yall donât understand i need to climb him like a fucking tree while he calls me his whore like i need that dick biblically,i actually have never felt this way about a man like thatâs my daddy
ââ ⢠ăťâ¸â¸ MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH who... somehow ends up on the dance floor with you?
Contains: 18+ MDNI, grinding on the dance floor, unprotected p in v sex, bathroom-at-the-bar sex, little bit of dirty, talk, absolutely not proofread, about 2.2k words
It's late. Too late for any wise decisions to be made. Maybe that's why you sway your hips, run your hands through your hair. It has nothing to do with feeling your attending's eyes on you from across the bar.
You were surprised to see him waltz into the day shift's monthly happy hour, loose Carhartt's slung low on his hips, meeting a dirty pair of work boots after a long day. The image of him in the entrance of the dive, emerging like a hero from a cloud of nicotine smoke puffing in from outside, sears itself in your brain.
Twirling around to the beat of your favorite song, you manage to sneak a quick glance his way. His jaw clenches when you make eye contact, hand gripping his drink tighter. It's electric, the way his gaze burns into yours, sends waves of fire through your veins.
You flip your head the other way, hair swishing down your back as you continue your little show. The problem is, he's not the only one who's noticed. Turning around, you come face to face with a generic, fraternity looking boy making his way to you.
He squeezes through the crowd, eyes almost predatory in the way they scan your body. He saddles up in front of you, and his eyes go wide before he can extend his hand.
A sturdy pair of arms wrap themselves around you, and you tense only for a moment before realizing who it is. Woodsy cologne floods your senses, the plush of Robby's tummy an instant comfort.
What you don't expect, is the kiss he plants on your temple, turning his gaze to the now slack jawed Chad, frozen in front of you.
"Sorry I left you alone too long, baby," he mutters, eyes venomous as he stakes his claim. "Bathroom line was crazy long."
He punctuates this with a wave, grabbing your hand and spinning you to him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you meet his pretty, satisfied face.
"Doctor Robinavitch!" You scold, lightly swatting his bicep. "What was that all about?"
It's then that realization dawns on his face, his cheeks going pink, a sheepish smile on his lips.
"I justâŚ" he trails off, averting his gaze and shaking his head. "Couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."
As he speaks, his hands trail down from your back, to your waist, to the spot right above your ass. You sway in his arms a little, a hopeful hint for him to continue his journey. He smiles, a sardonic thing that spreads across his face like poison oak. It's infectious, spreading through your entire body.
"I love this song," you whisper, your noses grazing as your rhythm picks up, reaching back to link his hands between yours.
"I don't know it," he responds, still a bit sheepish for a man already growing hard against you.
"You're about to," you whisper, turning your body around so your ass flushes against his hips.
Your nails scrape up the back of his neck, something you see him do often in the ED, and it has its desired effect. He shivers against you, a light groan of surprise escaping his lips.
You smile, your hands reaching his hair, giving a few scratches before pressing his face into your neck, the point of his nose running down the length of it. His lips are eager, you can tell by the pants fanning your neck, so you turn your head to his ear.
"You can kiss me, it's okay, Dr. Robby," his title drips off your tongue like syrup, sticky and sweet and oozing through his body.
"God, you can't fucking call me that while I've got a hard on pressed against your ass in front of everyone we work with," he breathes, pressing one sweet kiss to your neck. "Not here, though, you hear me? We're gonna finish this song and then you're gonna meet me in the bathroom, nod if you understand me."
It's almost pathetic, how eager you are, his sardonic laugh flowing through you like lava. His hands find your hips, speeding them up, grinding them back against his cock. Butterflies release in your tummy, your heart pounding at the need coursing through you.
The song is sensual, some R&B singer talking about loving on his woman all night. You can only hope it's a manifestation of your night to come. You continue to maneuver your hips against his, heat rising between you like a sauna.
The way he grinds against you is easy, bodies fitting into place like puzzle pieces. You wiggle your own a little, moving down against him and back up, his hands grabbing your hips, your waist, desperate clutches for any piece of you he can have.
Throwing your head back, a light gasp spills from your lips. You turn your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper,
"I've always wanted you, Robby," he shudders at your confession, pressing you harder against his prominent length. "You're so hot when you're in charge, did you know that?"
He shakes his head no, eyes squeezing shut as you pout and coo.
"That's such a shame," you press a kiss to the shell of his ear, giving a little bite when he shivers. "When I go home, after a long day, and I reach my hand in my panties, I think about how you murmur in my ear when you help me intubate, I think about how you take your hoodie off when you get too warm, I think about-"
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls, abandoning his own rule as he drags you off to the bathrooms.
You make the mistake of glancing over to the PTMC booth, which is full of slack jaws and wide eyes. You find Trinity, giving you a surprised thumbs up as you trail behind the chief attending.
You thank whatever deity lies above when the bathrooms reveal to be single stall, and available. Robby nearly tosses you in there, locking the door and resting his forehead against it.
"Did you like that?" He asks, and you quirk a brow, even though he can't see. "You like making me hard in front of my entire staff?"
He turns now, the look in his eye dark, cunning. Sinking your lip to suppress a smile, you nod, slinking over to him. He stays put, and you press him up against the door with your body.
"I really liked it, Robby," you whisper, grazing your lips over his.
"Call me Michael when I'm about to fuck you, understand?" He asks, waiting for a nod before crashing his lips into yours.
You let out a muffled 'mmph!' against him, eliciting a light chuckle from his throat. Teeth clacking, you nearly devour each other as you stumble backward, clamoring behind you for the counter.
He lifts you up, your short dress hiking around your waist as you spread your legs. Lifting his head back, he takes in the wet patch on your pink panties, a low 'ffffuucckkk' leaving his lips.
"You got this wet just from dancing with me, baby?" He coos, finger tracing the gusset of your panties.
You nod, biting your lip.
"I told you I want you, Michael," you try out his name, feeling formal on your lips. "Think about this all the time."
"Really? God, am I lucky?" He mutters, peeling the flimsy fabric down your legs. "Holy shit, look at that," he whispers, eyes wide as a string of your wetness clings to your panties.
"Can I put my fingers in you? Need to stretch this pretty pussy out, is that okay?" He asks, looking up at you as he kneels, now face to face with your glistening heat.
You nod, mumbling out a sweet, "Yes Michael, please."
He pouts, and you ache to lean down and kiss him.
"So polite," he muses, pressing the tip of his finger to your entrance.
Your head falls back, a light 'ah!' falling from your lips. The breach is intrusive, already feeling full. You have no idea how you're going to take his cock, but you're eager to find out.
Once he's reached the knuckle, he curls his finger, reaching a spot that sends electric shocks through you. You kick your legs out a little, squeezing your eyes shut with a moan.
"There it is, that's the spot, hm?" He asks, and you nearly weep.
He starts to thrust, moving his finger in and out as his lips find your clit. The feeling is euphoric, suckling mixed with yet another finger nearly pushing you over the edge already.
"So soon?" He murmurs against your clit, and the coil in your belly tightens even more.
"I'm sorry, Mikey, it just feels too good," you whine, and he releases a grunt against you.
"Fuck, love when you call me that, honey," he growls, and you look down to find him rocking his hips against the hard cabinet beneath the counter.
You chuckle, eyes glossy as you sink your fingers in his hair.
"God, Michael, you're just as desperate as I am," you remark, and his playful brown eyes find yours.
"That's right, princess," he says, placing a kiss to your button. "So you better hurry up and cum for me so I can sink my cock into that pretty pussy, hm?"
This does it, the coil in your belly snapping as euphoric waves wash over you. Your head hits the mirror as his fingers ride out your high, maneuvering your walls until you're shaking around him.
"That's it, that's a good girl," he murmurs, and you let out a sweet cry before you slump against the mirror.
He pops up, the cracking of his knees accompanying the lust in the room, and you let out a sweet chuckle. His cheeks go red, and he shakes his head, fiddling with his belt.
Your eyes are hazy as you watch, big hands quick and nimble against his button, his zipper. He pulls himself out, giving his thick length a few strokes. It's big, the biggest you've ever taken, and your wide eyes give you away immediately.
"I've got you, not gonna let it hurt, okay?" He reassures, and you nod.
He clears his throat, lining himself up against you as you grasp his biceps. There's a brief moment before he sinks in, where you spot his tattoos, Momento Mori. You run your thumb against it, resting your temple against his chin before placing a sweet kiss there.
"You done?" He asks, fondness dripping from his tone.
You nod, leaning back and spreading yourself even wider. He takes this as the invitation it is, pushing his head in. You gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his arms.
"Oh my God, Michael!" You whine, wiggling your hips to get more of him.
"Patience is a virtue, baby," he teases, giving you another inch.
He caresses your head, pushing your wild hair out of your face as he rests his forehead against you.
"So pretty, should tell you that a lot more," he murmurs, finally sinking into you all the way. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening around him at the compliment. "Yeah? Like being my pretty girl? Prettiest girl in the whole ED, smartest, too."
You whine, your pussy throbbing around him as he starts to rock his hips.
"Yeah, you like being my pretty girl, don't you?" He asks, and a tear almost slips out.
He licks his lips as he watches you, picking up his pace to the perfect rhythm. A light moan escapes your lips, raking your nails up his chest as he moves.
"'m all yours," you nod. "Your pretty girl."
His balls slap against your ass with lewd smacks as he nods his head, his eyes aglow.
"Fucking. Mine," he grumbles, leaning down to suck your neck into his mouth.
His hands find your tits, squeezing and pulling at the taut skin.
"So fuckin' pretty, gonna blow my fucking load baby," he rasps, his pace growing sloppy against you.
"Please cum in me, Michael," you keen. "Need you to fill me up."
He reaches down to rub your clit again, and the added pressure has you right at the edge.
"Please cum with me, baby," he practically begs. "Gotta feel you tighten around me while I empty these balls, got it?"
You nod, tears finally spilling as your second orgasm hits. The Earth stutters on its axis, mini explosions bursting through your tummy.
"Fuck yes!" He groans, his cock twitching inside of you. "That's it, that' s my girl, cummin' for me so good."
All you can do is nod, brain mush and body soup as your orgasm continues to pulse through you. Robby thrusts into you one last time, pulling you in for one last sweet kiss.
Soon enough, all you can hear is the heavy breaths exchanged between the two of you, followed by some sweet chuckles. Reaching up to the nape of his neck, you play with his hair and say,
"I don't know about you, but I'm not going to be the one to face our coworkers after all of this."
He laughs, cheeks going pink as he pulls out. Cleaning you up, he murmurs,
"I'll take care of it. You're my girl, remember?" You nod. "That means you don't have to worry, that I'm gonna take care of you."
summary: James Buchanan Barnes has spent his entire career believing discipline solves everything. Then a brilliant, chronically late graduate student walks into his office, challenges every opinion he has and somehow turns his carefully ordered life upside down.
warnings: +18 MDNI explicit sexual content, age gap, enemies to lovers, forbidden romance, slow burn, sexual tension, office sex, praise kink, brat taming, dirty talk, dom Bucky Barnes, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, power imbalance, happy ending.
a/n: I've been gatekeeping this story for three months since it was finished, and I started writing it in March! I'm glad I was finally able to post it this is my 1/4 for the Midterms & Metal Arms collab, make sure to see the rest! They will be posting every friday by @herejustforbuckybarnes, @buckysdecaflove & yours truly 𩶠(also, may I say thank you Esquire Malaysia for posting those pics? They're totally dean/professor Barnes coded)
read on AO3
You're twenty minutes late to your first mandatory meeting with the new Dean of Graduate Studies, and you don't even have a good excuse.
Well, that's not entirely true. You do have an excuseâyour advisor's lecture ran over, and then there was a line at the coffee shop, and honestly, you'd forgotten about the meeting until you got the reminder notificationâbut whether it's a good excuse is debatable. Probably not good enough for someone like James Buchanan Barnes, whose reputation preceded him by about three weeks and several strongly worded emails.
The administrative assistant gives you a disapproving look as you breeze past her desk, still juggling your coffee and bag.
"He's been waiting for you for almost half an hour," she says, voice clipped.
"I know, I know. Traffic sucks."
It's 10 AM on a Wednesday, there was no traffic. She knows it. You know it. But you flash her your most charming smile anyway and knock twice on the heavy oak door before pushing it open.
"You're late."
His voice is deeper than you expected. Rough around the edges, like gravel and smoke. You take the opportunity to study him while his attention is elsewhereâdark hair that's a bit longer than typical administratorâ short, sharp jaw, broad shoulders that fill out his button-down shirt in a way that's frankly distracting. He's younger than you pictured too. Mid-thirties, maybe. Which seems impossibly young for a dean, but then again, you'd heard he had an impressive background. Former military, something classified, then a PhD that he'd blazed through in record time.
Great. An overachiever with something to prove.
"Sorry," you say, not sounding particularly sorry. "My advisor'sâ"
"Save it." He finally looks up and you're struck by the intensity of his blue eyes. They sweep over you once, assessing, cataloging. You have the distinct impression he's already formed an opinion and it's not favorable. "Just don't let it happen again."
You bite back the retort on your tongueâyes, sir delivered with just enough sarcasm to be insubordinateâ and instead, drop into one of the chairs across from his desk.
He watches you settle in, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I didn't say sit."
Oh, this is going to be fun.
"I assumed, since this is a meeting, we'd be sitting." You take a deliberate sip of your coffee, maintaining eye contact. "Unless you prefer to conduct business standing? I'm flexible."
Something flashes in his expression. Annoyance, maybe. Or disbelief that you'd speak to him like this in the first ten seconds of knowing him. "Msâ" He glances at his computer screen, confirming your name, even though you both know he already knows it. He called this meeting, after all. When he says your full name, it sounds like an indictment.
"You can just use my first name," you interrupt. "We're all adults here."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I've asked you here because your academic record has come to my attention."
"Oh good, I love being noticed for my achievements."
"That's notâ" He stops, taking a deep breath through his nose. Patience, you realize. He's already exercising patience with you and you've been in his office for less than two minutes. "Your grades are exceptional. Some of the highest in your program. Your research proposal was brilliant, according to Dr. Morrison. Which makes the rest of your file particularly⌠concerning."
You wait. Let him say it.
"You've missed 40% of your mandatory seminars this semester. You've submitted three separate assignments past deadline. You were given a verbal warning last month forâ" he checks his notes"â'disruptive behavior during a guest lecture'. And apparently, you've been avoiding your advisory meetings."
"I haven't been avoiding them⌠Dr. Morrison and I have an understanding."
"An understanding." He repeats it like he's tasting something sour. "What kind of understanding allows a master's student to simply not show up to scheduled meetings with their advisor?"
You shrug. "The kind where he knows I'm working and doesn't need me to hold his hand through every stage of the process. I send updates, he responds. It's very efficient, actually."
Dean Barnes closes his laptop with a decisive click. He leans forward, palms flat on the desk, and you notice for the first time that his left hand has some scarring across the knuckles.
"Let me be very clear," he says, voice low and controlled. "I don't care how brilliant your research is or how high your GPA sits. At this university, under my administration, you will attend your required seminars. You will meet deadlines. You will show up to your advisory meetings and you will conduct yourself professionally. Are we understood?"
The reasonable part of your brainâthe small, usually ignored partâsuggests that maybe you should just nod and agree. This man has the power to make your academic life substantially more difficult. He could put you on probation, revoke funding, even recommend dismissal in extreme cases.
But there's something about his tone, the way he's looking at you like you're a problem to be solved, a recruit to be disciplined, that makes your spine straighten and your chin lift.
"I understand that you've been dean for all of three weeks and you're very eager to make your mark," you say sweetly. "But micromanaging graduate students who are already producing exceptional work seems like a waste of everyone's time. Maybe focus on the students who are actually failing?"
The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees.
Dean Barnes straightens slowly and you notice he's tall. Really tall. The kind of presence that would be commanding even without the title and the office and the obvious military bearing.
"This meeting is a courtesy," he says, each word precisely enunciated. "The next one won't be. You have two weeks to demonstrate significant improvement in your attendance and professional conduct. If I don't see that improvement, we'll be having a very different conversation about your continued enrollment in this program."
Your heart kicks against your ribs with angerânot fear, you tell yourselfâ but you keep your expression neutral.
"Is that all, Dean Barnes?" You load his title with just enough emphasis to make it clear what you think of this entire conversation.
"Yes, you're dismissed."
You stand, gathering your bag with unhurried movements. At the door, you pause and glance back. He's already focused on his computer again, effectively erasing you from his attention.
"See you around," you say lightly, but don't wait for a response.
Outside, the administrative assistant gives you a knowing look.
"How'd it go?"
"Oh, you know. Just another power-hungry administrator on a mission." You adjust your bag on your shoulder. "I give him six months before he burns out."
She actually laughs at that. "I wouldn't underestimate Dean Barnes. He doesn't strike me as the burning-out type"
"Everyone's the burning-out type eventually."
But as you walk back across campus, coffee gone cold in your hand, you can't quite shake the memory of those sharp blue eyes and the controlled anger in his voice.
Two weeks. He'd given you two weeks.
You'd show him improvement. Just⌠maybe not the kind he was expecting.
You make it exactly five days before you're back in Dean Barnes' office.
To be fair, this time it's not entirely your fault. Well, it's mostly not your fault. The seminar was mind numbingly boring, the visiting professor had clearly not updated his research since 2015, and when he'd made a factually incorrect statement about recent developments in your field, you'd⌠corrected him.
Publicly.
Perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. And maybe you'd rolled your eyes when he'd tried to double down on his outdated information.
"Please tell me," Dean Barnes says as you walk into his officeâon time, you note, which should count for somethingâ"that you didn't tell Professor Whitmore that his keynote address was 'a fascinating glimpse into how people thought about this subject a decade ago."
You hover near the door. He hasn't invited you to sit, and you're not about to make the same assumption twice. "I was complimenting his historical perspective?"
"Sit down." It's not a request, so you sit.
He's wearing a different shirt todayâstill button-down, still perfectly pressed, but this one's a dark henley that makes his eyes look even bluer. He's also skipped the jacket, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and you can see more of that scarring on his left forearm.
"Professor Whitmore," Dean Barnes continues, voice tight with controlled frustration, "is a respected scholar who has published over forty papers andâ"
"Thirty-seven," you correct automatically. "And only twelve in the last ten years, most of which were just rehashing hisâ"
"That's not the point," he interrupts as he closes his eyes, like he's praying for patience.
"Then what is the point? That I'm supposed to sit there and smile while someone spreads misinformation to a room full of graduate students who might actuallyâ"
"The point," he says, leaning forward, "is that you cannot speak to visiting faculty like they're undergraduates who got a question wrong on an exam. There's a way to engage in academic discourse that doesn't involve public humiliation."
"I didn't humiliate him. I just correctedâ"
"You told him he should consider 'updating his references to include something from this century."
"And that's accurate feedback!"
"In front of sixty people!"
You're both on your feet now, though you don't remember standing. The desk is between you, but it feels like no distance at all.
"So what?" Your voice rises to match his. "I'm supposed to just sit there and nod along with bad science because his ego is too fragile to handle being challenged?"
"You're supposed to conduct yourself like a professional!" He slams his hand on the desk, and you actually flinch. Not from fearâfrom surprise at the crack in his controlled demeanor. "Do you have any idea how many complaints I've fielded about you in the past five days? Five days! You've been late to three more seminars, you got into an argument with Dr. Burns about her grading criteria, and now this!"
"Dr. Burns' grading criteria are arbitrary andâ"
"I don't care!" He runs his hand through his hair. "I don't care if you're right. I don't care if every single person you've argued is wrong. You are a master's student at a prestigious university, and you will show respect to the faculty, or you will be gone. Do you understand me?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
You can hear your own heartbeat, can see the muscles ticking in his jaw, can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. "You want me to be a good little student," you say quietly, voice sharp as glass. "Smile and nod and never question anything, even when it's wrong."
"I want you to think before you speak. I want you to consider the consequences of your actions. I want you to act like someone who actually wants to be here."
"Jeez, Dean. I worked my ass of to get into this program, of course I want to be here!"
"Then act like it!" He's around the desk now, closing the distance between you. "Because from where I'm standing, you're doing everything possible to get yourself kicked out. Late, disruptive, insubordinateâ"
"Oh, here we go." You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Insubordinate. There it is. You know this isn't the military, right? You can't just bark orders and expect everyone to fall in line."
"You think I don't know that?"
"I think you're so used to people following your commands that you can't handle someone who pushes back."
"Pushes back?" He's close now, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You're not pushing back. You're acting like a spoiled brat who's never been told 'no' in her life."
The words hit like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His voice is lower now, but no less intense. "You think your intelligence gives you a free pass to treat everyone around you like they're beneath you. You think because you're smarter than most people in the room, the rules don't apply to you."
"That's notâ"
"When's the last time you actually listened to feedback? When's the last time you considered that maybe, just maybe, someone else might have a point? Or are you so far up your own ass that you can't see how you're sabotaging yourself?"
Your hands are shaking from anger⌠at least that's what you tell yourself.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough." He's not yelling anymore, which somehow makes it worse. "I know you're brilliant and talented and completely wasting it because you'd rather prove you're the smartest person in every room than actually accomplish anything meaningful. I know you're going to talk your way out of this program within the semester if you don't get your act together. And I knowâ"
He stops abruptly, jaw clenching.
"What?" you challenge. "You know what?"
"I know I'm done trying to help someone who doesn't want to be helped."
The words settle between you like stones.
"I never asked for your help."
"No," he agrees, voice flat. "You didn't, which is why, effective immediately you're being placed on academic probation. You'll meet with me every Monday at 9 AM to review your attendance and conduct for the previous week. You'll submit weekly progress reports, and if I receive one more complaint about your behavior you're out."
Your mouth goes dry. "You can'tâ"
"I can, and I am." He steps back, putting professional distance between you again. When he speaks, his voice is completely detached. "You have potential, but potential means nothing if you can't work with other people. Consider this your last chance."
You want to argue, tell him exactly where he can shove his probation and weekly meetings and his condescending concern. But the look on his face stops you. He doesn't look angry anymore, he's disappointed. And somehow, that's so much worse.
"Fine," you bite out.
"Fine," he echoes.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, see you Monday 9 AM. Don't be late."
You turn on your heel and walk out, managing to keep your composure until you're halfway across campus. Then you find an empty classroom and let yourself feel the full weight of what just happened.
Academic probation. Weekly meetings with Dean Barnes. One complaint away from expulsion.
You should be terrified.
Instead, all you can think about is the way his eyes had blazed when he called you a spoiled brat, the way he'd gotten close enough that you could smell his cologne, the way your heart had raced you when he'd challenged you.
You're in so much trouble, and not just the academic kind.
The Monday meetings become a special kind of torture.
On week one, you show up on time with printed documentation of your perfect attendance and professionally worded emails to faculty. Dean Barnes reviews them with barely a nod, asks if you have anything else to report and dismisses you in under ten minutes.
Week two, you're three minutes late because the printer jammed. He doesn't say anything, just marks something in his notes while you apologize. You hate how the silence feels like criticism.
Week three, you're early. You bring coffeeâ one for you, one for him, because maybe if you try being nice, this will be less awful. He looks at the cup you set on his desk like it might be poisoned, but he drinks it anyway.
By week five, you've developed a routine. Monday mornings, 9 AM, sitting across from Dean Barnes while he reviews your week. You've been perfect. Perfectly punctual, perfectly polite, perfectly compliant.
You hate every second of it.
"Your attendance has been flawless," he notes, scrolling through something on his laptop. It's mid-October now, and he's traded the henleys for sweaters that somehow make him look more approachable and more intimidating at the same time. "Dr. Morrison says you've been attending all your advisory meetings."
"As required."
He glances up at that, catching the edge in your tone.
"Is there a problem?"
Yes, you want to say. The problem is that you've spent five weeks performing like a trained seal, and he hasn't once acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, his assessment of you was harsh. The problem is that you lie awake at night replaying your arguments, thinking of better comebacks, sharper retorts. The problem is that you've started noticing things about himâthe way he drums his fingers on the desk when he's thinking, the small scar through his eyebrow, how his entire demeanor softens when he talks to the administrative staff.
The problem is that you can't stop wondering what it would take to crack that professional facade.
"No problem," you say instead.
He studies you for a long moment, and you have the unsettling feeling that he sees right through you.
"You seemâŚ" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Subdued."
"I'm being professional, isn't that what you wanted?"
"I wanted you to engage constructively, not to shut down completely."
You laughâa short, bitter sound. "I literally cannot win with you, can I? I'm disruptive, I'm a problem. I'm quiet, I'm shutting down. What exactly do you want from me, dean Barnes?"
His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his features.
"I wantâ" he stops, jaw tightening. "I want you to find a balance between being yourself and being respectful, that's all I've ever wanted."
"Right, because you know so much about who I am from our what, six conversations? All of which have been you telling me everything I'm doing wrong."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" You're leaning forward now, exhaustion and frustration bubbling over. "You decided who I was in our first meeting. Spoiled, bratty, someone who needs to be put in her place. You never once considered that maybe there are reasons I am the way I am."
"Then tell me." He matches your posture, leaning in. "Explain it to me."
"Why should I? So you can use it against me? Add it to your little file of everything that's wrong with me?"
"That's notâ" He cuts himself off, breathing hard through his nose. "I've never wanted to use anything against you. From day one, I've been trying to help you succeed."
"By threatening to kick me out?"
"By giving you clear expectations and boundaries! Which, apparently, no one else in your academic career has bothered to do!"
"Don't pretend you know anything about my academic career!"
"I know you've been coasting on raw talent without even learning how to work with people! I know you alienate everyone around you because it's easier than being vulnerable! I knowâ"
He stops abruptly, like he's said too much. The silence is suffocating.
"You know what?" Your voice shakes, and you hate it. Hate that he's gotten under your skin like this. "I've done everything you asked. I've been to every seminar, every meeting. I've smiled and nodded and played the part of the good little student and it's still not enough for you."
"That's not true."
"Then what do you want from me?" The question comes out raw, almost desperate. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it, so we can both stop pretending these meetings are anything other than you reminding me how much of a disappointment I am!"
You're standing nowâwhen did you stand?âand so is he, and the desk between you feels like both a barrier and the only thing keeping this situation from spiraling completely out of control.
"You're not a disappointment," he says, and his voice has gone quiet in a way that's more affecting than any of his anger. "You're brilliant and passionate and you care so deeply about your work that it scares you, so you hide behind sarcasm and antagonism, because if you don't care, you can't fail. But you do care. I see it every time you argue about methodology or challenge outdated thinking. You care so much it's destroying you."
The accuracy of it steals your breath.
"You don't know me," you whisper, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.
"Don't I?" He's moved around the deskâwhen did he do that?âand suddenly he's close, closer than he's been since that first argument. "You think I haven't noticed? The way you're first to arrive at seminars now but you sit in the back and never speak up? The way you flinch every time I ask if you have anything to report? It's like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. You're miserable, and Iâ"
He stops, something warring in his expression.
"You what?" The challenge is automatic, but your voice is barely above a whisper.
"I hate that I did that to you." You weren't expecting that. "I thought I was helping," he continues, and he sounds tired. "I thought structure and discipline were what you needed, but I've been taking out my own frustrations on you. Every time you pushed back, it reminded me of myself before the army beat it out of me⌠all that fire and certainty and refusal to back down.."
His eyes meet yours, and there's something in them you haven't seen before. The confession hangs between you.
"I'm sorry," he continues. "I'm sorry for calling you a brat and making you feel like you had to change who you are. For not seeing until now that I've been the problem just as much asâ"
"Stop." Your hand comes up, almost touching his chest before you catch yourself. "Don't apologize. I've been⌠god, I've been awful. To you, to the faculty. You were right about me coasting on talent. You were right about a lot of things.""
You don't know who moves first.
Maybe it's simultaneous, gravity and inevitability pulling you together. But suddenly there's no space between you at all, and you can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes.
"This is a bad idea," he says, but he doesn't move away.
"Terrible idea," you agree, and then his mouth is on yours.
It's not gentle. There's too much pent-up frustration, too many weeks of tension for it to be anything but desperate and consuming. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, and you grab fistfuls of his sweater. When he breaks away, you're both breathing hard.
"We can'tâ" he starts, but you cut him off.
"Your door is locked."
"That is not the point."
"Then what's the point?" You're using his words from earlier, and from the way his eyes darken, he knows it.
"You're my student."
"I'm a graduate student. An adult." Your hands slide up his chest. "And you're not my professor or my advisor. You're an administrator who's been making my life hell for six weeks."
"Making your life hell," he repeats, and there's something dangerous in his voice now. "Is that what I've been doing?"
"Yes..."
His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "You've been making mine hell too. Do you have any idea how hard it's been, sitting across from you every Monday, watching you perform this perfect student act when all I can think about isâ"
He stops himself, but you see the want in his eyes, the same want that's been eating you alive.
"Say it," you challenge.
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, harder this time, backing you up until your legs hit his desk. His hands span your waist, lifting you onto it with an ease that makes something hot coil in your stomach.
"You've been driving me crazy," he says against your mouth. "Every argument, every time you pushed back, every time you looked at me like you wanted to either kill me orâ"
"Or what?"
His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. "Or this."
You should stop this, you should think about the consequences, the professional boundaries, the fact that you're literally on academic probation. But when his fingers trace a way through your inner thigh, all rational thought evaporates.
"James," you breathe, using his first name for the first time.
"Bucky," he corrects, and the intimacy of it makes your heart stutter. "Call me Bucky."
"Bucky," you try out, and he makes a sound low in his throat that goes straight through you.
His fingers move higher, teasing, and when he brushes against your underwear, his eyes go wide. "Fuck, you're soaked."
The embarrassment is immediate and scorching, but before you can form a defense, he's kissing your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point.
"All those arguments," he murmurs against your skin. "All that fighting⌠and this whole time?" His fingers press more firmly, and you gasp. "Oh, sweetheart, who would've thought being such a brat make you this wet?"
"I'm notâ" you start, but he slides your underwear to the side and touches properly, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a moan.
"Not what? Not a brat?" His thumb finds your clit and he circles it. "That's all you've been, baby. Running that smart mouth, pushing every button, getting yourself all worked up." He slides one finger inside you, and your head falls back. "Getting me all worked up, is this what you wanted? Every time you argued with me?"
"No," you lie, but your body betrays you, your hips roll against his hand.
"No?" He adds another finger, and the stretch makes you whimper. "Because you're gripping my fingers like you've been thinking about this. Like maybe every Monday morning, you sat in that chair and wondered what it would take to make me snap."
"You're so arrogant," you manage, but it comes out breathy and weak.
He laughs, dark and low. "Says the woman who's about to come all over my desk during her probation meeting."
The worlds should be humiliating, instead, they make everything tighter, hotter. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes your vision blur.
"That's it," he encourages, his other hand coming up to wrap loosely around your throat. "Let go, stop performing for once and just feel."
You come while his fingers are still working inside you, he kisses you through it, swallowing your moans. When you finally come down, you find him looking at you with something that might be awe.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers slowly.
You watch dazed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. The sight makes you clench around nothing.
"We're not done," you tell him, reaching for his belt.
His hand catches your wrist. "Are you sure?"
"Dean, if you don't fuck me on this desk right now, I swear to godâ"
He kisses you hard. "There she is, there's my stubborn girl."
He makes quick work of his belt, and when he frees himself, you can't help but stare. He's bigâbigger than you expectedâ and the intimidation must show on your face because his expressions softens slightly.
"We don't have toâ"
"I want to," you cut him off. "I want you."
Something in his expression changes, and then he's pulling you to the edge of the desk, lining himself up. "Last chance to be sensible," he offers, but he's already pushing forward, just the tip.
"When have I ever been sensible?"
He laughs, breathless and pushes in slowly. The stretch is intense, almost too much, and you grab his shoulders for leverage.
"Breathe," he instructs, stilling. "Just breathe, baby."
You do, and he slides in further, inch by inch, until he's fully seated inside you. For a moment, neither of you moves, just adjusting to the overwhelming intimacy of it.
"Okay?" He asks, and the gentleness in his voice nearly undoes you.
"More than okay," you roll your hips experimentally, and his grip on your waist tightens.
He groans, and then he's moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, settling a rhythm that's deep and deliberate. Each thrust hits something inside you and you can't keep quiet.
"That's it," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cover your mouth. "As much as I love hearing you, we need to be quiet, can you do that for me?"
You nod against his palm, and he rewards you by picking up the pace. The desk rattles with each thrust, papers scattering to the floor, but neither of you care.
"All semester," he says. "I've been trying to figure out how to handle you⌠turns out what you needed was this needed someone to put you in place."
You bite is palm in retaliation, and he actually laughs.
"Still got that mouth on you, even now" He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss. "Turn around"
You obey without thinking, and he bends you over is desk, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other hiking your skirt up around your waist.
"Much better," he says, running his hand over the curve of your ass. " Now I don't have to watch you try to be defiant while I'm fucking you senseless."
He pushes back in with one smooth thrust, and the new angle makes you cry out into your folded arms. It's overwhelmingâthe fullness, the angle, the sound of skin against skin, his words washing over you. You're helpless to do anything but hold on as he drives into you again and again.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "Make yourself come on my cock."
One of your hand slides between your legs, finding your clit and the additional stimulation makes everything tighten impossibly.
"That's my good girl," he praises, and his words combined with his relentless pace push you over the edge. You come hard, muffling your cries in your arms, and he follows moments later with a choked groan, spilling inside you.
For a moment, there's only the sound of harsh breathing. Then slowly, he pulls out and helps you stand, stepping back like you've burned him.
"Fuck," he says, running his hands through his disheveled hair. "Fuck."
You slide off the desk on shaky legs, pulling your skirt down. Your heart is still racing, but the way he's avoiding to look at you, makes dread pool in your stomach.
"Buckyâ"
"This can't happen," he says, finally meeting your eyes. And god, the regret in his gaze nearly breaks you. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but thisâ we can't."
"I know it's complicated, butâ"
"It's not complicated, it's wrong." He's already tucking his shirt back in, rebuilding is armor. "You're my student, I put you on academic probation, I have direct oversight of your academic career⌠this is exactly the kind of ethics violation that ends careers."
"Then we'll figure it out," you say, hating how desperate you sound. "We can't disclose it, orâ"
"No." The word is final. "Your probation is over, effective immediately. You've met all the requirements, but that'sâ that's all this can be."
You feel like you've been slapped. "All this can be? Are you serious right now?"
He won't look at you. "I need you to leave."
"Buckyâ"
"Dean Barnes," he corrects and the formality is cruel. "Please, just go."
You grab your bag with shaking hands, blinking back the tears burning your eyes. "Right, okay. Got it."
"Wait," his voice stops you at the door. When you turn, there's something in his expression you can't quite name, but he just says, "This stays between us, no one can know."
"Don't worry," you say, voice brittle. "I'm very good at keeping secrets for men who regret me."
You don't wait for his response.
Six weeks later
The remaining weeks of the semester are torture.
You see Bucky exactly three times: once across the quad (he changed direction), once at a departmental meeting (he didn't make eye contact), and once in the administrative building when you had to drop off paperwork (he disappeared into his office before you reached the desk).
The message is clear, whatever happened in his office was a mistake he wants to forget, and you're a problem he's solved by simply avoiding.
Fine. You can take a hint.
You throw yourself into finals, spending sixteen-hour days in the library. Your research proposal gets accepted for publication, Dr. Morrison nominates you for a prestigious summer fellowship. You're thriving academically.
But you're also miserable.
You finish your last exam on a Tuesday afternoon, exhausted and emotionally drained.
One more paper to submit tomorrow and you'll be done and free for the summer. Free to leave the campus and not think about Bucky Barnes and his blue eyes and the way he'd made you feel before calling it all a mistake.
Dr. Morrison finds you packing up your carrel in the library.
"Heading out for the summer?"
"Yeah, got that fellowship in Boston. I'll be leaving next week."
"Boston's far."
Something in his tone makes you look up. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no. I'm happy for you, just⌠you're gonna be missed, that's all."
You're too tired to reply or try to deepen in his words, so you just nod and go back to packing.
You submit your final paper at 3 PM. It's done. The semester from hell is officially over.
You're heading to your car, already mentally planning your escape from this campus and all its memories, when you see him.
Dean Barnes, leaning against your car in the parking lot, and he's holding flowers. Peonies, specifically, though you can't remember ever telling him that. He straightens when he sees you, and even from a distance, you can see how nervous he is.
"What are you doing here?" You ask, stopping a few feet away.
"Waiting for you," he holds out the flowers. "These are for you."
You don't take them. "Mr. Barnes, whatâ"
"The semester's over," he says quickly. "Grades were submitted this morning, you're no longer under my administrative oversightâI transferred that six weeks ago to Dean Bell, which means I can finally tell you what I should have said that day in my office."
Your heart is pounding hard against your chest. "Which is?"
"That calling it a mistake was the real mistake, that I've spent six weeks working behind the scenes to remove every professional barrier between us because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That I'm sorry I hurt you, sorry I made you think I regretted you, when the truth isâ" He takes a breath. "The truth is I've been falling for you since the day you walked into my office late and challenged everything I thought I knew about myself."
You can't breathe. "Six weeks? You've been planning this for six weeks?"
"I couldn't approach you before, it wouldn't have been ethical. But I've been getting my ducks in a rowâtransferring oversight, drafting new policies, making sure that when I did this, I could do it right." He steps closer, still holding the peonies. "I know I have no right to ask,but I'm asking anyway. Can we start over? For real this time?"
"I don't know⌠you kind of broke my heart," you whisper.
"I know, and if you tell me to leave right now, I'll accept that I fucked this up beyond repair." His voice drops. "But if there's any chance you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, I'm asking for one more shot. To do this properly, take you on actual dates and tell everyone who'll listen that you're the most brilliant woman I've ever met and stop hiding how I feel about you."
You look at him. The dark circles under his eyes suggest he's slept as poorly as you have. The flowers in his hands are perfect, your favorite, a detail you don't even remember telling him. And the vulnerability in his eyes is so raw it makes your chest ache.
"You got me peonies," you say finally.
"I asked Dr. Morrison," he admits and manages a small smile. "He said you mentioned once they reminded you of your grandmother."
"You were doing research about my favorite flower?"
"I was doing research on everything about you." He takes another step closer. "And taking notes, paying attention to your coffee order, the way you tap your pen when you're thinking, which professor makes you roll your eyes, how you light up about your research. I've been memorizing you for months and trying to pretend it wasn't."
Tears prick your eyes. "I thought you regretted me."
"Never, not a single second." He finally closes the distance, his free hand coming up to cup your face. "I regretted how it happened, I regretted that I couldn't do it right the first time, but you? Never you."
"This is insane," you say, but you're leaning into his touch.
"Completely." His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "Is that a no?"
You take the flowers from his hand, bringing them to your nose. "Take me to dinner, somewhere nice."
The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But Bucky? If you ever shut me out like that againâ"
"I won't, I swear to god I won't." He pulls you closer. "From now on, complete honesty."
"Good," you fist your hand in his shirt. "Now kiss me, we've wasted six weeks already."
He does, and it's different from your first kiss. This time is soft and sweet. When you break apart, you're both smiling. "So, there's this Italian place downtown. How does 7PM sound?"
"Like you've been planning this."
"For six weeks," he admits. "I have the whole evening mapped out. Dinner, then a walk by the river, then maybe coffee if you're not sick of me yet."
"You made an itinerary for our first date?"
"I'm a planner, you know this about me."
You laugh, and it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're brilliant and infuriating and I'm gone for you." He kisses you again. "So, 7PM?"
"Pick me up at 6:45, and Bucky?" You smile against his mouth. "Wear the henley, the blue one."
"The one you kept staring at during meetings?"
"I was not staringâ"
"You absolutely were,but don't worry." His grin turns wicked. "I was staring too, those skirts you wear should be illegal."
"Dean Barnes," you mock-gasp. "How inappropriate."
"I'm not your dean anymore," he reminds you. "Which means I can finally tell you that you've been driving me crazy since day one."
"Good," you say and kiss him again.
The date was perfect, because of course it wasâBucky had spent six weeks planning it.
The Italian restaurant was intimate and elegant, the kind of place with cloth napkins and wine lists that didn't make you feel judged. Over pasta and wine, he laid out everything he'd done in those six weeks: the ethics board meetings, transferring your academic oversight to Dean Bell, consulting lawyers, drafting new university policies.
The food was incredible, but you barely tasted it. You were too focused on himâhow he listened, how he remembered details from months ago, how this felt like your old arguments but without the anger. All that intensity, channeled into something that made your skin warm.
After dinner, he took you on the promised walk along the river. The sunset painted everything golden, his hand warm in yours, and for a few minutes neither of you spoke.
"Boston," he said finally.
Your stomach dropped. "You heard about that?"
"Dr. Morrison mentioned it, the MIT fellowship." He stopped walking, turning to face you. "You're going to go, you're going to take that fellowship and be brilliant, and I'm going to be incredibly proud of you."
"But?"
"But nothing, that's it." He squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to ask you to stay, you've worked too hard for this opportunity."
"It's three months," you said quietly. "I leave next week."
"I know."
"And you're okay with that? We just got our shit together and now I'm leaving for the entire summer?"
"Am I okay with it? No." His laugh was hollow. "I hate it, actually. But that's my problem to deal with, not yours."
You searched his face for resentment, pressure, anything that would make this complicated, but you only found sincerity.
"You're serious."
"Completely." He cupped your face. "I waited six weeks to do this right, I can wait three months to keep doing it right. Boston's only four hours away, I can visit you on weekends, you can come back when you have breaks⌠we'll figure it out."
"You'd drive four hours to see me?"
"Sweetheart, I'd drive a lot further than that." He kissed you softly. "Besides, by August I'll have planned approximately twelve more perfect dates."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're brilliant and leaving for an incredible opportunity, and I'm not going to be the guy who makes you feel guilty about it." His voice turned fierce. "I fucked up once by pushing you away, I'm not going to fuck up again by holding you back."
You kissed him then, there on the river walk with the sunset painting everything golden. This one was different than the others, it felt like a promise.
"Three months," you whispered against his lips.
"Three months, and then you come back to me."
"What if MIT tries to recruit me for their PhD program?"
"Then I guess I'm moving to Boston."
"You'd leave your job?"
"For you? In a heartbeat."
You walked for another hour, drinking a coffee he bought from the a street place, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his time in the military, the injury that led to his discharge, the way the academia had saved him. You told him about your family, the pressure to be perfect, the fear that you were all potential and no follow-through.
"You know what I thought when you walked into my office that first day?" he asked as you circled back toward the parking lot.
"That I was a nightmare?"
"That you were magnificent," his smile was soft. "Completely infuriating and magnificent, twenty minutes late, coffee in hand, looking at me like I was the inconvenience. I knew right then you were going to be trouble."
"Good trouble?"
"The best kind." He opened your car door again. "Can I take you home? Or is it too presumptuous to assume the date should end?"
Your heart kicked. "Take me home⌠but Bucky?"
"Yeah?"
"You're coming upstairs."
The drive back to your apartment was charged with a different kind of tension. His hand found your thigh, resting there casually, and you couldn't stop thinking about his office, his desk, the way he'd called you his good girl.
"You're thinking very loudly," he observed.
"I'm thinking about your desk. Specifically, how you bent me over it."
He cursed under his breath. "You're going to kill me."
"Promises, promises."
He pulled into a spot near your building with slightly more speed than necessary. When you reached for your door handle, his hand shot out to stop you.
"Wait."
"For what?"
"I need a second." He was gripping the steering wheel with his other hand, knuckles white. "You can't just say things like that and expect me to function normally."
"Who said anything about normal?" You leaned across the console, lips brushing his ear. "I've been very well-behaved all night, Dean Barnes. Don't you think I deserve a reward?"
The sound he made was almost a growl. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Doing what?"
"Being a brat."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." You bit his earlobe gently. "I'm being perfectly sweet."
You didn't make it past the entryway.
As soon as the door closed behind you, Bucky had you pressed against it, his mouth on yours with six weeks of pent-up hunger. Your hands went to his hair, his found your waist, and for a moment, there was just kissing and breathing and the relief of finally being able to touch him.
"Where's your bedroom?" he managed between kisses.
"End of the hall."
He lifted you easily and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you down the hallway. You were kissing his neck, probably leaving marks, definitely not caring.
Your bedroom was a mess of final papers and half-packed boxes for Boston, but Bucky didn't seem to notice. He set you down by the bed, hands going to the zipper of your dress.
"Can I?" he asked, and the courtesy of it made your heart clench.
"Yes, please, yes."
He unzipped you slowly, pushing the dress off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet. His eyes went dark as he took you inâmatching navy lingerie that you'd definitely chosen with this possibility in mind.
"You wore this for me," he said, not a question.
"Maybe I just like matching sets."
"Liar," his hands skimmed up your sides. "You wore this hoping I'd get to see it."
"Presumptuousâ"
He kissed you hard, cutting off the word. "Stop being difficult."
"Make me."
Something shifted in his expression. "Careful what you wish for, sweetheart."
"I'm not scared of you."
"No," he agreed, backing you toward the bed. "You never have been, that's the problem."
"Problem?"
"Yes," he confirmed, and suddenly you were on your back and he was over you, fully clothed while you were nearly naked. "You walk around with that smart mouth, challenging everything, pushing every buttonâ"
"You love it."
"I do," he admitted, lips brushing your collarbone. "Drives me absolutely insane, but I love it."
His mouth traveled lower, between your breasts, across your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your underwear, he paused.
"These are pretty," he observed. "Would be a shame to ruin them."
"Then don'tâ"
The sound of fabric tearing cut you off. You gasped as he literally ripped your underwear off and tossed the ruined lace aside.
"Bucky!"
"I'll buy you new ones." He was already moving lower, spreading your thighs, then his mouth was on you and coherent thought became impossible.
He took his time, building you up with long, slow strokes of his tongue, pulling back whenever you got close. It was methodical, deliberate, designed to drive you crazy.
"Stop teasing," you demanded, rolling your hips against his face.
He pulled back, and the sight of him between your thighs, lips wet, eyes dark with want, almost finished you off right there.
"What was that?" he asked, voice dangerous and smooth. "Did you just give me an order?"
"Iâno, I justâ"
"Because it sounded like you were being bratty again." His thumb pressed against your clit, circling too lightly. "And we both know what happens to brats."
"Bucky, pleaseâ"
"Please what?" He slid one finger inside you, and you clenched around it. "Use your words, you're usually so good with that mouth."
"Please make me come," you gasped out.
"Better," he added a second finger. "But I don't know if you've earned it yet. You've been so difficult all night. Testing me, pushing boundariesâŚ"
"I'm sorry," you tried, but it came out too breathless to be sincere.
"No, you're not." He curled his fingers, finding that spot that made you see stars. "You love making me work for it, love seeing how far you can push before I snap."
It was true, god help you, it was true.
"So here's what's going to happen," he continued. "You're going to come on my fingers like a good girl, and you're going to get on your knees and show me how sorry you are for being such a brat. Think you can do that?"
You nodded frantically.
"Words."
"Yes, yes I canâ"
"Good girl."
He worked you with his fingers, fast and relentless, while his other hand held your hip down to stop you from bucking up. The praise combined with the rough handling pushed you over the edge embarrassingly fast, and you came with his name on your lips.
Before you'd fully recovered, he was pulling his fingers out and standing up, working his belt buckle.
"On your knees," he instructed. "Now."
You scrambled to obey, still shaky from your orgasm, and knelt in front of him. He freed himself from his jeans, and your mouth watered at the sight.
"Open," he commanded, and you did.
He pushed into your mouth slowly, giving you time to adjust, but his hand tangled in your hair with clear intent. This wasn't going to be gentle.
"That's it," he praised as you took him deeper. "Such a good girl when you want to be, why can't you be this obedient all the time?"
You hummed around him in response, and his grip in your hair tightened.
"Don't get mouthy now," he warned, but there was amusement in his voice. "Just take it."
He set a rhythm, not quite rough but definitely demanding, and you focused on breathing through your nose and relaxing your throat. When you looked up at him through your lashesâa move that was absolutely calculatedâ he groaned.
"Fuck, look at you. So pretty with your mouth full." His thumb traced your stretched lips. "Been thinking about this since that day in my office, wanted to bend you over my desk and then have you on your knees, show you what happens to bratty girls who talk back."
The degradation should have been humiliating, instead, it made you moan around him and his hips stuttered.
"You like that, don't you? Like being called out for being difficult." He pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping. "On the bed, hands and knees."
You moved quickly, assuming the position, hyper aware of how exposed you were. You heard him stripping off his clothes, the rustle of a condom wrapperâwhen had he gotten that?âand then he was behind you, hands running over your ass appreciatively.
"Look at you, so eager now." One finger traced through your wetness. "After all that attitude, all that pushing back, this is what you wanted all along, isn't it? Someone to put you in your place."
"Yes, sir," you said, past the point of pride.
"Sir?" he repeated, his voice rough with arousal. "That's new."
"Sorry, I didn't meanâ"
"Don't apologize," he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he was fully seated. You dropped your head to the pillow, overwhelmed by the fullness.
"You okay?" he asked, the care cutting through the scene.
"So okay."
"Good girl," he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making you cry out. "Because I'm not going to be gentle. You've been asking for this all night, and I'm going to give you exactly what you've been begging for.
He set a punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, the sound of skin against skin obscene in the quiet apartment. One hand stayed on your hips, controlling the rhythm, while the other reached around to find your clit.
"You're going to come again," he told you, circling that bundle of nerves with practiced precision. "Going to come all over my cock while I fuck this attitude out of you."
"Can't," you gasped, even as you felt yourself building toward another orgasm.
"Yes, you can." His voice was firm. "Come for me. Now."
His relentless pace combined with his fingers on your clit pushed you over, and you came with a muffled scream into the pillow. He followed moments later, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.
You stayed like that for a long moment. Then slowly, carefully, he pulled out and disposed of the condom before collapsing beside you on the bed. You lay there in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder, your leg thrown over his. This was new tooâthe aftercare, the intimacy beyond the physical. With Bucky, everything came with attention and care.
"I'm going to miss you," he said quietly. "These three months."
"I'm going to miss you too." You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "But we'll figure it out. Weekends, video calls, way too many textsâŚ"
"I'm going to text you constantly. Fair warning."
"Good, I expect detailed reports on campus gossip."
"I'll send you care packages. What do grad students need? Coffee? Stress balls?"
"Your worn t-shirts," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "If we're being honest."
His expression softened impossibly. "You want my shirts?"
"Shut up, it's not weird."
"It's not weird, it's adorable." He kissed you softly. "I'll pack you a whole suitcase of them, you can build a fort."
"Now you're making fun of me."
"Never," he pulled you back down against his chest. "I'm serious about this, you know. About us, I know it's fast and probably complicated, butâ"
"It's not that complicated," you interrupted. "We like each other, we're both adults, we're going to make it work."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." You kissed him. "Unless you're already having second thoughts?"
"Absolutely not." His arms tightened around you. "You're stuck with me now, even when you're being bratty."
I'm having some đś thoughts about Bob Reynolds while listening to Ariana Grande and I need y'all to know...
Can you imagine how feral and weak Bob would get if you gave him a blow job while 'Past Life' is playing in the background?
Your mouth is stuffed with his cock, eyes watering as you held eye contact with your sweet boy, all while he makes your hair into a makeshift ponytail, his eyes hooded and lips parted.
Always wondered what would happen if I let you lose me
Always wondered what would happen if I let myself need more
Might fuck around and elevate my expectations
Now I'm (I'm) fine (fine) to leave you in a past life
This man is losing is fucking mind while you deep throat him and he's a begging whimpering mess for you.
"Mmfuck... Baby, I'm...Fffuckk..."
He's dumb and incoherent now, just how you like him when you need him to fall apart for you. "Bob, eyes on me, baby." You whisper as you jerk his sensitive dick, sticking your tongue out so he can watch his load shoot into your mouth.
"Fuck! I'm cuming, I'm cuming... FUCK!" Bob jolts his hips up and unloads his hot cum into your mouth, face twisted in pleasure and all he can do is whimper your name over and over again while you jerk his sensitive cock and drain him of every drop.
He makes a pitiful sound when you swallow and he can't help but to wipe the tiny drop of cum that slid down your chin, rubbing it over your bottom lip as he catches his breath.
You thought you spend him good but are completely cut off guard when Bob picks up your phone and starts the song all over again as it finishes, hungry eyes meeting yours and determination in his gaze.
âŚBucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!âŚ
âŚsummary: 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 wrongâŚ
âŚwarnings/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 readerâŚ
âŚwc: 11.1kâŚ
âŚAuthor's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollenâŚ
It doesnât bother you. If you tell yourself enough, youâre really going to believe that it doesnât bother you.
But heâs everywhere.Â
There isnât a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and heâs there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks youâre going to bite him. In the gym heâs at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think heâs 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 heâs 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 itâs not just Buckyâs eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. Itâs that you like it.
That when youâre next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your bodyâs connect. Heâs warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts itâs like youâre being shot up with a drug.
âYouâre squirmy.â He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. âNo one ever teach you to sit still?â
You stick your tongue out. âNo one ever teach you to mind your own business?â
âHard to mind my business when youâre movinâ all the cushions, doll-â
âThen go sit somewhere else, robot man.â
Buckyâs jaw twitches. âIâm not a robot.â
âUh huh.â
âIâm not-â
âYou act like one.â You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like heâs fucking praying.
âI was here first.â He mutters. You donât balk.
âCongratulations.â
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.
âThereâs a chair over there.â You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. âGo sit in it, if Iâm so squirmy.â
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab heâs got for you, you donât want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movieâprobably another one of Samâs this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because thereâs no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himselfâand fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. Youâre going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesnât 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. Buckyâs fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like heâs thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
âEverything okay?â You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
Thatâs 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.
Youâll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, youâll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. Youâll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesnât get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. Itâs all he spares you. And youâre 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 didnât 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.
âYou skipped the mission briefing.â 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.
âI was busy.â
âToo busy for your job?â
âItâs not my job-â
âYour name was on the roster.â Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
âHave you been carrying that around all day?â
âThat doesnât matter-â
âYes, it really does-â
Bucky hisses your name. Thereâs a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesnât say anything.
âYou need to be there, Steve was talkinâ about safety shit, and if you donât know it you could get killed-â
âI know how mission briefing work, Iâve been here longer than you have-â
âReally? âCause you donât act like it-â
âI donât act like it?â You snort. âLast I checked Iâm ranked higher than you, Sargent.â You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. âWhich is why Iâm allowed to defer missions, and youâre not.â
âIâm skipping.â You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. âAnd if Iâm skipping, I donât need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.â
Buckyâs 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.
âWhyâre you skipping.â
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 isnât actually going to care about.
âI have a date.â
âA what.â Itâs not a full reaction. Heâs mostly staring at you like he didnât understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
âA date?â 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. Itâs incredibly annoying.
âYou know.â You push mockingly. âWhere you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.â
âRobots flirt.â Bucky grunts, and you snort.
âYeah, but they donât have sex-â
The counter cracks. Itâs loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like heâs just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
âWhatâs-â
âSteveâs callinâ me.â He mutters, and you blink.
âNo, heâs not-â
âHave fun.â Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. âOn your human date.â
Then heâs gone.
And youâre left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where heâd vanished through the door. You donât care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
Thereâs a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. Sheâd picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Buckyâbecause youâve never told her your secret, but you didnât need to, sheâs Natashaâbut it wasnât enough.
He didnât have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didnât spar. He didnât push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all nightâwrong smile, tooâand then didnât pay. Bucky wouldâve paid.
You have no evidence of that. Itâs just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when youâre at each otherâs throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And thereâs not a single point during the night, where youâre not thinking about him.
âWe should do this again.â The Dateâyouâve forgotten his name, and itâs certainly not a good time to askâsays at the end of the night.
Youâre shivering. Bucky wouldâve 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 heâs 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.
âSure.â You smile, because even with superstrength, itâs easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. âHave a good night.â
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 youâve 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. Itâs mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. Youâd skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasnât anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe heâd thought theyâd need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But theyâre back early.
And if someoneâs hurt, you couldâve stopped it. You couldâve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and thatâs incredibly annoying. Heâs going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and youâll have earned it which isnât going to help anything at all.Â
You get back to the compound, and itâs not in lockdown. There arenât med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that itâs already been cleared out. The jet isnât being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just⌠Finish early.
Youâre 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.
âYou need to go, Buck-â
âIâm fine-â
âNo, youâre not. You can lie to the docs, donât lie to me-â
âI ainât lyinâ, Iâm fine-â
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what theyâre saying. You barrel straight into Buckyâs back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hotâalthough itâs also thatâbut literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
Heâs flushed. Thereâs sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out theyâre almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
âHi.â You whisper.
His throat bobs. âYouâre back.â
âI- I got the alert.â You glance over to Steve, whoâs gone oddly pale. âDid the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasnât there, right-â
âYep!â Steve almost shouts, and you blink. âI mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?â Steve grabs Buckyâs shoulder. âWe were all good.â
Bucky doesnât look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
âLet go.â 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.
âI was gonna.â He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
âI know, but-â You get a weary look. Like Steve doesnât want you to hear their conversation. âI think- You know what I think-â
âSteve-â Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasnât looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
âIâm fine.â He says, low and under his breath. Youâre rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. âItâs- Iâm fine.â
Steveâs lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like heâs dragging himself away.
âHow was your date?â He grunts.
âBucky-â
âIâm just askinâ a question.â 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 itâs 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 heâd catch you, then fuck you until your canât even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
âBad.â You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. âHe sucked.â
And thatâs 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.
âWe have debriefing!â Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Buckyâs suit. âBye!â
Before you can even register it, Steveâs 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.
Buckyâs only been acting stranger. Youâd pretend it didnât bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and heâs somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while youâre going through the mission files.
âWhatâre you doinâ.â He grunts, and you sigh.
Youâre not surprised heâs there. Itâs the fifth time today that heâs snuck up on you.
âIâm going through the reports on the mission.â You drawl. âDonât you have better things to do than follow me around?â
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. Itâs hard to pretend that you canât feel his presence behind you. Thereâs heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent thatâs filling the room. Itâs making you a little dizzy. Itâs 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 youâd thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. Heâs wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and theyâre 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 youâre annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehowâjust barelyâfight it.
âWhy canât I access these files.â
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. Itâs hard to maintain your glare.
âBarnes-â
âYou werenât on the mission.â He mutters. âNot your files to see.â
You scowl. âI can access the files of every other mission I was on-â
âSteve should change that.â
God, you wish he wasnât so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
âI know something happened out there.â You hiss, sitting up a little taller. âYou canât hide it from me. Iâll figure it out.â
Bucky chuckles. Itâs a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
âSure, doll. Have fun with that.â
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 heâs going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and heâs gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but itâs barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesnât 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 heâs 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.Â
Heâs 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. Youâre too tired to fight him.
âCanât sleep?â You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
âYou want hot chocolate?â
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe itâs just that youâre really starting to worry, but you donât 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 heâs 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. Heâs still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you donât dare to push it.
Not when heâs looking at you like this. The way youâd always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
âIâm watching Star Wars.â You mumble. âYou wannaâŚâ
You trail off, and Buckyâs 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. Heâs breathing awfully shallow, but youâre a selfish coward that wants him close, so you donât mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesnât even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. Heâs 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 hasnât said a word. Youâre 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 donât move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than youâve ever seen. His fever isnât 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.
Itâs almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You donât know whatâs going on with him, but this canât be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. Thatâs 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 youâre free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You canât 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 canât think you wouldnât 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. Youâre not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. Itâs hard to hide your undying care for him, when heâs in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that heâs hurting. â
But it is Bucky.
And heâs never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and heâs right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like heâs trying to bite his own tongue off.
âHi.â You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. âYou- Youâre-â
âBucky, are you-â
ââM fine.â He says it mostly to himself again. Thereâs sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
Youâre not going to tell him, but youâre getting worried. This is the third morning in a row youâve found him here. The first night you asked if heâd slept there, and heâd scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you donât think heâs been sleeping at all.
âDo you need something?â You ask. You sound soft, but you canât help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. âI can call Steve-â
âDonât get Steve.â He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. Itâs the only way heâs been moving around you, lately. âIâm fine.â
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like youâve got a polarity field around you. Like he canât even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet heâs here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
âBucky-â
âDonât.â He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. âJust- Donât.â
You swallow, and donât give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks youâre going to catch him and drag him back. You wonât.
But you do go right to Steve.
âWhat happened on the mission.â
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. Youâre glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isnât going to work on you here. That doesnât seem to stop him from trying anyway.
âHey, um- Do you want a cookie-â
âSteven.â You hiss, and he swallows. âWhat happened.â
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. âIâm not supposed to tell you.ââ
âWhat do you mean youâre not supposed to tell me-â
âI mean I- I can.â He mutters. âBut then Bucky will kill me. And I donât want Bucky to kill me.â
You scowl. âTough shit, because guess whoâs going to kill you if you donât tell me?â
Steve sighs. âIs it you?â
âYep.â
He stares at his sandwich, like itâs somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it wonât. You have plenty of time.
âIâm really not supposed to tell you-â
âI really donât care.â
âWell- You will.â Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You donât have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. Heâs basically asking for it right now.
âSteven, I swear to fucking God-â
âI canât tell you.â He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
âNo, you just wonât tell me-â
âThatâs not- I canât, okay? Please stop asking me to-â
âWhy, because Bucky doesnât want you to?â You leer. âBecause last I checked, youâre the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates heâs in danger so they can help-â
âThatâs the problem!â Steve shouts, and you blink. âYou- Look, youâre going to want to help, and I canât let you.â
âYou canât let me help?â You echo, and Steve winces.
âI know how it sounds-â
âDo you? Because what Iâm fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you wonât let me fucking help-â
âWhy do you even want to help?â Steve fixes you with a pointed look. âAll you ever do is complain about Bucky and how heâs annoying you. I wouldâve thought you didnât care.â
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what heâs doing. Smug fucking asshole.Â
âThat wonât work on me.â You grunt, and he shrugs.
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
âSteve-â
âBut,â he says causally. âIf I did, Iâd say thatâs why I canât tell you. And you know that.â
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like youâre just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
âI- I donât-â You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. Itâs annoying. âItâs not- Iâm just- Please.â
Your voice cracks suddenly. Youâve been losing more sleep over this than youâre ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with itâlike the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick upâbut that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. Itâs making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
âBucky.â You say slowly. âIs- Heâs not okay. I know heâs not okay.â You force yourself to meet Steveâs gaze. âJust- Lie to me and say heâs fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I canât just-â
You donât even know how to finish the sentence. Thereâs a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. Youâre so worried. Worried this is something thatâs going to kill him, and youâre going to lose him forever.
And thereâs pity, in Steveâs gaze. Itâs enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
âAlright.â He murmurs. âBut- You canât tell him I told you.â
You nod quickly. âIâll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.â
Steve sighs. âOkay. Okay.â He shakes his head. âIt was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasnât 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 itâs the serum, or just⌠Bucky. But heâs been controlling it better.â Steve grimaces. âBut that doesnât mean heâs not still knocked up with stuff.â
You nod slowly. Thatâs not that bad.
But Steve didnât want you to know for a reason.
âWhat are the symptoms?â
Steve wonât meet your gaze. âFever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased⌠libido.â
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. âWhat.â
âHydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We donât know why they were developing it, but- Thereâs no other name.â Steveâs nose wrinkles. âThe agent- His cell is disgusting.â
âBut- Bucky-â
âI told you, he says heâs got it under control.â Steve shrugs, but doesnât really sound like heâs convinced himself. âThe agent has been, ah⌠begging for anyone. Bucky doesnât have the same liberty with what will help. He says itâs going to pass, and heâll be fine.â
âAnd will it?â You breathe. âPass?â
Steve shrugs. âIt did for the agent.â
âBefore or after the mating?â
Steveâs silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
âWhy wouldnât you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-â
âI know that!â Steve snaps. âI know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.â He shakes his head. âHe wonât take anyone. Heâll only- Well- You know.â
âI know? I donât fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-â
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
âWhat-â
âNothing. Just- Why do you think heâs been lingering around you?â
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
âSteve-â
âI didnât say anything-â
âYes, you did-â
âNope.â
You press your lips in a tight line. He canât mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. âBucky- He doesnât- Thatâs not how he feels about me.â
Please donât say it is. Itâs not fair if youâre lying.
âFunny.â Steve shrugs. âHe says the same thing about you.â
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasnât left his room in a day. Youâd spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didnât mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What youâd always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didnât matter how you turned or picked at Steveâs words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you canât 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 couldâve been actually kissing him. If Steveâs right, youâre 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, youâre going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesnât turn you downâŚ
You steel yourself and knock on Buckyâs door. Itâs worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
âFuck off, Stevie-â
âIâm not Steve!â You call, and for a second thereâs no response.Â
Then thereâs 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. Heâs 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 canât tell if itâs supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
âYou shouldnât be here-â
âSteve said you need me.â
You stare at each other. Buckyâs tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, youâll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. Youâve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and youâre sure youâll be able to fit right in over time, and if you donât at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because itâs been almost two full minutes and he hasnât said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
âSteve shouldnât have told you anything.â Bucky growls, and you swallow.
âI- I made him.â
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. âOf course you did.â
âI was worried about you-â
âYou donât have to be, doll. Iâm-â
âIf you say Iâm fine, Iâm going to fucking punch you.â
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
âYouâre sick.â You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
âMaybe. But itâs not the kinda sick you can help with-â
âSteve says itâs the kind of sick only I can help with.â
Heâs silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. Itâs a warning. A plea.
âDonât do this.â He mutters, fists balled at his side. âNot outta pity, not for me-â
âItâs not pity.â You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. âI want to help, Bucky. Let me help.â
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. âNo, you- You just- You donât feel like that for me-â
âYou donât feel like that for me.â You breathe, and Buckyâs body locks up.
âWho says?â
âYouâre an ass to me-â
âYouâre an ass to me.â
âI donât mean to be.â You whisper. âI- I donât- Iâm not good at⌠You know.â
Buckyâs throat bobs. He still doesnât move.
âMe neither.â
You nod. âButâŚâ
âYeah.â He swallows. âYeah. I do.â
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
âPlease ask me to help.â You donât bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. âI- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-â
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
Itâs not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. Itâs 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 heâs almost eating your kisses. Youâre standing nowhere near a wall, but heâs caged you all the same. Thereâs 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 itâs a little addictive. Even after youâre light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesnât 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.
âYou gotta be sure.â He murmurs against your skin. âTell me youâre sure, doll, âcause- I donât think I can go easy.â
And oh God, isnât 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 heâs asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. Heâs keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didnât know you could want him more.
âI- Oh-â Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. âIâm sure, Bucky, I- I donât want you to go easy.â
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.
âYou- You got no idea, do you?â
Your face falls to a pout. âI have a lot of ideas-â
âNo, you donât.â He drops his brow over yours. âYou got no fuckinâ clue, what you do to me.â
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. Youâre already on unsteady legs. You never thought heâd catch you if you fell, but with the way Buckyâs looking at you right now, you think heâd dive off a cliff to be at your side.
âBuckyâŚâ 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.
âYou smell so good.â He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. âTaste better than I imagined.â
âYou-â You almost whimper, when he pulls away. âYou imagined?â
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. Youâre already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesnât stop kissing you so softly.
âDidnât you?â
You nod, and Buckyâs lips twitch.
âBet I imagined more.â
And you doubt that, but Buckyâs kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that youâd never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug youâd never even taken.
Youâre certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than youâd let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way heâs holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like heâs trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
âGot no idea what Iâm gonna do to, either.â He rasps against your lips. âIf you let me, doll⌠You shouldnât- But-â He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. âFuck, I want you to.â
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. Heâd be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that youâve 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 youâre not sure if heâs going to believe them.
âTell me.â You whisper. âTell me what youâve dreamed about doing to me.â
Bucky pulls back, and you worry youâve stepped on an invisible landmine. That youâre going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room youâve 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 youâre 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.
âI wanted you just like this.â He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and youâre not even kissing anymore. âWanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetinâ and think about bending you over the table. Youâd get under me on the training mats and Iâd wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.â
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and itâs almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
âWould sit next to you on the plane and think about gettinâ on my knees.â He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. âWorshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makinâ you- Fuck- Call my name-â
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You donât think he can help it.
âWanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.â He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. âYouâd get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttinâ you over my knee or gettinâ you lying in my bed. Iâd- Iâd fuck you so nice, doll, I swear Iâd be good, but- Fuuuck-â
Heâs rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story heâs supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop himânever to stop himâbut 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. Heâs almost shaking. You think heâs trying not to fuck your hand.
You canât have that.
âItâs okay.â You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. âI- Iâve thought about it too.â
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
âWanted 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.â
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Buckyâs thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers donât even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
âWasnât as big.â You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. âYouâre so big, Bucky, I donât think itâs gonna fit.â
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. âGonna- Fuck-â
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. Heâs almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
âGonna make it fit.â He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
âHow?â
âOpen you up.â He mutters, words slurred like heâs drunk. âGet you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-â
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. Heâs working himself up.
âYou think this is funny?â He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. âA little. You wanna make me cum but you wonât even touch me.â
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.
âYou- Youâre a fuckinâ brat-â
âIâm helping you, Barnes.â You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. âHelpinâ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-â
Buckyâs 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.
Thereâs 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. Youâve 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 didnât already wear him out.
âYou okay?â You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever heâd 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 canât stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
Heâs bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and itâs barely been a minute, but heâs already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chestâall flushed skin and muscleâand realize he hasnât stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
âIt wonât fit.â You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Buckyâs smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. Youâve gotten exactly what you wanted.
âGonna make it fit.â He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You donât even slam into his chest before heâs lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. Itâs a distraction. You know that. You donât really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like youâre 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 youâre 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.
âSo soft.â He mutters. âAll that bite, doll, but I knew youâd be so fuckinâ soft for me.â
Youâd like to protest, and say that youâre not soft. But Buckyâs 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.
âYou like that?â He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. âYou like beinâ my sweet girl?â
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You donât know how heâs the one with a sound mind right now. Youâre not under a sex drug.
Youâre just under Bucky. Where itâs 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.
âSay it and I give you more.â He rasps. âSay you like it.â
And itâs a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But heâs 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.
âLook at you.â He mocks. âBegginâ for me and then canât even admit she likes it.â
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.
âYou like gettinâ tossed around, too?â He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. âIâll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.â
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
âAlready listen so well.â He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. âJust can admit you fuckinâ love it, do you? Canât be a good girl and tell the truth.â
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. Itâs 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.
âAlright, babydoll.â He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. âHave it your way.â
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like itâs paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before heâs 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 doesnât remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Buckyâs tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
âOh my-â Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. âOh my God-â
âSensitive fuckinâ pussy.â Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. âBarely even touching it. Wonder if I-â
 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 canât see him. Canât know if youâre 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.
âLook at you.â His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. âBet I donât even need to fuckinâ prep you. Youâre so wet, youâd justâŚâ
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.
âSweet.â Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. âSo fuckinâ sweet.â
âBu- Bucky-â
âShhh.â He kisses right over your pussy. âWanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckinâ-â He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. âGotta taste-â
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isnât human.
Heâs good at this. So good at this. Itâs a little unfair. Your mouth canât do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like heâs starved for it. Like heâs 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. Itâs 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. Youâre so wet itâs almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum heâd 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.
âThatâs right.â He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. âThatâs it, baby, youâre already lettinâ go, arenât you.â
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
âArenât you?â
âYe- Yes.â You mumble. ââS good, Bucky- So good-â
âI know.â He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. âFuck, baby, I know.â
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. Heâs lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
âI- Iâm gonna- Fuck- Bucky-â You scratch at the sheets. âIâm gonna- Oh God-â
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 doesnât stop. Youâre making a mess all over his face, and heâs rising up, but itâs just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesnât even come up for air.
âShit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-â
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure thatâs 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.
Heâs jerking off while he eats you out. Heâs 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. Heâs eating you out the same way heâs kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor thatâs almost animalistic. Youâre 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, heâs 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.
âSmells good.â He rasps. âGonna- Fuck-â
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. Thereâs always just more of it, until youâre so marked up with him youâre sure youâll never be able to wash it off.
You donât want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you donât think he does either.
âShit.â He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. âGotta- Flip for me, câmon-â
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasnât 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
âGood girl.â He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you mightâve failed.
âStrangling my fingers, doll.â He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. Youâre too wet and ready not to take something. Itâs really not fair to make you wait.
âI know.â He kisses your brow, voice rough. âTrust me, I fuckinâ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-â His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. âAll yours.â
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But youâre at an advantage.
Buckyâs hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like itâs an effort to speak. Heâs 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 thereâs no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and itâs not a loving kiss. Itâs 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.
âWanna be a brat.â He grunts. âGonna get fucked like a brat.â
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 doesnât waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. Youâre so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesnât mean your eyes donât 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. Heâd prepared you too well. Youâre more than ready within seconds.
âBu- Bucky-â You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. âMove.â
If heâd told you to wait, you wouldnât 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.
âThe- There-â You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. âFuck, baby, right there-â
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep youâre worried heâs 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.
Heâs not even fucking you like a brat. Heâs fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like youâre 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 youâre just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
âOh- Oooooh-â You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. âBuuuucky-â
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasnât slowed or relented, but thereâs a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
Thatâs what heâd said heâd 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.
âGood girl.â 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.
âYou fuckinâ like it, donât you-â
âLove it.â You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. âLove you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-â
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 youâre going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. Youâve 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 heâs not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Buckyâs ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before youâre 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.
Youâre dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. Youâre 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 hasnât just ruined you. Heâs pulled you apart a million times over, until youâre just a puddle that sings his name.
You donât even fully realize heâs 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 itâs slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but itâs lost the strained quality. Heâs fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
âSo soft.â 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.
âJesus, doll. Youâd think you were the one that got sex drugged.â
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
Theyâre blue again.
âYouâre back?â You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
âIâm back.â
 Youâre ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You donât 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. Youâd 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 youâre 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, heâs so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now youâre 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-
âLove you too.â He says against your lips. âJust- Uh- While weâre saying it.â
Oh.
Or that. Thatâs 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.
âYouâre stayinâ the night, right?â
You almost snort. Thereâs no getting rid of you now. Youâre going to stay forever, and as long as heâll allow after that.
âYeah. Iâm staying.â
âŚEnd note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.âŚ
âŚIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŚ
âŚBuy me a coffee!âď¸ (and get early access!)âŚ
BUNNY GONE WILD
the winter soldier x ditzy!reader [8.5k]
â ⢠SUMMARY: the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk.Â
â ⢠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 (đââď¸); 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 đĽ¸). hope you'll enjoy it!
âI can already smell the weed from here. Itâs only eleven, for fuckâs sake.â Sarah grimaces as she gets out of the driverâs seat of her Nissan Versa.Â
âItâs a college party, were you expecting tea and cookies?â Nicole sighs, bent over as she reties the straps of her shoes for the umpteenth time.Â
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.
âAt least this year Ethan and his minions put some effort into decorating. Do you remember last Halloween?â 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.
âJesus,â Sarah huffs exasperated, planting a hand on her hip. âStop fussing, you look good!âÂ
âJust a secâŚâ 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.Â
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.Â
That same night, Sarah caught her dear Super Mario kissing Princess Daisyâher cousinâin 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.
âOkay,â you tug the skirt down out of instinct, though the snug fabric barely moves against your thighs. âIâm ready!â
âFucking finally.â Nicole mumbles, lifting herself from the sidewalk with a groan.
âHeyââÂ
Sarahâs 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 strangerâs face is hidden behind a black mask, yet you are instantly fascinated.
âOh, hi!â 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. Thereâs a faint furrow between his brows that makes it impossible to tell whether heâs 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 canât look away. You donât want to.
âHoney, let the gentleman go, câmon.â 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.
âNice costume, man. Looks expensive.â 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.Â
He canât 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 werenât 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.Â
No witnesses.
The target is a former HYDRA scientist whoâd escaped over a decade ago. Heâd 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 heâd been too uncertain.
He can almost feel the scars across his back throb faintly at the memoryâa 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 canât proceed with the mission.
HYDRA hasnât contacted him with further instructions either, which means heâs 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, itâs 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 donât even know the lyrics to. Personally, youâd rather dance to early 2000s hitsâpreferably 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 wrinkleâall 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.
âI hate college.â She gags dramatically, scowling as they loudly dare each other to shotgun whatever neon-colored concoction the host is pouring into their plastic cups. Â
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, sheâd 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 itâs worth risking the kitchenâwhere thereâs at least a seventy percent chance of walking in on some couple making outâfor drinks, or staying in the living room to dance instead.
Adjusting your bunny ears with a small smile, you vote for alcohol.
âHey, Nic!â
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.
âHey, girls. Nice costumes.â He grins, wiggling his fingers at you and Sarah in greeting. She gives him a flat nod in return.
âHi, Jacob! You too!â You smile politely, before leaning closer to your friend. âIs that a... basketball uniform?â You mumble into her ear.
âOf course.â She raises both eyebrows, pressing her lips together as she fights a chuckle at the sight of your college teamâs uniform.
Jacob isnât a bad guy. Just a little painfully self-absorbed. And maybe slightly too obsessed with basketballâto 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.
Sheâd tried letting him down gently afterward, but he insisted on staying friends. Now he trails after her like an overgrown golden retriever.
âWhich player did he dress up as?â You ask quietly.
Sarahâs 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.
âI need a teammate for beer pong,â 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. âI donât know. Maybe later? Iâm with my friends right now.â
âDonât worry about us, Nic.â You interrupt immediately, grabbing Sarahâs arm before she can object. âWeâre getting drinks, then weâll come find you, right?â
Sarah smirks at Jacobâs instantly hopeful expression and nods once.
âSee?â He spreads his arms dramatically. âCâmon, weâre gonna crush them. Donât you remember? Youâve got a winning streak to defend.â
Nicole laughsâa sharp, bright sound that somehow cuts through the pounding music.
âOkay, fine.â 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 sheâs entering a stadium instead of a living room.
Sarah shakes her head before nudging you toward the kitchen. âCâmon, Lola Bunny. Letâs get a drink.â
If his handlers found out about this, he isnât sure he would get away with something as mild as hair pulling and a few lashes on his back.
âCool outfit, dude!â
A guy dressed up as a bananaâonly his face visible through the costumeâshouts after him. The Soldier glances at him briefly, expression unreadable, before continuing to run a silent scan of the room, re-evaluating the nightâs 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.
âShit, man. Thatâs a nice costume you got there.â Someone slurs behind him. âLooks like real metalââ Before the hand can even reach his wrist, instincts detonate and his fingers clutch the guyâs forearm.
Hard.
âOw ow owâsorry sorry! YâYouâre crushing my bones, dude!â
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.
Nicoleâs yellow and navy-blue plaid jacket is neatly draped across Sarahâs arm as she rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, a cocky grin spreading across her face.Â
âWatch and learn, losers.â 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 teamâs 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.Â
You dart forward to hug her again, while Sarah claps behind you, still laughing.Â
âGod, you were amazing. That was a really Tour de France!â 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.
âThank you, bunny.â
âAlso, Jacob is still very much smitten with you.â Your eyebrows wriggle up and down and Nicole is already sighing half-amused, lips parting to say something, but Sarahâs voice cuts through the moment, sharp.
âAre you fucking kidding me?â
Her expression tightens, focus snapping in place as she leans closer to you and Nicole, lowering her voice.
âTactical guy is here.â
âWho?â
âThe weird guy you bumped into outside. Black gear and blue eyes. Tactical guy.â She explains as if her choice of the nickname should be obvious.
Heâs easy to spot because he doesnât belong hereânot 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 doesnât even spare a mere glance to anyone who isnât 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.Â
She doesnât know heâs busy admiring a much better view that is making his pants tighter and tighter the more he studies it.
âHoly shit,â Nicole gasps. âHeâs staring at you.â
Your stomach does a weird flip at her confirmation. At least you arenât imagining it.Â
âYeah, and itâs creepy as hell. He hasnât blinked once in the past five minutes.â Sarah frowns, goosebumps running up and down her arms. Nicole just smirks, eyes flicking between him and your parted lips.Â
âGo talk to him!â
âWhat? No way!â Sarah retorts, her head snapping towards the other. âHe looks like he eats people like her for breakfast.â
âDuh, thatâs exactly her type!â Nicole chuckles, nudging you forward as she gently takes the cup of vodka from your hand. âCâmon, put on that pretty smile of yours and heâll be asking you to go upstairs before the next song starts.â
Across the room, his steady gaze still hasnât moved.
Sarah grabs your right arm again. âSeriously, somethingâs off about him.â
âBoring!â Nicole says in a singsong voice, rolling her eyes to the sky. âWeâre literally right here if anything happens.â She touches your left elbow, subtly pushing you forward.
If this were a cartoon, theyâd be the angel and devil arguing over your shoulders.
You grin as usual, even if your heart is pounding so fast you are sure itâs 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.Â
âHey.â You smile, shouting over the music. âYou look kinda lonely. Itâs okay if you donât know anyone, first parties are totally the worst. At my first college party, I ended up throwing up on my crushâs shoes after kissing him.â He doesnât answer, but a deep line forms between his eyebrows.
âYouâre very quiet, but thatâs fine. My friend Sarah says I talk enough for two people. Or a whole group, depends on how much caffeine Iâve had.â You shrug.
Still nothing.Â
âSo, um⌠whatâs your name?â 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.
âYouâre the silent type, hm?â You muse, your amused chuckle soft. âThatâs okay. Youâre like those spy movie protagonists who never smile until the very end, and then make everyone swoon the second they do.â
He blinks once. Slowly. Maybe a little confused?
âAnyway,â your manicured fingers adjust your bunny headband as you introduce yourself. âI donât know if you remember but I actually ran into you earlier outside. Sorry again about that. Iâm a little clumsy.â You clear your throat, taking a step forward.
âYou really are a good listener, by the way!â You sigh dreamily. âMost guys just check their phones halfway through our conversation.â
âSo,â You lean closer, slightly standing on the tip of your toes. âDo you want to dance? You look like you need to loosen up a little.â Your eyes immediately fall down to his torso, following the sculpted muscles hidden under those heavy clothes. Itâs honestly a miracle slick doesnât 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.Â
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 didnât. But you couldnât 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 heâs trying to determine whether ignoring you would make this conversation end faster. The problem is, he isnât 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 doesnât want to leave you.
But then you slip your hand into his left one, and his body stiffens.
âWow, your hands are freezing!â You mention casually, squeezing his palm once. Itâs indeed cold and weirdly smooth. Before his brain can fully process the alarming ease with which youâve 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 studentsâhim silent and tense behind you, you practically glowing with excitement.
Yet, he doesnât dare to stop you.Â
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 Soldierâs breath hitch, but you donât give up, and lead him right into the middle of it.Â
âOkay!â You yell over the musicâfar too closeâand raise a finger. âRule number one: just move! Donât think too much about it or youâll get self-conscious. Iâm talking from experience.â Then raise a second one. âRule number two: have fun!â
He just stands thereâstiff as a marble statueâblue eyes darting back and forth, as if he canât decide whether to scan the crowd like heâs on guard duty or watch the angel swaying her sinful hips right in front of him.
âSee? Itâs easy! Just let the music guide you.â
You smile anyway at his lack of response, peering up at him through your eyelashes. âYou know, you look so cool. Youâve got this very brooding bodyguard vibe going on, like Iâm some rich, dangerous manâs daughter and youâre protecting me from his enemies trying to harm me.â
Another confused blink.Â
âMaybe I read too many fanfics.â 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.
âShit.â She mutters, tiredly dragging a hand down her face.
âI like your company. You donât talk much, but thatâs okay. Also, youâre kind of scaryâbut like, in a cute way.â You chuckle, twirling once and nearly bumping into him again.
Thatâs 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 itâs allowed to respond at all. But itâs enough to make you smile satisfied.
The heavy bass pulses hard through your bones, and for a moment, itâs easy to forget he isnât 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 heâs fighting the urge to touch you.
You tilt your head up at him, eyelashes lowered just enough to make it feel deliberate. âAre you having fun, big guy?â
You donât expect an answer, obviously, but the way his gaze sharpens, intensely following the movement of your lips, is enough for you. Itâs not unsettling. On the contrary, it feels⌠focused. And you already love being the centre of his undivided attention.Â
The music slows into a deeper beat, couples around you melting closer together, so you get bolder. Initially itâs 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.
âYou are so beautiful.â He murmurs against your neck, almost too quiet to hear. As a matter of fact, you donât catch that, the words being swallowed by the loud song and the thick mask.
âNot so bad, right?â 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.
âOh!â 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 heâs taking you somewhere outside.
âOh my Gosh!â You giggle, feeling the urge to kick your legs like a teenage girl gushing about her crush.Â
Heâs taking you to the woods. This is really happening!
Inside, Nicole freezes mid-sip. âWhat theâis he taking her away?â
âI told you! Fuck, Nicole! I told you!â 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.Â
âDonât wait up!â Nicole bursts out laughing, astonished.
âHoly shit, look at her, sheâs loving it!â
Sarah groans in response, pressing a hand to her forehead, her chest heaving with quick, short breaths. âSheâs giggling. Sheâs actually giggling. Why is she giggling?â
Nicole simply shrugs. âIf a quiet, huge masked man with those gorgeous eyes picked me up like that to fuck me in the woods, Iâd giggle too.â
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.
âWell, you heard her, donât need to wait up.â She claps once, skipping down the front steps.
âWhere the fuck are you going? Of course weâre gonna wait for her to come back.â Nicole stops at the bottom of the stoop, throwing Sarah a deadpan look.
âYou really think sheâs coming back here? They will probably go at it like bunniesâpun not intendedâall night, and then heâs going to take her home tomorrow morning.â She climbs two steps, grasping her friendâs wrist. âLike any adult having fun on Halloween.â She tugs at it, until Sarah reluctantly complies, hesitatingly following her to the Nissan.
âI donât know, Nic. Thereâs something wrong about himââÂ
âSo what if the guy is quiet? Maybe he just wants to stay in character.â She huffs, raising both her eyebrows expectantly.Â
âMmh... that makes sense.â Sarah mutters, frowning at the trees. âWhere are we going, by the way?â
âHome. And we are watching the new The Conjuring. You look miserable here.â
âWell thanks, you asshole.â
âYou still havenât told me your name.â You breathe out, yet to be released. After a few seconds of silence, you huff out a laugh. âYou really donât talk much, do you? By the way, that exit was so dramatic. I loved it!â He grunts in reply, shaking his head. Itâs a deep sound that makes your legs shake a little, and you hope youâll 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 Ethanâs house.
Good. You donât 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 manâs hands eagerly explore the sides of your body.
âOâoh! Thatâthat feels nice.â You gasp when his palms squeeze your tits, his thumbs roughly stroking your nipples. The Assetâs eyes donât 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.
âI need to kiss you.â He mumbles, the tip of your nose brushing against his mask. The hoarseness in his voice makes you flinch. It feels like he hasnât spoken in a while... A long while.
âI donât understand you.â 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.
âKiss. But you close⌠eyesâŚâ He utters tentatively, staring right into your sparkling eyes. âDonât look.âÂ
The implications of seeing his face are several and dire. First and foremost, he doesnât even remember the last time he saw his reflection, and his heart wouldnât bear a potential rejection. What HYDRA forces him to do is repulsive, but of course you donât know who he isâand you donât 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?Â
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.Â
The less you know, the better.
Your eager nod momentarily sets his worries, your hands immediately shooting up to cover your face. The Soldierâs 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.Â
âKiss, but⌠donât look.â He repeats, his voice coming out in a rough, agitated whisper.
âMy eyes are closed.â 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.Â
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.Â
And you canât 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.Â
He knows he just crossed an inviolable line he wonât easily come back from. He was ruined the moment he decided to look for you inside that chaotic mansion instead of following HYDRAâs 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.Â
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 feelâyour head has been spinning all along because of the intensity radiating off him.
Your moans are still pretty restrained, and the Asset doesnât 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.Â
He doesnât 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 doesnât remember ever looking at a womanâs chest before, but if he did, he is sure it wouldnât even get close to yours.Â
The hickeys that now mark the tender skin of your tits are burning, causing you to flinch each time the Soldierâs tongue worships them softly.Â
âWhatâoh shitâwhatâs your name?â 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 youâre 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.
âSwallow.â His cock twitches at the way you obey at once.
âSoldat.â 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 heâs all geared up like some sort of spy?
Your brain doesnât have the time to elaborate a sensible question, as a twist of your poor, abused peaks draws a loud cry out of your throat.Â
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.Â
âYouâre such a good girl for me, sweetheart.â 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.
âStay.â 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 heâs 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.Â
âOh,â you blink at it. âThank you, Soldat.âÂ
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 doesnât 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 nameâhis titleâsaid 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.
âThis is what youâve done to me.â He groans under his breath.
âSoldatâŚâ You hum, one arm reaching behind to caress a strong thigh. âDonât tell me youâre going to come like this, humping me like an animal.â 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.Â
His nimble fingers donât waste any more time, lifting the hem of your skirt until your ass is completely at his mercy.
âYes, yes!â You encourage him, gently rocking back. The heady scent is stronger now, but itâs 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 heâs lying right beneath the lower half of your body.
âCâmere, bunny.â His digits sink into the skin of your thighs, forcing you down until you are fully sitting on his face. âItâs time to eat.â
âWait! Oh, fuck!â Your lips part pathetically around a breathy moan as his tongue looks for your clit, pulling your knees apart until youâre 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 heâs savoring the most exquisite delicacy heâs ever had the chance to taste. Your body squirms at the unforgiving stimulation, still, youâre covering his face like a fucking oxygen mask and youâre far too worried heâs not breathing at all.Â
âSâSoldat, wait! You canât breaâAH!â A smacking sound echoes through the air as his palm leaves his mark on your asscheek. âFuck, please! Do it again.â 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.Â
But like a man.
So he does it again. And again.Â
âTaste so good, my pretty bunny.â 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 donât stop his punishing palm, instead arching up into his hand every time it comes down on your tender skin.Â
âIâm gonna come.â 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.
âFuck fuckâSoldat!â
He wonders what heâs 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.Â
Your hole clenches desperately as he nurses on your throbbing clit one last time, panting heavily once he lifts your shaky thighs up.Â
âHoly shit.â He whispers surprised, licking his lips clean. His lower face is completely damp with your arousal, and in that moment he decides heâs not going to wash his face until the scent disappears on its own.Â
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.Â
He would really love to kiss the sensitive spots until you fall asleep, but he canât 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 canât 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 youâve never come this hard and fast in your life. You wonder if itâs the whole situation influencing youâbeing half-naked in the woods while a feral, beefy stranger eats your pussy as if itâs his last day on Earthâor if heâs just that good.
Maybe itâs a mix of both, maybe itâs something else. You donât 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?Â
He doesnât 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 canât breathâfor a second you truly fear your hole is going to tear apart.
Itâs 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.Â
âBeautiful, sweet creature... youâre so lovely.â The obscene, sloppy noises of your pussy swallowing every inch of him drives him insane. Youâre like heaven incarnate wrapped around him, and he refuses to leave, his hips barely pulling back as he clumsily humps you from behind.Â
âMine, mine, mine.â You whisper the name he gave you, lying helpless with your eyes rolled into oblivion and drool soaking the dark fabric under you. Itâs 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.
âThatâs a good girl. Sheâs squeezing me so tight, baby. I canât let you go now that I found you, need to keep you forever here around my cock.â He grits out, head falling back as he feels his orgasm dangerously close, yet heâs ready to deny himself over and over again until he can feel you come around him again.
âBet youâd like that... be my little cumdump until you are too full it starts spilling down your thighs. But Iâll just fuck more into you and then everyone will know you are fucking mine.â Thatâs when, with his mind clouded by pure pleasure, he reaches between your wet thighs, experimentally spanking your clit.
âFuck!â Your squeal pulls a smirk on his lips, prompting him to do that again, his thrusts still frantic and erratic.Â
âTake it, my sweet little bunny. Thatâs it.â
Your nub throbs as the man fucking you like an animal smacks it repeatedly, and youâre certain heâs 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 itâs just a matter of time before you let out a delirious moan, walls tightening as your second climax washes over youâthis time leaving you stiff and crying as wave after wave of bliss settle deep in your bones.Â
 âGot⌠you.â 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 onceâthereâs 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 doesnât seem to want to budge, still hugging you tight as his thighs shakes at every little twitch of his cock.Â
It feels too much.
His dick snug inside your tight heat, your body held with care by the same hands soiled with innocentsâ blood, the sudden emptiness in his chest after such a heavenly experience... Should he cry? He feels like crying. Heâs almost certain of it, though he doesnât understand why. He just had the best night of his entire life with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.Â
Still, the weird sensation sits somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, pressing against ribs that only know obedience and survival.
He knows heâll 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 doesnât want to let you go yet.
Honestly, he isnât sure he can.
âSoldat, my back hurts.â 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 Soldatâs 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. Thereâs 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 heâs 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.
âI looked at you.â 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 HYDRAâs cruelty, something human finally smiles back at you.
â ⢠END NOTES: thank you so much for reading đ¤
my masterlist â 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 whatâs supposed to be the same thing it always is: stress relief, nothing more.
Thereâs 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.Â
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 â 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.Â
Meanwhile, it was always the codes that seemed to shake Robby the hardest â the ones he couldn't save, the ones that would haunt his dreams for weeks. Youâd 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.Â
As the clock drew closer to handoff, and things calmed down some, you couldnât 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.Â
Your eyes had barely adjusted to the lone bulb flickering overhead when Robbyâs 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 heâd chewed compulsively all afternoon. You didnât have the time or energy to think â 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.Â
The familiarity of his hands sliding under your scrubs â one gripping your waist while the other tugged at the waistband of your underwear â shouldâve 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 youâd 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.Â
His breath had been hot against your skin then, as it was now, his voice torn when he had begged, âTell me to stop.âÂ
You hadnât.Â
And so it became this â 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.Â
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 wasnât 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.Â
There was just one rule between you. It hadnât even been spoken aloud, just understood, like the memorised protocols of a code blue: no penetration. Â
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 â a distraction, a coping mechanism, a temporary reprieve.Â
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.Â
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 â not that you cared, not when your hips were already canting forward, chasing the rough circles he was tracing over your needy nub.Â
A moan bubbled up from your throat before you could swallow it down, ragged and unexpectedly loud in the cramped space. Robbyâs 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.Â
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, âQuiet, sweetheart.âÂ
âPlease... Robby, m-more,â The plea shuddered out of you in a broken whisper.Â
Your fingers dragged harder through his hair as his palm continued to grind against your clit with agonising precision â too slow, too light, just enough to make your whole body shake helplessly against him.Â
His breath hitched, an approving noise vibrating through his chest. One more teasing stroke, just to hear you whimper, and thenâÂ
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 didnât give you a second to adjust before a second finger joined the first, stretching you with that deliciously familiar burn.Â
He worked you with the clinical precision of someone who knew bodies better than his own reflection â 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.Â
âAlways so fucking wet for me, so ready,â Robby murmured close to your ear, his breaths growing hot and uneven.Â
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.Â
âLook at me,â He demanded, the command sending shivers down your spine.Â
âI... I can't,â You gasped, burying your forehead harder into the sweat-damp crook of his neck, the words dissolving into a moan as he pressed harder, âFuck!âÂ
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.Â
The moment your orgasm crashed into you, it wasnât just your body that unravelled â 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.Â
You were still trembling when Robbyâs 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.Â
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.Â
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 â your turn, then his â 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.Â
âGot a better idea,â Robby murmured, his voice stiff with restraint, âTurn around.âÂ
You hesitated, shooting him a decisively sharp, questioning look. No penetration â 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?Â
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, âJust your thighs. Just for tonight, I just... I need more tonight. Please?âÂ
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.Â
Robbyâs 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.Â
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.Â
Then, unmistakably, there was the heavy heat of his cock nudging at your ass cheeks. You shuddered, your fingers curling tighter around the shelfâs edge, the metal biting into your skin, though you werenât 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.Â
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.Â
âKeep âem tight like this,â He murmured, the words barely more than vibrations against your skin with all his sudden trembling, sounding as undone as you felt.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 couldnât 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 heâd noticed too.Â
âFuckââ 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, âGotta... Shit, sweetheart, just let me put the tip in â just the tip.âÂ
With your every nerve alight at the forbidden touch, he could have been asking for the moon and it wouldnât 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.Â
âT-Tip... Yeah,â 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 werenât expecting.Â
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.Â
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 wasnât deliberate, you knew, but it was maddening how it left your body buzzing, aching for more, a need pooling low with nowhere to go.Â
âPlease...â 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, âRobby, please, just fuck me properly.âÂ
His breath scraped out hard against your neck. For a heartbeat, nothing moved â not his hips, not his hands, not even the air â 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, âFuck it.âÂ
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 wasnât 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.Â
He didn't wait around, didnât give you a second to adjust â 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 wouldâve 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.Â
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.Â
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 â jostled by every snap of Robbyâs hips into yours â but the friction, the pressure, the overload of sensations you were drowning in... Perfect.Â
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.Â
You werenât 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 â 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.Â
âGonnaââ Robbyâs voice was more strained than youâd ever heard it, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips stuttered with some vague attempt at control, âIâm gonna cum. Are we... Are we doing this? All the way?âÂ
âYes, fuck, yes!â The answer tumbled out of you without thought, your hips desperately jerking backwards to chase him, need and want burning clear through caution.Â
Whatever shred of restraint Robby had been clinging to evaporated in an instant. He slammed back into you with a force you knew youâd 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.Â
Robbyâs body tensed against yours, his rhythm fracturing into chaos. A splintered, punched-out sound escaped his throat â half groan, half your name â 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.Â
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. Â
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.Â
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.Â
âSorry,â 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. Â Â
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.Â
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.Â
When you turned back around, Robby had already righted himself, his length tucked away where it belonged, the gauze full of fluids that shouldnât have been there discarded into a clinical waste bin that was supposed to be out of order. He was watching you â 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.Â
The tense silence made your skin itch, and you tried to break it: âThat was...âÂ
You were unable to finish, too many words coming forth at once, all of them entirely too insignificant for the circumstances. Â
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.Â
âCome back to mine tonight,â 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.Â
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.Â
Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse skipping. When Robby pulled back, his thumb traced your lower lip, âCome back to mine tonight, please?âÂ
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 wasnât the offer that stunned you, it was the way his voice cracked, like it was something he needed, rules be damned.Â
You supposed they were damned, now. And yet, the world hadnât come crashing down around you both. In fact, you felt pretty fucking good for your transgressions.Â
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.Â
âOkay,â You smiled against his mouth. Just like that, two syllables dissolved the last pretence that this was still just about stress relief. Â
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, âOkay.âÂ
The two of you returned to the floor one at a time, ignoring Jack and Lenaâs pointed comments about how flushed and dishevelled you both looked, hiding behind the very real excuse of another rough shift.Â
And when you both finally stepped out into the fresh air of the cold, dark night, you didnât head in opposite directions for once. You werenât 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.Â
love your blog! i was wondering if you could make dean winchester eats you out in a library while sam does research?ďżź
â.Ë Shelved & Shushed .á
â 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 âmade up.â
â 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. Youâd 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 skinâsharp words about recklessness, about trust, about how he never fucking listenedâand 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 didnât even look up from the yellowed lore book he was dissecting. Typical.
You didnât 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 shelfâsome historical romance with a half-naked Highlander on the coverâand 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.
âYou gonna keep running your mouth in silence now?â His voice was low, edged, meant for you alone.
You didnât turn. âIâm reading.â
âBullshit.â 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. âYouâve been punishing me with your damn breathing for the last hour.â
You finally looked at him. âMaybe if you didnât act like youâre the only one allowed to have an opinionââ
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.
âYou wore that skirt on purpose,â he muttered, voice gravel-rough. His fingers flexed against your hipbone. âDonât even try to lie.â
You lifted your chin. âAnd if I did?â
His laugh was short, dangerous. âThen you wanted this.â
He dropped to his knees so fast your breath punched out.
Your skirt was shortâdeliberately soâand he didnât 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.
âDeanââ
âQuiet,â he growled against the inside of your thigh. âYou wanted to play games in public? Then you keep that pretty mouth shut.â
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 youâlike heâd been starving for itâand 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, âLook at you. So fucking wet youâre dripping down my chin. Still mad at me, sweetheart?â
You couldnât answer. Couldnât think. Only managed a strangled whimper when he pushed two fingers inside youâthick, 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 closeâdangerously closeâwhen 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 asâ
âHey! You two done sulking or what?â
Samâs voice echoed from the end of the aisle.
Deanâs arms locked around you instantlyâone 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 youâyour flushed cheeks, the way you were clinging to Dean like he was the only thing keeping you upright, Deanâs hand still subtly smoothing your skirt back down behind your thighs.
He sighed the longest, most put-upon sigh in the history of sighs.
âGreat. They made up,â he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard it was audible. âI found the reference we needed. Itâs in the archive room. Letâs go before I have to bleach my brain.â
He turned on his heel and started walking.
Dean didnât move for another three seconds. Just held you, breathing hard against your hair, lips still shiny.
Then, very quietly, only for you:
âWeâre not done.â
He pressed one last filthy, open-mouthed kiss below your ear, licked the shell of it once, and finally let you goâjust 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 didnât comment.
But the smirk he didnât quite hide said he knew exactly how long it had taken you two to âmake up.â
A/N: So, I havenât 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. Itâs not happy. The song inspo is âThe Night We Metâ 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 wouldnât 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 wouldâve 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 hadnât 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 nurseâs station, clearing your throat to get his attention. âDr. Robby, a moment, please?â 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, âSpeak, Dr. Y/L/N, if you hadnât noticed weâre pretty busy out there.â You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice, steadying yourself. âIâm worried about you, Robby. This whole sabbaticalâŚthing. The motorcycle, the out of pocket comments to everyone. Your kicked puppy look. Whatâs going on, really?â
Robby let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it and the sound made you wince. âKicked puppy look? Jesus Y/N, youâve said some shit to me before but that, that really takes the cake. Look, Iâm fine, I need a break, the motorcycle is a fun new hobby and Iâm just trying to clear my head. Thatâs it.â
You arch your eyebrows at him, not believing a word out of his mouth. âMichael, Iâve seen that look before. After Pitt festâ
âDonât,â Robby interrupts, âYou donât get to bring that up right now. We donât need to have a fucking heart to heart ok? I appreciate your concern, but Iâm fine. Now, if youâll excuse me I have patients to sign off on before I leave.â
You sighed defeated, knowing the topic was closed. âOk. But can I at least say goodbye before you go?â Robby stiffened slightly before turning towards you, âOf course, come find me before you leave.â 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. âHey, thought you left without saying goodbye.â 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. âSo I guess this is it, kid.â 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. âUm, yeah, for three months at least. Try not to miss me too much Robinavitch.â 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. âI could say the same to you. Iâll text you. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.â
âYou too and for the love of everything put on the damn helmet!â
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 wouldâve 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 didnât say and what could never be undone.
