✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦
It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.
But he’s everywhere.
There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.
Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.
That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.
“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”
You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”
“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“
“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”
Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not-“
“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.
“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.
“Congratulations.”
You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-
Get a fucking grip.
“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.
You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.
It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.
You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.
Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.
The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.
“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.
Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.
You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your job?”
“It’s not my job-“
“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
“Have you been carrying that around all day?”
“That doesn’t matter-“
“Yes, it really does-“
Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“
“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“
“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“
“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”
“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.
But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.
“Why’re you skipping.”
You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.
“I have a date.”
“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.
Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.
“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”
“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.
“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“
The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
“What’s-“
“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.
“No, he’s not-“
“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”
Then he’s gone.
And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.
You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.
“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.
You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.
At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.
“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”
He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.
The mission is over.
Two days early.
Your jaw tightens.
Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.
Something went wrong, and they have to come back.
You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But they’re back early.
And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all.
You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just… Finish early.
You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.
Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.
“You need to go, Buck-“
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“
“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
“Hi.” You whisper.
His throat bobs. “You’re back.”
“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“
“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.
He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.
“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“
“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”
Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.
“How was your date?” He grunts.
“Bucky-“
“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.
The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.
You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”
And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.
But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.
“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”
Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.
Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.
Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.
“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.
You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.
“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.
That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.
You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.
Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehow—just barely—fight it.
“Why can’t I access these files.”
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.
“Barnes-“
“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”
You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“
“Steve should change that.”
God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”
Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”
You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.
Instead, you find Bucky.
He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.
You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.
“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
“You want hot chocolate?”
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.
His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.
Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”
You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.
But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.
That he wants to be here.
Near you.
He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.
Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.
It’s almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.
But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.
You feel almost sick.
It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.
His fever is building again.
You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.
When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.
You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘
But it is Bucky.
And he’s never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.
“Hi.” You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“
“Bucky, are you-“
“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.
“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“
“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
“Bucky-“
“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”
You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.
But you do go right to Steve.
“What happened on the mission.”
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.
“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“
“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’
“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“
“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”
You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”
Steve sighs. “Is it you?”
“Yep.”
He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“
“I really don’t care.”
“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.
“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“
“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
“No, you just won’t tell me-“
“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“
“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“
“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”
“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.
“I know how it sounds-“
“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“
“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole.
“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Steve-“
“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”
Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“
You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.
And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”
You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”
You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.
But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.
“What are the symptoms?”
Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”
“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”
“But- Bucky-“
“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”
“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”
Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”
“Before or after the mating?”
Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“
“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”
“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
“What-“
“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
“Steve-“
“I didn’t say anything-“
“Yes, you did-“
“Nope.”
You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”
Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.
“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.
After you fix this for him.
If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.
Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesn’t turn you down…
You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
“Fuck off, Stevie-“
“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response.
Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.
He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.
His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.
You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
“You shouldn’t be here-“
“Steve said you need me.”
You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.
“I- I made him.”
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”
“I was worried about you-“
“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“
“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“
“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”
He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.
“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“
“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“
“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.
“Who says?”
“You’re an ass to me-“
“You’re an ass to me.”
“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.
“Me neither.”
You nod. “But…”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.
Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.
You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.
“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”
And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.
But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didn’t know you could want him more.
“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”
For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.
Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
“You- You got no idea, do you?”
Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“
“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.
“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.
“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”
“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.
“Didn’t you?”
You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Bet I imagined more.”
And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.
You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”
You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.
“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”
Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.
You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.
“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.
“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“
He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.
Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.
You can’t have that.
“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
“How?”
“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.
“You think this is funny?” He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”
He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.
“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“
“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“
Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.
There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.
A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.
Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.
“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.
You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.
“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.
“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”
You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.
Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.
“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.
You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.
“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”
And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.
So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.
Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.
“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”
You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.
“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.
Permission to go further.
His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.
“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.
A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“
“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“
His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.
Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.
“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.
“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.
He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.
Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.
You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.
“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“
“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“
He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.
And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.
“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.
Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.
He’s jerking off while he eats you out. He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.
Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.
“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“
Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.
You don’t want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.
“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles
“Good girl.” He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.
“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.
“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But you’re at an advantage.
Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.
You want him to give in.
So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.
Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.
“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”
You almost beam. Yes, please.
Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.
He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”
If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.
But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.
The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.
“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.
He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.
You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.
Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.
“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.
He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.
“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“
“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“
Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.
And he’s not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.
You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.
He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.
You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.
Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.
You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
They’re blue again.
“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
“I’m back.”
You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.
You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.
He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.
God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-
Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.
He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-
“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”
Oh.
Or that. That’s nice.
You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.
Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.
“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.
“Yeah. I’m staying.”
✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
BUNNY GONE WILD
the winter soldier x ditzy!reader [8.5k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk.
— ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; she/her pronouns for reader; ditzy & clueless!reader; reader is mentioned to have hair & wears a skimpy bunny costume; size difference (he's beefy and taller than reader); original characters; mention of punishment and violence (suck dick, hydra); mention of alcohol & weed (they're not the ones intoxicated); mention of murder; bucky mainly speaks russian (it's english in cursive because I don't speak russian + I don't trust google translate when I don't have a basic knowledge of a language) and a little broken english; he asks reader to call him soldat; touch starved bucky; slightly dark & possessive!bucky; light fluff & angst; smut (no explicit consent but both of them want it); feral behavior; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); oral (f receiving); spanking & pussy spanking; pussy pronouns; nipple play; a little bit of degradation; sex in the woods; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); primal and rough sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; panty sniffing & stealing.
A/N: I posted this last october if I'm not wrong, and honestly this is still one of my favorite one-shots lol. the reader's behavior and personality was heavily inspired by karen from mean girls and rose from the golden girls (a line in particular comes from one of the episodes 🥸). hope you'll enjoy it!
“I can already smell the weed from here. It’s only eleven, for fuck’s sake.” Sarah grimaces as she gets out of the driver’s seat of her Nissan Versa.
“It’s a college party, were you expecting tea and cookies?” Nicole sighs, bent over as she reties the straps of her shoes for the umpteenth time.
The huge mansion sits among the bare trees like a sore thumb. Strings of fake cobwebs dangle from the balconies in tangled clumps, lazily swaying in the cold October breeze. The projectors wash the building in a ghostly glow and pumpkins with bizarre carved faces line the porch, their flickering candles warping the jagged smiles into something unsettling.
The front steps are already crowded with masked people smoking, drinking and laughing too loudly. Sarah snorts out loud as one of the few latecomers nearly trips over a fake gravestone planted in the lawn beside a massive steaming cauldron that reeks faintly of dry ice.
“At least this year Ethan and his minions put some effort into decorating. Do you remember last Halloween?” Nicole turns towards the house with Sarah beside her, but then glances back to find you still standing by the car window, adjusting the corset of your costume.
“Jesus,” Sarah huffs exasperated, planting a hand on her hip. “Stop fussing, you look good!”
“Just a sec…” You mumble absently, turning sideways to check your back.
This year, the three of you agreed to not pick a group costume. Last Halloween had been a disaster from start to finish, mainly because Nicole wanted to go as Cher, Tai and Dionne from Clueless, while you suggested Sam, Clover and Alex from Totally Spies. Sarah was too busy with her now ex-boyfriend to care either way, and a few days before the party she ditched both of you to dress up as Princess Peach and Super Mario with him.
Naturally, you and Nicole still managed to clash over something as simple as matching outfits: she pushed for Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, but you barely knew who they were, so you argued for Daphne and Velma instead. Long story short, neither of you had time to buy decent costumes and ended up throwing together the easiest thing possible: a devil and an angel.
Just like at least thirty other girls at the party.
That same night, Sarah caught her dear Super Mario kissing Princess Daisy—her cousin—in one of the upstairs bathrooms of this exact mansion, and from that moment on, she swore off group costumes forever.
One year later, in front of the Nissan, a Kim Possible looks pretty much done with life, while a Cher from Clueless sits on the curb smoking her first cigarette of the night. And you, a bunny in a very revealing outfit, tap your lips to even out the glittery gloss.
You thought the ears were a little too big when you bought them, but now, paired with the sheer corset and the short skirt, they look perfect.
“Okay,” you tug the skirt down out of instinct, though the snug fabric barely moves against your thighs. “I’m ready!”
“Fucking finally.” Nicole mumbles, lifting herself from the sidewalk with a groan.
“Hey—”
Sarah’s warning comes too late. Your body is already colliding with something solid, hard as steel. A startled yelp escapes you as a large hand instantly clamps around your bare arm to keep you from stumbling backward. You realize your eyes have squeezed shut reflexively only when they flutter open at once, landing directly on a broad chest covered by what looks like a black tactical vest. Your gaze slowly drifts up, along a strong neck, until it catches on a pair of blue eyes staring down at you. The lower half of the stranger’s face is hidden behind a black mask, yet you are instantly fascinated.
“Oh, hi!” You beam, tilting your head slightly, fully aware of how much guys usually love it when you do that.
The bulky stranger simply looks at you, expression barely changing. There’s a faint furrow between his brows that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s assessing you or debating scolding you for nearly knocking yourself flat against him.
A beat of silence passes between you, in which you let your curious eyes roam shamelessly on his face, before dropping to his impossibly large shoulders. Heat tingles low in your stomach, before a hint of embarrassment curls through you at how obvious you must look beneath his unwavering stare.
Someone clears their throat behind you, but you can’t look away. You don’t want to.
“Honey, let the gentleman go, c’mon.” Sarah grabs your wrist while wrapping her other arm around your waist to gently steer you away.
The long fingers around your forearm jump back as if your skin burned him.
“Nice costume, man. Looks expensive.” Nicole nods at the strange guy, still standing rigidly in the same spot. Only his eyes move, tracking you carefully as your friends lead you toward the entrance at an unhurried pace.
Something about him feels off and Sarah has no interest in provoking some potentially dangerous individual. After all, nights like these are full of creeps looking to take advantage of crowded parties and drunk girls.
Still, you glance back twice.
Each time, you catch him still looking at you.
Before fully crossing the threshold and navigating the sea of intoxicated students, your head turns one last time. The stranger is now facing the house with his shoulders squared beneath his dark clothes, and a stupid little thrill runs through your veins at the thought that maybe he might be here for the party as well.
Years without being touched by anything except harsh hands and cold medical equipment, and what unravels the Winter Soldier is a sweet-looking girl wearing bunny ears and clothes so tight he could almost trace the shape of her nipples.
He can’t remember the last time he felt such a delicate thing brush against him.
Because you are soft. Too soft. Too pretty. He could snap your bones with one twist of his wrist, yet you looked at him like you wanted to be swallowed whole.
His heartbeat has not slowed down since the moment his hand closed around your arm. And as much as he wanted to glare at your friend the moment she took you away from him, he had taken the chance to study your body properly: from the luscious curve of your hips straining against that pathetic excuse for a skirt, to the way your tits threatened to spill from the indecent corset that looked almost painted onto your torso. The fishnet stockings bit into your flesh with every step you took, the tiny bows stitched along the hems probably meant to make the costume cute, but to the Soldier, they only made it filthier.
But the thing that truly made him swallow thickly was the puffy, white cotton tail sewn to the back of your skirt, right at the top of your ass.
Fake.
Such a shame.
He could picture it so clearly: grabbing it between his fingers and tugging until you made that sweet little sound again for him.
It makes his jaw clench beneath the mask.
With a sharp shake of his head, the Soldier forces the intrusive thoughts away.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Nobody was.
The orders had been clear: break in, eliminate everyone inside, then wait at the nearest safe house for extraction.
No witnesses.
The target is a former HYDRA scientist who’d escaped over a decade ago. He’d covered his tracks well, moving states almost yearly, changing names often enough to become little more than smoke in old files. The Soldier vaguely wonders if the man had worked on the Winter Soldier project at some point, even if there would be no way to know. The face in the mission folder had looked painfully ordinary. Like all the others.
The wife and son were to be eliminated too, if present.
HYDRA had enforced the no witness rule brutally during his earlier missions. Back when he still hesitated. Back when stray civilians had managed to survive because he’d been too uncertain.
He can almost feel the scars across his back throb faintly at the memory—a lesson carved into flesh.
However, this situation is entirely new for the Asset.
For starters, the black SUV belonging to the scientist is missing from its usual spot in the driveway. And considering the mansion now resembles a nightclub overflowing with sweaty college students in cheap costumes, the target is clearly elsewhere.
He can’t proceed with the mission.
HYDRA hasn’t contacted him with further instructions either, which means he’s expected to wait at the designated safe house until retrieval. That could mean tomorrow. Or next week.
The Soldier looks back at the house spilling laughter and obnoxious music into the cold night air, then glances down at his gloved hand, slowly flexing his fingers.
Your warmth still seems trapped against his palm.
With a quiet exhale, barely audible beneath the pounding bass, he starts walking toward the door.
Inside, it’s pure chaos.
The bass from the speakers had already been rattling the lawn outside, but in here it practically punches through your rib cage. You roll your eyes at the umpteenth awful EDM remix of some new pop song you don’t even know the lyrics to. Personally, you’d rather dance to early 2000s hits—preferably ones not butchered by a DJ with a SoundCloud account and too much confidence.
People spill through every hallway of the mansion. The improvised dance floor is packed shoulder to shoulder with students clumsily grinding against each other beneath flashing purple lights, while smaller groups cling to the walls, shouting over the music with red cups clenched in their hands.
The smell hits the second you step inside: a mix of cheap perfume, spilled beer soaked into hardwood floors, and sweat that makes your nose wrinkle—all layered beneath the sickeningly sweet scent of vape smoke. Laughter ricochets off the high ceilings, blending with shrill screams every time the DJ blasts the fog machine over the crowd.
A staggering vampire bumps hard into your shoulder, nearly sending you wobbling off your pumps, but Sarah promptly catches your elbow before you can stumble. She immediately sends his back a glare, before shooting a look of utter disgust toward a group of visibly wasted frat boys gathered around the kitchen island.
“I hate college.” She gags dramatically, scowling as they loudly dare each other to shotgun whatever neon-colored concoction the host is pouring into their plastic cups.
You grin at her because, honestly, Sarah would rather be home wrapped in a blanket watching some obscure slasher movie marathon. But after the stunt she pulled last Halloween, you and Nicole practically dragged her here by force. Ever since her cheating ex, she’d shut men out entirely, and a small part of you hopes tonight might finally loosen her up enough to flirt with some attractive masked stranger for a few hours.
Your attention drifts toward the windows lining the far wall. Beyond the glass, the quiet street stretches through the chilly night, washed in pale streetlights.
The strange man is nowhere to be seen.
Almost immediately, your eyes flick toward the front door, scanning person after person as they wander in and out. Vampires. Cheerleaders. Devils. Witches. Cowboys.
No sign of the hot, tall man in black tactical gear.
Disappointment settles strangely heavy in your chest. With a small, dejected sigh, you turn back toward your friends, who are currently debating whether it’s worth risking the kitchen—where there’s at least a seventy percent chance of walking in on some couple making out—for drinks, or staying in the living room to dance instead.
Adjusting your bunny ears with a small smile, you vote for alcohol.
“Hey, Nic!”
All three of you turn at the sound of a familiar voice.
Jacob, captain of the basketball team, jogs toward your group, stopping directly in front of Nicole with an easy grin plastered across his face.
“Hey, girls. Nice costumes.” He grins, wiggling his fingers at you and Sarah in greeting. She gives him a flat nod in return.
“Hi, Jacob! You too!” You smile politely, before leaning closer to your friend. “Is that a... basketball uniform?” You mumble into her ear.
“Of course.” She raises both eyebrows, pressing her lips together as she fights a chuckle at the sight of your college team’s uniform.
Jacob isn’t a bad guy. Just a little painfully self-absorbed. And maybe slightly too obsessed with basketball—to the point where being team captain has somehow become his entire personality. Nicole went on one date with him last semester and came back with a migraine after listening to him talk about playoff rankings for nearly two hours straight.
She’d tried letting him down gently afterward, but he insisted on staying friends. Now he trails after her like an overgrown golden retriever.
“Which player did he dress up as?” You ask quietly.
Sarah’s face goes completely blank. She stares at you for a full second, mouth opening and closing once before she gives up entirely and decides eavesdropping on their conversation is more worthwhile.
“I need a teammate for beer pong,” he mentions offhandedly, pointing toward the long folding table at the far end of the living room, where rows of red cups are already set up beneath flashing lights.
Nicole grimaces slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe later? I’m with my friends right now.”
“Don’t worry about us, Nic.” You interrupt immediately, grabbing Sarah’s arm before she can object. “We’re getting drinks, then we’ll come find you, right?”
Sarah smirks at Jacob’s instantly hopeful expression and nods once.
“See?” He spreads his arms dramatically. “C’mon, we’re gonna crush them. Don’t you remember? You’ve got a winning streak to defend.”
Nicole laughs—a sharp, bright sound that somehow cuts through the pounding music.
“Okay, fine.” She sighs, sending you a half-smile.
As she steps beside him, someone near the table suddenly shouts her name. Then another voice joins in. Within seconds, half the group is chanting Nicole! loud enough to rival a halftime show.
Throwing her arms into the air, she pumps her fists along with the cheers like she’s entering a stadium instead of a living room.
Sarah shakes her head before nudging you toward the kitchen. “C’mon, Lola Bunny. Let’s get a drink.”
If his handlers found out about this, he isn’t sure he would get away with something as mild as hair pulling and a few lashes on his back.
“Cool outfit, dude!”
A guy dressed up as a banana—only his face visible through the costume—shouts after him. The Soldier glances at him briefly, expression unreadable, before continuing to run a silent scan of the room, re-evaluating the night’s target. His enhanced senses catch everything at once, unfortunately: from the humid press of bodies, to the sour-sweet spill of rum beside the DJ booth. Sweat and perfume and alcohol mingle into something thick and suffocating.
“Shit, man. That’s a nice costume you got there.” Someone slurs behind him. “Looks like real metal—” Before the hand can even reach his wrist, instincts detonate and his fingers clutch the guy’s forearm.
Hard.
“Ow ow ow—sorry sorry! Y—You’re crushing my bones, dude!”
The man wearing a cheap Jack Sparrow costume goes pale beneath the eyeliner, features twisting in pain as the Asset looms over him, a silent threat carved into posture alone.
At some point, he registers a small cluster of students turning towards them, whispering with curiosity blooming into something sharper.
Exhaling, the Soldier ultimately decides to release his grip. The pirate stumbles back into his friend, who immediately starts scolding him about consent and personal space.
Satisfied with the clear warning, the Soldier turns around, moving again through the crowd.
He raises an eyebrow, scanning the sea of people with his keen eyes. Finally, he catches a familiar pair of bunny ears excitedly turning left and right.
He walks to a dark corner of the living room with deliberate ease, folding his arms across his chest and leisurely resting back against the wall.
And he waits.
Nicole’s yellow and navy-blue plaid jacket is neatly draped across Sarah’s arm as she rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, a cocky grin spreading across her face.
“Watch and learn, losers.” She snaps, reaching for a ping-pong ball.
From the sidelines, Sarah offers a shout of encouragement, her voice already a little hoarse from all the previous screaming as Nicole sank those balls one right after the other in the rival team’s cups with brutal consistency. You lean into her slightly, eyes tracking the table from one end to the other as a red cup still full of peach vodka sits loosely in your hand, mostly forgotten as you watch the game unfold.
Nicole lines up her shot with practiced ease, wrist flicking at just the right angle. The ball arcs, drops, and sinks cleanly into the last cup with a satisfying splash.
The crowd erupts, chants of her name break out from multiple directions as you and Sarah cheer, briefly pulling Nicole into a tight, celebratory hug. Jacob throws himself at her, and she shrieks as his muscled arms lift her body from the ground, parading your friend around like he would do with the player scoring at the last minute of an important game. Nicole blows a kiss at the losing team, and once her feet touch the floor again, she bows before the intoxicated crowd surrounding the table.
You dart forward to hug her again, while Sarah claps behind you, still laughing.
“God, you were amazing. That was a really Tour de France!” You beam excitedly, but Nicole just stares at you deadpan for a second, before bursting out laughing, too tipsy to deal with your clueless ass.
“Thank you, bunny.”
“Also, Jacob is still very much smitten with you.” Your eyebrows wriggle up and down and Nicole is already sighing half-amused, lips parting to say something, but Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her expression tightens, focus snapping in place as she leans closer to you and Nicole, lowering her voice.
“Tactical guy is here.”
“Who?”
“The weird guy you bumped into outside. Black gear and blue eyes. Tactical guy.” She explains as if her choice of the nickname should be obvious.
He’s easy to spot because he doesn’t belong here—not in movement, not in stillness, not in anything about the way he stands. He towers above the crowd in matte black, posture too controlled and a judging frown permanently etched on his features.
The people around him are too inebriated to notice him, yet he doesn’t even spare a mere glance to anyone who isn’t you, not even the girl in a lingerie-level costume strutting up and down the room, hoping to catch the attention of his icy eyes.
She doesn’t know he’s busy admiring a much better view that is making his pants tighter and tighter the more he studies it.
“Holy shit,” Nicole gasps. “He’s staring at you.”
Your stomach does a weird flip at her confirmation. At least you aren’t imagining it.
“Yeah, and it’s creepy as hell. He hasn’t blinked once in the past five minutes.” Sarah frowns, goosebumps running up and down her arms. Nicole just smirks, eyes flicking between him and your parted lips.
“Go talk to him!”
“What? No way!” Sarah retorts, her head snapping towards the other. “He looks like he eats people like her for breakfast.”
“Duh, that’s exactly her type!” Nicole chuckles, nudging you forward as she gently takes the cup of vodka from your hand. “C’mon, put on that pretty smile of yours and he’ll be asking you to go upstairs before the next song starts.”
Across the room, his steady gaze still hasn’t moved.
Sarah grabs your right arm again. “Seriously, something’s off about him.”
“Boring!” Nicole says in a singsong voice, rolling her eyes to the sky. “We’re literally right here if anything happens.” She touches your left elbow, subtly pushing you forward.
If this were a cartoon, they’d be the angel and devil arguing over your shoulders.
You grin as usual, even if your heart is pounding so fast you are sure it’s going to come out of your chest any moment now.
With a small nod, you leave your two bickering friends behind and slowly make your way through the bodies swaying to the beat of Candy Shop. Your heels click against the sticky floor, until they stop short in front of the brooding man.
“Hey.” You smile, shouting over the music. “You look kinda lonely. It’s okay if you don’t know anyone, first parties are totally the worst. At my first college party, I ended up throwing up on my crush’s shoes after kissing him.” He doesn’t answer, but a deep line forms between his eyebrows.
“You’re very quiet, but that’s fine. My friend Sarah says I talk enough for two people. Or a whole group, depends on how much caffeine I’ve had.” You shrug.
Still nothing.
“So, um… what’s your name?” You tilt your head, this time expecting at least a reluctant answer, but the guy just keeps staring down at you with an unreadable expression.
“You’re the silent type, hm?” You muse, your amused chuckle soft. “That’s okay. You’re like those spy movie protagonists who never smile until the very end, and then make everyone swoon the second they do.”
He blinks once. Slowly. Maybe a little confused?
“Anyway,” your manicured fingers adjust your bunny headband as you introduce yourself. “I don’t know if you remember but I actually ran into you earlier outside. Sorry again about that. I’m a little clumsy.” You clear your throat, taking a step forward.
“You really are a good listener, by the way!” You sigh dreamily. “Most guys just check their phones halfway through our conversation.”
“So,” You lean closer, slightly standing on the tip of your toes. “Do you want to dance? You look like you need to loosen up a little.” Your eyes immediately fall down to his torso, following the sculpted muscles hidden under those heavy clothes. It’s honestly a miracle slick doesn’t start running down your thighs the moment you realize he could literally pin you to the ground and have his wicked way with you right here in the middle of the party.
Well, you spoke too fast.
The flimsy pair of panties you chose tonight to avoid the outline to be seen through the fit skirt, is getting damper. The thought of this beefy man fucking you until you pass out tickles the back of your brain for a second too long, and suddenly your thighs are clenching against each other in a way you are certain went unnoticed.
It didn’t. But you couldn’t know that the man in front of you is an enhanced individual who could probably track you from a single sniff of your pussy.
The pungent scent of something inherently you teases his nostrils even through the thick black mask. Yet he hesitates, as though he’s trying to determine whether ignoring you would make this conversation end faster. The problem is, he isn’t entirely sure he wants it to end. On one hand, he doubts he can keep himself together much longer if you continue speaking to him in that sweet voice, especially while standing this close to his starved body.
On the other… he doesn’t want to leave you.
But then you slip your hand into his left one, and his body stiffens.
“Wow, your hands are freezing!” You mention casually, squeezing his palm once. It’s indeed cold and weirdly smooth. Before his brain can fully process the alarming ease with which you’ve intertwined your fingers with the most dangerous weapon he possesses, you are unknowingly leading the fucking Winter Soldier straight onto a dance floor packed with sweaty college students—him silent and tense behind you, you practically glowing with excitement.
Yet, he doesn’t dare to stop you.
Why would he do that? A gorgeous girl with soft hands and even softer eyes has been watching him like he embodies all her prohibited wet fantasies. He would be a cruel bastard to deny this pretty thing anything.
The dance floor is a chaos of flashing lights and flailing arms that makes the Soldier’s breath hitch, but you don’t give up, and lead him right into the middle of it.
“Okay!” You yell over the music—far too close—and raise a finger. “Rule number one: just move! Don’t think too much about it or you’ll get self-conscious. I’m talking from experience.” Then raise a second one. “Rule number two: have fun!”
He just stands there—stiff as a marble statue—blue eyes darting back and forth, as if he can’t decide whether to scan the crowd like he’s on guard duty or watch the angel swaying her sinful hips right in front of him.
“See? It’s easy! Just let the music guide you.”
You smile anyway at his lack of response, peering up at him through your eyelashes. “You know, you look so cool. You’ve got this very brooding bodyguard vibe going on, like I’m some rich, dangerous man’s daughter and you’re protecting me from his enemies trying to harm me.”
Another confused blink.
“Maybe I read too many fanfics.” You ponder under your breath, before you reprise your little tantalizing moves, giggling as your fingers barely wrap around both of his wrists to coax him to move with you.
Somewhere at the edge of the improvised dance floor, Nicole is whooping, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited puppy as she takes a sip of your drink. Beside her, Sarah observes the scene appalled.
“Shit.” She mutters, tiredly dragging a hand down her face.
“I like your company. You don’t talk much, but that’s okay. Also, you’re kind of scary—but like, in a cute way.” You chuckle, twirling once and nearly bumping into him again.
That’s when it happens.
A slow, careful shift of his shoulders, but it still is something. His movements are stiff, precise, like his body is negotiating with itself about whether it’s allowed to respond at all. But it’s enough to make you smile satisfied.
The heavy bass pulses hard through your bones, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget he isn’t even really dancing, yet his presence feels like gravity: solid, unshakable, dragging attention toward him without trying.
You turn once again, this time giving him your back. His hand accidentally brushes your hip, causing you to shiver at the faintest twitch of his fingers. They jump back at his side, flexing once like he’s fighting the urge to touch you.
You tilt your head up at him, eyelashes lowered just enough to make it feel deliberate. “Are you having fun, big guy?”
You don’t expect an answer, obviously, but the way his gaze sharpens, intensely following the movement of your lips, is enough for you. It’s not unsettling. On the contrary, it feels… focused. And you already love being the centre of his undivided attention.
The music slows into a deeper beat, couples around you melting closer together, so you get bolder. Initially it’s your back simply brushing against his chest. And then, you unexpectedly find yourself gasping as his right arm circles your waist, keeping you firmly to his front. His jaw locks as you rub yourself against his solid body, your ass inevitably grinding against his bulge. For a second, you really think he might actually say something. Instead, his chest moves behind you with a slow exhale.
“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck, almost too quiet to hear. As a matter of fact, you don’t catch that, the words being swallowed by the loud song and the thick mask.
“Not so bad, right?” You bite your bottom lip, turning your face back enough to glance at him.
But your lips accidentally brush his mask and the last thread keeping his brain anchored to sanity rips in half.
“Oh!” A loud squeal erupts from your lips as the man spins you around and takes you into his arms. Suddenly, the world is hanging upside down.
Well, no. You are.
He throws your squirming body on his shoulder with an ease that should scare you, yet your stomach twists in excitement as you are kept completely still into his strong arms. You can feel several eyes burn through you as he struts towards the front door, an abrupt gust of cold wind sending a shiver down your spine as you realize he’s taking you somewhere outside.
“Oh my Gosh!” You giggle, feeling the urge to kick your legs like a teenage girl gushing about her crush.
He’s taking you to the woods. This is really happening!
Inside, Nicole freezes mid-sip. “What the—is he taking her away?”
“I told you! Fuck, Nicole! I told you!” Sarah shrieks, running to the door with her friend in tow. They both stop on the porch, eyes frantically searching into the darkness, until they see you waving at them from his shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
“Don’t wait up!” Nicole bursts out laughing, astonished.
“Holy shit, look at her, she’s loving it!”
Sarah groans in response, pressing a hand to her forehead, her chest heaving with quick, short breaths. “She’s giggling. She’s actually giggling. Why is she giggling?”
Nicole simply shrugs. “If a quiet, huge masked man with those gorgeous eyes picked me up like that to fuck me in the woods, I’d giggle too.”
They observe in silence as you get smaller and smaller, until you completely disappear amongst the dense trees. Nicole sighs, placing her hands on her hips.
“Well, you heard her, don’t need to wait up.” She claps once, skipping down the front steps.
“Where the fuck are you going? Of course we’re gonna wait for her to come back.” Nicole stops at the bottom of the stoop, throwing Sarah a deadpan look.
“You really think she’s coming back here? They will probably go at it like bunnies—pun not intended—all night, and then he’s going to take her home tomorrow morning.” She climbs two steps, grasping her friend’s wrist. “Like any adult having fun on Halloween.” She tugs at it, until Sarah reluctantly complies, hesitatingly following her to the Nissan.
“I don’t know, Nic. There’s something wrong about him—”
“So what if the guy is quiet? Maybe he just wants to stay in character.” She huffs, raising both her eyebrows expectantly.
“Mmh... that makes sense.” Sarah mutters, frowning at the trees. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Home. And we are watching the new The Conjuring. You look miserable here.”
“Well thanks, you asshole.”
“You still haven’t told me your name.” You breathe out, yet to be released. After a few seconds of silence, you huff out a laugh. “You really don’t talk much, do you? By the way, that exit was so dramatic. I loved it!” He grunts in reply, shaking his head. It’s a deep sound that makes your legs shake a little, and you hope you’ll hear it again when he pounds you against a tree.
The walk feels endless as you dangle upside down, forced to watch the ground without anyone to talk to. Finally, he stops in a rather secluded place, and from the looks of it, you must be quite far from Ethan’s house.
Good. You don’t need some wandering drunk couple ruining your night.
As soon as your heels touch the crouching leaves scattered on the damp land, you shriek in surprise, finding yourself pinned to a tree as the man’s hands eagerly explore the sides of your body.
“O—oh! That—that feels nice.” You gasp when his palms squeeze your tits, his thumbs roughly stroking your nipples. The Asset’s eyes don’t know where to focus, torn between your hazy eyes staring up at him pleadingly and the outline of your turgid nubs pressing insistently against the fabric of your top.
“I need to kiss you.” He mumbles, the tip of your nose brushing against his mask. The hoarseness in his voice makes you flinch. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in a while... A long while.
“I don’t understand you.” You complain, clinging onto his vest to keep him close. He sighs, abruptly leaving your chest to cradle your face with a certain rudeness that twists your insides with arousal.
“Kiss. But you close… eyes…” He utters tentatively, staring right into your sparkling eyes. “Don’t look.”
The implications of seeing his face are several and dire. First and foremost, he doesn’t even remember the last time he saw his reflection, and his heart wouldn’t bear a potential rejection. What HYDRA forces him to do is repulsive, but of course you don’t know who he is—and you don’t need to. His face could reflect that repulsiveness though, and be in the worst conditions known to mankind. At that point, why would someone as lovely as you allow him to taint your body with his touch?
Plus, recognizing him would mean putting a target as large as a skyscraper on your back. If anyone were to ever find out about this, you would be in serious danger with both legal and illegal organizations.
The less you know, the better.
Your eager nod momentarily sets his worries, your hands immediately shooting up to cover your face. The Soldier’s mouth twists into what should be a small smile, but probably looks more like a grimace after years of his features knowing only pain and anger. His trembling fingers reach for the side of the mask, stopping there briefly to take you in. He waits, just enough to make sure you are actually following his order. Then, the device is tossed to the side with an uncaring flick of his hand, falling on the ground with a dull thud.
His fingers shake as they wrap around each of your wrists, waiting.
“Kiss, but… don’t look.” He repeats, his voice coming out in a rough, agitated whisper.
“My eyes are closed.” You swear, giving him a resolute nod. The Soldier lowers your hands with great care, until he can see your pinched expression as you keep your eyes squeezed shut.
And then, your lips finally meet. From the way he was treating you a second ago, you would think he was going to kiss you just as softly, like a doll made of glass.
Wrong.
The kiss is feral. His teeth clash against yours, biting and tasting you as if he has been waiting for you his whole life, his tongue frantically searching yours as his hands keep your jaw firmly open, allowing him to do whatever he wants with you.
And you can’t help a needy whimper from clawing out of your throat.
The Soldier pulls you closer to his chest, his metal arm now wrapping around your waist as the other hand traces a slow path down your body, from the side of your breast to your exposed thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.
He knows he just crossed an inviolable line he won’t easily come back from. He was ruined the moment he decided to look for you inside that chaotic mansion instead of following HYDRA’s orders. Yet, that stinging guilt rapidly crumbles the more he kisses this sweet creature.
He has yearned for something warm for so long. Something soft, and pretty, and nice. Something that is completely and utterly his. And now, it is time to finally collect what he is owed.
The sloppy kiss is met with eagerness from your part, your hands urgently tugging at his vest to keep him pressed against your squirming form. You need more. You need to feel him too.
He reaches for the corset first, pulling both cups down until your breasts spill free from their confines. Once his lips leave yours to focus on your neck, you let out a gasp at how dizzy you feel—your head has been spinning all along because of the intensity radiating off him.
Your moans are still pretty restrained, and the Asset doesn’t like that at all. He wants to hear you whimper for him, beg him to paint your insides white, scream his name over and over again in that sweet voice of yours.
His name.
He doesn’t own a name.
Maybe you could give him one. You sound like a creative girl, with all your silly little anecdotes.
When his mouth finally reaches the swell of your chest, the sight of your soft, bare tits makes him grunt appreciatively. His lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, while his capable fingers flick and tug at the other. Your whimpers echo through the small clearing as he uses his teeth to lightly pull at your sensitive nub, moaning as he feels it hardening in his mouth. The way he kneads and sucks at your soft skin reminds you of a starving man being offered food after a week without eating.
The Soldier has never seen a more beautiful pair of breasts in his entire life. Well, he doesn’t remember ever looking at a woman’s chest before, but if he did, he is sure it wouldn’t even get close to yours.
The hickeys that now mark the tender skin of your tits are burning, causing you to flinch each time the Soldier’s tongue worships them softly.
“What—oh shit—what’s your name?” You utter between your own wanton noises, eyes still closed as your head falls back against the bark of the tree. Your bare back keeps brushing against it as your body jerks in time with his tongue stroking your nipples. They are so sore, tingling whenever he leaves one exposed to the chilly October air to give the other some love. Still, the scratches on your back are already burning as the coarse surface cruelly scrapes your skin, and you’re certain they are going to hurt so bad in the following days.
The Asset momentarily leaves your nub with a wet pop, frowning up at your parted lips. He grips your jaw with one hand, keeping your mouth open while rising to his full height. He gathers a bit of saliva, before letting it fall gently onto your tongue. Your breath hitches at the unexpected, lewd act.
“Swallow.” His cock twitches at the way you obey at once.
“Soldat.” His voice is authoritative, leaving no space for questions and doubts, before going back to lavish your nipples. Your eyebrows momentarily knit in confusion, not understanding what it means.
Is it a video game character? Is that why he’s all geared up like some sort of spy?
Your brain doesn’t have the time to elaborate a sensible question, as a twist of your poor, abused peaks draws a loud cry out of your throat.
The scent coming from between your legs is now too much for his straining cock. He needs to taste all of you: your mouth is sweet, your breasts are sweet... but the Soldier is certain your pussy is even sweeter.
With an annoyed huff at the realization he has to leave your tits, he makes quick work of removing his tactical vest, tossing it on the ground. You squeal as you are once again lifted in the air; still, you keep your eyes firmly shut and that makes his expression soften a little.
“You’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart.” With a small peck, he takes you away from the poor tree that has already witnessed enough for one night, manhandling you down on your knees and guiding your hands on the ground to make you understand he wants you on all four.
“Stay.” The order growled right into your ear, along with his hands squeezing your hips, makes you whimper and nod quickly as a reflex.
Now that he’s behind you, you deem the situation safe enough for you to slowly open your eyes. Black spots soon materialize out of nowhere, yet you notice immediately the rough fabric underneath you.
“Oh,” you blink at it. “Thank you, Soldat.”
There might be a feral beast clawing at his chest, challenging him to take you right there right now, over and over again, but he doesn’t want the rough ground to scratch your knees and palms. The softness in your voice makes him tense up, enough to feel an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes. His name—his title—said with so much gentleness stokes the flames in his lower belly until he feels a damn blaze licking at his insides.
You barely catch the black glove being discarded to the side as his calloused hands grope your hips, pushing you back against his crotch. You gasp at the ferocity he puts into his thrusts as he starts rutting your ass, grunting and panting with the effort of not coming in his pants like a fucking virgin seeing a pretty girl half-naked for the first time.
“This is what you’ve done to me.” He groans under his breath.
“Soldat…” You hum, one arm reaching behind to caress a strong thigh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to come like this, humping me like an animal.” The little airy giggle you let out makes him swallow, a shiver running down his back at those mocking words that should make him recoil. Instead, the fire grows, and before he can regain control of his body, his hips stop abruptly.
His nimble fingers don’t waste any more time, lifting the hem of your skirt until your ass is completely at his mercy.
“Yes, yes!” You encourage him, gently rocking back. The heady scent is stronger now, but it’s still not enough. The flimsy panties leave you with a sad ripping noise and a feral growl rumbling in his chest. A gasp falls from your lips at the sudden bareness of your core, giggling when you hear him inhale deeply. Is he smelling your underwear? Fuck, you want to turn around so bad and enjoy the show.
The Soldier almost drools when your scent clings to his nose, along with your slick soiling the delicate fabric. He clumsily stuffs your panties into his pocket, shifting around until he’s lying right beneath the lower half of your body.
“C’mere, bunny.” His digits sink into the skin of your thighs, forcing you down until you are fully sitting on his face. “It’s time to eat.”
“Wait! Oh, fuck!” Your lips part pathetically around a breathy moan as his tongue looks for your clit, pulling your knees apart until you’re completely spread open for him. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as your hips uncontrollably buckle down, clawing at the vest when the tip of his tongue leisurely flicks your throbbing nub.
A loud moan escapes your lips when he finally breaches your hole, eating and sucking as if he’s savoring the most exquisite delicacy he’s ever had the chance to taste. Your body squirms at the unforgiving stimulation, still, you’re covering his face like a fucking oxygen mask and you’re far too worried he’s not breathing at all.
“S—Soldat, wait! You can’t brea—AH!” A smacking sound echoes through the air as his palm leaves his mark on your asscheek. “Fuck, please! Do it again.” You beg, hips grinding down without restraint as slick shamelessly falls into his waiting mouth.
Finally.
The Asset internally preens at your enthusiastic reaction to something he did so spontaneously. Unprompted. Human.
Because you are not treating him like a ruthless weapon. A lethal killer that acts in the shadow. An ugly experiment with no dignity left.
But like a man.
So he does it again. And again.
“Taste so good, my pretty bunny.” He rasps out, returning to your clit, two of his fingers curling inside you in the meantime. You yelp, the knot in your belly getting closer and closer to snapping. Your asscheeks are burning, yet you don’t stop his punishing palm, instead arching up into his hand every time it comes down on your tender skin.
“I’m gonna come.” You mumble deliriously, sobbing when in response his metal palm smacks your ass before meanly grabbing the tender flesh, and a third finger joins the other two, pounding against that sweet spot of yours before your orgasm hits you out of nowhere.
“Fuck fuck—Soldat!”
He wonders what he’s going to do from now on when he hears that word. It would be impossible to not get hard as your delightful whines resound through his mind.
Your hole clenches desperately as he nurses on your throbbing clit one last time, panting heavily once he lifts your shaky thighs up.
“Holy shit.” He whispers surprised, licking his lips clean. His lower face is completely damp with your arousal, and in that moment he decides he’s not going to wash his face until the scent disappears on its own.
The Soldier takes a good, long look at your trembling body, now back on his knees behind you. His palms gently caress your raw skin, pulling a shiver out of you as one of his two palms is colder than the other, yet the sensation is soothing against your burning cheeks.
He would really love to kiss the sensitive spots until you fall asleep, but he can’t stop now, not when his cock is painfully craving to be inside you, his imposing bulge pushing forcefully against his pants.
The rustling sounds behind you are loud but you can’t find it in yourself to focus, still dizzy after the violent orgasm Soldat drew out of you mercilessly. You are not inexperienced by any means, yet you’ve never come this hard and fast in your life. You wonder if it’s the whole situation influencing you—being half-naked in the woods while a feral, beefy stranger eats your pussy as if it’s his last day on Earth—or if he’s just that good.
Maybe it’s a mix of both, maybe it’s something else. You don’t care. You just want him to rearrange your insides. Now.
You seem to share the same sentiment as your eyes widen at his cock obstinate at your wet folds. Your gasp soon morphs into a startled moan when the tip slides inside. The way he feeds you his length is far from careful, and without warning, your hole is tightening around all of him.
The Soldier needs to take a deep breath, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to prevent himself from disappointing you by spilling his cum at once.
When was the last time he was intimate with someone? When was the last time he felt something other than fear?
He doesn’t hold back, gradually pulling back, before lust takes over him and your trembling arms give up under you. You fall forward with a whimper, resting your cheek on his vest as his grip on your hips becomes brutal, and barely catching the foreign words being muttered under his breath.
You are delirious with pleasure, the stretch of his thick girth burning so good you can’t breath—for a second you truly fear your hole is going to tear apart.
It’s almost humiliating how it takes only a big cock and a pair of broad shoulders to reduce you to a shaky mess of moans and whimpers.
“Beautiful, sweet creature... you’re so lovely.” The obscene, sloppy noises of your pussy swallowing every inch of him drives him insane. You’re like heaven incarnate wrapped around him, and he refuses to leave, his hips barely pulling back as he clumsily humps you from behind.
“Mine, mine, mine.” You whisper the name he gave you, lying helpless with your eyes rolled into oblivion and drool soaking the dark fabric under you. It’s a miracle how the bunny headband still survives on your head as his harsh thrusts push your body back and forth, your fingers weakly holding onto the same ruined vest that your nipples brush against, now rubbed raw and sensitive.
“That’s a good girl. She’s squeezing me so tight, baby. I can’t let you go now that I found you, need to keep you forever here around my cock.” He grits out, head falling back as he feels his orgasm dangerously close, yet he’s ready to deny himself over and over again until he can feel you come around him again.
“Bet you’d like that... be my little cumdump until you are too full it starts spilling down your thighs. But I’ll just fuck more into you and then everyone will know you are fucking mine.” That’s when, with his mind clouded by pure pleasure, he reaches between your wet thighs, experimentally spanking your clit.
“Fuck!” Your squeal pulls a smirk on his lips, prompting him to do that again, his thrusts still frantic and erratic.
“Take it, my sweet little bunny. That’s it.”
Your nub throbs as the man fucking you like an animal smacks it repeatedly, and you’re certain he’s enjoying himself so much watching you jolt each time, panting like a dog the louder you whimper. His tip relentlessly taps your sweet spot, and it’s just a matter of time before you let out a delirious moan, walls tightening as your second climax washes over you—this time leaving you stiff and crying as wave after wave of bliss settle deep in your bones.
“Got… you.” The Asset grits out breathless as he buries his cock deep into you with a hard, final thrust, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation of your hole squeezing him. He falls over the edge with a guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your insides at once—there’s so much of it you almost choke at the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation of being stuffed full.
You shiver under him, exhausted but sated, yet the Soldier doesn’t seem to want to budge, still hugging you tight as his thighs shakes at every little twitch of his cock.
It feels too much.
His dick snug inside your tight heat, your body held with care by the same hands soiled with innocents’ blood, the sudden emptiness in his chest after such a heavenly experience... Should he cry? He feels like crying. He’s almost certain of it, though he doesn’t understand why. He just had the best night of his entire life with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
Still, the weird sensation sits somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, pressing against ribs that only know obedience and survival.
He knows he’ll have to move eventually, reality catching up to him the moment he steps too far from this strange warmth you keep offering so freely.
But he doesn’t want to let you go yet.
Honestly, he isn’t sure he can.
“Soldat, my back hurts.” Your voice is feeble yet tinted with amusement. Still, he scrambles on his knees, pulling out carefully in fear of hurting you. You wheeze softly at the sudden loss, your weak arms barely moving at your sides as you try to get yourself into an upright position, but the man behind you has other plans. You find yourself facing him at once, gently led down until your back is touching the vest.
With your mind too foggy with exhaustion, it is hard to remember the only rule he gave you. And shock flashes across your face the moment you can finally see Soldat’s handsome features clearly.
Your lips part, a compliment already rising to the surface, but it never makes it out. His hands come up instead, cradling your face with surprising tenderness before guiding you into a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no urgency in his actions this time, no hunger sharpened by desperation. Just some deep and achingly careful adoration that makes your heart clench painfully all the same. The kind of kiss that feels dangerously close to a goodbye. Like he’s trying to memorize you through touch alone.
He kisses you until your lungs are begging for oxygen, and when he finally pulls away, neither of you can move. His blue eyes simply observe you, urgently tracing your features with a spark of veneration glinting in his gaze.
You look like the personification of debauchery with your smudged mascara and lips swollen from kissing and biting, the poor bunny ears hanging crookedly from your hair after being fucked so crudely.
Yet, the Winter Soldier thinks he has never seen anything prettier.
“I looked at you.” You whisper softly, your dazed eyes dancing over his face with sleepy fascination, utterly devoid of remorse.
His right thumb lovingly strokes your cheek, and somewhere beneath the Soldier, beneath HYDRA’s cruelty, something human finally smiles back at you.
— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍
my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist
you tear down my reason
Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Nurse!Reader
SUMMARY:
After yet another shift from hell, you and Robby retreat to the supply closet for what’s supposed to be the same thing it always is: stress relief, nothing more.
There’s only one rule between you. Tonight, it breaks.
SMUT | PORN WITH FEELINGS | SEMI-PUBLIC SEX | WORKPLACE SEX | FINGERING | THIGH FUCKING | P-IN-V SEX | POWER IMBALANCE - BOSS/EMPLOYEE | FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS TO LOVERS
A/N:
No, I still can't write smut for shit. Yes, I am absolutely still down bad for that man and need somewhere to put all these ideas buzzing round my head.
K thx bye, gonna run and hide myself in a bin now for my dirty thoughts.
AO3 | GIF by @emziess | Divider by @diviniyae, recoloured by me
It had been one of those shifts that made you regret ever finishing nursing school all those years ago. The kind where the fluorescent lights felt brighter by the hour, and every beep from the monitors scraped through your nerves like scalpels. Three codes in the last six hours alone, a software update that crashed the servers, a missing geriatric, an abandoned paediatric case, and one pissed-up newt of a man that thought himself the next Jackie fucking Chan.
That last one had earned you a sweet little bruise to your cheek. It had been happening more often lately, and of all the horrible things you'd worked through in your time, the violent ones hit you the worst – literally and figuratively. To be used as a punching bag over and over again, while being legally and ethically compelled to not retaliate... It was a wonder you hadn't cracked a tooth yet from how hard you'd clench your jaw.
Meanwhile, it was always the codes that seemed to shake Robby the hardest – the ones he couldn't save, the ones that would haunt his dreams for weeks. You’d watch the look settle over him like deadweight, his eyes growing distant, his shoulders heavy. And he'd had more than enough of them in this one shift alone.
As the clock drew closer to handoff, and things calmed down some, you couldn’t remember which of you moved first towards the supply closet in the back corridor. Maybe it was him, with that usual silent urgency of his. Maybe it was you, because your aching feet were moving before your brain could catch up, driven by that same need to do something with all those pent-up feelings. The door clicked shut behind you, his palm slapping the lock into place with practised efficiency.
Your eyes had barely adjusted to the lone bulb flickering overhead when Robby’s hands were already on you, rough and insistent, his body caging you against the shelves before you could even catch your breath. Gauze packets and sterile glove boxes rattled around you as your back hit the metal rack, the cold edge biting through your scrubs. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, tasting like stale coffee and the nicotine gum he’d chewed compulsively all afternoon. You didn’t have the time or energy to think – only to arch into him, melt the way you always did, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer like you could fuse the space between your bodies into something seamless, driving out everything else.
The familiarity of his hands sliding under your scrubs – one gripping your waist while the other tugged at the waistband of your underwear – should’ve been mundane by now. Routine, or as close to routine as anything between you ever got. This was the third time this week alone, though you’d lost count of how many supply closet encounters there had been since the first one three months ago, when Robby had cornered you after that disastrous paediatrics case that still gave you nightmares.
His breath had been hot against your skin then, as it was now, his voice torn when he had begged, “Tell me to stop.”
You hadn’t.
And so it became this – stolen moments at the top of the stairwell between shifts, his teeth marking your collarbone while you hissed his name; hurried blowjobs against a tree in the park out front when the night was dark enough to hide you; his fingers working you open in this very closet while the department rushed by outside, oblivious.
Neither of you ever spoke about it, really, before or after. There was no planning to it, no debriefs, no whispered confessions in the dark, no lingering touches that suggested it was anything deeper than the frantic need to feel something other than the weight of the day pressing down on your souls. It wasn’t meant to mean anything. It was a release, a way of reminding yourselves you were still alive after spending hours holding death and chaos at bay with nothing but bandages and prayers.
There was just one rule between you. It hadn’t even been spoken aloud, just understood, like the memorised protocols of a code blue: no penetration.
Everything else was fair game: his mouth between your thighs, your fingers around his length, the bite marks he'd leave on your shoulder to keep himself from getting too loud. But no cock inside your cunt. That was the line. The one thing that felt as though it vaguely kept this from becoming something more than what it was – a distraction, a coping mechanism, a temporary reprieve.
With a sheen to his eyes, his kiss turned surprisingly gentle as it brushed over the fresh bruise on your cheekbone, a featherlight press that felt more like an apology, before his lips trailed downwards to the spot beneath your ear that always made your knees weak. A gasp choked out of you, your hands gliding through his hair in just the way he liked, nails scraping his scalp in that rhythm that had him humming into your neck.
His touch knew its way by now, slipping into the damp fabric of your panties with the shameless ease of someone who had mapped every dip and swell of your body a dozen times before. The first brush of his fingertips against your clit sent a jolt so sharp through you, your head cracked back against a box behind you – not that you cared, not when your hips were already canting forward, chasing the rough circles he was tracing over your needy nub.
A moan bubbled up from your throat before you could swallow it down, ragged and unexpectedly loud in the cramped space. Robby’s mouth crashed back onto yours before the sound could fully escape, his lips sealing over yours in a messy, desperate kiss that tasted like shared exhaustion and something darker, something hungrier.
You could feel the curve of his smile against your mouth, the scrape of his beard as he pulled back just enough, his voice cracking with amusement and want, “Quiet, sweetheart.”
“Please... Robby, m-more,” The plea shuddered out of you in a broken whisper.
Your fingers dragged harder through his hair as his palm continued to grind against your clit with agonising precision – too slow, too light, just enough to make your whole body shake helplessly against him.
His breath hitched, an approving noise vibrating through his chest. One more teasing stroke, just to hear you whimper, and then—
The first finger slid in smoothly, the glide obscenely easy, his hand pressing snug as he curled in deep. Your breath left you in a soundless gasp, thighs clamping around his wrist greedily, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust before a second finger joined the first, stretching you with that deliciously familiar burn.
He worked you with the clinical precision of someone who knew bodies better than his own reflection – those deep, drawn out thrusts that made your vision blur at the edges. The heel of his palm ground against your clit in those same unrelenting circles as before, and you found yourself biting down into his hoodie just to stifle the sob threatening to tear out of you.
“Always so fucking wet for me, so ready,” Robby murmured close to your ear, his breaths growing hot and uneven.
His fingers curled just right inside you, against that spot he knew so well, and suddenly you were moving without fully deciding to, chasing the teetering pressure.
“Look at me,” He demanded, the command sending shivers down your spine.
“I... I can't,” You gasped, burying your forehead harder into the sweat-damp crook of his neck, the words dissolving into a moan as he pressed harder, “Fuck!”
Your head snapped up at last, eyes locking onto his, those dark pools of exhaustion and want pulling you in. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the brown almost entirely, and for a second, you saw it all reflected back at you: the bruise on your cheek, the way your mouth hung open around broken whimpers, the unashamed mess he was making of you. The room narrowed to those eyes and the hand between your legs. Then his fingers crooked just right, just there, and your vision all but whited out.
The moment your orgasm crashed into you, it wasn’t just your body that unravelled – it was the last shred of restraint between you. Your back arched noisily off the shelves, gauze packets scattering to the floor as your cunt clenched around him with a desperation that bordered on violent. He was kissing you again, deep enough to stifle the hopeless sounds pouring out of you, muffling them before they could reach the corridor. His free hand gripped your hip almost hard enough to bruise as he kept working you through it, his thrusts relentless enough to drag the pleasure out just that little bit longer.
You were still trembling when Robby’s fingers slipped free, slick and glistening in the dim light. He brought them to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking them clean with a despicable grin that sent a jolt down your spine.
Wrapping himself around you, he pressed his forehead to yours as your breathing steadied, the scent of antiseptic and sex and sweat mingling between you, sharp and strangely comforting in its familiarity. His little gasps came warm against your lips, uneven but slowing, his nose brushing yours in a gesture that felt oddly tender for a man who'd just had his fingers knuckle-deep inside you.
You could feel his erection hard against you, pressing through the thin fabric of his pants, insistent and unmistakable. You knew the rhythm by now – your turn, then his – and the unspoken promise that neither of you would be left unsatisfied. Your hands began to slide down to his belt when he stopped you, curling a long finger around your wrist.
“Got a better idea,” Robby murmured, his voice stiff with restraint, “Turn around.”
You hesitated, shooting him a decisively sharp, questioning look. No penetration – that was the rule, the one rule, the only line neither of you had ever crossed. So why did he want you to turn around?
His thumb brushed over your wrist in soft reassurance, as if sensing the sudden tension coiling through your muscles. After a shaky breath, he explained, “Just your thighs. Just for tonight, I just... I need more tonight. Please?”
Just your thighs. Just for tonight.
The words looped in your head. You swallowed them down like a pill dipped in honey, your pulse jumping as you nodded. Your hands trembled as you turned around, palms pressing flat to the cold grate of the shelves.
Robby’s hands slid to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your scrub pants. He tugged them down slowly, deliberately, the fabric dragging against your skin like he was savouring every inch of you. Cold air hit your exposed thighs like a shock, pulling a gasp from you. Your panties soon followed, traitorously pooling at your ankles with barely a whisper.
Behind you, there was the clink of a buckle, the rustle of fabric, the shuffle of feet, all barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears from your pounding heart. Then came the warmth, sudden and overwhelming, as he stepped closer, his chest pressing firm against your back. His breath danced down your spine, dizzyingly hot, the rough drag of his beard tickling your skin before he nipped lightly at the back of your neck.
Then, unmistakably, there was the heavy heat of his cock nudging at your ass cheeks. You shuddered, your fingers curling tighter around the shelf’s edge, the metal biting into your skin, though you weren’t entirely sure if the shiver was from nerves or anticipation anymore. Robby exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands gentle on your hips, not pulling you back but holding you steady, giving you space to breathe, space to bolt if you wanted to.
His grip slid lower, to your thighs, fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh, urging them closer together, and they obeyed of their own accord.
“Keep ‘em tight like this,” He murmured, the words barely more than vibrations against your skin with all his sudden trembling, sounding as undone as you felt.
He pressed a kiss behind your ear that zipped straight to your core, before repositioning himself with a soft inhale. Then, his hips edged forwards, the thick length of him sliding between your thighs with a tantalising ease that punched the air from your lungs. The pressure was dizzying, the friction of his cock dragging just shy of your slick folds as he fucked the tight clasp of your legs.
His groan into your shoulder came frayed, satisfied, as he found his rhythm and picked up the pace, the shelves rattling in time with him.
Somewhere along the way, his thrusts began to slip higher. Either because your thighs were so slick with your mixed fluids, or because some hidden part of you loosened for him, you weren't sure. Whatever it was, his length began to drag against your cunt, the swollen head of him catching on your clit with each shallow push forward. The first brush sent lightning shooting through you, your fingers clawing at the shelves as your knees nearly buckled, a soft mewl bubbling out of you that was still far too loud for your hushed surroundings. Then it happened again... And again, and you couldn’t tell if it was deliberate on his part or just some cruel trick of physics, but the way his breath hitched against your neck suggested he’d noticed too.
“Fuck—” Robby's voice cracked into a whimper against your ear, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as he skimmed over your entrance. His fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to make you ache, with all the effort it was taking to restrain himself, “Gotta... Shit, sweetheart, just let me put the tip in – just the tip.”
With your every nerve alight at the forbidden touch, he could have been asking for the moon and it wouldn’t have made a difference, your thoughts scrambling. The rules that had always seemed so clean now blurred at the edges. What was left of the rational part of your brain screamed no, but your body arched back into him anyway, legs parting just enough to open you up for him.
“T-Tip... Yeah,” The words were barely out of your mouth before Robby was pushing into you, the blunt head of him stretching you open with a single, slick thrust. Just the tip, just like he'd promised. Barely an inch, hot and thick and so fucking good, your cunt fluttering around him with a traitorous hunger you weren’t expecting.
His gravelly, gasped fuck vibrated through your shoulder blades, and you could feel the tremor in his arms, the way his whole body tensed behind you like he was fighting God himself to stay in control.
The feel of him burned deliciously, just enough to make your breath catch, bring tears to your eyes, make you whimper, but not enough to truly satisfy. He moved achingly slow, every careful thrust dragging his swollen tip against your inner walls before popping out and barely breaching you again. You clenched around him reflexively, trying to pull him deeper, and he felt it too, if his choked hiss was anything to go by. But the teasing continued. It wasn’t deliberate, you knew, but it was maddening how it left your body buzzing, aching for more, a need pooling low with nowhere to go.
“Please...” The plea tore from your throat, shameless and raw, as you arched back against him, the curve of your spine pressing flush to his chest. Tears sprang hot at the corners of your eyes, your head tipping back onto his shoulder with a desperation that bordered on delirium, “Robby, please, just fuck me properly.”
His breath scraped out hard against your neck. For a heartbeat, nothing moved – not his hips, not his hands, not even the air – that one unspoken rule between you no doubt blaring like a siren in his head. Then his fingers flexed, grip skittering up to your waist beneath your scrub top, “Fuck it.”
The rule shattered into a thousand pieces as he hauled you down onto him in one precise, perfect motion. The cry that ripped out of you wasn’t even close to quiet, but neither of you cared anymore who heard. His cock filled you in a single thrust, so deep your vision flashed at the edges, the world narrowing to that white-hot stretch.
He didn't wait around, didn’t give you a second to adjust – Christ knew he didn't need to. The damp sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, urgent and impossible to mistake, almost masking the unhinged gasps breaking free from both of you. His low growl vibrated against your skin, his lips returning to the exposed column of your neck in hot, messy nibbles that burned where they touched. You would’ve crumpled if not for his arm banded around your waist, holding you upright as he set a punishing pace, hips snapping forwards with a force that made your whole body weak.
His free hand traced a familiar path upwards beneath your scrub top, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, teasing it into a stiff peak that ached against the lace.
You whimpered, twitching at the touch. Your fingers finally uncurled from their white-knuckle grip on the shelves to slide between your thighs, trembling as they found your clit, newly-swollen with need. You circled the sensitive bud in tight, frantic little motions, the pleasure sending sparks dancing through you all over again. The rhythm was off – jostled by every snap of Robby’s hips into yours – but the friction, the pressure, the overload of sensations you were drowning in... Perfect.
Robby shifted his stance. It was subtle, barely a shuffle wider, but the change hit you like a livewire, your toes curling inside your shoes. His thrusts angled deeper, the thick ridge of his cock dragging just right against that sweet spot inside you.
You weren’t going to last much longer. The realisation hit you like a second pulse, throbbing low in time with the relentless grind of him into you. Your whole body was coiled tight like a spring, teetering on the edge of something almost fucking biblical. How Robby had lasted so long was a mystery – maybe it was the way he kept gripping you tight, the way his breaths came in broken bursts against your neck like he was counting seconds in his head. Or maybe it was the same desperate, clawing need that had driven you both into this closet in the first place: the need to feel alive after a shift that had tried its damnedest to convince you otherwise.
“Gonna—” Robby’s voice was more strained than you’d ever heard it, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips stuttered with some vague attempt at control, “I’m gonna cum. Are we... Are we doing this? All the way?”
“Yes, fuck, yes!” The answer tumbled out of you without thought, your hips desperately jerking backwards to chase him, need and want burning clear through caution.
Whatever shred of restraint Robby had been clinging to evaporated in an instant. He slammed back into you with a force you knew you’d be feeling for days, resuming his ruthless pace. Within a few thrusts, your orgasm hit like a freight train, your cunt clenching around the thickness of him with an utterly shameless desperation as his name babbled brokenly from your lips.
Robby’s body tensed against yours, his rhythm fracturing into chaos. A splintered, punched-out sound escaped his throat – half groan, half your name – before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth scraping damp skin as his hips jerked forwards one last time. You could feel the exact moment he came undone inside you, the hot pulse of his release so overwhelmingly deep and wet that it danced on the tremors already wracking your overstimulated body.
He sagged behind you, his forehead pressing into the back of your shoulder as his movements staggered to a stop. For a moment, the only sound was the harsh panting between you and the distant hum of the department beyond, with its chirping monitors and incessantly ringing phones.
Reality crept back in slow around the two of you, like blood returning to a sleeping limb, the weight of what you'd just done settling between you like an unwanted third presence, impossible to ignore. The rule was gone. The line had been crossed. And neither of you had even tried to stop it.
The moment Robby pulled out, the wet heat of him spilled down your thighs in a slow and telling trickle. You barely had time to register the mess before he was reaching past your shoulder, his fingers fumbling to tear open a pack of gauze, the sound of it loud enough in the sudden quiet to make you shiver. Gentle as he was, the press of a folded square between your legs made you hiss, your head snapping back into his shoulder as the rough fabric dragged across oversensitive flesh.
“Sorry,” Robby breathed, his nose tracing the shell of your ear. He was trembling, you realised. Surprising, for a man who could suture a carotid artery without flinching.
You steadied yourself against the shelves again as Robby stepped back, putting space between you for the first time since the door had locked. He grabbed some more gauze before wiping himself clean with indelicate strokes.
Your legs wobbled as you bent down to retrieve your pants, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to the dampness that lingered, every hobbling shuffle reminding you of exactly what had just happened.
When you turned back around, Robby had already righted himself, his length tucked away where it belonged, the gauze full of fluids that shouldn’t have been there discarded into a clinical waste bin that was supposed to be out of order. He was watching you – not with the detached amusement that usually followed these encounters, or even the fleeting glance of the real him before the mask slipped back into place. No, this time his gaze felt heavy, the dark pools of his pupils still blown wide enough to swallow the soft brown.
The tense silence made your skin itch, and you tried to break it: “That was...”
You were unable to finish, too many words coming forth at once, all of them entirely too insignificant for the circumstances.
New. Dangerous. Wrong.
Amazing.
Your cheeks began to burn hot. You were scrambling for something, anything, that could stitch the gaping silence back together when Robby cleared his throat.
“Come back to mine tonight,” He said, the words rough-edged but deliberate. Not a question, but not quite a demand either. Just a statement that hung nervously between you like the scent of sex that clung to the air.
Speechless, your mouth bobbed like a helpless fish out of her depth. Robby stepped closer, crowding you back against the shelves, gentler this time, though no less certain. His hands framed your face, palms cradling your jaw with a tenderness that made your skin hum, his thumb brushing the forgotten bruise on your cheekbone. Then his lips were on yours again, slow and tentative with a kiss that lingered, full of something that felt dangerously close to affection.
Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse skipping. When Robby pulled back, his thumb traced your lower lip, “Come back to mine tonight, please?”
You stared up at him, the warmth of him stuck to you like a second layer of skin. His words rattled around your skull, loud and soft all at once. It wasn’t the offer that stunned you, it was the way his voice cracked, like it was something he needed, rules be damned.
You supposed they were damned, now. And yet, the world hadn’t come crashing down around you both. In fact, you felt pretty fucking good for your transgressions.
Your fingers curled around his wrists, thumbs pressing into the soft, painted skin where his pulse fluttered. Leaning up, you bridged the scant space between you and kissed him back just long enough for the growing tension to leave him, like a held breath finally released.
“Okay,” You smiled against his mouth. Just like that, two syllables dissolved the last pretence that this was still just about stress relief.
Robby's exhale shuddered against your lips, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly before he stepped back, putting just enough space between you to let the cold air rush in. Nodding with finality, he shot you a boyish, lopsided grin that made your heart skip, “Okay.”
The two of you returned to the floor one at a time, ignoring Jack and Lena’s pointed comments about how flushed and dishevelled you both looked, hiding behind the very real excuse of another rough shift.
And when you both finally stepped out into the fresh air of the cold, dark night, you didn’t head in opposite directions for once. You weren’t alone as you walked either, his hand carefully slipping into yours once the sight of the hospital was far behind you. As usual, nothing was said, but something settled between you anyway.
love your blog! i was wondering if you could make dean winchester eats you out in a library while sam does research?
⋆.˚ Shelved & Shushed .ᐟ
→ summary: A fight turns into angry public oral in the back stacks of a dusty library. Deanon his knees, skirt shoved up, your hand over your mouth while Sam's calling from three aisles away. They “made up.”
→ warnings: smut (oral f!receiving) semi-public, risk of getting caught, rough angry sex vibes (but no actual penetration), established but fighting relationship
a/n: I tried writing this with Dean doing it under the table, with Sam much closer but I couldn't make it plausible, so sorry (it was looking like a bad porn script lol) so i had to make them leave I hope you like it anyway, and thank you for the request! <3
The library smelled like old paper and dust, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel like a shout. You’d been sitting next to Dean for forty-seven unbearable minutes, shoulders barely touching, but every inhale he took grated against your last nerve. The fight from earlier still simmered under your skin—sharp words about recklessness, about trust, about how he never fucking listened—and the memory of his raised voice kept looping in your head.
You shoved your chair back with a scrape that earned a few glares from the elderly woman two tables over. Sam didn’t even look up from the yellowed lore book he was dissecting. Typical.
You didn’t say anything. Just walked.
The stacks swallowed you quickly. You wandered until you hit the back wall, far enough that the fluorescent hum dulled to a background drone. You plucked a random novel off the shelf—some historical romance with a half-naked Highlander on the cover—and pretended to read the blurb while your pulse hammered in your throat.
Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.
Dean rounded the end of the aisle like he was stalking something with teeth.
“You gonna keep running your mouth in silence now?” His voice was low, edged, meant for you alone.
You didn’t turn. “I’m reading.”
“Bullshit.” He stepped closer. Too close. You could feel the heat rolling off him, that particular mix of leather, gun oil, and the faint cedar of his skin that always made your stomach clench even when you wanted to strangle him. “You’ve been punishing me with your damn breathing for the last hour.”
You finally looked at him. “Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only one allowed to have an opinion—”
He moved before you finished.
One hand slammed onto the shelf beside your head; the other caught your hip, pinning you flush against the books. Paper spines dug into your shoulder blades. His mouth was inches from yours, eyes dark and furious and something else entirely.
“You wore that skirt on purpose,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. His fingers flexed against your hipbone. “Don’t even try to lie.”
You lifted your chin. “And if I did?”
His laugh was short, dangerous. “Then you wanted this.”
He dropped to his knees so fast your breath punched out.
Your skirt was short—deliberately so—and he didn’t bother being gentle about it. Rough palms shoved the denim up your thighs until it bunched around your hips. Cool air hit damp cotton. Then his fingers hooked the edge of your underwear and yanked them down just enough.
“Dean—”
“Quiet,” he growled against the inside of your thigh. “You wanted to play games in public? Then you keep that pretty mouth shut.”
The first swipe of his tongue was slow. Deliberate. You slapped a hand over your own mouth so fast it stung.
He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you—like he’d been starving for it—and that sound vibrated straight through your clit. Your knees buckled; he caught your ass in both hands and held you open, licking deeper, broader, obscene wet sounds barely muffled by the shelves. Every drag of his tongue felt like a punishment and a reward at once. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicked the tip of his tongue against it in tight, relentless circles, then flattened it and rubbed until your thighs shook.
You bit the heel of your hand so hard you tasted copper.
He pulled back just long enough to mutter, “Look at you. So fucking wet you’re dripping down my chin. Still mad at me, sweetheart?”
You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Only managed a strangled whimper when he pushed two fingers inside you—thick, curling, stroking that spot that made your eyes roll.
He went back to your clit with his mouth while his fingers fucked into you steadily, wet squelching sounds loud in the silence of the aisle. Your hips jerked helplessly. The shelf behind you rattled faintly with every involuntary thrust against his face.
You were close—dangerously close—when his name slipped out in a broken gasp.
He sucked harder. Crooked his fingers. Ground the flat of his tongue against you in a slow, filthy drag.
Your orgasm hit like a freight train.
You clamped both hands over your mouth as your whole body seized, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the books. Wave after wave rolled through you until your legs gave out completely. Dean caught you, stood in one smooth motion, and dragged you against his chest just as—
“Hey! You two done sulking or what?”
Sam’s voice echoed from the end of the aisle.
Dean’s arms locked around you instantly—one hand splayed protectively across your lower back, the other cradling the nape of your neck so your face stayed tucked against his throat. Your skirt was still rucked up; he used the press of his body to hide it. You could feel how hard he was against your stomach, but his face stayed perfectly neutral when Sam rounded the corner.
Sam stopped short. Looked between the two of you—your flushed cheeks, the way you were clinging to Dean like he was the only thing keeping you upright, Dean’s hand still subtly smoothing your skirt back down behind your thighs.
He sighed the longest, most put-upon sigh in the history of sighs.
“Great. They made up,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard it was audible. “I found the reference we needed. It’s in the archive room. Let’s go before I have to bleach my brain.”
He turned on his heel and started walking.
Dean didn’t move for another three seconds. Just held you, breathing hard against your hair, lips still shiny.
Then, very quietly, only for you:
“We’re not done.”
He pressed one last filthy, open-mouthed kiss below your ear, licked the shell of it once, and finally let you go—just enough to take your hand and lead you out of the stacks like nothing had happened.
Your legs still shook the whole way back to the table.
Sam didn’t comment.
But the smirk he didn’t quite hide said he knew exactly how long it had taken you two to “make up.”
A/N: So, I haven’t written in so long but The Pitt has me in a chokehold and my poor baby Robby too. This song hits and I felt like doing something with him. Maybe it sucks idk. Anyways, TW: angst, allusions to suicide but nothing detailed. It’s not happy. The song inspo is “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Also, I wrote and posted on my phone sorry!!!
You drew a shaky breath in as the rain beat against the car window. It seemed the Pittsburgh weather could feel your inner turmoil and decided to curate the day to your mood. You got out of the car, umbrella in hand as you began to walk. One month. It had been exactly one month since your entire world flipped upside down.
You knew a relationship with your senior attending wouldn’t be simple. In the beginning it was thrilling, fun, and new. Days were spent working side by side, subtle touches and longing glances across the ER and nights were spent in his bed, legs shaking, voice hoarse from screaming his name. Eventually you settled into a domestic rhythm, coming back to his place or your apartment and making dinner together, watching movies on his couch until you fell asleep, silly jokes that made your sides hurt from laughter. But after Pittfest, things changed, Robby was in an emotional free fall and you were going down with him.
You tried to make it work, desperately grasping at the fraying ends of your relationship as they slipped away until one night it came to a head. The argument was stupid, normally one that would’ve been brushed off by morning. But under the circumstances it was the one that ended things.
The following weeks were spent nursing your broken heart, trying to work alongside Robby and maintain some semblance of professionalism while inside you were screaming. He seemed no worse for the wear, commanding the ER like the leader he was, laughing with the other staff like the world hadn’t just ended. When news of his three month sabbatical made rounds, you were surprised. Robby always mentioned wanting to get away, go on a trip but he never mentioned riding a motorcycle for such an extended period.
You began growing concerned with his behavior, the recklessness becoming more pronounced the closer his sabbatical loomed and on his last shift your worry was too strong to ignore. You approached Robby as he was standing at the nurse’s station, clearing your throat to get his attention. “Dr. Robby, a moment, please?” You asked, a silent plea hidden in your voice. He glanced at you over his glasses before he followed you into an empty room. You fidgeted with your stethoscope, not sure of where to start, not even wanting to meet his eyes. He sighed and folded his arms across his broad chest, “Speak, Dr. Y/L/N, if you hadn’t noticed we’re pretty busy out there.” You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice, steadying yourself. “I’m worried about you, Robby. This whole sabbatical…thing. The motorcycle, the out of pocket comments to everyone. Your kicked puppy look. What’s going on, really?”
Robby let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it and the sound made you wince. “Kicked puppy look? Jesus Y/N, you’ve said some shit to me before but that, that really takes the cake. Look, I’m fine, I need a break, the motorcycle is a fun new hobby and I’m just trying to clear my head. That’s it.”
You arch your eyebrows at him, not believing a word out of his mouth. “Michael, I’ve seen that look before. After Pitt fest”
“Don’t,” Robby interrupts, “You don’t get to bring that up right now. We don’t need to have a fucking heart to heart ok? I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have patients to sign off on before I leave.”
You sighed defeated, knowing the topic was closed. “Ok. But can I at least say goodbye before you go?” Robby stiffened slightly before turning towards you, “Of course, come find me before you leave.” And with that, he pulled open the door and swept out of the room, leaving you more uneasy than before.
When you had finished the last of your work, gathered everything out of your locker and said goodbye, Robby was nowhere to be seen. As you walked into the ambulance bay, you saw him perched atop that godforsaken motorcycle. “Hey, thought you left without saying goodbye.” You said softly, making your way over to him.
Robby shook his head, not looking at you as he fiddled with things on the bike. “So I guess this is it, kid.” The words coming out scratchy and raw. You felt a lump in the back of your throat at his words but you were not going to cry in front of him. “Um, yeah, for three months at least. Try not to miss me too much Robinavitch.” You half heartedly joke, pushing his shoulder. He turned toward you then, his eyes shining with wetness as he opened his arms and you stepped into them. “I could say the same to you. I’ll text you. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
“You too and for the love of everything put on the damn helmet!”
Robby chuckled, starting the bike and pulling the helmet on his head but not buckling it. You knew he would probably remove it after he was out of sight but you appreciated the gesture anyway. He gave you one last look and then he was off. You waved until he was a distant figure, your heart in pieces and tears flowing down your cheeks.
If you had known a week later the phone call that would alter your life would come you would’ve fought like hell to stop him, lock him in a room, destroy his bike, whatever it took to make him stay. But now, as you stare at the slab of concrete bearing his name, all you could do was feel the weight of what you didn’t say and what could never be undone.
Dr. Robby overhears you drooling over an old photo of him. You're embarrassed. He's turned on.
Rating: Explicit/MDNI
Word count: ~7,500
Tags: reader insert, female reader, resident reader, no use of y/n, one-shot, smut, age gap, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, masturbation, soft dom Robby, praise kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, no beta
Read on AO3 or below the cut.
When Gloria asked the emergency department staff to bring in old photos for the main lobby bulletin board, you missed the memo.
In your defense, you were a firm believer that you were in your residency to learn medicine and save lives. Reading emails, especially ones forwarded by Gloria from the hospital’s marketing and PR team, were rock bottom on your priority list. You were focused on developing your career and skills, not aiding the hospital’s performative attempt at humanizing the staff it routinely neglected.
That’s why you were confused to find a small pile of photos at the central nurses’ station one morning. They were tossed in a haphazard stack where Dana typically kept her obnoxiously large Stanley cup.
“Oh my god,” you laughed as you examined an old photo of Dr. Shen. He appeared to be in his early 20s, sporting a backward ballcap and a red Solo cup in hand; the kind of guy you’d insult for being a frat douchebag before you hooked up with him.
The photo beneath it was of a teenage Dr. Langdon; you could tell from the unmistakable blue eyes.
“I see you were smug even as a teenager,” you teased him as he approached to check the board.
“You think that’s bad, check out the photo of Dr. Ellis,” he said. You snorted once you found the photo in question.
“Don’t forget the one of Dr. Abbot,” Dr. Santos chimed in with a smirk.
You sifted through the remainder of the stack, laughing with Santos as you recognized most of your colleagues until one photo in particular made you stop.
“Whoa,” you mused aloud as you picked it up for closer inspection. “Who is that? I think someone accidentally included a photo of their hot brother or some-”
“Everything okay over here?” Dr. Robby appeared, coffee cup in hand, before you could show Dr. Langdon and Santos the photo.
“All good,” you replied cheerily. “Just checking out someone’s hot relative.”
“Hot relative?” Dr. Robby repeated blankly. “What-”
“Look,” you said, flipping the photo around to show the others. “I’d let this guy fold me like a lawn chair. Who is he?”
Robby twitched. Langdon backed away quietly, mumbling something about the patient in C13. Santos snorted, her bright eyes wide as they shifted between you and Robby.
“What?” you asked, your stomach dropping. Was the guy in the photo dead? Or worse, a serial killer?
“That’s uh, from my first year of med school,” Robby said slowly.
You turned the photo over to reexamine it in horror, praying your colleagues were playing a sick and twisted prank. Sure enough, it was undoubtedly a young Dr. Robby; without the reading glasses, the crow’s feet or the years of trauma and stress. But you should’ve recognized those rich brown eyes, and you definitely should’ve recognized that nose. Your stomach lurched into your throat.
“Oh.”
“I’ll just be going,” Santos said as she dipped her head and made a beeline toward the north hallway, grabbing a confused Mel King by the arm to redirect her away from the desk.
Your lips thinned and your heart raced as you scrambled for something, anything you could say to reduce the mortification that was creeping across your features in the form of a deep flush. You needed a way out of this without nuking the career you’d worked so hard for.
Perhaps there was a bottle of disinfectant you could chug, maybe a scalpel you could plunge into your own chest. Maybe Myrna still carried that jagged old knife in her purse. Or you could sprint up to the roof and hurl yourself to the street below. Anything to escape this horrific sequence of events that would ultimately lead to embarrassment and ridicule for the remainder of your residency.
As you considered the options, Dr. Robby continued to watch you with a raised brow. You determinedly refused to look at him, your eyes positively fascinated by the desktop.
“You okay?” Dr. Robby finally asked, tossing accelerant on your state of panic.
“Yep, peachy,” you said, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Just gonna go drown myself in the river now.”
Robby cracked a crooked smirk.
“Could’ve been worse,” he quipped. “You could’ve been talking about Dr. Abbot.”
Except it could not have been worse. Because, although you would absolutely allow Dr. Abbot to fold you like a lawn chair as well, you didn’t actually have romantic feelings toward him. Sure, you found him handsome and admired his professional skills – you’d certainly hook up with him if he offered – but your heart didn’t leap into your throat whenever he was nearby.
Dr. Robby, on the other hand, made you seasick on dry land.
You spent the first year of your residency telling yourself it was just a silly crush – that, of course you had a thing for Dr. Robby, because who wouldn’t enjoy some attention from the handsome and competent senior attending who drove a nice motorcycle? You were certain you’d get over it after the initial high of working in the ED wore off. But by your second year of residency, it was very clear to you that your crush was not going away. If anything, it snowballed into something much more burdensome and troubling. After all, the last person you wanted to have feelings for was your senior attending who was more than two decades older.
To your relief, the doors burst open from the ambulance bay and an incoming trauma became your saving grace as you scurried off without another word to Robby.
By the time you were off for the night, you’d nearly forgotten about the photo incident – until it was time to fetch your purse from your locker.
You were too lost in thought about the day’s patients to notice when you opened the locker door, your eyes settling on your belongings until–
“Jeeeeesus,” you hissed in surprise as your gaze landed on the picture of Robby, which someone had taped to the door.
You spun around, your eyes searching the central desk for the culprit. Santos, Shen and Ahmad all burst into laughter. You groaned and snatched the photo down.
“You guys suck,” you whined as you tossed the photo back on the desk. Dr. Shen grinned at you as he raised his Dunkin cup.
“Hear you finally admitted you’ve got a thing for Dr. Robby,” he teased.
“That is not what I said!” you exclaimed, glaring daggers at a laughing Santos. “I merely said that the person in that photo looked good.”
Santos snorted. “You said a little more than that,” she noted.
“No one asked you,” you hissed back. “I didn’t realize it was him!”
“Not that it makes a difference,” Santos said, wiggling a suggestive eyebrow at you.
“You guys are the worst,” you groaned as you pushed off from the desk. “See you tomorrow. Or not, if I’m lucky.”
“Love you too!” Shen called after you. You threw a middle finger over your shoulder as you departed through the doors.
You loved your coworkers; really, you did. But the horror that everyone now knew you were attracted to Dr. Robby made you want to sink beneath the floor tiles. What if he thought you were a freak now? What if he began avoiding you? What if he no longer wanted to be your attending? You needed his recommendations for your future career.
Moreso, you needed a drink.
You rarely went out after work, and you never went alone. Normally, you would have doubled back into the ER to see if Mohan or McKay was still around to beg them to go out with you. But you didn’t want to talk about Robby. You wanted to forget about the photo incident, at least for the night.
When you ducked into the nearest bar, you were relieved to find it largely empty, except for a few regulars and a group of students crowded in the corner. You slid onto a barstool, ordered an old fashioned and tried to lose yourself in the Pirates game on TV.
Just as the sixth inning ended, someone took the seat next to you, despite there being numerous open barstools. You prepared to shoot the newcomer an annoyed look and froze.
“Dr. Robby?”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Oh. Uh, of course not. I was just watching the game.”
“What’s the score?”
“Mets are up 2-1.”
Your eyes darted between Robby and the bartender as he ordered a beer, a tightening in your throat starting to swell.
“So how’d your day go?” Robby asked. “I know that stroke case was a tough one.”
“Yeah, poor guy,” you said sadly. “It was just too late to do anything.”
“Good catch on that pedes lead poisoning case, though,” Robby noted. “Only prolonged exposure could yield those kinds of symptoms.”
“I have a feeling lead exposure cases are more prominent than we think,” you sighed. “There’s so many old homes full of lead paint. The city doesn’t enforce compliance on landlords like it should. There’s a lot of vulnerable kids.”
Dr. Robby nodded in agreement. “There was a full seminar on lead paint exposure at a conference I went to in Cleveland last summer,” he said. “We’ve just got to remain diligent in identifying potential exposure. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
You nodded in acknowledgment and stared into your drink, suddenly feeling bashful as you remembered the photo incident.
And as if right on cue, Robby said, “So I didn’t see any old photos of you in that pile.”
You tried to suppress your reaction, a nervous laugh leaving your throat as you wrapped both hands around your glass.
“Didn’t get the memo,” you said casually. “I, uh, have a bad habit of forgetting to check my work email.”
“Might want to work on that,” Robby said.
“Yeah, noted.”
Robby dug into his back pocket to brandish his wallet. You assumed he was going to pay his tab and leave, swallowing your disappointment as you waited. But instead of pulling out any cash, he presented you with another photo.
“This is the other photo I brought,” he chuckled. “Figured the other one was less embarrassing.”
Any fighting chance you had of maintaining your poker face evaporated.
“No fucking way!” you couldn’t help but laugh as you took the photo, your eyes shimmering as you studied it. “Is… is that an earring?”
“It was just a phase, I swear,” Robby said. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll make your life hell.”
“It’d be so worth it,” you laughed, still eyeing the photo. You figured teasing him would prevent you from slipping and making any more remarks about his appearance. Because you couldn’t help but notice he looked good as hell in this photo too.
“And I thought I could trust you,” Robby chuckled.
“And what gave you that crazy idea?”
“Well, you seemed to like that other photo of me,” Robby said carefully. Your eyes widened and you averted them downward to the bar top.
“That was… an unfortunate admission,” you said carefully.
“Ouch,” Robby said before he took a swig of his beer.
“You know what I meant.”
“I’m almost certain I don’t.”
“I meant that I didn’t mean to, you know… sexualize my senior attending,” you said, in disbelief over the words that were leaving your lips. “I just thought you looked good. I swear, I didn’t realize it was you. I thought someone accidentally brought in a photo of their brother or something.” Mortification resurrected itself in the form of a flush that crept up the back of your neck. “Sorry,” you prattled on in spite of your conscious begging you to shut the fuck up. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”
“Well what about this photo?” Robby asked, his eyes flickering from your face to the photo sitting on the bar. “How do I look in this one?”
You blinked at him in bewilderment. “I’m not sure how to answer that,” you stammered stupidly.
Robby shook his head and took another drink. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess it was my turn to make it weird.”
“Seems like we’re both really good at that,” you offered.
“Yeah, well, you’re not the creepy old guy shooting his shot and missing miserably,” Robby said. His words stilled you as your brain processed them at a glacial rate.
“Wh- oh,” you managed.
“And that’s probably my cue to get out of here,” Robby said. As he fished his wallet from his back pocket again, you began to panic.
“Wait!” you blurted. “I… That’s not… I didn’t realize what you were implying.”
“Forget about it, it was stupid,” Robby said with a wave of his hand.
“I like this photo better,” you said quickly. You forced yourself to look up at him, catching his gaze so that he could see the sincerity in your eyes. “But I like the idea of you in that other photo more.”
“The idea of me?”
“You look fun and hot in this one,” you explained, gesturing to the photo on the bartop. “But the other one made you look more distinguished, more authoritative. I like that.”
Robby quirked an eyebrow at you. “More authoritative,” he repeated.
“Yeah, probably because you’re my attending. Or because I have some sort of weird kink. I don’t know.” You still couldn’t believe you were having this conversation.
“I see.”
It was your turn to consider cashing out and sprinting home.
“Well, that’s officially twice today that I’ve probably committed some form of sexual harassment, so I’m just going to go and lay down in the middle of oncoming traffic,” you said casually.
“I think it’s only harassment if it’s unwanted,” Robby noted.
“You might want to rewatch those HR training videos.”
“Well, regardless, I don’t feel harassed.”
“Oh.”
Robby sighed. His gaze suddenly felt much heavier as he seemed to mull over his choice in words.
“Look,” he finally said as he pulled a few bills from his wallet to pay both your tabs for real this time. “I understand you’re attracted to the 20-something version of me. But that doesn’t do either of us much good now considering I no longer look like that.” You held your breath as you waited to hear what he had to say, though you had a feeling you were going to have to take a risk. “So the question is, do you find this version of me attractive?”
You swallowed thickly and downed the rest of your drink, wincing at the burn in the back of your throat. It bought you enough time to weigh your own words carefully.
“Dr. Robby, I find you more attractive now than how you looked 30 years ago,” you said, feigning confidence as you dared to meet his eyes again. He didn’t answer immediately, but you caught the flicker of something in his gaze you’d never seen before.
“Understood,” he finally said as the bartender came to cash him out. “And would you like me to give you a ride home?”
No photograph could replicate the excitement you felt from his stare. It wasn’t the same, familiar feeling you were used to. He typically looked at you with quiet reflection. This felt much more sensual, more charged, more authentic.
“I’d like that,” you answered. This time, you didn’t have to feign any confidence or certainty. You knew this was what you wanted.
—
“You didn’t tell me you rode the motorcycle to work today,” you deadpanned once outside the bar.
“Didn’t I?” Robby asked with a gentle grin. He handed you his helmet and you shot him a pointed stare.
“And what helmet are you going to wear?”
“It’s a short ride. I’ll be fine,” Robby answered. You glared daggers at him.
“The head of the ED riding a motorbike without a helmet,” you scoffed. “The irony is not lost on me.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.” You sighed and fastened the helmet, drawing a smile from Robby. “Looks good on you,” he said while he climbed on the bike. As you followed suit, you held your breath with pause before your arms snaked carefully around his torso. He was warm and comforting, strong and sturdy. You didn’t stand a chance.
You silently prayed he couldn’t feel your racing heart pounding against his back. If he did, he pretended to be none the wiser.
As he drove, part of you wished you could prolong the ride, to cling to Robby for longer than six blocks. But you also knew you were in for a ride of a different kind back at your apartment.
The walk from your lobby to your apartment seemed to stretch into an endless trek, and by the time you fumbled with your keys at your door, you were certain Robby could hear your heart slamming against your ribcage.
It wasn’t until you stepped inside and tossed your bag and keys on the counter that you realized you’d just brought your senior attending home with the intention of having sex. It also dawned on you that you’d essentially told him you enjoy dominant men in the bedroom. Something told you Robby knew exactly how to satiate that need.
You both moved in silence. As you removed your shoes and jacket, Robby made his way to the sofa. You fetched a beer from the fridge and popped the cap, handing it to Robby without a word as you sat next to him; not too close, just near enough to imply you hadn’t changed your mind.
But what if Robby had changed his? You turned the Pirates game on the TV and tried to appear nonchalant. Nevermind the only thing on your mind was the inevitable countdown to something that was sure to change your relationship with your boss.
“Atta boy,” Robby said as the two of you watched Paul Skenes strike out Juan Soto to end the eighth inning.
“He’s gotta be the shoo-in for the Cy Young Award, right?” you wondered aloud.
“Without a doubt,” Robby answered. It damn near made you laugh, the notion of talking about baseball when you were mere moments from fucking your boss. But as the ninth inning started, the two of you slipped into an easy discussion on your predictions for the World Series. You surprised yourself, how at ease you could be with the man who was your boss and mentor, as well as the sole object of your romantic desires. Robby had a way of forcing your nerves into an internal war – he set you on edge, made your pulse race into overdrive, but he also made you feel assured and strong, like you were untouchable in his presence. The odd juxtaposition that made you squirm in your seat.
The ninth inning went quick and you soon found yourself staring blankly at the TV while the postgame show droned on.
You could feel Robby’s eyes on you, studying you with patient curiosity. It was now or never and you sure as hell weren’t opting for the latter.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said carefully, forcing an air of composure behind your voice as you rose to your feet. You strode about five steps toward the hallway before turning to look at Robby with a seductive smile – or so you hoped. “Are you coming?”
If you’d caught Robby off guard, he masked it well. You watched him drain the remainder of his beer before he stood and quietly followed you, lingering in the doorframe of the bathroom while you turned the shower on.
You spun to face him, your gazes locked on each other; waiting, hoping, daring. A beat lapsed, the hiss of the shower water the only sound between you. Finally, you decided to slip your scrub top over your head.
By the time it hit the floor in a heap, Robby was moving toward you. His hand pressed into the small of your back as he pulled you in, lips finding yours with mild restraint. Your arms hooked around his neck as if they’d already done so a million times, latching around him earnestly.
Your lips matched his energy until you both were tugging, gripping, pulling for more. It wasn’t giving, nor did it feel needy; a balanced push and pull between two people desperate to merely discover something different from the other.
You kissed him until your lungs betrayed you, leaving your chest heaving when you broke apart.
“Is this a bad idea?” you blurted out. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to quit trying to be some kind of saint. You were no better, no more righteous than anyone else. And maybe for once you deserved to do something you shouldn’t.
You knew you weren’t the first resident to cross a line with Robby. He’d dated Dr. Collins and you’d heard rumors of him sleeping with other hospital staff. Age and power dynamics aside, you could have it all if you’d simply shut the fuck up.
Robby sighed. Well, fuck; that’s one way to shoot yourself in the foot, you thought. Way to kill the mood.
“You’re right,” he admitted, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It is a bad idea.” He dropped his hands and met your gaze again. “But that doesn’t mean I have any hesitations.”
Jesus Christ. The scalding ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable.
“I mean, I don’t have any reservations if you don’t,” you said carefully, praying you hadn’t just cockblocked yourself. “I just wanted to check. You know, make sure neither of us is about to nuke our careers.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do,” Robby said, quickly adding, “that is, if that’s what you want. I don’t want you to think I want to keep you a secret either.”
You blinked at him. It hadn’t dawned on you that this would ever become more than a one-time event, a clandestine encounter you’d mutually agree to forget. You weren’t sure what to make of it.
“I… I didn’t realize this would become anything worth keeping secret,” you admitted.
“I’m not trying to put a label on anything,” Robby said quickly. “God knows my reputation is the opposite.”
“I didn’t know you were aware of your reputation,” you mused.
“With age comes wisdom.”
“Right.”
The two of you were left to stare at one another. A beat of silence passed — not awkward, but heavy enough to notice. The hiss of the running water became a roar in your ears.
“Sorry for making things weird,” you said with a soft laugh. “For like, the third time today.”
“Today has been weird,” Robby admitted. “I certainly didn’t anticipate hearing my best resident talk about — what was it — getting folded like a lawn chair? And I sure as shit didn’t plan on ending up here.”
“If this is too weird for you-“
“Sweetheart, I’ve seen and lived enough that today hasn’t even been a blip on the radar of too weird,” Robby interjected.
Oh. Right. This was a man with experience. He knew what he was doing. He knew what he wanted. And right now, he wanted you.
The temperature in the bathroom was starting to rise. And your moral compass was pointing south.
“Right,” you said, swallowing to suppress the final remnants of your conscience. “So then where were we?”
Robby reached out and tugged your scrub bottoms down with one sharp motion. Your eyes popped wider at the audacity, a soft laugh escaping your lips at how quintessentially Robby it was – he hated wasting time in the ED and apparently hated it in bed too. At least there were no patient satisfaction scores to fret over. You had a feeling everyone here would be extremely satisfied anyway.
You pulled Robby into another kiss and used the embrace as an excuse to tug his shirt over his head. The gold chain around his neck glimmered for a half second in the low bathroom light, a fleeting flash that seemed to signal the beginning of your end.
You held his gaze as you moved for his belt, your eyes darkened by the thoughts that had clouded behind them. When his belt clanked apart, the thoughts evaporated. You began pushing every article of clothing to the floor, including your bra and panties.
You inhaled sharply once you registered the size of Robby’s cock in your hand. Meanwhile, he exhaled a low hiss at your touch. You stroked slowly, your thumb tracing gentle patterns until Robby made a sound that damn near made you stop – almost pained, strained, needy. The rush of reducing the man you typically feared to whimpers was empowering.
“Robby,” you whispered. “I need you.”
His response felt reminiscent of a code in the ER. The typical nod he gave you when you asked for help. But instead of guiding you through a trauma, he began guiding you toward the shower.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured in your ear as your back met the cool tile wall. It sent a chill through you, in spite of the hot water pricking your skin. Your hair became plastered to your face.
“I need… anything,” you said breathlessly. “I just need you.”
Your words were the tipping point; the launch into whatever it was Robby needed to step back into his role as the one who guides you. Robby’s hand snapped between your thighs as if that was its rightful place. You unleashed a breathy moan at the contact, his index and middle fingers massaging around your clit.
The tension inside you tightened. It was your turn to whine.
“Shh,” Robby hushed you softly. “I’ve got you.”
You held your eyes shut as he edged his fingers inside you, sinking slowly until he could feel you desperately clamping for release. They glided leisurely, deliberately, testing your patience until you were jutting your hips.
“Slow down,” Robby cooed against your collarbone. “We’ve got all night.”
You didn’t listen. How could you, when you were so fucking close to the very thing you needed?
“Hey,” Robby said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “What did I just say?”
“But Robby,” you whined. “I need-”
“I’ll tell you what you need.” Robby curled a finger, causing your muscles to tense. “Isn’t that what you wanted – someone with authority?”
“Yes.” Your voice was meek, submissive – absolutely pitiful. You didn’t care. Your focus was solely on the delicious pressure between your legs.
“Good girl.”
His praise made your cunt contract. Robby’s fingers returned to their slow rhythm, dragging against your walls with just enough friction to make you moan. Not nearly enough to make you come.
“I’ve been fighting this hard-on all day,” Robby revealed. “Did you know that? Ever since I heard you tell the others you wanted to fuck me. Made me think about all the things I’d do to you. Never dreamed I’d get this lucky.”
He was knuckle-deep inside you, his fingers pulling against your front wall. You squeezed around them, a silent plea for more. His palm rested against your clit as his entire hand jerked upward, his fingers dragging through your plush flesh.
“Robby,” you panted. Your eyes squeezed shut again. The hot water streamed down your body, mirroring the slickness dripping from your swollen cunt.
“Go on, sweetheart. Let me see how pretty you look when you come for me.”
Every muscle in your body tensed. The squeeze inside your cunt felt so taut, you thought the strain might fold you in half. Instead, Robby’s fingers twisted just enough to trigger your release. You gasped as it hit you, sending a tremble through your walls that made Robby groan while you pulsed around his fingers. He held them there, digging firm into your front wall until he was sure you were finished – breathless and boneless.
You watched through hazy, half-lidded eyes as he sucked his fingers.Your mind was functioning at 30%, drained of all thought and in disbelief that the man in front of you made you come so hard with merely his fingers.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured before he leaned in to pepper your shoulder with kisses. “Knew you’d be good.”
As you came down from the initial shock of your post-orgasm high, you became obtusely aware of the erection that was pressing against your stomach. You reached for it and stroked, drawing a strangled moan from Robby. You became drunk on the power in an instant.
You dropped to your knees, the running water rushing around your legs as you took him into your mouth. A cluster of obscenities spilled from him. You met his gaze with yours, making you the vision of sin incarnate as you stared upward at him, pupils blown out and pink lips wrapped around his throbbing cock.
You took in as much of him as possible, gurgling around him until his tip hit the back of your plush throat. Robby slumped forward, one arm bearing his weight against the glass while the other hand clutched your wet hair from your face in a makeshift ponytail.
You hummed around his cock, your tongue flattening as it ran the length of the velvety flesh. Robby grunted as you continued to work, your eyes now glassy and your flushed cheeks hollowed around him.
“Jesus, you’re good at that,” he uttered. The praise ignited you with more arousal, propelling you to work harder until Robby was certain his knees would give out. “Careful, sweetheart,” he warned, gently tugging your hair to pull you off his cock with an audible pop. You whined in protest and he chuckled. “Such a good girl. A little too good, if you know what I mean.”
He helped you to your feet and held eye contact as he reached for the body wash. You blinked at him in confusion, panicked that you’d done something to kill the mood. Instead, Robby chuckled quietly.
“No need to worry,” he advised as if he could read your mind. “We’re just going nice and slow, okay?”
He lathered up his hands with body wash and reached to cup your breast, his thumb stroking slowly, deliberately over your nipple. Soap suds clung to your skin, leaving Robby to kiss every spot once they washed away. You let your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to heed Robby’s demand to slow down. You wanted to savor the moment, though you also wanted nothing more than for Robby to stuff you until you were stretched to the max.
He dipped his head to suck gently on your nipple, his tongue flicking and tasting as if he was savoring the taste. Despite the hot water, his touch left goosebumps peppered across your skin.
His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, merely feeling. He was so attentive, you started to lose yourself in the moment as you wished you could do this every night.
You jolted from your domestic daydream when Robby’s thumb found your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath of air, your hips immediately responding to the stimulation.
“Robby, please,” you begged, certain your body would catch fire if he didn’t fuck you already. You could feel him smirking against your skin as he nuzzled the crook of your neck.
“Sounds like you want someone to order you around but you don’t actually want to be obedient,” he murmured.
You pouted in protest, prompting Robby to bark a laugh.
“We’ll work on that,” he said, resting a hand on your hip. “Turn around.”
He was already guiding you toward the foggy glass before you could oblige. A gentle squeeze of your ass and then he was lining his cock against your eager entrance, nudging until the tip was slick.
You held your breath as he parted your folds, sinking slowly as your arousal pooled around the head of his cock, coating him with your desire.
Robby let out a long, drawn out “Fuuuuck” while you adjusted to his intrusion. The stretch felt impossible, but your walls took every inch until he reached the hilt. He held himself there, hands gripping your hips and lips against the nape of your neck. You didn’t dare move – curious what Robby would do next, and in disbelief over how much he filled you.
“Knew you could take it,” Robby rasped in your ear. He withdrew his cock until only the head lingered within your walls, snapping his hips forward to resheath himself. You moaned in approval. “Shit, you’re good,” Robby continued. “Knew you would be. Knew you’d be so fucking tight.”
Your hands grasped at nothing, palms pressed flat against the moist glass. Beads of condensation dripped over your fingers, mirroring the sweat beads trickling from your body – not that they were noticeable beneath the shower.
You braced yourself against Robby’s thrusts, hips holding firmly in place as you determinedly took his cock. The friction was perfect; just enough to stroke your flesh and slick enough to set a steady pace.
Robby hooked an arm around you to reach for your clit. You unleashed a strangled cry when two fingers pressed into the bud of nerves, still sensitive from its previous attention. He traced lazy circles until his fingers became coated in your wetness too.
“You’re a dripping little mess, aren’t you?” he panted in your ear. “Already gonna come.”
There was no use denying it. Your walls were clenching desperately. Your thoughts were scattered. Your knees threatened to buckle.
“Don’t stop,” you begged.
“Won’t stop until you’re coming,” Robby promised. “Need you to come all over my cock.”
He drove hard into your front wall, his fingers still chasing their reward against your clit. He admired the arch in your back, the way the skin of your ass rippled with each snap of his hips. Most of all, he relished the way your cunt accommodated his cock, so warm and welcoming.
Robby could feel the tension tightening within your walls. It was ready to release. Your moans became breathless and your thigh muscles were twitching. You were ready to fall apart.
One hand fisted your tangled mess of tresses, tugging until you could feel the tingle across your scalp. You gasped at the sensation and your back arched more, swelling the pressure in your cunt. Robby’s cock drove harder and faster until the words leaving your lips became incoherent. You braced yourself as you sensed the swell within your walls, rising and peaking until the crest neared.
It broke with a deep shudder. Your knees knocked together and your lungs burned. You convulsed, your walls fluttering around Robby’s cock while he grit his teeth. Your release dripped until it became unclear where it ended and the shower water began.
Robby couldn’t believe he’d ever let himself think fantasy was sufficient. Not anymore, not now that he had the real thing — you, bent before him, your swollen, sopping cunt swallowing him with insatiable greed as you whined and whimpered his name.
This was a privilege he’d assumed was only preserved for the clean-cut handsome guys, the Frank Langdons of the world — the ones who had the charisma to trick you into believing they deserved you. Certainly not the sad, middle-aged senior attending who pushed people away, viewed the world with pessimism and was more bark than bite.
“Holy shit,” he panted as your body slackened, your hands splayed across the glass for support.
The tension you’d felt all day was replaced with haze. You became overstimulated, hyper aware of the elements attacking your senses — the hot steam heavy in the air, the force of the water’s spray, the gurgle of the shower drain.
And of course, the stiff cock that was still inside you. You wanted more from it. You wanted to milk this chance as much as you could. You needed to prolong your time with Robby until he insisted on leaving.
But you were so fucking spent now.
Robby said nothing as he pulled out of you, your eyes widening in surprise.
“Wait,” you protested. “You didn’t-”
“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Robby chuckled. “Just take a breather.”
He held his cock in his hand and pumped it a few times, igniting more guilt within you.
“But-”
“Listen, I may be an old man but I’m not going to leave you short-changed.” He hooked an arm around your waist to tug you in close, his lips ghosting across your ear. “Now stop questioning me.”
The emptiness inside your core ached again.
Robby pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade and shut the water off. You blinked at him but obeyed his demand and remained mum, impressed by his restraint.
He reached for the bath towel hanging on the wall and draped it around you, watching quietly as you dried yourself off. His hand returned to his cock.
“You should drink some water,” he suggested. You offered him a pointed blink, drawing a raised eyebrow from him. “Go. Now.”
“Fine,” you quipped, your arousal spiking over the way he ordered you around. You had a fleeting thought that this may make work in the ED more difficult, given you took orders from Robby there all day. But you decided you’d deal with that dilemma at a much later time.
Your damp feet left footprints as you padded down the hallway to the kitchen to fetch your water bottle from the counter. You sipped, then called out, “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, thanks,” came the reply. You stood in the middle of your kitchen, blinking blankly at your fridge as you realized you were naked, still dripping wet, mid-sex break while your boss was likely stroking himself down the hall.
You weren’t sure how you were going to explain any of this to your therapist. Another issue for another time.
When you returned down the hall, you found the bathroom vacant and peered into your bedroom. Robby was lounging on your bed, still wet, still naked as he sat up against the headboard.
Had it been anyone else, you might have whined about him getting the duvet wet. You couldn’t give a flying fuck this time. There was something so damn sexy about how unceremonious he looked — assured, competent, laid back. Like he was always meant to end up there.
He stroked his cock gently while his eyes clung to you like static. You didn’t need to exchange words to reach the mutual understanding that you were going to ride him until the metaphorical wheels fell off.
You closed the distance from the doorway to the bed in record time. Robby held your gaze as you crawled on top of him, your thighs flanking his as he prepared to be buried inside you again.
But you shifted backward just enough to prolong the inevitable. Your folds gently kissed the tip of his cock as you teased him, coating him with your arousal until your clit threatened to spasm.
“You’re such a fucking troublemaker,” Robby growled.
You flashed him a smirk. It was short-lived as your lips parted with a moan, your walls clenching around nothing until your willpower evaporated.
Your hips jutted forward until Robby’s cock was nudging your entrance. You sank slowly around it to reacclimate to the stretch. Nothing about this felt polished or proper. Rather, it was pure, unfiltered derangement. Delirium dripping with desperation. A frenzied stray from propriety. The refreshing plunge into recklessness.
And a massive weight off your shoulders.
After all, now you could quit pretending. No more charades, no more masking. No averting your eyes every time Robby looked your way. You no longer had to hide your attraction from him.
“Still so fucking tight,” he rasped.
You dipped lower until you reached the hilt, settling at the base of his cock. Your jaw remained clenched, tense like the immense pressure expanding in your core. You swallowed as if loosening your throat would do the same for your cunt.
Once you gathered the courage to move, you exhaled sharply through your nose. Your hips rocked. Robby’s cock pressed deep, prodding where you didn’t think it was possible. You didn’t know you could feel this full, let alone this good.
Your hips lifted and descended slowly so you could feel every exquisite inch of him. But soon, your own greed left you chasing another release. You bounced harder, faster until Robby’s fingers pressed firmly into your hips.
“God, you’re good,” he groaned. “Taking me so fucking well.”
His eyes were everywhere: your bouncing breasts, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip, the point of union his slick cock disappeared inside your heat. He wanted to commit all to memory.
“Fuck, Robby,” you panted, prompting a low moan from him. The way his name fell from your lips sounded like a religious hymn, a siren song he’d seek out every time.
“That’s it, sweetheart, go on. I can take it.”
You took those words as permission to rock harder, hips slamming against Robby’s as your hands supported yourself against his chest. It was the first time sex felt truly, unequivocally liberating — no anxieties, no shitty self-esteem and no need to pretend you were enjoying yourself to stroke any egos. This was a man who didn’t feel like he needed to make you feel as good as possible, but rather one who knew he would.
Robby bucked his hips upward, knocking the wind from your lungs. Your moan of approval spurred him on. His hands held you firmly in place, perched on top of him while his cock pounded the tension from you.
Your moans chorused louder, a covert praise to every higher power for granting you the privilege of crossing paths with Michael Robinavitch. This was as close to religion you’d ever get. Eternal salvation in the form of sin.
Robby waited patiently as you scaled your peak. He could feel your thigh muscles tensing around him, though not nearly as constrictive as your cunt compressing his cock. His own resolve was waning, fissuring from the vision of you falling apart.
The sounds humming from your throat became muddled, much like your thoughts. Clarity was gone. Composure had vanished. You were a scrambled mess of disheveled, fucked out desperation. And when your climax finally surged, your body responded with gratitude.
It burned white hot, scorching through your nerve endings until you spasmed. Your palms pressed firm and flat into Robby’s chest, your arms threatening to buckle. It rocked you in waves, surging through your pulsating walls as you coated Robby’s cock with your release.
It coaxed his own reward. His cock twitched and he swore loudly, hands squeezing your waist as he erupted inside you with a strangled grunt. You moaned for emphasis until you could feel him leaking from you, soaking both of your thighs.
You both went slack, the sounds of your vulgar union replaced with your labored breaths. You let your vision tilt into focus before you dared to look at Robby. He looked equally exhausted, which drew a faint laugh from you. He ran an affectionate hand up and down your thigh while he caught his breath.
When you finally climbed off of him, you collapsed next to him, grateful for the extra pillows you’d decided to buy on a recent trip to Homegoods. The plush surroundings, cool room and post-orgasm haze lulled you into a serene state. It contrasted the shock you felt when the mattress shifted, signaling Robby’s departure from the bed.
You watched him in quiet disappointment as you assumed he was going to get dressed and leave. You always assumed he would, although not so soon; not before your heart rate leveled out; not before you exchanged the frivolous small talk that accompanied casual sex; not when he was still seeping from your entrance.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. Emotion never looked good on you anyway.
But instead of getting dressed, Robby disappeared from the bedroom without a word, returning a few beats later with your water bottle. You blinked as you took it from him.
“Do you think I’m too irresponsible to remember to drink water?” you mumbled before taking a swig. He slid back into the bed next to you.
“I think you’re very responsible,” he answered. “But I also know you worked all day and spent the evening drinking bourbon and engaging in… physically demanding activities.”
You snorted into your water bottle. “Respectfully, Dr. Robby, you are such an old man.”
“Calling me old after I just had you calling my name. Where do you get off?”
“On top of you, apparently,” you muttered, drawing a grin from him.
“Always happy to help,” he said, stretching to drape an arm over you. It felt so easy, so effortless, you couldn’t help but wonder if this could become your future. You also wondered if Robby could read your mind, because he added, “Happy to help in the future, too. You know, if you ever find yourself getting turned on by photos of me again.”
“You’ll just have to keep showing me more,” you said.
The next morning, when you opened your locker at work, you found a new photo of Robby taped inside the door.
