty fuckin’ cumslut you wanna be.”

“Deaan-“ You gasp weakly. “Don’t be mean-“

“Why?” He kisses your cheek. “You like it. You’re the one who said you wanted it, baby. And fuckin’ gush,” he runs his hand between your thighs. “Every fuckin’ time I call you my dirty little girl.”

He’s right. Your pussy clenches, arousal dripping down your thighs. Dean laughs, manhandling you to stay upright as moves fully onto the mattress and lies flat on his back. You stare at him for a second, unable to move with his hold on your hips, but unsure what to do with yourself. You’re straddling him, watching with an open mouth as he pulls off his shirt and settles fully into the pillow. His cock is pushed right against your pussy. You grind down, and he hisses.

“Not yet.” He mutters at your pout. “Need to taste that sweet pussy. C’mere.”

He beckons, and your mouth falls open when you realize what he means.

“Dean, I can’t- You’re going to suffocate-“

“Nobel death.” He grins, and you scowl.

“I don’t want you to die the first time we have sex.”

“First time?” He wiggles his brows. “You’re gonna let me come back for seconds?”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

“So am I, can we do an all you can eat kinda situation-“

“Dean Winchester.” You shove his chest, and the idiot just laughs. “I’m not- I’m not doing that. I don’t want to hurt you, that’s- I’m not-“

“Hey.” Dean grabs your hand, squeezing it gently. You meet his gaze, and it’s a million times softer than before. “It’s okay. This ain’t gonna hurt me, I swear, but if you just don’t wanna, I have a lotta other ways to make us both feel good.”

He drags his thumb over your knuckles, and you take a deep breath. You hadn’t realized it. You were about to cry again.

You peer at Dean through your lashes, and he offers you a boyish, gentle smile.

“Promise it won’t hurt you?” You whisper, and he nods.

“Swear on your life.”

You nod, slowly and carefully. Dean opens his mouth—probably about to ask if you’re sure—but you’re already crawling up his chest.  

He smiles, rubbing your thighs as you settle them on either side of his head. You take a deep breath, your hands fidgeting and unsure where to rest. Dean grabs them and guides them into his hair, before kissing the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, and you almost collapse straight over him.

He laughs, digging his dull nails into your ass. “Sweetheart, point of this is you sitting on my face.”

“I- I am-“

“You’re hovering. That ain’t sittin’.”

“I don’t want to crush you-“

“You won’t.” He sighs, kissing the opposite thigh. “I got you, right?”

You nod. He trails the kisses upwards, close to where you’re sure you’re dripping on his beard. His eyes never leave yours.

“You trust me?” He rasps, warm breath fanning over your pussy.

“Of- Of course I trust you-“

“Good.” Dean kisses your clit, sloppy and using his tongue to flick the little button back and forth.

You almost shriek, the sensation overwhelming. You squirm, unsure if you’re trying to get closer or wiggle away. Dean makes the choice for you.

“Hold on.” He grunts, right before yanking you right down onto his face.

And oh.

Oh god.

You’ve been eaten out before. Even by people who were good at it. Who enjoyed it. You came before, and walked away with no complaints.

Compared to this, they might as well have just spat on it and walked away.

Dean eats you out like he’s on a personal mission for honor between your legs. Like he lost something in your pussy and he’s trying to shake it loose. His jaw works like he’s devouring the finest food of his life, his tongue dragging and pumping in and out of your sensitive opening. His nose is pressed right against your clit, and he moves it with his full face, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.

“Fuuck- Fuck!” You cry out, yanking on Dean’s hair. “Dean- Oh- Oh my God-“

He moans, and the vibration makes it better and worse all at once. You’re trembling, no way to escape it, no way to feel it less. Dean massages your ass as he works, keeping you pinned to his face, to the pleasure he’s slowly dragging out of your body.

You pull his hair again, and his time he smacks your ass with his moan. Your back arches. You have to grab the bed frame to stop yourself from collapsing.

“Dean- Deeaaan-“

You chant the word like a prayer. It’s all you can remember. The infernal man below you laughs, and you push down harder into his wet, open mouth. He grunts, and doubles his efforts. His tongue traces around your pussy before shoving back into your tight cunt, and you clench around him with a whimper.

He tightens his grip on your hips, dragging them slowly back and forth. Guiding you into fucking his face. You follow his rhythm, and swear you can feel him everywhere in your body. Your nerves light up, with every stroke of his tongue and bump of his nose on your clit. Your mouth hangs open, and you pant as you try to hold off your orgasm, building up and up and up in your core.

One of his hands disappears from your body. You’re too lost in his mouth below you to notice, until you hear it.

The sound of slapping skin, mixed with Dean’s increasing moans below you. You manage to find enough of a mind to look over your shoulder, and the sight shoots straight to your pussy, gushing on Dean’s face.

He’s fisting his cock, thick and long and a little curved. He beats it into his hand, the head angry and red, coated in a thick layer of pre-cum. You twist back around looking down at his face between your thighs, and find him staring back.

He’s been staring the whole time. Eyes dark and wrecked, fixed on you as you writhed and moaned above him. He’s getting off to it. To having you like this.

Dean moans—fully, totally moans—into your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours.

And you can’t hold it off.

“Dean- I- I’m gonna-“

He squeezes your ass, moaning against your pussy again.

Permission.

You cum with a cry of his name, grinding down onto his face through your orgasm. Your vision goes white, your whole body shaking and seizing up as Dean’s tongue strokes you through it. He doesn’t stop when you’re a trembling, dazed mess above him. He slowly shifts you backwards, cradling your body as sits up, forcing your back into the sheets, between his legs.

He kisses your clit gently, eyes shining on your unfocused, glossy ones.

“Taste better than I imagined.” He murmurs, slowly moving you further up the bed. “And trust me, baby. I lost a whole lotta sleep imagining.”

You swallow, eyes darting to his still hard cock. Dean follows your hungry gaze, then laughs, angling it to rub between the lips of your pussy.

“You’re really that needy, huh.” He teases. “Not enough for just my mouth. Gotta have my cock, too.”

You hum, too lost in the feeling to even protest. You’re flat on your back, legs hiked up in the air and over Dean’s shoulder, fully exposing your poor, swollen pussy to him. He slides his cock right between the slick lips, the tip bumping your clit. You pout up at Dean, spreading your legs wider to try and urge him on. He raises his brows, pausing with his cock pressed over your clit.

“Already too fucked out to talk?”

You nod, and pride and worry mix in his eyes.

“Baby, if you need me to take it easy-“

You shake your head frantically. He promised no holding back. You want to be sore from him in the morning.

Dean sighs, lowering your legs so he can lean over your face. You glare at him, grinding your hips up against him. He pins you back to the bed with a single hand sprawled on your abdomen and a stern look.

“There’s gonna be more time for it to be rough.” He murmurs. “I been plenty mean tonight. And I love it, sweetheart, I do, but I’m gonna love anything-“

“Dean.” You push out, your voice wrecked and hoarse. “Hard. Please.”

“Are you-“

You push up on weak elbows, capturing his mouth against yours. Dean leans down, kissing you with every bit of adoration and softness he’s about to rip away for the sake of pleasure. You smile against the kiss, boneless and happy, and Dean grunts. 

“Alright.” He mutters, the darkness in his voice sending a chill down your spine. “You get what you ask for, baby girl.”

Yes.

You’d say it, if he hadn’t already stolen most of the words from your body. And you thought that it was bad before.

Dean slowly shoves himself into your dripping cunt, and you can’t remember your own fucking name.

He’s big. So big you’re not sure how you’re fitting him. His hand on your abdomen pushes you deeper into the mattress, forcing you to take every thick, veiny inch of him. You whimper, and the sound gets swallowed by Dean’s lips.

“Feel that?” He hisses, tone harsh in the way that sends a thrill to your core. “Feel my cock, filling up your tight little pussy?”

You nod, mouth hanging open. Dean bottoms out with a grunt, pulling your hips roughly up to let him hit a deeper angle. You mewl, eyes rolling back at the burning, perfect stretch of him.

“That’s right.” He mutters, rutting into your wet, hot channel. “This is what you fuckin’ begged for, princess. To be a brainless little cockslut. You can’t even talk right now, can you? Just gonna lay there and look pretty while I do all the work?”

Tears prick at your eyes. You’re so full you almost don’t think you can handle it.

Dean isn’t going to give you much of a choice.

“Damn right you are.” He mutters to himself, dragging almost fully out of you before slamming back in, knocking the air from your lungs.

You sob with pleasure, reaching up to grab at his face. Dean kisses your wrist, repeating the motion with an even harsher thrust than before.

“That’s it.” He grunts, pushing over your as he finds a brutal pace. “That’s my girl. Fit me like a glove, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever fucked, so good for me, so fuckin’ good-“

Dean groans, crashing his lips over yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding on for dear life as he fucks stars behind your eyes and lightning through your body. If you weren’t ruined for him before, you are now. There isn’t another man in the world, who could reduce you to such a sobbing, wrecked mess while fucking you like a doll, then kiss all over your face like you’re the most important thing in the world.

He’s handling your body like it only exists for him to fuck. Grabbing your hips and breasts like they’re toys, positioning in the best way for him to hit you deeper. So deep he’s finding burning, pleasurable spots in you that you hadn’t known existed before, that make your whole body light up with pleasure. You can feel him in your throat, though every single inch of you, his muscles flexing and chest heaving and cock drilling into you until your pussy is drooling and he’s just sliding in and out.

But he kisses you like he’s a soldier being sent off to war. Rough and desperate, but loving. With all the fervor of a man who’s trying to something both of you have lost the words for. You return his every kiss, and his thrusts get sharper. Deeper.

You make sounds that are supposed to be his name. The room fills with the obscene sound of his cock, pounding into your cunt. You tip your head back and he starts to bite and suck on your throat, like he really can’t find enough of you to worship.

“Shit, baby-“ He presses his nose against your jaw, voice cracking as the bed creaks beneath you both. “Gonna- Gonna fuckin’- Where’d you want it-“

You grab his shoulders, yanking him fully down. Dean groans, doubling over and pressing his mouth back over yours.

“Come with me, sweetheart, c’mon- Milk my fuckin’ cock-“

His thumb slips between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight, unforgiving circles. You scream silently, as your orgasm hits you like a train. Dean fucks you through it, moaning your name as he chases his own release. White hot cum paints your inner walls, and Dean fucks it back into you with rough grunts and shorter thrusts.

You think you might be floating. You’ve never been this stuffed up, this warm. All the mocking and harshness from Dean is gone, replaced by worshipful hands that caress your face and gentle kisses over every spot he played with. Neither of you seem ready to know. You know you aren’t at all, and Dean’s curled over you like a very heavy blanket.

You rub his back, smiling up at the ceiling. It’s quiet. You’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe forever.

Dean rises over you, still not pulling out. His eyes are glazed, his expression wrecked. You reach up to cup his cheek, and he leans into the touch.

“My girl.” He mutters, and even if he doesn’t say it like one, you know it’s a question.

“Your girl.” You whisper.

You’ve never seen him smile so wide, than before he leans back down to kiss you again.

And if you make him smile like that for the rest of your life, then you know you’ve done something right.

✦End note: the good thing about writing these fics is that it's fun. the bad thing is that i've set my standards WAY too high. ✦

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[tuiccim]

Quiet Time Together

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Words: 987

Warnings: Language, SMUT (NSFW, 18+) Smutty smutness, Dominance, praise kink, tiny bit of fluff.

Summary: Smut without plot pretty much. You had released the beast and now you were having a quiet time together. 

Follows the story Long Wait Time (NSFW) but can stand alone. 

—————————————————

You had unleashed a beast. After three months of dating, you had seduced Steve only to wake a sleeping giant. And you weren’t just thinking of the one in his pants. He had proven insatiable. Adventurous. Dominant. You loved it. 

It was as you were walking to the training room that you were suddenly pulled into a dark closet and pressed against the door. A hard body pressed into you from behind. You felt no fear knowing the feel of the man pressed to your back. 

“I have a special workout to get you started.” Steve whispered in your ear. 

“Yes, Captain.” You knew it got him riled when you used his title. 

Keep reading

[tuiccim]

Long Wait Time

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Words: 1578

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, language, SMUT (NSFW, 18+) Smutty smutness, fluff

Summary: After having dated Steve for a while you decide it’s time to take your relationship up a notch. You didn’t realize what you’d be releasing. 

—————————————————

You are sitting in your room with Natasha lamenting your love life or lack thereof.

“I don’t know what else to do, Nat. I mean he must not be interested in me that way.” You say.

“Oh, he’s interested. You just have to be a little more upfront with him about it.” Natasha winks at you. 

“Literally, we flirted for months before he finally asked me out. We’ve gone on dates. He’s kissed me at the end of them, but he’s never made a move. I’m dying. I want nothing more than to jump him at this point.”

“Why don’t you?” Nat raises an eyebrow. 

“I… he… I, um, I don’t… I don’t have the guts to do that. What if he rejects me?” You put your head in your hands. 

“I don’t think so. That man is smitten with you, kitten.” Natasha grins. “Look, either take the leap and seduce or reconcile yourself to waiting him out. However long that’ll take. I mean you’ve only been dating for three months.” She smirks at you after delivering the sarcastic remark. 

Keep reading

[alinathinkstoomuch]

THOROUGHLY DEALT WITH

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you're angry with aaron for missing an important event, so naturally, he fucks the anger out of you. warnings | an: UMMMM ok so! p in v sex, fingering & oral (f receiving) spanking, drooling, overstimulation, masturbation, light d/s elements, choking & mirrors (can u tell i have my favs) somnophilia mentioned, errthang consensual, age gap, just filth yalllll word count: 4.2k… i wrote this when i was ovulating,, my cycle unfortunately decides what content i post LOL

✧ masterlist

You began with his shirts. The infuriatingly pristine, colour-coded, pattern-matched shirts hanging in your closet. The one you once shared. After tonight, however, you’d have ample room for your winter coats.

It felt harsh, thinking that way. And perhaps, once the adrenaline had ebbed, you’d be curled up among those coats, using the sleeves as tissues. But for now, you let the mindset of pure rage, slight dramatics and fury take the lead.

You knew what you were stepping into, a relationship with a man who might as well have been the crown jewel of the FBI, given how seldom he was home. And you bore it with grace. You never demanded much, only ever asked for compromise when it mattered, when it truly mattered.

So one by one, the shirts sailed over the bannister, landing in a crumpled heap by the entryway. Cotton casualties of yet another one of his spectacularly poor decisions.

He’d missed it.

The one thing you’d asked him not to miss. Not a work dinner, not some meaningless social obligation, but your event. The one you’d planned for months, circled on the calendar, reminded him of over and over. The one he looked you dead in the eye and promised he’d be there for.

What did you get instead? A text.

I’m sorry. Something came up.

Something came up, indeed. The collapse of your relationship, for starters.

Okay, maybe that was the dramatics talking. Maybe you didn’t want it to end, but you wanted—no, needed—him to take you seriously. Because how dare he? How dare he treat your life like the flexible one? As if your moments were optional, but his moments, ones that revolved around blood, caution tape, and sirens were the ones that ever mattered.

And the worst part of it all was the fact that despite all your anger, you still missed him in a way that language couldn’t quite capture. He’d been out on a case for two weeks, and even before that, he was barely home, glued to that damn bureaucratic chair in his office like it deserved more of him than you did.

You’d spent the last eight hours convincing yourself you were done. Done making excuses for him. Done watching your life conform to his schedule, his job, him in general. But your body, the ultimate traitor, didn’t seem done with him at all. Not when your hand drifted between your legs in the shower, picturing the way he used to pin you there, palm flat against your sternum.

Not even now, when you were supposed to be standing your ground. You still found yourself wishing he’d walk through that door and press you against it, like he needed it just as badly as you did.

Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe all you needed was a good fucking.

And you knew that was exactly what you would’ve gotten, had he shown up like he promised. He would’ve started in the car, hand gripping your thigh, maybe even slipping under your dress, getting you all worked up before you’d even made it home.

Then he would’ve railed into you, bent you over the piano in the foyer, lights blazing because of course he’d want the neighbours to see exactly how he rewarded your hard work. But no. You went home alone. Worked up, pissed off, with every intent of emptying your wine stash. Which you did.

And now, you stood at the top of the stairs, breath uneven as your pulse pounded in your throat. And that’s when you heard it.

His car in the driveway.

Shoes. Yes. Shoes seemed poetic. Fitting. The perfect thing to hurl at him with all the grace of a woman scorned and denied an earth-shattering orgasm. Actually, orgasms—plural. Because he wouldn’t have stopped at just one. He would’ve teased the first out of you, held you at the edge until you begged, then made up for it with two more. Rewards for being so damn patient.

You turned on your heel and marched back into the closet, snatching the nearest pair of his smug little leather loafers. Polished, arrogant things, much like the man who owned them.

By the time he stepped through the front door, you were already back at your vantage point, arm cocked, waiting until he turned to launch the first shoe.

It missed his head by a fraction and slammed into the doorframe with a satisfying crack.

He froze, jacket slung over one arm, briefcase in hand, tie loosened and all.

“Hi, honey,” you called out, your voice sweet enough to rot teeth. Then came the second loafer which landed just short of his feet. “Figured I’d give you a hand with the packing,” you added, gesturing to the shirts across the entryway. “Consider it a head start. I assumed your schedule wouldn’t allow for sentimentality.”

He set his briefcase down first, then his jacket, but you didn’t stay to watch the performance. You were already halfway down the hall, disappearing into the closet like a woman possessed, and thoroughly, furiously sexually frustrated.

You grabbed as many of his jackets as your arms could carry, yanking them from the rack with such force—hangers still hooked—you were genuinely surprised the bar hadn’t come crashing down with them.

You heard him then, just shy of the dressing room, steps clear as day. You paused in the hallway and dropped the pile right where it met the doorway, letting the expensive fabric fall into a heap like a makeshift barricade.

Then, back into the closet you went. You reached for what was left, another jacket, two more blazers, and his beloved cashmere sweaters. You snatched them from their hangers like they were the ones that were responsible. And with your arms full again you turned, only to find him standing there. So close that you nearly walked right into him.

“Unless you’re here to carry these to the curb, I suggest you get the hell out of my way, Aaron.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the pile in your arms, then back to your face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Like hell you’re not—”

“Just put my things down and we can talk about this,” he said, with that infuriatingly calm voice that made you want to scream, in two very different ways. “I know I made a mistake.”

You scoffed and stepped closer, close enough to breathe him in. Not the crisp, clean scent you were used to in the mornings when he’d leave for work showered, shaven and put together.  No, this was him at the end of the day. The faint remnants of cologne clinging to his skin, mixed with something more worn-in, and when he exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of bourbon on his breath. Rossi’s doing, no doubt.

Probably his way of trying to calm him down.

You’d heard Dave refer to you as a ‘fiery one’ more than once, always with a little too much amusement in his voice. He’d even joked, right in front of you, that Aaron wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. Said he’d fold if you ever gave him real attitude. Clearly, Rossi had sensed what kind of storm Aaron was walking into tonight and had handed him a glass like some kind of offering from the gods.

“So not only are you incapable of being unselfish for one night that doesn’t revolve around you, you also seem to have a stunningly poor ability to follow basic instructions,” you snapped, voice rising in a way that was rare. “Are you absolutely certain you went to FBI school, or did you half-ass that the way you half-ass everything else you claim to care about?”

“Are you done?”

“Not even fucking close. But go ahead, interrupt again. You’re great at that, right?” You shoved the pile of clothes into his chest, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Talking over people, brushing them off, missing everything that actually matters until it’s already too late.”

He stood there for a second, holding the clothes before letting them drop to the floor without a word. You let out a bitter laugh at the sight and moved to shoulder past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you hissed, turning back to face him. “Don’t walk away from the man who didn’t show up? Don’t stop screaming because it’s the only thing that gets through that thick, federal skull of yours?”

“Don’t do this. Not when you want me more than you want me to leave.”

“What? Are you—are you actually insane? Delusional? Is this the sleep deprivation talking? Because if so, you can take that smug little fantasy and get the hell out of my house.”

He let go of your wrist, but only to step behind you. His hands moved to your hips, turning your body to position you in front of the island in the centre of the dressing room.

“You want me gone?” he asked.

You cocked your head slightly to the right, catching his reflection in the mirror ahead as he began to undo his tie.

“Say it,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours in the glass. “Say it while I’m inside you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Not because you lacked words, lord knows you had plenty. And he hadn’t even scraped the surface of the venom still burning at the back of your throat. But your body—traitorous, wretched thing—had already betrayed you.

You were supposed to be holding your ground. Not standing there, spine taut, with him behind you, visibly restraining yourself from folding over the island and handing him all your anger, gift-wrapped in a neat little bow that read please, fuck me senseless.

His fingers brushed your waist, and your lungs locked up. Your throat was so dry your heart had taken to skipping two beats at a time, just to remind you to swallow.

“I missed one night,” he continued, his fingertips now trailing up the length of your forearms. “But I haven’t missed this. Not once.”

You let out a flimsy exhale, turning your head to meet his eyes in the mirror once more. “You think this makes it better?” You knew it did. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of answer that made sense in a normal relationship, but nothing about you and Aaron had ever been normal.

“No,” he answered like the gentleman he was pretending to be, knowing exactly what was coming. “But I think you want it anyway.” And then his hands dropped from your arms completely. “So…what’s it going to be?”

Your hands moved before your mind did, bracing yourself against the island, knuckles whitening as your spine arched over the marble.

He hummed in approval, hands moving to your neck, brushing your hair aside. “That’s what I thought.” You felt him press into you, the weight of him flattening you against the surface as his fingers found the zipper of your jeans.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you lied, needing to put up some kind of fight.

He stilled for half a second, then let out a quiet laugh. “No?” he mocked, dragging the denim down your thighs until it was bunched at your knees. “Then why are you shaking?”

“Because I can’t fucking stand you,” you spat, forehead pressing to the marble, breath fogging against it as you tried—really tried—to remember why you decided his wardrobe would look better scattered across the entryway.

You heard him click his tongue behind you.

“Honey,” he drawled, his voice so pleased and full in all the ways that you were seconds away from being.“You’re so wet your underwear’s turned three shades darker.” And just to prove your point, his thumb dragged slowly over the soaked fabric making your body jolt, forehead nearly smacking the marble with the force of the reaction.

“Step out of the jeans for me,” he murmured, tapping your right thigh first, then your left.

You kicked the material off one leg at a time, your balance swaying as you did, hands tightening around the edge of the island for strength because it was the only thing keeping you upright.

His hand slid up the backs of your legs again, brushing that spot where your ass met your thighs. Then, without a word, his fingers slipped underneath the gauzy material of your panties.

You sucked in a breath as his middle finger dragged through your folds.

“Do you remember what had you so pissed off in the first place?” he questioned, like he genuinely expected you to form a coherent sentence right now.

“Yes,” you groaned into the counter, hips bucking shamelessly against his hand.

“So greedy,” he tutted, pulling his finger back just enough to watch your hips chase it. “Want me out of the house. Throwing my things out like some scene from a bad divorce. But one finger and you’re already a whiny little mess?”

A strangled noise tore from your throat, something between a curse and a moan, as your hands gripped the counter tighter.

“How many times did you touch yourself while I was gone, hm?”

“I—fuck, I don’t—”

“You don’t know?” He pushed a thick finger inside you, making you hiss at the stretch. “That’s not a real answer. Try again.”

You bit down on your lower lip hard enough to sting, eyes fluttering shut as your body betrayed you all over again.

“I asked you a question.”

“Three,” you gasped. “Maybe four.”

He let out a low, satisfied noise. “Maybe? You lost count?”

“D-Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he laughed, adding a second finger. “You’re doing it for me.”

Your right hand curled into a fist, accidentally knocking a bag off the side in the process. “I hate you,” you mewled, the words barely making it past your throat.

“Liar,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your spine as his fingers worked deeper, curling just right. “You don’t hate me. You hate that I know exactly how to make you come before I’ve even unzipped my pants.”

Your mouth was parted against the marble, and when a moan caught in your throat, you managed to drag it back down just barely. Coaxing it into a shaky breath instead, trying to cling to the last scraps of pride you had left. Because he was right. Infuriatingly right.

“Well?” you hissed, breath catching. “Are you going to unzip your pants, or are we still pretending your fingers are doing anything I didn’t handle on my own while you were gone?”

Your heard an unbothered chuckle from him first and then felt the sharp sting of his palm landing against your ass, second. The impact was muffled by the fabric of your underwear, but the message landed all the same.

“That’s sweet, dear. But I don’t remember hearing you make these kinds of noises the last time you decided to take care of yourself…right next to me.”

You jaw clenched.

It had only happened once. You thought he was asleep—clearly, he wasn’t. He’d gotten in late from work, and you hadn’t wanted to bother him, so you took matters into your own hands… literally.

In hindsight, it explained the sudden burst of sex drive the next morning. You’d woken up to his mouth between your legs like he was trying to make a point that he could always make you come harder.

His free hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head to the side as he angled your face toward the mirror. “This isn’t how you sounded then, is it?” he taunted, fingers slipping out of you just to circle your swollen clit instead.

You gasped, body jerking at the sudden change in pressure.

“And just for that—” his hand stilled, the contact vanishing altogether, “—you can wait.”

You took the chance to catch your breath, heart pounding as you clenched around nothing, blinking back the tears gathering in your waterline like they’d scheduled a meeting.  

Glancing at the mirror you saw his hands work his belt free and you were tempted. So incredibly tempted to prove him wrong, to reach down between your legs and finish what he so cruelly started. Just a few strokes, that’s all it would take. But before you could even move—

“Don’t.”

You stilled. Every muscle locked.

“Put one hand between your legs,” he continued, the sound of his belt sliding from the last loop sharp in your ears, “and I’ll bind both behind your back. You won’t come tonight. Or tomorrow.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, barely managing to pull air in. The fabric of your top clung to your skin, sticky with sweat and a rage that seemed to be dissipating by the second. All that remained in its place was a desperate, aching hunger for him.

You pressed your thighs together without thinking, chasing some kind of friction, some kind of relief, but Aaron’s hands were already on your hips. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear, tugging them down your legs.

You knew it was his favourite part, especially when he had you bent over nearly every surface in the house. He loved watching the strings of your wetness peel away with the fabric, loved when it dripped down your thigh.

Once you were free of the only barrier between the two of you, you braced yourself flat against the counter, arching your back just enough to let him swipe his thumb through your pussy, allowing him relish in your wetness like a ritual he never dared to skip.

“Still want me to go?” he asked, though his voice carried a gentler note.

You turned your head, eyes back on the mirror. “Just fuck me,” you whispered—no, begged. “Please.”

He leaned in, bending over you to press a kiss to the inside of your forearm. Then another, trailing lazily up the length of your arm to your shoulder. Behind you, you felt his hand move between your bodies, hearing the rustle of fabric as he pushed his boxers down.

He aligned himself with you, dragging the thick length of his cock between your thighs, letting you feel everything. Every vein, every throbbing inch, the obscene heat of him paired with the wet slip of precum he spread over you.

You keened out a moan, barely managing to keep yourself upright even with the counter beneath you, legs beginning to shake with the effort it took to stay still.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he murmured, voice rasping just below your ear. “I wanted to be there. More than anything.”

“I know,” you breathed just as he guided your hips, braced his feet, and buried himself inside you in one devastating thrust. The stretch sent you spiralling, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as your forehead found comfort in the marble once more.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled out just enough to make you clench around the absence, and then slammed back in harder.

One hand slipped under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your nipple while the other found its way back to your slick clit. All that came from your mouth were broken, pathetic sounds. Half-moans, half-sobs, every syllable caught between nonsense and pleading.

“A-Aaron, oh my f—god—oh—” Your voice wavered as he hit that spot again, and again, and again, until you were shaking with every thrust.

Drool slipped past your lips, a thick string trailing down to the countertop, followed by more, clinging to your chin, catching in the strands of your hair as you trembled under the weight of his body.

You felt Aaron release your nipple before his hand moved to your neck, his palm firm against your throat, holding you in place just as another string of spit slipped past your lips, landing on his hand.

“Look at you,” he grunted, tightening his hold as his hips lurched forward again. “Dripping from both ends.”

“Please don’t stop—I’m—I’m—”

“You’re close,” he chuntered, breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it, baby. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Your whole body locked, spine arching violently off the counter, eyes rolling back as the coil deep in your belly finally snapped. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, nothing coming out but air, tears, and barely intelligible sounds that might’ve been his name.

But Aaron didn’t stop.

Not even when your legs gave out beneath you, not when you slumped forward against the marble, sobbing through the aftershocks that tore right through you. He held you up, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fucking you through it, slow and deep now, like he needed to feel every last twitch and tremble your body offered him.

You could feel his rhythm start to falter, each thrust getting sloppier, his hips stuttering against you. Then, with a muffled moan into your shoulder, he pushed into you one final time and stilled, cock pulsing as he came. His grip eased, but his whole body shuddered against yours like he’d been hanging on just long enough to make sure you came first.

He made sure you were completely filled before he pulled out slowly, causing you to whimper at the emptiness. You barely managed to brush the damp hair from your face, to wipe away at the trail of drool on your chin, before his arms were around you again, this time gently guiding you down to the floor of the dressing room.

“Aaron,” you panted, landing on a pile of clothes you’d thrown there earlier. Soft cotton, rumpled cashmere, the ghost of his cologne clinging to it all. “What…what are you doing?”

“Shh, honey.” He knelt between your legs, his knees cracking on the way down.

“Sure this is good for your old man frame?”

He spread your legs open, fingers moving to push his come back inside you. “If I throw my back out eating your pussy, I’ll die a happy man.”

Your breath caught, hips jerking instinctively at the contact. “Jesus—Aaron—”

He lowered his head, mouth hot and wet as it latched onto your cunt, tongue dragging through the mess he’d just pushed back into you like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

Your hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, undecided if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. “I don’t think I can go again, baby,” you gasped, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation.

You heard a sloppy, muffled, “You can,” just as he sucked your clit into his mouth, hard enough to make your vision white out for a second.

“Motherfuc—” Your legs locked around his head with such force that it had to be uncomfortable for him, maybe even a little painful. But when you opened your eyes and looked down, he didn’t look bothered in the slightest.

You caught the way his hips were grinding slowly into the rug beneath him, telling you this might not even be for your pleasure anymore but for his.

“I really, really don’t think I can come again,” you cried out, hips lifting into his mouth. “Please, Aar—”

Your voice broke off as he groaned against your pussy, loud and filthy. The vibration of it paired with the way he lapped at you, coaxed that familiar feeling, winding tight in your abdomen.

You shook your head, back arching, mouth open but no sound escaping as he sucked your clit into his mouth and circled it with his tongue over, and over and over again.

“Aaron, I—fuck—I’m gonna—”

The words dissolved into a sob as the pressure inside you reached its peak, crashing over you with a dizzying force. You came again, harder this time, legs spasming, hands clawing at the rug and his hair, tears slipping down your temples as your body convulsed under him.

You felt his mouth finally ease up, the warmth of him pulling away only for a moment until he was crawling up your body, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovered over you.

He scanned your face, watching the way your chest heaved, the way your eyes were still screwed shut as you tried to come down from the high he’d dragged out of you. He didn’t say anything, just let you come back to him on your own terms because he was generous like that.

Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the rug, the tension bleeding from your limbs. Finally, you blinked up at him, dazed and thoroughly fucked-out.

“Think I went to heaven.”

He huffed a laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Were they impressed?”

You let out a weak laugh, your hands dragging up from the rug to rest on his shoulders. “I’m still mad at you. Just… now I can do it with a clear head rather than a—”

“Horny one?” he supplied, earning a nod from you.

“Mhm. Was this your idea of an apology?”

“I mean…” He looked down at you, then at the mess around the closet. “It stopped you from throwing any more of my clothes, didn’t it?”

You snorted. “Temporarily.”

“I’ll take it.” He leaned down to press a lazy, unhurried kiss to your cheek. “Now, come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Then you can go back to yelling at me properly.”

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 4-Final)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now, dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

As fate would have it, you get notification of a mission briefing the next morning. You are slightly relieved when you see this one involves the full team. Your emotions from the day before had kept you awake most of the night and you were glad you had another therapy session planned in a few days. You needed to process everything that had happened last night. Especially that almost kiss. It had disturbed the calm you felt. You had gone from hating the man to nearly kissing him in the space of an hour. You tried to shake it off as merely a reaction to all of the emotions but you knew you were fooling yourself in part. You had been attracted to him in the beginning, but it had faded with his surly attitude. It was as if the vulnerability he had shown had brought all of that back in force and you were glad that this mission was with everyone. Some time with the team and space where Bucky is present but not the center of your attention may help you sort some of these feelings.

But fate always had a sense of humor when it came to you. As soon as the plan had been gone over in the briefing, you were paired up with Bucky for your part of it. You cursed silently but returned his nod of acknowledgement. You should have guessed this would happen. Your skills complemented Bucky’s in a way that would make tactical sense to put the two of you together and they had begun to pair you off more in the weeks before the cabin incident. You calm yourself, Bucky was a professional and you were as well. You can put your emotions aside and handle anything that comes your way. You weren’t leaving until the next day so you had time to prepare yourself. When the meeting concluded, you gathered your things and made for the door but stopped short when Bucky called your name. It seemed like time froze for you and that everyone still in the room eyed you both discreetly. Your aversion to each other was well known and they were used to seeing fireworks between the two of you. They all moved in slow motion as you made your way back to Bucky.

“What’s up?” You ask.

“Uh,” Bucky glares at the others moving slowly until they all tuck tail and skulk off. When you were alone, he said,”I wanted to say thank you again for last night. I’m glad we were able to clear the air between us.”

“Me, too. Was Alpine angry about her delayed dinner?" You attempted to keep the mood light. 

"Furious. She started knocking everything off the counter until her food was delivered," Bucky shakes his head. 

"Oh, so she really does wear the pants in your household?" You laugh. 

"Absolutely, I just wear the apron," Bucky laughs with a shrug. 

You chuckle with him but, unbidden, an image of him in just an apron popped into your mind. With a quirk of your eyebrow, you say, “I see.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, “Uh-huh. Alpine took a liking to you. You should come back and visit her sometime.”

Your mouth goes dry at the inference he was making. You manage to choke out some sass, “She probably enjoyed having some feminine energy around. Uh, anyway, I gotta go. See you tomorrow… Bucky.” You scurried away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed the awkward pause before saying his name. You were fine. You were just fine, you reassured yourself. The energy shift between the two of you was giving you a multitude of ambivalent feelings. Maybe you were reading too much into it. It was all the emotions surrounding what happened. You had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you recognize the feelings coursing through you and allow yourself to feel them. You and Bucky had finally found common ground. You’re happy about that but it brought on some confusion as well. Was Bucky trying to build a friendship? Part of you was happy at that thought but other parts felt fear that this only a short reprieve and you will find yourselves at odds again. Would the feelings brought on from the experience fade and you'd end up back where you were? Were you reading too much into this? What if you had misinterpreted that almost kiss?

Stop this! You check yourself. While the almost kiss may have been misinterpreted, his reports and reviews couldn’t be. He had learned a grudging respect for you before you cleared the air. So, while you may be overthinking the situation, you didn’t really believe things would go back to the way they were. 

Was Bucky attracted to you? That’s the thing that was throwing you off so much. You had always thought he was but was he feeling this only because of what happened in that cabin? Or was he feeling that at all? You wanted to bang your head into a wall to silence the thoughts running through your mind. Instead, you settled into a chair and reviewed the mission briefing again and again. You committed that map to memory, checked through the profile of known combatants and any skills they possess. You make notes and work through any tactical possibilities. You review the plans for infiltration and make a list of what you wanted in your tool belt. It helps you pull yourself together. 

When the time to load up came the next day, you were able to compartmentalize to allow yourself to be in the right state of mind for a mission. You boarded the quinjet to find Bucky already there. Sitting beside him, you pulled out your tablet and motioned to the map included in the file, “Hey. Can I ask your opinion on this?”

“Yeah. Whatcha got?”  He leans close to see the tablet. 

“The tactical plan has us coming from this angle and entering here,” you indicate the proposed entry point. 

“Right,” Bucky nods. 

“What do you think of coming this way and entering here next to what looks to be a utility room? We can lay a charge on the gas line there before making way to the original entry point for secondaries. The gas line will give us more bang for the buck and it keeps us from having to double back.” You watch his expression as he studies the map and thinks over your proposal. 

“Yeah, that makes sense. We just have to watch for any patrols coming through here or here,” he points. 

“If they’re following the timings that surveillance has seen, we should be good. But there is always that saying about best laid plans,” you murmur the last parts. 

“After last time, that’s an understatement,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Of the century,” you agree with a scoff. 

“Are you okay doing this so soon?” he whispers. 

“Honestly, getting back out and the chance to kick ass is the best therapy I can think of,” you whisper back. 

“Damn right. I knew I liked you,” Bucky grins. 

“Took you long enough,” you quip. 

“I can make the time up,” he winks. 

He’s flirting, your brain screams at you as alarm bells ring. You weren’t sure how to feel but you need to get the focus back on the mission, “Ass kicking first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he sasses playfully. 

You hold yourself back from saying something- ah, fuck it. You give him a smirk, “good boy.”

The look that crosses his face is priceless. You keep your face impassive as you look over the map again. You could have kissed the pilot for calling you over just then. It allowed you to separate from Bucky without losing the upper hand you had just established. 

The mission wasn’t as easy as you had anticipated. It was fine. The plan went well with only a little bit of improvisation needed but it was difficult for you. You had a harder time compartmentalizing than you normally did. At one point Bucky had pulled you into a closet to miss a patrol and standing close to him with his hand on your waist made it hard to hold on to your professionalism. You were fairly certain he felt the same, if his breathing was any indication. It caused you to have a moment of panic. Would you ever be able to work with him again without feeling like this? You were hyper-aware and tied up in knots over your ambivalent reaction. You were never sure if you were excited or terrified by the contact. You try to convince yourself it would lessen in time. It was just the emotions. Eventually, it would become old hat again. This flirtatious side of Bucky was new and different and enjoyable. Even if the darker side of your brain warned that he was just playing games. If he bagged you for real and not as the result of a pollen induced fever, he’d be able to lord it over you. You silence it quickly but the acrid taste of fear lingers in your mouth. 

You stayed busy for most of the ride back by resetting equipment, updating files, filling out your report, and any other activity you could think of. When there was nothing left for you to distract yourself with, you make your way to where the rest of the team sat. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Bucky brighten at your presence and motion to the open seat beside him. Like a magnet, you were drawn to him without a second thought and sat. 

“Did you finish everything?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” you nod. It felt like he was acutely aware of your avoidance.

“How was it being back out?” He offers you the bag of chips he is munching on. 

“No, thanks. Not bad,” you demure, “You?”

“Not as cathartic as I hoped,” he says quietly. 

“What?” You are shocked at his comment. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. 

“No, I feel the same. It was… I don’t know. Tenser, somehow,” you look at him nervously.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says pensively. 

“What’s that thought?”

“I hesitated,” he says quietly. 

“When?” You ask, thinking back. 

“During the op.”

“You never missed a beat,” you object. 

“When I pulled you into the closet, I hesitated. I think part of me was scared you’d flinch but then I didn’t have a choice. I had to get us hidden.”

“Did I flinch?” You ask with a small smile. 

“No, but your breathing changed,” he looks at you curiously. 

“So did yours.”

“Yeah?”

”Yeah, I think we’re, I mean, I know I’m still a little reactionary to being touched. I’m still finding it a little… I don’t know the word. Charged, maybe?” You attempt to explain.

“Fraught?” He supplies. 

“Yes! Thank you. That’s a very good word for it.”

“Because it’s me or…?” He trails off but the question is clear.

You take a few seconds to compose a reply knowing your relationship hangs in the balance. “Touch in general is still a little difficult for me. I can’t feel it without flashes of- what happened. Of the loss of control.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice sounds thick.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. You don’t deserve any blame for what happened. But, there is another part of this situation that disconcerts me. This complete one-eighty with us. We went from hating each other, to that, to whatever this is.”

“The start of a friendship?” Bucky says, his face full of hope. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I thought that’s what we both want. After our talk, I thought we were going to build a better relationship to make us better teammates.”

“I wanted to build some mutual respect but that doesn’t require us to be friends,” you say nervously, “So, why? Why do you want to be friends all of a sudden?” You were pushing him, partly to see if his current demeanor was a facade that would fall but mostly because you were scared that none of this was real. You had one view of Bucky for so long and your suspicions of his motives for this new leaf remained. 

“It’s not all of a sudden. I’ve been wanting to for a while. I just didn’t know how to go about it. Anytime I approach you, you get uptight and defensive, rightfully so from my past behaviour, and I didn’t think you’d give me a chance. And then, after what happened, I didn't think you’d ever want to be in the same room with me but then we talked and… when you touched my cheek, it gave me hope that I could turn this around. I understand why you’re apprehensive. I've been a complete jerk to you and you have every right to hate me. But, if you’ll give me a shot, I’d like to be friends.”

It touched your heart. You wanted to lean in, to kiss him, and that terrified you in another way. Fear started to well up in you and you pushed it down. You had control over this situation and you would handle it. “Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Okay?” Bucky asks. 

“Okay, we can give it a shot,” you give a small smile. 

“Okay. That’s, yeah, that’s great. Uh, what are your plans after we get back?” Bucky asks, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. 

“I don’t,” you shake your head, “I don’t have any. Probably just find some food and veg out in front of the tv.”

“Would you like to come visit Alpine? We could order a pizza and watch a movie or something.”

You pause, licking your lips as you consider, “Uh-”

“You can pick the movie,” Bucky sweetens the deal.

A smile slowly spreads across your face, “Yeah, okay.”

A few hours later you were comfortably lounging on Bucky's couch with Alpine happily purring in your lap. Bucky sat on the opposite end watching the goofy movie you had chosen. When it ended, you talked for a while and then left. There was little awkwardness and you appreciated Bucky respecting your boundaries. 

The following week, you had movie night together again and then it fell into a routine. Movie nights, meals, errands, and missions were done together more often than not. When paired together for missions, your skills had always complimented each other but with new understanding and familiarity, your abilities as a team became technically perfect. You could anticipate each other's moves and needs and that translated to your personal life as well. 

One movie night, you shifted closer to him on the couch to show him a video on your phone and Alpine chose that moment to make camp on your lap, so you stayed next to Bucky. You were comfortable there and following movie nights found you in that same spot. Little touches became more common and less fraught each time. It was comforting for your mind and body rather than triggering. Dr. Montesi was impressed with your progress. 

Bucky was kind and funny and full of stories. The more you got to know each other, the more you found you had in common. You both lamented at some point that you had wasted so much time hating each other. You opened up new interests together, discovered new places to visit, and became confidantes. You were basically inseparable. The team had noticed the change in your relationship but kept their comments and observations to themselves. 

The one thing that haunts you, a spectre always in the back of your mind is the memories of the explosive, unparalleled sex in that cabin. During the day, you were able to (mostly) keep those thoughts at bay, but sometimes at night, you dreamed of it and awoke with an intense longing you felt to your bones. At times, Bucky flirts but you both laugh it off. The truth is, as casual as your touches are every time you’re together, your body screams out for him. You were fighting it and you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you’re falling in love with Bucky Barnes. You want to believe he feels the same but he hasn't given you any indication. It was eating at you. What if it was all in your head?

–

Bucky answers the door for your weekly movie night with a frantic face, “I can’t find Alpine!” He immediately turns away to search and you follow, swiftly closing the door. “I’ve looked everywhere since I got back and she’s not here. I’ve shaken treats and called for her. I don’t think she got out. Unless she slipped past me when I came back. I-”

“Bucky, hey, stop for a second,” you pull him up from where he’s looking under the couch. “Look at me, okay? I doubt she disappeared. She’s probably hiding. Did anything happen today?” You hold his biceps to keep him still and try to ground him. 

“We went to the vet this afternoon. It was time for her shots.”

“Has she reacted to shots badly in the past?”

“It’s the first time I’ve taken her. She had them all when I adopted her a year ago,” he glances around the room searching for her. 

“A lot of cats tend to hide when they don’t feel well. What did you do when you got home with her?” You ask calmly. 

“I took her to my bedroom and let her out of her carrier. I went to the bathroom and then went to the store for some groceries. When I came back, she was gone,” Bucky shrugs. 

“Is it okay if I help you look?” You asked as an idea formed in your mind. 

“Please,” Bucky nods. 

You stoop down to look under the living room furniture and don’t see anything suspicious. “Is it okay if I go into your bedroom?” You ask over your shoulder as you stick your head in his kitchen. 

“Yeah. I don’t care as long as we find her.”

You head to the bedroom and flip on the lights, getting down on the floor, you look under the bed. There are a few cat toys and a pair of rolled up socks but no cat… at least, not on the floor. 

“I checked under the bed. She’s not there,” Bucky states as he watches you.

“Mm-hm,” you reply as you scooch around to a particular spot. You had noticed that the box spring was drooping slightly in one place and had a suspicion. When you got close enough, you saw where the cover had about a six inch rip. Running your hand over the indentation next to it, you are met with a small mewl. “Hey Alpine. Poor baby, you don’t feel good?” You look through the hole and see the cat curled up. She looks at you with her big blue eyes and seems fine. After giving you a slow blink, she curls back into herself. You look up to see Bucky standing over you and you smile, “She’s fine.” 

Bucky holds out his hand, helps you up and wraps his arms around you in a hug, “Thank you. I thought I’d lost her.”

“Of course. Cats hide when they don’t feel good and they can find the craziest places,” you reassure him as you relax into his arms. Your eyes slowly slipped shut and it seemed you both exhaled the stress of the last few minutes. Peace and comfort envelopes you and with each passing moment you sink further into it. 

It was strange. Usually in a situation like this, your brain would be running amok with thoughts of what you should be doing, if you were touching him too much, some remnant fear would crop up but your mind was quiet for a rare moment. It felt good to just be held by someone you trusted. 

You stay, basking in the warmth and peace that his arms being around you brings. Your mind is quiet until he murmurs something indiscernible. Reluctantly, you lift your head, “What?”

He pauses for a moment and then asks, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly separate from him. “Do you have anything particular in mind?” When he hadn’t spoken after a moment, you look at him. He stands frozen in the same spot while staring at you. You tilt your head in confusion, “Bucky?”

He meets your eyes and says quietly, “That’s not what I said.”

“Wha-”

“I love you,” he steps closer and gently touches your neck. “I love you. I know you may never be able to feel that way about me after what happ-”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grin as you pull him to you. His lips touching yours is pure bliss. You wrap your arms around him, living for this moment that ignited every happy emotion you possessed. There was not a dark spot in your mind. No negative thought or triggered memory crowded you. It was just joy. And heat. Your body shifted from the comfort of your earlier embrace to a wave of passion as the kiss continued. Keeping your lips connected you pulled Bucky to the living room couch and pushed him down on it. You removed your shirt as you straddled his lap. 

Bucky watches in awe and manages to whisper, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” you smile. “I mean, I’d prefer the bed but Alpine’s been traumatised enough today.”

He throws his head back in a laugh and after a moment, his gaze returns to you. A question was clear in his eyes. You swipe your thumb over his lower lip and whisper, “Say it again.”

Bucky’s eyes look into yours deeply, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you kiss him, putting everything into it. You made love on the couch. And then somehow ended up on the floor for round two. Starved, you found some food in the kitchen and christened the counter. Later, as you lay in his arms on the couch again, you can’t help but chuckle at a stray thought. 

“What’s that about?” Bucky asks, cuddling you closer. 

“I, um, I remember wondering if the pollen had made the sex seem so good when we were in that cabin. Now, I know for sure.”

“Oh?” He queries.

“It wasn’t the pollen. It was just you,” you smile. 

His soft laugh warms you, “I knew it was you all along.”

You could hear the double meaning in his words. He really had cared for you before all this happened. You kiss him before whispering earnestly, “I love you.”

“I love you, doll,” Bucky gently stands and pulls you with him to the bedroom. “Now, I think Alpine has had the bed to herself long enough, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you grin as you follow him. 

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[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now, dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

Knocking on his door a short time later, you felt the fear and panic rise from your stomach to take a stranglehold on your throat. Dipping into the tenacity that had made you into a badass, you straighten your spine and wait, staring ahead with purpose. You felt it wobble for just a second when the door opened but you breathed in deeply and met his gaze directly. Your insides quelled but your mask never fell.

“Hi,” Bucky says softly, almost timidly.

“May I come in?” Your voice sounds harsh to your own ears, but it was necessary to keep it from trembling.

“Yeah, of course,” He steps back to allow you entry and you notice that he is giving you a wide berth. Even once you had turned back to him as he closed the door, he moved to ensure you could get to it without issue. As if he wanted to ensure you didn’t feel trapped. “So, uh, I think I owe-”

“Thank you,” you blurt, cutting him off.

“Wha, uh, what?”

If your nerves weren’t shot you probably would have smiled at the confused expression on his face. “Thank you for how you wrote your report. I appreciate that you were… discreet.”

Bucky just nodded, looking at you askew.

“I was as well. Not that you needed to know that,” you cross your arms to help hold yourself together.

“I read yours,” he says.

You give a curt nod. “Who else have you told?” You feel almost mean asking the question when he looks back at you with such sad eyes but you had to know.

“The doctor, my therapist, and Alpine,” Bucky says.

“Who’s Alpine?” You narrow your eyes.

“My cat,” his lips quirked the tiniest bit.

For some reason, the humor of it puts you a little more at ease. “You have a cat?”

As if knowing she was the subject of conversation, a fluffy white cat with big blue eyes rounds the corner letting out a small meow. She rubs against Bucky’s leg and then decides to study you. You crouch down as she approaches but don’t reach for her. You let her come to you, keeping your hands in plain sight with your forearms resting on your thighs. She sniffs at you, rubs her furry head against your hand and then puts a paw on your thigh to stretch closer to your face. Your eyes flick up to Bucky to see his surprised expression but you return them to Alpine quickly. Giving her a slow blink to show you mean her no harm, she moves her head up to rub against your chin and, following her lead you bring your forehead down to give her a head boop. She meows happily, jumps on the couch and gives you an expectant look while making circles.

“She wants you to sit with her,” Bucky’s voice breaks you out of the trance this little interlude had put you in.

“Oh,” you move to sit beside the white cat and she immediately makes camp on your lap. You stroke her soft fur, a small smile curving your lips.

“Uh, can I?” Bucky gestures to the opposite end of the couch.

“It’s your couch,” you say nervously.

“Alpine doesn’t often take to people like that,” Bucky says as he sits.

“Really?”

“She’s usually pretty standoffish. Kind of like you,” Bucky shrugs.

Your brow furrows at the comment but you decide to let it go. The last thing you wanted right now was to turn the conversation contentious. You worked your lips trying to form your next question but he spoke quickly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he looks away.

“It’s fine.” You look down at the cat happily purring in your lap and then look up at him, “Are you… all healed up?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that but, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. And before you have to ask, yes, I’m healed. Physically,” you whisper the last word but can tell he heard it.

“I’m sorry for what happened. What I did, to you.”

“We did it to each other. It wasn’t your fault. Unless you knew it could happen. You didn’t know that was where they conducted those experiments, did you?” You felt wrong for asking but needed the reassurance.

“No! No, I would never have taken the mission if I did. I would have insisted they send a biohazard team. I may be a jerk but I wouldn’t wish that stuff on my worst enemy.”

“As your worst enemy, that’s good to know,” you try to lighten the moment.

“You aren’t my worst enemy. You’re my teammate,” Bucky says, incredulously.

“Coulda fooled me. You’ve hated me since I got here,” you scoff.

“Because I knew you were sent to observe me. I knew as soon as you got here that you were meant to watch over me. I’m still a threat as far as they’re concerned.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch!” You’re seething with the realization of the source of his disdain, “I was sent here to round out the team. My placement had nothing to do with keeping tabs on you. No wonder you question my every move. I can’t possibly be good at this job since the only reason I exist on this planet is to check up on Bucky fucking Barnes. Well, fuck that, Barnes, I’m damn good at my job and have skills that the team needs. Not that you ever cared to notice the value of my input!”

Bucky seemed taken aback by your reaction but still narrowed his eyes as he asked, “Why else would they send someone with a background in psychology?”

“I don’t know. What possible advantage could psychological insight have when dealing in espionage or motive?” You stare him down, your jaw steely and eyes filled with umbrage.

And he floundered as you did. His mouth worked several times as if trying to form some rebuttal but in the end his eyes met yours with clear defeat in them. “Exactly,” you sign his epitaph. “Look, you can believe whatever you want but that-”

“I believe you,” Bucky says.

You look him over, trying to determine his sincerity. It was then that your background in psychology kicks in somewhere in the back of your brain. He has a huge chip on his shoulder. A constant reminder that most people will always see him as a murderous ghost assassin rather than the tortured war hero that he is. He probably never trusts anyone’s motives until they’ve proven themselves. You were no different and knowing how the system works you can’t blame him for fearing that any new face was just meant to keep tabs on him. After all, even knowing he is free from the grasp of Hydra, the Dora Milaje still keeps tabs on him. When you can’t trust your own mind, how can you trust new faces that appear?

“Do you think that we can move past all of this?” You ask. The question seems to catch him off guard and so you elaborate to give him time, repeating what you had told Dr. Montesi. “Look, I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If you can never give me that respect, if you can’t move past your prejudices or what happened in that cabin to see me as an asset, I don't want to work with you. I'm not asking to be friends, just co-workers, teammates, whatever you want to call it. Preferably ones who can talk without all the biting commentary.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Bucky asks quietly.

You’re taken aback by the question but answer quickly, “No.”

“Were you when we were in that cabin?” He asks, not quite meeting your eyes.

“No,” you search your brain as to why he would ask that question. “I wasn’t afraid of you. I was scared about what was happening, the lack of control, the fear of burning to death. I wasn’t scared of you physically. Mentally, I was terrified that you would tell everyone. That you would lord it over me that you had… gotten me in bed. That you would make me a laughingstock. It’s no small feat to make it to where I am as a woman but it can all be taken away just as quickly when people lose the respect you’ve earned. When they start seeing you as an object rather than a person.”

“You really thought I would do that?” Bucky asks.

“You hate me. You have since I got here and what better way to take me down a few pegs and prove that I don’t belong here? What a way to bring me to heel and force me out, right? Yes, I thought it was a possibility.” You admit everything and watch the hurt and emotions that cross his face.

“And now? Do you still think I would do that?”

“Honestly, no. For one thing, you haven’t done it. And when I read your report,it was as succinct as possible while also shining me in a good light, I realized you maybe weren’t that kind of person. Then, I-” you cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much.

“You?” Bucky pushes.

“I read your other reports for missions we had been on together. You keep it short but you also always mention others' contributions to the outcome, mine included. Reading them, I thought that, maybe, at some point you had started to see me as an asset. That somewhere in all of the times we worked together you had built some grudging respect for me. And if that was the case, somewhere under the asshat facade you wear, there’s a good man I haven't gotten to meet yet.”

“When you first got here, you were too friendly and I put up all my defenses. You… scared me,” Bucky admits quietly.

You nod, grasping exactly what he means. To him, you had seemed like someone with an agenda, trying to get under his skin. You decide to match his vulnerability, “I was interested in your story. I wanted to get to know the Howling Commando who was the first to fall and the last still fighting. You’re kind of a living legend.”

“So, you’re a fangirl?” He smirks.

“Uh, how very dare you. No,” you can’t help the little scoffing laugh that escapes. “More like a history buff.”

“Okay, I’ll go with that.”

You smile at each other, a feeling of comradery flowing between the two of you for the first time. But, still, you need reassurance and the question had to be asked, “So, does this mean you think that we can move past all of this and keep working together?”

“I’d like to. You?” He looks at you hopefully.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good. That’s good,” he nods.

“Yeah. Okay, I should get going,” you look down to the cat napping in your lap. “Sorry, Alpine. Time for me to get out of here.” The cat looks up at you as you gently place her on the floor. She stretches and then looks at Bucky, letting out a loud meow before walking away.

“She’s letting me know it’s time for food,” Bucky chuckles.

“I see who’s the boss around here,” you laugh.

“Oh, 100% her,” Bucky smiles as he stands.

You were almost to the door when Bucky said your name. You turn back to him in surprise and listen as he says, “Thanks for this. For talking.”

“Yeah, of course,” you turn away again but your mind is screaming because he had used your first name. Part of you wanted to let it go, to not ask about the one thing that bothered you most about what happened. To let sleeping dogs lie and keep the new peace that had been formed between you. But you know yourself, it will haunt you and working up the courage to bring it up later would likely never happen. It felt like once the door closed behind you when you left, you may never be able to get back to the one question that you needed answered. You whirl back around, “Wait. There’s one more thing. A question I have to ask.”

“Anything. What is it?” Bucky asks nervously.

If his stomach felt anything like yours, it’s in knots with fear that all the progress that had just been made would crumble to dust once the question was asked. You watch yourself twist your hands as the words tumbled out, “When we were…at the cabin, there was this one thing that, the, uh, you, at one point you, there was, you,” frustrated with yourself you blurt out the question, “Why did you make me say your name?”

You meet his eyes, yours filled with curiosity and just a touch of accusation and his tinged with fear and… sadness? You couldn’t quite read him.

“Ah, that. I, um, everything was so beyond our control. It felt like-, we were forced into this situation. And we didn’t have a choice in what we were doing but it was…”

“A small semblance of control?” You provide.

“Yeah, but more than that. I didn’t have any control over myself as the Winter Soldier. I was always the asset or Soldat. When we were in that cabin, Hydra had control of me again and the only way I could ground myself, to remind myself I wasn’t Soldat again was that,” Bucky looks into your eyes, “I was with you. I wasn’t alone and I wanted, I- I needed to hear my name. To be reminded that I was still Bucky even if Hydra did have control of my body, my mind was still my own. That Bucky meant something to me and it wasn’t lost again. So, I made you say it. I’m sorry. I know it was me taking away more control from you but I,” he stopped, looking away. His eyes were rimmed red and his demeanor screamed the feeling of shame overtaking him.

“It’s okay.” It took a few seconds for you to form the response you felt would give you both the closure you needed. You had rarely touched another person since the incident. Touch was overstimulating and occasionally triggering to you, but leaving that behind, you reach out and cup his cheek, “I understand. It wasn’t about me and that’s what I needed to know. It’s okay… Bucky.”

He covered your hand with his own, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch, “Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive-”

He interrupted, seemingly unsatisfied with your denial, “I tried so hard not to take any more advantage of the situation than was necessary. I didn’t try to kiss you or force you to look at me. I just needed-”

“Bucky,” you waited until he looked at you, “I forgive you.” You nod and whisper again, “I forgive you.”

He stares at you in awe for a few moments. He reached to caress your cheek in the same way you held his. You mouth, “It’s okay” again to reassure him. You stay frozen like that for a few moments just staring into each other. You feel something shift inside of you and track when his glance slips to your lips and then back up again. Instinctively, you do the same but suddenly fear grips you. Panic begins to roll up from your stomach and your skin suddenly feels like it's being scorched by the heat of his hand on your face.

“MROW!” The loud yowl from Alpine pulls you both back to reality and you separate quickly. The cat was obviously impatient about her delayed dinner.

You let out a breathy laugh, “I’ll let you get to her dinner.”

“Uh, yeah. Dinner, right,” Bucky says. He watches your quick retreat but before you close the door he calls out, “Have a good night… doll.”

“You, too… Bucky.”

Part 4

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Masterlist

Find me on:   AO3  TikTok  Ko-Fi Updates and taglist:  Updates for series will be made weekly. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks so much for your patience. We lost my mother-in-law last month and it's been a difficult time. But, I've got part two up and have got a good head start on parts 3 and 4. Hopefully updates won't be so far in between. As always, I have to say a special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby who is also my hype princess and most darling friend. I hope you enjoy!

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

In the two days since you returned to the compound, you had rarely left your room. Your body was incredibly sore the first day but it had started to lessen. You were glad the medbay kept a supply of morning after pills. Dr. Miles, your most trusted doctor, had examined you after the fact and said that you should be fully healed in a few days. The examination was a necessary requirement but it had felt like yet another invasion. 

Your emotions were a mess and the doctor had suggested a visit with a counselor to help you work through them. Now, you were starting to wonder if she had been right. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working, you had strange dreams, and your mood was all over the place. You had avoided everyone while you were off-duty to heal. The thought of facing any of them,  especially Bucky, made you sick. By now, you were sure they all knew what happened. Bucky had probably gloated that he had-

You couldn’t even finish the thought and shake it away. When you filled out the mission report, you had simply stated that there was an exposure to an unknown substance that had caused a short-lived fever. Quarantine and a battery of tests had cleared you to return home to the compound. The only person who knew what happened was Dr. Miles and Bucky, of course. Your gut clenched whenever you thought of him, which was often now. Hell, it had always been often. You had been enthralled by his story and excited to join the team. Unfortunately, he had proven to be nothing like you imagined. He seemed to hate you from the moment you were introduced. His comradery with your other teammates was fun and friendly, but with you, he was always scowling and defensive. You had given up after a few attempts at striking up a conversation. He had shut you down and moved away every time. 

And now, you’re a notch on his belt. Not that either of you had chosen it. It was just horrible luck- or was it? Had he purposely led you to that lab? Had he known what was there? What would happen? No, you stop yourself from spiraling. Even if he was a jackass, he wasn’t that kind of person. He had been just as surprised and affected. The thought of how affected he had been made you clench. You hated him but, fuck, that had been the most amazing sex of your life. You wondered if it was the drug or that thick-

Stop it! You hate him! You yell at yourself in your head. You felt concurrently turned on, ashamed, and angry. It was frustrating and eating at you. 

Thinking of eating, your stomach rumbles. It was late and you thought it would be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen. You had exhausted the supply of snacks in your room and needed some real food. Peeking into the hall, you find it empty and quietly make your way to the kitchen. You make yourself a plate and raid the pantry for more snacks. As you were tip-toeing back to your room you saw Bucky coming out of his room at the other end of the hallway. He froze when he noticed you and watched as you made a mad dash for your room. Inside, you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. Tears streamed down your face for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint. You set everything on your desk and crumpled into a ball on the floor. You rocked as you tried to calm yourself while also berating yourself for your weakness. It was just sex. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like you wanted it or even asked for it. It was just a mutually agreed upon need. 

All your rationalizations did nothing to stop the surge of emotions taking over. So, you decided that maybe Doc was right. You needed to talk to someone. Someone to help you sort out your own feelings. You just hoped that you could feel normal again because, right now, you are not yourself.

–

Bucky stared at the space you had occupied a minute ago. He hadn’t seen you since you’d returned from the mission. You hadn’t been able to look at him in the small amount of time you were together during exfil. You’d both been put through quarantine and testing. He had no long lasting effects from the exposure but he knew you had to be bruised and sore from the experience. He felt immensely guilty about that but he could no more have stopped what was happening than you could. Sometimes he wondered if he could have even if it wasn’t for the pollen, it was the best thing he’d felt in seventy years. You were so soft, wet, and perfectly tight. 

Berating himself as he felt his body react to the memories, he reminded himself that you hate him. You had good reason to. He had been an absolute ass since you joined the team. Hethinks about his terrible behavior. He didn’t like new people to start with and then, out of seemingly nowhere, you were put with the team. It roused his suspicions and he viewed you as a potential threat. So, he had questioned your every motive, idea, and process. He wanted to hate you but the more he saw your work with the team and interactions outside of it, the more he found you intriguing. Rather than apologizing or correcting his behavior, he had doubled down. He couldn’t explain it but some small, stupid part of him had hoped that this incident would create an opening for him to reconcile with you but now you couldn't even look at him.

Who could blame you after the way he had treated you? Both before and during. He had been lost in the feeling and had stopped fighting the effects of the pollen the first moment he entered you. Hell, he hadn’t really fought it from the beginning. He had burst into that bathroom as if he had every right to enter it. You had to hate him even more now with what he’d done. He felt the need to talk to you, to apologize, to ask you to forgive him. He hadn’t told a soul what happened and had been deliberately vague in his mission report. He hadn’t wanted to make it any worse for you. 

Retreating to his room, Bucky paces trying to figure out his next move. Should he approach you or wait for you to come to him? He shakes his head. You wouldn’t approach him. Not the way you, no doubt, feel about him. You probably never wanted to see him again. What did you think? Did you hate him even more? Most likely. Did you think he had done this on purpose? That he had taken advantage of you? The drug had taken both of your ability to really consent. Did you feel… What are you feeling? He couldn’t stand the thought that you hated him even more or that you thought he hurt you purposely. 

He grabbed the doorknob, determined to speak with you but his hand slipped from it before he could turn the knob. You needed more time. He shouldn’t push you. He’d wait until you were at least healed. That was a better idea, he decided. It wasn’t that he was chickening out, he was just waiting until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That was the best thing to do, wasn’t it?

–

You nervously bounce your legs as you wait for the office door of Dr. Victoria Montesi to open. Dr. Miles had gotten you an appointment within thirty minutes of messaging her that morning. You wonder if she already had Dr. Montesi on standby. It wouldn’t be surprising with how well Doc seemed to know and anticipate your needs medically. 

When the door opens, you turn to look at the woman smiling softly at you. She was lovely with dark hair and eyes, and she radiated a calm demeanor that immediately put you at ease. 

“Hi. I’m Vicki Montesi,” she introduced herself.

Giving a polite smile, you give your name but don’t extend your hand. Touch was too intimate a thing to do currently and Dr. Montesi seemed to instinctively understand your body language. You felt so weak and hated it. You had been through major disasters, espionage, a host of events that would fell another person. Why was this the one thing that affected you so deeply? 

Dr. Montesi motioned for you to follow her and closed the door behind you softly, “Sit wherever you like. Do you mind if I take some notes?” 

“Uh, no, that's fine,” you shrug.

She grabbed a pad of paper off her desk and took a seat across from where you had settled on the couch. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing up occasionally. You knew she was waiting for you to start but two could play at-

“What brings you in today?” She interrupts your train of thought. 

“I, um,” you stuttered, thrown that she hadn’t followed the pattern you expected. “What did Dr. Miles tell you?”

“That you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh…” you trail off suspiciously. 

“Your privacy is tantamount to both of us as your doctors,” Dr. Montesi says gently. 

“Right. So, I, um, we, I,” you stop yourself. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you begin again, “I was on a mission with a teammate. We were exposed to a powder that… forced the need for, for. Fuck! It made us burn up with fever and feel intense pain unless we were actively having sex. It felt like we were dying if we weren’t fucking. And of all the people in the fucking world it had to be with Bucky fucking Barnes. I can’t stand him and knowing that we- goddammit.” The words had become rushed and your frustration grew as you tried to explain. 

“So, you were put into a situation you had no control over, and your only relief was provided by someone you don’t like? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes and hate. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, He’s probably told everyone who would listen.”

“Why do you think that?” Dr. Montesy probes. 

“Because he always undermines everything I say, anything I bring to the table. What better way to knock me down a few pegs than to tell everyone that he got me in bed?” You explain. 

“Have you spoken with him since it happened?”

“No, I haven’t really spoken to anyone since, ya know.” You look down at your hands. 

“And you feel that Bucky has after what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You scoff.

“Do you think the situation was different for him?”

“Yes! No, I… I don’t know,” you look away for a minute gauging what he could possibly be feeling. In your mind you think through your prejudices towards him, realizing many were sexist assumptions of what men are supposed to feel and others never took his past into consideration. Most of your thoughts had centered only around the hatred you felt for him and his constant attitude towards you but underneath all of that was a real person who was probably struggling with aspects of this as well. You admit in a near whisper, “Probably not.”

“It’s good that you’re able to look outside yourself. Can you tell me how you feel about the situation aside from him?”

You nod, taking a moment to assess that yourself, “It sucks to not have control over a situation to not have any good choices. I didn’t want it to happen but it’s part of the job. Sometimes you end up in these situations where no matter what you do, you’re going to come out on the other end with regrets. This one was just much more intimate than most. I want to blame someone and I keep blaming myself. That I couldn’t control myself, that I led both of us straight into that trap, that I used him and allowed him to use me. I just feel ashamed.”

“That’s common in situations like this but you did the one thing you were supposed to do. You survived.”

–

You saw Dr. Montesi again a couple of days later. She was helping you process and you appreciated it. She had a way of pulling things out of you that surprised you. Like when you continually called him Barnes rather than his first name and anytime she said his first name, you corrected her immediately. 

“There’s something more here. What is it about his name that bothers you?” She asks. 

“He… made me say it during,” you shrug, looking away. 

“Why does that bother you?”

“I never call him by his first name. It's always Barnes or asshat. Never Bucky.”

“And he made you call him Bucky?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t, you know, um… let me-”

“Orgasm?”

“Yeah, until I did. It felt… awkward,” you finish softly. 

“Just awkward?” She pushes. 

“Infuriating. Like a violation, another way control was taken from me. I mean, why? Why would he do that? What possessed him?”

“Well, the pollen for one thing, but have you considered that might have been the way he found some control in the situation?”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally? It wasn’t about bringing me to heel but about him finding a modicum of control? But should that negate how I feel?” You ask, confused.

“Not at all. Your feelings are valid but what I want you to understand is there is a why for him that may have had nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Why have you never called him by his first name?”

“Because I hate him,” you shrug. 

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“It’s like I told you before, he treats me like a subordinate. Like I didn’t earn my place and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Even after you’ve worked together for the last several months?”

“It lessened after a while I guess but he still acts like an ass all the time.”

“How have you handled that?”

“I tried to be friendly, to prove myself, and then I gave up. Why waste the energy?”

“Is it a waste? There’s no hope?” Dr. Montesi tilts her head. 

“I mean, I don’t… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know,” your voice trails off as you think back over all your interactions with Bucky. What if you had missed an opening? Was there some point when he tried to let you in but you had closed yourself off and delivered only sass and smartass remarks? But was that your fault? Was it all up to you?

“It’s okay to not have an answer but it is something you might think about until we see each other again.”

–

You saw her again early the next week. Each time it helps you see more clearly and feel more like yourself. Her guidance through your feelings and assumptions both good or bad, right or wrong without judgment or censure allowed you to explore more than just the situation with Barnes. It was the question she had posed about his motives that had stuck with you. 

“I think I'm ready to talk to,” you pause as your stubborn nature still fights against you calling him Bucky, but Barnes seemed even less apt now. You finally settled on just using the noncommittal, “him.”

“Oh?” Dr. Montesi waits for you to elaborate.

“I feel like I need to know his motives and feelings,” the last word was hard to push past your lips. You hadn't considered his feelings ever really. At least, not since he had proven himself to be a royal jackass. There was still a part of you that loathed him but somehow concern for his reaction to all of this had wormed its way into your mind. 

“What do you think that will do for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I don't know. I read his mission report on what happened. He was even more vague than I was on the details. Whether he was protecting himself or me, I wasn't sure but,” you take a deep breath before admitting the next part, “then I went through the other reports for missions we had been on together. He's always succinct but never fails to highlight others' contributions to the outcome. Even mine. It was obvious reading them that at some point he had started to see me as an asset. So, I guess, I think it'll give me some closure. Either we can start building a more respectful comradery or that's never going to happen and it's time for me to think about moving on.”

“How would that make you feel?”

“Disappointed but I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If he can never give me that respect, I don't want to work with him. I'm not asking to be friends, just teammates. Preferably ones who can hold a conversation without all the snark.” You paused for a moment as a feeling of pride suffused through you. You were stronger than you realized and you were ready to find happiness and fulfillment on your terms. You smiled to yourself and then looked up to share it with Dr. Montesi. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt you could see it in her eyes, too. 

When you left her office a little while later, you pulled out your phone and sent a short text. 

You: Hey. Can we talk?

It was only a few minutes later that your phone dings. 

You let out a little laugh. That was probably the most civilized conversation the two of you had ever had. You started feeling the nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation but you needed it to happen. It was time to face this head on. As you make your way, you practice breathing techniques and make mental notes of what you wanted to say and ask. You even jotted a few down to help you remember when you know you're going into an emotional situation. 

Barnes: Yeah. On the phone or do you want to meet up?

You: I’d prefer face to face.

Barnes: Where? I can come to you. 

You: I’m on my way back there. I’ll come to you.

Barnes: Okay.

There is still the confusion in your own head of what to call him. Such a simple thing but rife with emotion for you. Barnes was what you called him because you hated him and now you weren’t sure you did. James is his first name but no one calls him that. Bucky felt too friendly and intimate especially when it triggers reminders of that night every time you even think about it. Sergeant was too formal and felt harsh and rigid. Asshat was fitting when he was being one but you could hardly call him that all the time. You think back to what he calls you but, in just the way you have, he calls you by your last name mostly. You don’t ever recall hearing him say your first name. Occasionally, your designation and more than a few times he’s referred to you as “pita.” His way of calling you “pain in the ass.” You let out a scoffing laugh when you think of that and then shake the conundrum away. Maybe after this talk, you’d figure out what to call him or you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore if you decided to move on. 

Part 3

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Masterlist

Find me on:   AO3  TikTok  Ko-Fi Updates and taglist:  Updates for series will be made weekly. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most.

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

“What the hell was that, Barnes?” You practically yell as you push open the front door of the safe house you’d been directed to. 

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen anything like it. God, the smell!” He shakes his head.

“It’s burned into my nostrils. All I can smell is that sweet flower smell. You’ve never seen that pink powder?” You throw your things to the floor, looking around the small, remote house. 

“No, I’d tell you if I did, damnit! Why do you keep asking?” Bucky growls. 

“You’re not the most forthcoming person! Shit, I think you’ve spoken more in the last two minutes than in the three months I’ve known you! Jesus, fuck, I’ve gotta get rid of this smell. I’m so fucking hot,” your voice gets smaller as you speak. You can’t think straight but head towards the bathroom, unzipping your tac suit and pulling it from your arms as you go. You slam the door and lock it. You turn the cold water on full blast and nearly fall over in your haste to get your suit off. The frigid spray helps for a few moments and you revel in it, but soon another type of heat begins to take over. Your clit throbs and when you place your hand between your legs, your wetness coats your fingers. The shower stops bringing relief and instead, the water coursing down your body seems to only make you hornier. You give in to the need that takes hold and circle your clit. It feels amazing and it takes only a couple of minutes for your orgasm to break over you. You  bite your lip to hold in the moans, not wanting the asshat on the other side of the door to hear you. 

Your body has a moment of relief but then the heat builds again, even quicker this time. You dip your fingers inside of you in a desperate attempt to stop it. The second orgasm you managed to pull did little to help your body and your fingers keep working furiously to bring another in hope of relief. Your moans are spilling from your lips without a care now. You just need to get this to stop. You’re disturbed when the door rattles and a fist bangs loudly. 

“Open the door! I need to get in there,” Bucky bellows. 

You wanted to scream at him to go away but you could barely form words. You hated the stupid supersoldier from the moment you met him. He questioned your every turn. Whether it was about your skill, experience, or motives. He never lets you get through a single conversation without making you feel like a lesser part of the team. 

“Goddamnit, let me in!” He yells more loudly. 

Nothing your hand was doing was helping any longer. You couldn’t think straight and, before you can make a move or form a thought, the door splinters open from a kick. A very naked Bucky comes through the door and your eyes widen as you see his cock standing at attention. He steps into the spray of the cold shower and growls. His hand works his cock furiously while his other rests on the tiles. His head falls forward as he lets the cold water fall down his back. You stand behind him, your hand still between your legs. 

“Fuck, what’s happening to us?” you whimper as you lean your feverish forehead onto his back. The cool water does nothing to help but where your skin touches his tingles with relief. Abandoning all pride, you press your entire body to his and the fever seems to cool wherever you touch but your clit throbs even harder. Your cunt weeps, begging for attention.You rub yourself against him, your nipples pebbling at the contact with his back. 

With a growl, Bucky turns around and you quickly back up to press your back against the wall of the shower. He stares at you, breathing hard. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble in your haze, “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so hot and-” 

You gasp as Bucky bends down, grabs your legs, and drags you up the tiles. You squeal and reach for any handhold as he puts your legs over his shoulders and attacks your clit with his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck!” You scream as one hand lands on the ceiling to help you balance and the other buries in his hair. His tongue swirls over your clit expertly. His hands squeeze your ass as he gorges himself on you. It doesn’t take long for you to buck your hips as you come all over his face. As he sets you down, you squeeze your thighs together but your body simply screams that it wants more. You stare at each other, breathing heavily. “It’s not working. Nothing helps,” you whimper, tears forming. It’s obvious by watching him that this is affecting him almost as much as you. His supersoldier serum must be helping him but he was burning just the same. 

Bucky sighs as he steps closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours with his eyes closed and whispers, “I think there’s only one thing that’s going to help.”

You put your arms around his neck, “Just do it!” You wrap a leg around his to encourage him and he lifts you up. He presses your back into the wall as he lines himself up with your entrance. He paused there for a second as if he was fighting himself. “Please, Barnes, please! I need it!” You can’t believe you’re begging the man you hate to fuck you but your body was demanding it and if he didn’t you were sure you would burn to death. If you had been thinking straight, you would probably prefer to burn but, at this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be filled. 

“Goddamnit,” he whispers as he presses in. Your body bows with pleasure. 

“Yes! Yes!” Your voice reverberates off the tile walls as you shout with relief. He begins to pump and your body trembles with each motion of his cock. He grabs your ass as he pounds into you and you know he’s as lost in the meeting of your bodies as you are. Your cunt flutters around him, pulling him in, begging for him to come inside of you. Your rational mind has gone completely silent and you are filled with only carnal lust. Every motion of his hips takes you higher and it’s all you want. “Don’t stop,” you grip his shoulders harder. 

“Fuck,” Bucky grunts. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to and, truth was, this was the best thing he’d felt in a long time.

“Oh, God, oh, God, I’m- yes!” You release a long, high-pitched moan as you come. Your pussy grips his cock as his hips stutter. He comes with a long moan that makes you clench around him more firmly. You stay there for a few moments, catching your breath, and blessedly your body finally starts to cool. You release your legs from around his waist and he gently sets you down. You can’t look at him and instead maneuver yourself back under the cold spray. You rinse off quickly and step out of the shower. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you exit the bathroom to find your pack and some clothes. While you rifle through your pack, you feel your temperature creeping up again and then you double over from the intense wave that rolls over you. “No, no, not again,” you whisper to yourself. You look over to the broken bathroom door where Bucky still is and consider your options. Sex had given you the relief you needed but it was short lived. Your mind runs amuck with questions. What the hell was that powder? What was it doing to you? How long would this last? How many times would it take to stop this heat from trying to burn you alive? Was sex really the only relief you would find? Another pang hit and knocked the breath from your body. You were gasping in pain when an arm picked you up around your middle. 

He was still wet from the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry off. The pains had hit him and he went to the only place he knew he could find relief. He carried you to the small bed in the house and set you down on your hands and knees. He grips your hips tightly and pauses for a moment as another rush of heat spreads over him, “I need-”

“Just do it,” your words come out in a rush, pressing back into him. 

He enters you without preamble. Pulling you back to meet each motion of his hips, his moans give evidence of the pleasure and relief that the connection brings. You reach under you to play with your clit, trying to bring your orgasm on more quickly. Each of Bucky’s swift thrusts has you crying out with pleasure and he moves your hand away to bring you to orgasm himself. He wanted to feel you clench around him as you had before. 

“Oh, fuck, just like that,” you whine, “Just like that, don’t- don’t stop, oh, fuck.”

Bucky moans as he feels your cunt flutter around his cock with your orgasm. The sounds you release are a hit straight to his cock and he comes hard, thrusting with each spurt into you. Breathing heavily, you both collapse on the bed. You lay on your side facing away from him while taking stock of your body. The relief you felt with your orgasm was short lived as heat began to build again after only a few minutes. 

You feel like crying as your body radiates waves of heat. You turn over to face Bucky. He is lying on his back, his metal arm slung over his eyes, and his right hand fisting his hard cock. You make your decision quickly. Pulling his hand away, you straddle him and guide his cock inside of you. You move your hips slowly, hoping that perhaps if you stretched out the sex, it would keep the pain at bay longer. His hands grip your thighs as you rock slowly, his head is thrown back with eyes tightly closed. You looked at him for a moment and still couldn't believe that of all the teammates this could happen with, it had to be this asshole. When you first met him, you thought he was hot as fuck but as his personality (or lack there of) reared it’s ugly head you found him less and less attractive. Your anger at the situation grew as you rode him and you found yourself leaning forward, chasing your orgasm to just get this over with. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky bucks up into you, causing you to cry out. He repeats the motion over and over again until your body spasms around him. He comes with a grunt as he watches your face contort with pleasure. You collapse on his chest without looking at him. You wondered if keeping your bodies connected would keep the heat from returning. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks softly. 

You sigh weakly as you felt the now familiar warmth beginning to spread, “I was hoping…” You let out a frustrated grunt, “I was hoping if we stayed touching it would be enough. But it’s starting again.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky acknowledges his own heat building. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” you grouse.

“I think… I think this might be a pheromone or something Hydra created to force procreation. I heard of the experiments but they abandoned it when it didn’t produce the results they wanted.”

“Which was?” You ask as your hips make slow circles. You can feel his cock quickly hardening inside of you. 

“Naturally born supersoldiers,” Bucky strains out the words. 

“So, we’re gonna have sex until we die or what?”

“Usually wore off in a few hours but until then…” he trails off as he gots lost in the sensations. 

“Fuck,” you groan, partially out of frustration, partially from the pleasure his thick cock was producing. 

“Basically,” Bucky says and you surprise yourself by laughing at the droll comment. You are even more surprised a second later when Bucky rolls you under him. He buries his face in your neck as he pulls your leg up higher and thrusts. You throw your head back as the pleasure begins to build again. 

“Harder,” you whimper. 

Bucky complies immediately and you whimper with each stroke. Grabbing onto him, you get lost in the feeling of his cock pounding into you sharply. You were glad that he at least was decent at this. Or was it that whatever the damn contaminant was made everything feel amazing? You were getting close with the steady way he fucked you and words started to pour out of your mouth. You were usually quite vocal in bed but hadn’t wanted to give Bucky the satisfaction. Now, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Oh, god, it’s so good. Don’t stop, right there. It’s so fucking good. Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna- fuck!” You let out a loud moan as you come hard and Bucky’s hips work even faster as he nears his own end. When he comes on a broken cry, your body revels in the feeling of him emptying himself in you.

The rational side of your brain sounded far away but was still screaming at the situation. In a moment of it managing to take hold, you push Bucky off of you and roll away from him. Breathing heavily, you pray that this is over. Surely, this was enough to satisfy anything. You will yourself to stay cool, to not allow the heat to return, to hold onto any shred of sanity you can find, but despite it all, the heat built again. You felt like screaming but you knew that nothing you did would help. You turn back to Bucky and say frustratedly, “Ready for another round?” You can’t meet his eyes but you knew neither of you could handle the pain and heat. You needed each other. 

Bucky turns to you, “Hey.” He waits, wanting you to look him in the eyes but you just stare at his chest. “Hey.”

“What?” You say waspishly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Never mind,” he says as he grabs you and pulls your back against his chest. His cock nudges you from behind and you maneuver your hips to allow him entry. His thrusts are quick and sharp but his fingers on your clit are pure magic. He’s learned your body quickly but instead of leading you straight to orgasm this time, he works you to the precipice and then backs off repeatedly. You understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to prolong the sex in hopes of not having to come inside you any more than he already had but it was as if your body only got angrier with each denial. 

“It’s not working! Just let me come!” You finally cry out, your frustration having reached its breaking point.

“Say it,” Bucky growls.

You wrack your muddled brain trying to grasp what he wants and latch on to the only word you can find, “Please!”

“No, say my name.”

You would normally reel angrily at a command from him but the effects this powder had on you makes you compliant from need. You stutter as your tongue tries to cooperate, “B- Barnes.”

“No,” he says darkly, “Say it.”

“Bucky,” you grind the word out through your teeth. You had never once called him that. It had always been some variant of his last name. You felt even more vulnerable now.

Bucky doesn’t utter a word but he moves his hips faster and his fingers do their job. When you finally come, your whole body spasms and you scream. The sound was foreign to your ears but the orgasm just kept going. You fluttered around Bucky’s cock, milking him of cum. You stay in that position for the next two rounds of sex. Then you got on top again to give Bucky a break but this time you faced away from him. You couldn’t look at him. When you had rode him to two orgasms and yourself to utter exhaustion, he turned you on your stomach to fuck you again. You lost count of the number of times you had sex. More orgasms than you’d ever had in your life were accomplished and you didn’t have any clue how many times he came. You fucked until you both passed out. 

Waking up fourteen hours later, you felt as if you had the worst hangover you’d ever experienced. You glance at the spot Bucky had been in but he was gone. On the table by the bed was a couple of bottles of water, a protein bar, and a bottle of pain reliever. You raised your eyebrow at the items but just shrugged as you tore into all of them. You notice your pack is by the bed and you get up to put clothes on. The first thing you notice is the soreness between your legs but really your whole body hurts. You listen for a moment but don’t hear anything in the house. Peeking out the door, you see the empty living room and slip into the bathroom. You shower quickly, trying not to remember what happened in the small space just yesterday. 

You jump when a knock sounds while you are dressing. You call out, “Yes?”

“Exfil will be here in five minutes,” Bucky says through the broken door. 

“I’ll be right out,” you say. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t imagine facing him after everything. Would he act like nothing happened or gloat like the asshole he is? You wonder if you will ever be able to look him in the face again. You look at yourself, surprised that you still look the same as you did yesterday because you know you’ll never be the same again. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. Now, you had a jet to catch.

Part 2

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

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[zolaniii1]

Subby boys who arch into the handjob, stomachs clenching and fist squeezing the seat their in begging you to go faster anything from your torturous slow pace but knowing the minute you pick up speed theyll explode.

“are you going to be a good boy and listen or do i need to keep teaching you this lesson”

[lavenderslut]

tips | throne

[be-witching666]

💗soft💗

[jewish-sideblog]

Magen David Pride Flags except I fixed the sizes and the colors to better soothe my neurodivergent brain

Feel free to use them for whatever without credit. I wouldn't stop you even if I could, it's all in the public domain anyway

[jewish-sideblog]

Some free DLC for my lovely Queer Jews of Colour and wonderful Polyamorous Jews. I also tried my hand at the toothpaste gay flag, but the number and size of the lines made it impossible to actually soothe my neurodivergent brain...

[jewish-sideblog]

These are all now on Wikimedia Commons with a Creative Commons license!

[ladyimaginarium]

Updating these with the jewish two spirit flag for my& fellow queer native two spirit jews who're so often unheard in both queer & jewish spaces!

[funstyle]

what we really need is a male moanliness epidemic am i right folks

[dizzydaughter]

I should be sitting on your lap tbh

[sga-owns-my-soul]

reblog to give ur mutuals a soft lil kissy on the head