pairing: sensory overload peter parker x grey!reader
plot description: hatred has a funny way of turning into temptation, especially when your greatest enemy is the only one who can keep up with you.
content warnings: SPOILERS FOR BRAND NEW DAY, 18+ content, not so much of a smut (no p in v), bdsm undertones (he promises to web her), light degradation (by arachnid!peter hehee), dry humping, they kiss once, manhandling, and sexual tension / (let me know if i missed anything!)
notes: this is my first time writing smth thats so close to being a smut (english isnt my primary language..) n im obsessed with bnd pls check it out,,,,!! i also didnt proofread bc i only have my phone w me and im one to eyeball shit so pls understand :,)
you hated spiderman.
and it remains a fact the second you spotted the familiar streak of red and blue cutting through the skyline, every ounce of restraint you’d promised professor x vanished watching as he landed effortlessly atop the wreckage, shoulders rising and falling beneath the suit.
“i was wondering how long it’d take for you to find me.”
“where’s my sister?”
his mask tilted ever so slightly. “safe.”
“wrong answer.” with a flick of your wrist, the mangled remains of a steel beam ripped free from the concrete and shot toward him like a missile.
he ducked while the beam embedded itself into the building behind him with enough force to split the wall.
before the dust settled, you were already moving. your telekinesis hurled chunks of asphalt into the air, sending them crashing toward him from every direction. he flipped between them with impossible precision, webbing one slab into another before vaulting over both.
“you know,” he called, firing a web that narrowly missed your shoulder, “most people start with hello.”
you caught the web midair without even looking, because thanks to your telepathy, it anticipated every movement before he made it, while your telekinesis tightened around the webbing until it snapped like thread.
“where.”
he sighed, “but your sister attacked first! i don’t know what the v-max is!”
an abandoned delivery van trembled behind him and his senses screamed a split second before it launched.
the van barreled toward him like a freight train.
“oh, come on–”
metal folded around him as the vehicle slammed into the street, carving a crater into the pavement. and finally, there was silence, but then the wreckage exploded apart.
spiderman burst through the debris, web-shooters firing in rapid succession. one strand wrapped around your wrist, another around your ankle, and the third caught your shoulder before you could raise a force field, because he yanked so hard your balance disappeared beneath you as he pulled you straight toward him. you barely had time to form a psychic barrier before he drove his fist into it until your force field fractured.
“wow!” his eyes widened beneath the mask, “that was cool.”
he didn’t give you room to recover, he swept off your legs, a web to your back, and another to the wall behind you.
you hit the concrete with enough force to splinter it while he stood over you, breathing hard, “i don’t want to fight your sister…” “or you.”
“that’s unfortunate,” your eyes glowed, “spiderboy.”
the webs binding you unraveled on their own and the air around you distorted with every loose piece of debris within the block rose into the air.
spiderman’s senses wailed, “okay…” he muttered to himself, “not a small potato at all.”
with a sharp motion of your hand, the entire street came crashing down on him as he vanished beneath the avalanche for three seconds, then red and blue shot through the dust again.
he was faster now, ducking beneath your punches, slipping around your telekinetic blasts, and his shoulder rammed into your ribs, sending you skidding backward.
he caught your wrist, his mask coming to a close view, “now, miss grey, listen to me–”
you slammed your forehead into his mask, watching the impact stagger him, taking the opportunity to drive your knee into his stomach, after you twisted free and sent a telekinetic blast directly into his chest.
he flew across the intersection.
you didn’t let him stand this time, and you were on him before he could breathe, swinging multiple punches your telekinesis amplified every strike until the asphalt beneath him shattered.
his hands caught your wrists again, but barely, you almost laughed, leaning closer, “where is my sister?”
his breathing hitched, “…you’re…”
he laughed weakly through the pain. “…way stronger than your file said.”
“answer me.”
instead, he shoved upward with surprising strength and you stumbled, almost. you grabbed the side of his mask, but when he reached for your wrist it was too late.
the fabric tore away and for the first time you saw his face. his brown curls plastered to his forehead, his split lip, freckles scattered around the middle of his bruised face.
he was far younger than you expected.
“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered.
his expression changed instantly, morphing into panic, “wait–”
your fingers brushed against the small metallic device hidden just beneath the edge of his mask as it clicked loose. your eyes watched the tiny inhibitor clatter onto the pavement, not tearing your eyes away from the small device, “what the fuck was that?”
peter froze, feeling every muscle in his body lock at the same time his breathing became uneven, then his pupils swallowed the warm brown of his eyes until they were almost entirely black.
he staggered backward, gripping his head, “no…”
his voice came out strained.
“put… it…”
he inhaled sharply, every sound in the city crashing into him at once.
he doubled over with a pained gasp. “…back.”
for the first time since the fight began, you realized you weren’t looking at spiderman, the friendly superhero who made headlines, the same guy whose mask was sold in every souvenir shop around the city, because you were looking at peter parker and you knew whatever that device had been holding back was no longer sleeping in his body.
his breathing became erratic as he stumbled another step back, one hand gripping his head while the other searched blindly across the pavement as if he could somehow feel where the device had landed. every muscle in his body trembled beneath the suit, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack.
“where is it?” he rasped. “i need it–”
your guard remained up, but your fists slowly lowered, “what… what is happening to you?”
he laughed, though it sounded more like a pained exhale than anything amused. “you knocked off the inhibitor.”
“the what?”
“it…” another sharp breath interrupted him as his head suddenly whipped toward the skyline. a helicopter flew somewhere overhead, far enough that you could barely make it out, but he flinched as though it had exploded right beside him.
“it keeps…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “keeps the spider from…”
his sentence dissolved into another gasp.
“from what?”
“taking over.”
silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sounds of new york except they weren’t distant to him.
his breathing hitched again before he stumbled into the side of a wrecked car. his fingers dug into the metal without meaning to, leaving deep indents in the door. he stared at them for half a second before pulling away as though he’d burned himself.
“i can hear everything,” he whispered.
against your better judgment, you reached into his mind and the moment your telepathy brushed against his consciousness, your own head throbbed. what was inside wasn’t simply a mind, but a storm.
millions of sounds crashed together without pause, heartbeats, footsteps, conversations from blocks away, the rush of blood through strangers’ veins, electrical currents beneath the streets, pigeons taking flight, tires screeching against asphalt. layered beneath it all was something else—there was an instinct.
one that was raw, animalistic, and hungry.
you immediately pulled back, your breathing uneven, calling out what you learned was his name, “…peter.”
he didn’t respond or maybe he couldn’t, his black eyes darted across the street, never settling on one place for longer than a second. it was as if his body couldn’t decide which danger to react to first.
“where’s my sister?” you asked again, your voice quieter this time, “what did damage control do to her?”
“i told you…” he swallowed hard. “she’s… she’s there.”
“and my other sister?”
he looked at you, confusion cutting through the pain for just a moment. “other?”
your brows furrowed. “sarah.”
the name lingered in the air.
“where’s sarah?”
his expression faltered.
“i,” he frowned, genuinely trying to remember. “i don’t…”
another wave crashed into him, making him double over with a groan.
“i never saw another girl.”
your heart sank, eyebrows furrowing.
“there was only…” he squeezed his eyes shut, every word sounding like it physically hurt to say. “the one who fought me.”
“you’re lying.”
“i’m not.”
his voice cracked. “i swear i’m not.”
he dropped to one knee, gripping the side of his head so tightly his fingers trembled.
“i would’ve remembered.”
his breathing became shallow again, chest rising and falling too quickly. his pupils remained impossibly black, but now they kept flickering toward you before darting away just as fast.
“don’t,” he whispered. “don’t get any closer.”
“you’re in no position to tell me what to do.”
“that’s…” he let out another shaky laugh. “that’s exactly why i’m telling you.”
you frowned. “what?”
he finally forced himself to look directly at you.
despite the black consuming his eyes, there was still unmistakable fear behind them.
“because i can’t tell what’s a threat anymore.”
his gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long before dropping to your lips, then your throat, then your hands, as though every instinct inside him was trying to process you at once.
“every heartbeat,” he whispered, almost to himself. “every movement, every scent…”
he squeezed his eyes shut again. “i don’t know what the spider’s going to decide.”
then another wave rippled through him, but he didn’t fight it, he let it happen. you couldn't stop your eyes from widening as his shoulders loosened, his fingers flexed once at his sides, before he started walking toward you slowly and deliberately.
you held your ground, “don’t come any closer.”
he ignored you while a web shot past your shoulder with a sharp thwip, anchoring itself to the brick behind you. before you could react, another caught your opposite side, cutting off your escape. the alley had become a dead end.
you raised your hand, telekinesis already gathering, before another web snapped around your wrist and your concentration broke.
peter closed the remaining distance in seconds, the both of your wrists were caught with one hand and pinned them against the wall before your powers could fully answer your command. the force made the bricks behind you groan, dust raining between the two of you.
“peter.”
his breathing remained too steady while his black eyes searched your face with unnerving intensity, as if every instinct inside him had decided you were the only thing in the city worth focusing on.
“let me go.” you pushed against him with your free hand, but he barely moved. you threw your shoulder into his chest, trying to create enough space to drive a telekinetic blast between you.
he caught your forearm before you could, and you were maybe thankful his grip wasn’t painful, yet impossible to escape.
“peter.”
his eyes flickered only for a heartbeat. “stop saying my name.”
“then get off me.”
his breathing finally hitched. you were certain you felt it before you saw the restraint breaking.
he leaned in without warning.
the kiss landed hard, sudden enough to steal the air from your lungs. it wasn’t gentle or lingering, it was impulsive, born from adrenaline, instinct, and every emotion neither of you had been able to put into words since the fight began. it lasted only a moment before he tore himself away, breathing harder than before.
the silence afterward was deafening.
his forehead nearly touched yours as he stared at the ground between you, his grip on your wrists loosening just enough for you to feel the tremor running through his hand.
“you don't get to walk away from this,” you hissed, voice low and precise, telepathy threading the vow straight into his thoughts.
your force field shimmered brighter, pushing him away for one suspended heartbeat, your bodies inches apart, the air between the both of you thick with the promise of more than combat.
but peter surged forward with predatory focus, his body slamming into yours with calculated force that pinned you against the rough brick wall, “or maybe i get to fuck you and walk away.”
the impact knocked the breath from your lungs as his hands gripped your wrists, telekinetic shields flickering under the sudden press of muscle and heat. your force fields wavered, then dissolved entirely as his scent began to flood your senses. your mind reeled from the way his instincts had shattered the inhibitor, every heartbeat thundered between you, and he was hyper aware of how your breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest, the rigid line of his cock straining through the suit and pressing insistently against your thigh as he ground closer, desire overriding the remnants of your fight.
for a moment, the rage in your body twisted into something hotter, telepathy threading through his thoughts to taste the hunger there, the way his pulse matched yours in frantic sync.
“shit,” you arched instinctively, hips tilting to meet that pressure, a low gasp escaping as his fingers tightened and one hand slid down to cup the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. his pure black eyes meeting yours.
“i didn't know professor x could raise a whore like you.”
the alley's damp chill faded against the blaze of skin meeting fabric, your hair tangling with his as you sensed his restraint slipping further.
his mouth hovered a fraction from yours, close enough that the slightest movement would erase the distance between you. then something shifted in his expression. the tension in his jaw tightened as though whatever remained of his restraint clawed its way back to the surface.
his free hand rose toward the torn edge of his mask he reached for with his web, fingers curling around the fabric before another web shot past your shoulder, anchoring itself to a nearby building. but his mouth descended, the first brush of contact imminent, “i’ll web you and fuck the life out of you the next time i see you.”
with one sharp tug, he pulled the mask back over his face. another strand of webbing fired into the skyline, and in the next heartbeat he was gone, disappearing between the buildings and leaving you alone in the alley, your pulse refusing to settle.
Title: We Couldn’t Stop
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers
Summary: During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms
A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo
Square: A3- Threesome
Card Number: KB003
The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.
You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.
You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.
"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.
"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."
"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."
That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.
"I’ve almost got- "
The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.
A soft spray hit you all in the face.
It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.
You stumbled back, coughing once.
"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.
Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"
"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."
"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."
"Close it," Steve ordered.
Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."
"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.
The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.
~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~
By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.
You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.
You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.
Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."
Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?
"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.
"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "
"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."
You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.
"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.
"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval.
"Buck.." His tone warning.
"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."
"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."
And just like that, you were cut off again.
Biochemical- engineered arousal.
"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."
That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.
You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.
"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."
"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."
You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.
And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder.
Hours had passed.
You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.
You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.
Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.
Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”
His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.
"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.
Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.
It didn’t.
You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.
Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.
You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.
A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.
And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.
“Don’t- don’t do that.”
You froze. “I- I can’t- ”
Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.
You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.
Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.
"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.
Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"
"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."
"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "
"Fuck this. She needs someone."
"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.
"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.
Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.
Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.
"Please... please someone- "
Someone pulled the curtain back.
Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak.
It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”
Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.
They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.
You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.
"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.
At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.
You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.
Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.
"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.
Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.
"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."
Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.
Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.
Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.
"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.
~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~
They were both on you.
You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.
Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.
Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.
You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.
You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.
Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.
“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”
Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs.
“She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.”
The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.
Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.
The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.
“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”
“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”
His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.
You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.
Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.
Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.
"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.
He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.
“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.”
Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.
Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.
"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"
"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.
"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."
You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.
And then it broke.
You came- hard.
Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.
It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.
You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.
And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.
You were still shaking. Still needy.
Still burning.
You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.
"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"
Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.
Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.
Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.
You wanted him in your mouth.
You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”
You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.
“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”
You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.
Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.
“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.
You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.
He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.
The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.
Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.
It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.
They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.
You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.
They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.
“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”
Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”
You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”
Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.
“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.
"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."
Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.
“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”
You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.
“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”
And then it snapped.
Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.
“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”
He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed.
The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.
“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”
Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.
Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.
His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.
You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.
“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.
You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.
And then one thick finger pressed inward.
You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.
You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.
“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”
Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.
“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.
“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.
Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.
“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.
Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.
As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.
“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”
“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”
You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.
Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.
“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”
The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.
You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.
“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”
You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.
You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.
The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.
“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.
But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.
“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”
You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.
You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.
“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.
You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.
Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.
Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.
“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”
Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”
You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.
Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.
“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”
“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.
“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”
And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.
Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.
“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”
Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.
“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”
Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.
“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.
“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.
But it didn’t stop there.
Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.
“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.
Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”
Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.
“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.
Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”
You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.
“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.
“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”
Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.
“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.
“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”
They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.
“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”
“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”
“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”
Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.
They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.
You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.
“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.
Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”
Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.
And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.
You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked.
You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.
You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.
Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.
Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.
Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.
“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”
You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.
“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”
You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.
Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.
He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.
“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.
“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.
“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again
he's someone who's always imagined having many, many kids. so, there's no surprise when he regularly fucks his wife!
you're put into a mean mating press as he sends hard, heavy thrusts to your swollen clit that's pulling him in with every snap of his hips. you let out nasty mewls, arching your back as he continues pushing you over the edge.
a cacophony of moans and groans takes over all sounds in the room.
"that's it, baby, let me breed you," he whispers, breath hot against your ear. "fuck a baby into you and we'll start a lovely family together."
immediately, you nod your head desperately, wanting him to plant his seed inside you and let him take over your mind.
"holy shit," you mutter, hand scratching his back and eyes rolling to the back of your head.
the scene is lecherous, both of you covered in sweat yet still trying to get more, pulling each other in to make out. the two of your lips collide into a lewd, passionate kiss. the room reeks of arousal and sex.
"fuck—" he groans, stopping before a twitch of his hips signal his climax.
you feel his cum intruding, tip shooting a healthy load into you.
he doesn't pull out, only panting and heaving above you. then he picks himself up, giving you a knowing look.
SMUT: groping, nipple sucking, uhh touching dick under clothes, pinv, unprotected sex
homecoming setting
I got the text at 11:09 P.M., looking out of my window after seeing the 'here' on screen to see Peter on the side of the building. My eyes widened a bit and I quickly got up from my couch, rushing over as quietly as I could. I had no doubt that Bucky could hear us, Steve too probably, but I didn't tell my dad about them, so they didn't tell him about Peter and I either.
"I do have a front door." I say after opening the window as best as I could, Peter opening it the rest of the way with ease. He climbed in skillfully, feet hitting the floor without noise. I reached to shut the window, which unfortunately came crashing down with a loud thud. The glass was thick, so luckily, it didn't shatter, but my heart sure did when Peter dropped to the ground just as my intercom rang.
"What was that?" My dad's voice came through.
"I was trying to get air, but the window was too heavy for me, sorry." I lie awkwardly. It was a believable lie, I wasn't exactly a superhero like my father, or boyfriend, no superhuman strength to help me out with windows.
"The hell do you need air for? Your AC is filtered for the freshest air ever."
"Oh my gosh, sometimes I want to breathe actual fresh air."
"The 'fresh air' outside? Filled with smoke, weed, and other illicit drugs? One whiff of the air out there and you're high. Are you trying to get high?"
"Goodnight, dad."
"Baby's first drug test tomorrow." He coos.
I roll my eyes, disconnecting the comm and turning to Peter, who was sprawled on the floor.
"...Have you been frozen in that position this whole time?" I snort as he stands up.
"Shush, I got nervous he might see me." He pulled off his mask, his hair a messy array of curls.
"I don't have cameras in here."
"Ah, but if you did, would you know?"
"Please don't put that thought in my head. Dad promised there weren't any." I sigh, running my fingers through his hair, smiling when he practically melts into me. It was cute until he legitimately stumbled forward, catching himself and standing up straighter.
"Tired?" I ask sarcastically, watching him blush in slight embarrassment.
"I've been up working on stuff for school."
"AKA, you've been up messing with your web shooters."
He huffs, deciding better to tell the truth. "I'm really perfecting the fluid, it's going to be a thicker consistency but not thick enough to actually interfere with the flow of things—but enough for it to be stronger."
"Maybe we don't talk about your thick flowing fluid." I hum, making his nose scrunch at my wording.
"You make everything sound dirty."
"I think that just means you're super horny for me." I shrug.
"Right." He smiles, blushing.
"How's May?" I ask, changing the subject.
"She's good. She went out with that new guy again, last night."
"That's their..third?"
He nods. "I think she's interested."
"I'd hope so. I usually cut off first dates whenever I lost interest."
"Did you do that with me?"
"Depends, what qualifies as our first date?" I ask, his arms finding their way around my waist and mine wrapping around his neck.
"Definitely not the fight with Cap and your dad."
"Yeah, that was our meet cute." I muse.
"Maybe our first date was here? Movie night when Clint fell out of that vent."
"Still can't believe he tried to watch the movie through the metal grate." I sigh. "And no, 'date' between us. I'd argue it was at Morton's."
"That was not our first date. That was a hangout." He scoffs.
"What? It was so date-y! You came by after school, we talked for like three hours."
"You paid!"
"A woman can pay." I arch a brow.
"Yeah, but, I dunno. Made me feel weird."
"Mm, but I like spoiling you."
He sighs, blush rising to his cheeks. "I hate it."
"You hate it actually or you hate that you're expected to do it and you can't."
"Both? I guess." He said after a moment of deliberation.
"You know I like to pay for things right?"
"I know, I've heard Mr. Stark rip into you many-a-time about your addiction."
I roll my eyes. "It's not an addiction, it's...my happy place."
"I think that's the main message of that romcom we watched last week."
"Confessions of a Shopaholic, great movie." I muse. "And I'm not that bad. I'd never buy half of what she did, fashion back then was too gaudy for my taste."
"Right, minimalism is all the rage now, how could I forget?"
I roll my eyes "Okay, okay; so where was our first date?"
"Do you remember the rooftop? When we watched the sunset?" He inquired.
"The one where you yapped my ear off for six hours? I'm recalling." His mouth twitched.
"I think that was it."
"We kissed that night though, do we really want to have kissed on the first date?"
"I didn't mind it." He hummed.
"Obviously, I'm an excellent kisser."
"Oh, are you?"
"Have you forgotten?" I scoff, grinning.
"I might need a refresher." He murmurs.
"Well, who am I to not help someone with arthritis."
"It's amnesia." He snorts before pulling me into a kiss. Any embarrassment I'd had from my slip up was immediately washed away when his suited up fingers tangled in my hair. I ran my fingers through his, tugging gently and smiling into the kiss when he groaned.
I swiped my tongue across his bottom lip, kissing him languidly when he hesitantly let me in. He moaned into my mouth before pulling away and tugging on his suit, starting to slide it off.
"Not as hot seeing the process of you getting it off." I hum, watching him struggle.
"Please don't be mean, I'm being super vulnerable now." He huffs, kicking the last of the suit away before flopping onto my bed. I slid out of my shirt, following after him, leaving me in my bra and him in his briefs. His hands were immediately on the hook of my bra and I huffed a chuckle.
"Eager?" I muse.
"Haven't got to touch you in how long?" He huffs.
"Your own fault, shouldn't have taken that extra credit class that offers exactly what you're doing here with my dad already." I chastise.
He groans. "Don't remind me." He says, cupping my ass through my sleep pants, groping me slowly before his hands trail back up to my bra and unhook the back, sliding the straps down my arms. He shudders, rolling me onto my back, hands running up my sides. He cups my breasts, kissing down my neck before taking my right nipple into his mouth. I bite my bottom lip, curling my fingers into his hair, holding him close with him moaning around my tit.
I reach down, cupping his bulge and massaging it slowly through his briefs. He moans, eyes squeezing shut and his head falling forward a bit, lips releasing from my skin. His hips roll instinctively and I take it as a sign to continue, finding his tip through the material and dragging my nails over it, making his hips buck.
"Fuck, I feel like a virgin. Gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that."
"You have extra boxers here." I shrug, running my other hand down his chest, tracing his v-line with the tips of my nails. He shudders, biting my neck before sitting up.
"You gotta stop," he breathes. I pull my hand back with a knowing grin.
"Too much?" I coo.
"You're annoying." He grunts, sliding his boxers off, tip red and swollen, precum already dribbling down the sides of his cock. He pulls my lounge pants off, panties following before he braces himself over me.
"Mm, you're in love with me though, so who's winning here?"
"Me." He grins boyishly, fingers trailing a line down my cunt.
I bite my lip, brushing my fingers through his curls as he circles my clit a few times before bringing the digits to his mouth to suck clean. I watch him with lustful eyes, lips parting when he angles his hips slowly before sliding his cock between my folds.
"Okay?" He murmurs, smiling when I nod. He keeps eyes contact as he pushes inside gently, the thickness stretching just enough to sting with pleasure. I clamp down, making him grunt, shuddering as he chuckles. "Too much?" He teases, making me roll my eyes.
"Hush." I reply breathily. He pushes himself up just enough to start thrusting slowly, hitting that deep spot inside of me with every precise thrust. We'd done this a few times before but lately we'd been so tangled up with our own lives that when we got together, it was mostly catching up. Now, with his familiar pace, feeling his eyes on me, watching him take me in and he thrust inside, I didn't want to ever stop.
"Fuck, you're killing me." He whimpers lowly.
"Sorry," I wince, trying to relax.
"No, it feels good, just...Gah." He grunts, starting to pick up the pace once I forced my body to relax and stop clamping down on him. I moan softly when his hips hit at a particular angle, making him shiver, hiking one of my legs around his waist so he can continue hitting it.
"I missed this." I murmur, arms wrapped tight around his neck, pulling himself down.
"Missed you," he rasps against my lips, his hand sliding up my thigh as he thrust deeply.
When we reached our climaxes, he continued his movements through mine before he pulled out, cumming on my stomach and biting down on my shoulder to not be too loud. I whined softly when he did, the pain adding to the high I was on.
After a minute, he stood, grabbing wipes from my adjoining bathroom and coming back to clean me up. Once we were both clean, he collapsed into bed with me, our hands all over each other once again. Mine were running down his back as I kissed him, his cupping my hips, holding me close. I fell asleep soon after that, one leg draped over his thighs, his arm encircling my torso.
The next morning, we were awoken by my dad screaming at us in the doorway. Nat was wincing, Bucky and Steve were trying to pretend they were admiring my decor. The blanket covered me, so I wasn't embarrassed in that department, but I mean, I was embarrassed that my dad was seeing me in bed with a very naked Peter.
"What is going on here?!" He yelled.
"Uhh, Bucky and Steve are fucking!" I snitch, making the two super soldiers gape.
"WHAT?" My dad exclaimed, turning to Steve.
"We- Y/n!" Steve yells.
Thor appears behind the group in the doorway. "Okay, guys! Who ate my last poptart? You will be dealt with! This treachery will not be tolerated!"
summary: You want to train Bruce's heart rate from spiking too high during sex, and it ends in actual sex.
warnings: smut, sub!bruce, he's kind of a masochist in this ngl, cockwarming, unprotected sex, edging, dacryphilia, choking, bruce banner has a degradation kink I don't make the rules
wc: 1.5k
note: so I know this concept is kind of impossible bc why would ur heartrate go that high during sex right? But please just go with it for the plot okay (honestly I lost the plot somewhere in the beginning of this fic. It's just smut.)
—. I wrote this in 30 minutes and called it a day. anyway bruce banner my underrated husband, I needed to write about him
Bruce Banner was not an easy man. He was closed off, a little insecure, and too smart for his own good. More often than not, you had to wrench the truths you wanted out of his heart. In fact, it was almost a full time job to keep him from isolating himself and wallowing in his own solitude.
Of course, it'd gotten better. Ever since you met him and openly loved him, Bruce had become more confident, more open, and more trusting in himself.
The one occasion he still absolutely didn't trust himself was during sex.
It's not that there was an inherent problem; his heart rate could never spontaneously get so high during an orgasm to make him Hulk out. You could have sex just fine. But Bruce was an anxious man, and he never wanted to get on top in fear of losing himself to the pleasure. He wanted you to be on top, in control, not only because he liked it, but because it was what he deemed safe.
But maybe you wanted to get fucked into the mattress every once in a while, too. And since Bruce didn't trust himself to do so, you were just gonna have to train him to stay calm.
...Which is how you ended up on the couch with his cock inside of you, unmoving. You'd gotten to undressing, even putting him in had been okay. But after a few minutes of riding his cock, Bruce's heartrate spiked. And if you had one goal in having sex today, it was for his heartrate to stay low.
So you'd stilled your movements, waiting until it slowed again, effectively subduing his building orgasm. Bruce's hands pawed at your hips; to get you off him or make you move again, you couldn't tell.
"C'mon Banner, you gotta calm down. I'll only continue if you do," you grinned at him.
"You're enjoying this far too much," Bruce grumbled, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the couch.
"I'm doing this for you," you cooed sweetly at him. "I'm doing this so you'll be able to fuck hard. And we both know how desperate you are to get your dick wet, huh?"
You could feel his cock twitch inside of you as he breathed out, "Stop talking."
A small laugh escaped you. "Right. I forgot how easy you are."
Bruce bucked up into you, firmly gripping your hips to keep you still. Using you to get himself off.
It was a good thing at least one of you remembered today's goal. Your hand around his neck moved to his chest, pushing him back against the couch. "Bruce, stop."
The only response you got was a whine, the man under you continuing his humping as he screwed his eyes shut.
"Bruce," you said his name as a warning. "Stay still."
Bruce huffed, chest heaving, but did as you said. He stopped his movements, cutting off his orgasm for the second time now.
A long, dramatic sigh sounded through your living room. "So we're just going to stay like this?"
"Until you learn how to control yourself, yes."
Bruce didn't respond. You leaned forward, slinging both your arms around his neck for a sweet hug as if you weren't butt naked with his cock inside of you. Your nipples rubbed against him and Bruce could feel himself getting hot all over again at the feeling.
Despite having established a long time ago that he was a sucker for you being mean to him, the feeling of your nipples on his bare skin was what caused his cheeks to turn pink. You had to hold back a snort.
Then again, he'd probably like it if you laughed at him a little.
"Okay, here's what were gonna do," you started.
Bruce perked up, moving his head back to look at you from where he'd buried his face in your neck.
You moved a finger to your clit. "I'm gonna get myself off," rolling your hips back and forth, making sure not to stimulate him too much, "on your cock."
Bruce agreed breathlessly, mindlessly. "Okay."
"And you're not gonna cum."
His face contorted, but he didn't argue, glad for any kind of stimulation at all.
"Understood?"
You grabbed his cheeks with your other hand, squeezing them. His answer came out muffled.
"Yes, ma'am."
A devilish grin appeared on your face. "Good boy."
The praise made his cock twitch again, his precum mixing with your arousal making it easy to gyrate your hips around a little. The movement of your fingers on your clit intensified, and you moaned out, eyes half-lidded.
You were so lost in your own pleasure that you didn't notice Bruce bucking his hips again, trying to get you to ride him.
"Please..." A pained groan escaped him, and as you opened your eyes fully, you took note of how hard your sharp nails were digging into his bicep. His cock jumped inside of you as you raked them down his flesh.
"You wanna cum, Bruce? Hmm?"
"Yes," he sighed.
"Can't hear you," you grinned, teasing him.
"Yes! I wanna cum," Bruce mewled, letting his head fall to the side as shame burned through him. He hated feeling so desperate, and yet there was nothing that got his cock harder.
You stilled your movements completely. "But that's not the goal today, is it?"
Bruce groaned in frustration, a loud, unchecked sound that could only have escaped due to the effects of having his orgasm cut off for the third time in a row.
"Is it?" you asked again, fingers gripping his dark locks and tugging. Bruce lifted his head up obediently, looking back at you with wild, wet eyes. At the sight of tears forming, you had to hold back a smile. He was so easy.
"I don't care," he huffed quietly, gripping your hips and moving them back and forth himself. You scoffed, harshly taking his hands from your body and pinning them to the couch beside him.
"Since when are you so selfish? 'I don't care'? This is for the greater good, Bruce," you grinned again. "We're doing this so you'll be able to fuck me how I want it."
"I can—I can do anything you want. Please. Just let me come," he begged almost deliriously, only wanting to come.
"Look at that. Big, bad Hulk, begging to get off."
His hips bucked harshly into yours, almost knocking you off of him, but you held firm and pinned him down again.
"Yeah, not so strong now, huh?"
"Please!" an almost pornographic moan escaped his lips in response. If you weren't so used to seeing him in this state already, you'd marvel over the sight of awkward, shy professor Banner acting like a slut.
"You gonna hold it, Banner?"
"N—I can't," he sobbed, clawing at the couch as his orgasm approached. Moving one hand to rub your clit again, you let out a soft sigh.
His hips had settled in a frantic rhythm with yours, making you breathless from the pleasure as well.
"You can't?" you mocked, igniting another sharp burst of burning shame and arousal in him. Bruce shook his head frantically.
"No, can't, can't hold it," another sob wrecked through him, more tears escaping his closed eyes. Your free hand went to grab his throat loosely, holding him in place as you brought your face inches from his. Tentatively, you licked a few tears from his face, making Bruce gasp as his eyes opened to stare into yours.
"Taste so good when you cry," you whispered to him, before crashing your lips on his and making him taste for himself. Bruce moaned into your mouth unabashedly, the sound mixing with your own moans of approval.
Your hand on his throat tightened, and Bruce gasped out. "I'm—I'm gonna... Please!"
"Cum in my pussy, Bruce," you grinned, speeding up the finger rubbing your clit. "Be a good boy and fill me up."
He gripped you harshly, fingers closing around your hips, holding you still as he bucked up again, spilling into you. A cry escaped his lips as he came, followed by a gasp of "thank you!", riding out the aftershocks.
Falling limp, Bruce let go of your hips again, but you didn't stop. You were so close, and seeing him cum was pushing you over the edge. As he gasped out at the overstimulation, tears welling in his eyes again, you felt the knot in your lower stomach snap.
Moaning out softly, you held on to Bruce's shoulder with one hand for support as you rode out your own orgasm. Bruce secured his arms around you to keep you steady, softly whining into your neck as you used his spent cock.
When your high subdued, you slumped forward in his arms. "Guess that cockwarming idea failed."
Bruce laughed. "Maybe for the best."
"Don't think this is over," you grumbled against his neck, too tired to sound stern. "We're still gonna train your heart rate control."
Bruce sighed, moving you both to lay horizontically on the couch, softening cock still inside you. "Yes, ma'am."
The truth is stranger than in all my dreams. Oh, the darkness got a hold on me.
Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x Ex-Avengers!F!Reader
Synopsis: He left you behind to keep you safe, but safety never stopped the heartbreak. Now, a year of grief, silence, and sleepless nights unravel the moment he shows up at your door with his new team—bruised, breathless, begging. You’re angry and he’s sorry, but the love is still there. It always has been.
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, y/n is mean & angry (for a bit), bucky is guilty, swearing, ft. thunderbolts, bleeding/injuries, sambucky break-up (mentions), yearning, not dating but a secret third thing, mentions of natasha & her death, y/n is “team sam”, mentions of tfatws (briefly), mentions of hell/religious imagery, violence/blood, SMUT, MDNI, kissing, oral (f), spit, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex (don’t), happy ending, no tb spoliers/ WC: 13.5
A/N: Bucky in Thunderbolts….mind goes brrr. Not helping the SamBucky divorce allegations but alas, anything for the story. Ignore any choppiness in the timeline or story, I wrote this with the worst migraine.
The forest was bleeding.
Not with colour—but silence. With snow falling slow and heavy, catching on branches and burning footprints as fast as they were made. The trees stood like sentinels, black-limed and reaching. Nothing but white, wood, and blood.
Bucky’s breath came ragged through the hush, fogging the air. His gloved hands were soaked red. Yelena was slung between him and Walker, unconscious but breathing, the warmth of her body slowly seeping through his coat.
They weren’t going to make it.
He should have known. He should have been prepared for it, but he hadn’t been.
Bob—still limping, still glassy-eyed from the explosion—nodded and trudged forward, boots crunching through the snow. He wasn’t built for this. Not yet. Not like this. Val had shoved him onto the field too soon, too eager.
Bucky had tried arguing, tried telling her that he was still fragile—a liability—but she hadn’t listened. And Bucky didn’t need more on his plate, but he’d take care of him. Or, at least, he’d try.
Ava phased in and out ahead, scanning, ghostlike. When she disappeared for a moment too long, Bucky felt the silence of the clearing, tenfold. She was trying to stay ahead of whatever might still be behind them.
But, Bucky could feel it. He could taste it.
They were done. Just miles of snow and trees and nowhere to go.
Yelena was bleeding out and Walker wasn’t any better, wobbling on his legs as he tried to stand up straight. They wouldn’t last long out here, certainly not while dragging each other.
“Shit,” he muttered, stopping long enough to fumble with the tablet in his pouch. His hands shook—exhaustion, adrenaline, guilt—never ending guilt, swimming in his veins. He tapped into the satellite overlay, breathing hard, as their current location pinged into view.
Grid 48-F.
The North woods. Nothing but a snow storm. Cold, empty—remote. No outposts for miles.
These weren’t woods happy campers visited. Untouched land, ridged and slanted, surrounded them. A perfect place for illegal activity but not so perfect to do the right thing.
But—there—just there—barely on the edge of the map.
A single black dot, beeping in and out existence, almost as if a trick of the light, like it wasn’t meant to be found.
His chest caved in around it.
The coordinates suddenly looked familiar, as did the landscape. He narrowed his eyes, held the tablet up, heart slowing down.
He knew these coordinates.
Bucky stared at it for a long, frozen second.
A place he hadn’t let himself think about in almost a year.
A place filled with half-buried memories—laughter over old vinyl records, the sound of boots on the porch, a sweet voice telling him to sit as he was cleaned up. Steam curling from a mug handed to him without a word.
Nights too quiet and long to pretend the tension wasn’t there. That the affection, curling around the wood and into the floorboards, wasn’t there. That the flicker of love, of want, wasn’t soaking into his skin.
Your eyes, warmer than firelight, watching him with a softness he’d never be able to find anywhere else.
He hadn’t been able to go back.
Not after deciding to leave you. Not after ignoring your calls when you got back from your mission. Not after telling himself it was for your safety—for your distance, from him and the darkness and chaos that seemed to follow him.
He’d convinced himself that cutting the cord meant saving you.
But now?
Now the cord was pulling him back, wrapped around his neck and tugged, and he couldn’t rip it off even if he tried.
“Bucky?” Bob’s voice small, nervous. He glanced at Bucky before focusing ahead, cold and wet.
Bucky looked up, snapped out of it. “We’re not going to the evac point,” he said, voice low yet carrying. “We won’t make it. We’d freeze before the rendezvous got here.”
“Then where?” Walker grunted. “We’re going to die out here.”
Bucky hesitated, eyes on the trees, on the white mist curling through the frozen pines.
Finally, he said, “There’s a cabin.” He paused, like it hurt to admit. “It’s not far.”
He didn’t say who it belonged to. He didn’t say it was the one place in the world he’d once felt safe and at peace. Didn’t say he hated every second of his life since they landed in this cold hell a few hours ago.
Instead, he just adjusted Yelena’s weight on his shoulder and started moving.
They reached the edge of the clearing an hour later.
The sky was bleeding to black now, dim with twilight, blue shadows sinking low between the snowdrifts. The cabin stood half-hidden beneath a thick layer of frost and pine, smoke curling softly from the chimney. Warm light flickered behind the frosted windows.
It felt like a punch to the gut.
Bucky paused at the treeline and held up a fist. The team crouched, quiet, bodies stiff from cold. He scanned the clearing, fingers twitching at his side. His mouth and eyes went dry.
He didn’t think you’d be here.
You hadn’t been the last time he checked. A year ago. After he stopped answering your messages. After he told himself staying away was the only way to protect you from the mess he was about to wade into with Val.
Just once, last year, in a moment of weakness, he looked for you. Actively searched for you. He just needed to know, just needed to make sure you were okay, safe. He couldn’t find you. Sometimes, he can still feel that raw panic, the way his heart had stopped breathing when he came up empty, the way he had fallen to his knees and clutched at his chest like someone had ripped his heart out of him.
The smoke was fresh. The path to the shed was shoveled. There were footprints.
His stomach dropped.
You were here.
He turned, eyes on the snow. “Stay put. I’ll clear it.” His voice was low.
“What if someone’s inside?” Ava asked, curious at Bucky’s shift in behaviour.
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll handle it.”
He crossed the snow like a ghost.
Every step was agony. Every crunch of ice beneath his boots cracked open another memory.
The porch creaked under his weight.
His hand slid along the doorframe. He knew exactly where you kept the spare key, the trick to the lock. He’d fixed it once, after you kicked it shut too hard. He remembered the way you’d rolled your eyes and offered him a beer while he worked.
He didn’t want to break in.
He didn’t want to disrespect this place, the peace that surrounded it.
He didn’t want to hurt you again.
He just—
He just needed somewhere to hide.
His fingers curled around the doorknob, heart in his throat. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was once an assassin, once a killing machine.
And then—
Click.
“Don’t move.”
He froze, muscles stilling.
The cold metal of a rifle barrel touched the base of his skull. It was the first time it had in years. He forgot how hard it was, how chilling.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
The voice behind him was sharp, cold, measured—devoid of any emotion and warmth.
Your voice.
Bucky turned.
And there you were.
Wrapped in flannel and fury. Face hard as ice, sharp eyes, steady behind the sight of your rifle. Your finger on the trigger didn’t even shake. It was steady, pressing. He felt a sliver of fear, something foreign and familiar all at once.
He drank in the sight of you like he was breathing for the first time, like he had been drowning at the foot of an altar and hadn’t known peace, hadn’t known salvation until this moment.
Your hair was a little longer, circles under your eyes. New, faded scars on your face, under your eyebrow and lips. Same old boots.
Still exceptionally beautiful as the day he lost you.
The only thing different was your expression.
New.
You didn’t look surprised. Not the way he was. You weren’t drinking him in.
You looked furious, angry, murderous.
That, he decided, was the worst part.
“...Y/n,” he breathed, voice cracking.
You stared at him, eyes like knives. Finger pressing the trigger harder, like you were going to pull.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?”
The barrel of your rifle didn’t drop.
Even as the snow clung to his hair, melting down his jaw. Even as his expression cracked open into something half-empty, half-anxious.
Even as his lips parted like he might say something real, something soft, something that would make you pull the trigger.
You didn’t let yourself care, didn’t let yourself even entertain the thought of anything except the press of the barrel into his skin. You couldn’t—couldn’t even take a moment to comprehend that he was in front of you, alive.
“You’re trespassing,” you said, voice ice-edged and flat, and dangerous. “So either tell me who’s bleeding in the trees or I put one in your leg and call Sam.”
That hit him.
It hit him.
He flinched—subtle, almost imperceptible—but you caught it. Just like you used to catch every other shift in him. The way he’d crack a knuckle when he was anxious. The way his jaw would tighten when he was lying. The way he could never look you in the eyes when he said goodbye.
You clicked the safety off.
He didn’t even raise his hands.
“Yelena’s hurt. So is Walker,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. Sandpaper. “Bob’s with us. We just needed a place to—”
“You think you can just show up here?”
It came out sharp. Too sharp. Quick, something prickling.
Something behind your ribs cracked open. A dam you didn’t even realize you were still holding back. You stepped forward, closer, gun still pressing against his forehead. Snow on your boots, fury in your chest, your heart pounding so loud it echoed in your ears.
He was still standing on your porch.
Your space.
A sacred, secret spot you had once shared with him, but no longer.
You were seething. How fucking dare he?
“I ought to shoot you, you know that? Put a bullet in your arm, maybe your shoulder.”
“I didn’t know you were here,” he said quickly, eyes on you, like it made it better. “I wouldn’t have—I wasn’t gonna stay. I just—”
“Just what, Bucky?” you snapped. “Thought you’d break in? Treat it like another asset to use up and leave behind? Like you did with me?”
He could feel his heart crack, his resolve, all the effort he’d put in himself to forget you, all came crashing down. He felt small, guilty.
He didn’t even think about his team, the ones watching him from the treeline, taking in this new version of him. They’d never seen him stand so still, so disarming.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed thickly.
His shoulders curled in just a little. Like he’d been waiting for this. Like it still hurt more than he expected.
Your hands shook, once. His eyes fell on them before lifting, piercing into yours. You lowered the rifle only because you didn’t trust yourself not to pull the trigger on accident.
And then—movement. A shuffle behind the trees.
Bucky turned his head slightly, called out, “Come on out.”
You watched as Bob stepped into view first, arms braced under John’s weight. Blood stained the sleeve of Walker’s coat, and his jaw was clenched with pain. Ava phased beside them a second later, hauling Yelena, unconscious and pale, her forehead slick with blood.
Your stomach turned. You swallowed the bile. You knew them, or, knew of them. Although you had removed yourself from society as best you could, you still kept in touch. Listening, watching.
They looked like shit, like they’d been through hell.
But you didn’t look at them, not really.
You looked at Bucky. Watched the way his lips turned down at the sight of them in concern.
It made you sick that part of you still cared.
That the sight of Yelena’s crumpled form made you shove the pain down into your gut. That instinct took over and you stepped aside, jerking your head toward the door.
“Inside. Now.”
Bucky didn’t move, not right away.
Maybe he was stunned, or trying to think of something to say.
But you didn’t wait. You turned your back on him—on all of them—and pushed the cabin door wide.
The warmth hit you like a slap, familiar and inviting yet surprising.
The fire was still crackling in the hearth. Your mug of half-finished tea sat forgotten on the windowsill. The cabin smelled like pine and old wood and the lilac cleaner you used on the floors just that morning.
It smelled like you.
And then they all stumbled in, dragging the snow and blood and silence behind him.
Ava pulled Yelena onto the couch. Bob dragged Walked across the carpet, propped him up somewhere. He hovered close, face pale, eyes wide. You moved fast—medical kit from the cabinet, extra blankets from the trunk, towels tossed in the sink.
Your movements were sharp, precise. Practiced and automatic.
You didn’t look at Bucky.
You didn’t need to.
You could feel him behind you, like a storm gathering behind your spine. Like a memory clawing up your throat.
Your voice was low when you finally broke the silence.
“This place isn’t a fucking outpost.”
“I know,” Bucky said quietly. Almost like he couldn’t believe you’d think he’d disrespect this place, one that had once been so kind to him.
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
You snorted. “There’s always a choice.”
His voice cracked, desperate. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Yeah?” You turned, eyes meeting his briefly, hard and angry. “You make a habit of not thinking and being an idiot?”
The silence after was thick enough to drown in.
And he felt it. Drowning, deeper and deeper.
“They’re good people.” It’s all he could say.
“Don’t care.” You did. You couldn’t help yourself, because they hadn’t done anything to wrong you—except Walker—but even then. Their past had no relevance to you. You’d take care of them. It was who you were.
“I just… I thought—”
“What, Bucky?” you snapped eyes narrowed, voice shaking. “What did you think would happen? That I’d open the door and thank you? That I’d be so grateful for the ghost of you showing up on my fucking doorstep that I’d forget everything else?”
He flinched again. Didn’t try to defend himself.
Good. He shouldn’t.
You stepped toward him, close enough that he could feel the heat of your fury.
“I waited, you know. After I got back. I waited. Every goddamn day. Thought you’d call. Thought you’d explain. But you didn’t. You just disappeared. Like none of it meant anything.”
Bucky’s eyes burned.
“It meant everything,” he said, voice low. Raw.
You shook your head. “Too late.”
He wanted to say something else—there was so much to say, so much to apologize for, but you moved away from him, left him standing near the kitchen. He felt something crack at the distance, which was funny, he mused painfully.
For a year, he spent thousands of miles away from you, but he hadn’t felt the distance—the loss—till now. Everything inside him was aching and his hands curled into fists as he watched you, eyes burning into your back.
You worked in silence.
Yelena’s breathing was shallow but steady, her wound cleaned and wrapped beneath layers of gauze and tape. She hadn’t woken yet, but the colour was beginning to return to her face. You tucked another blanket around her, brushing damp hair back from her forehead with a gentleness that surprised even you.
There was something about her, something so achingly familiar in the way she held herself, even unconscious. She had a scar, a small faded one right on her chin. Briefly, your mind flashed to Natasha, of a story she told you years and years ago about her sister and a stapler.
Bob hovered nearby like a kicked dog—wide eyes, oversized hoodie stained with someone else’s blood. His hands trembled as he offered a clean towel, his lip caught between his teeth.
You took it from him carefully, fingers brushing his.
“Thank you,” you murmured. Your voice dipped, just for him, something softer and inviting, like you knew who he was, what he had done, and decided he deserved kindness anyways.
His face lip up like a spark had caught in his chest and he smiled bashfully before he looked away.
Ava sat perched on the arm of a chair, arms crossed. Her eyes tracked every move you made, sharp but not hostile. Just watchful, trying to familiarize herself with you. You caught her eye and nodded at her. She nodded back. Quiet understanding passed, soldier to soldier.
Then you turned to Walker.
He was half-reclined on the floor near the fire, jacked peeled off, blood soaking the side of his shirt. Bob had done what he could—pressure, bandages—but the bleeding hadn’t fully stopped.
You knelt beside him, jaw locked. You didn’t speak at first, rage bubbling in your throat. Just the sight of him, of his battered face made you angry, made you remember the way things were, back when Walker was the biggest pain in your ass, before Bucky had left.
He winced when you pressed against the gauze.
“You know,” you said, voice low, steady, “I ought to let you bleed out. If it were up to me, you’d be lying in the snow somewhere, half-dead.”
He didn’t respond, just looked at you through gritted teeth.
You didn’t look away. You wondered if he was remembering it—the violence, the hatred. The man he was, and very well may be. Growth can’t be disguised under darker clothes and new management.
Resentment lingers—you’d know.
“You’re lucky I give more of a shit about him,” you added, nodding toward Bob. “And Yelena. That’s the only reason I haven’t thrown your ass back into the cold.”
Walker’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I got that.”
You peeled back the soaked bandage with clinical detachment. You didn’t even bother to be gentle.
Across the room, Bucky flinched.
He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, a storm in his eyes. He felt a flicker of something—regret, guilt—familiar, so fucking familiar, as he watched you. Your shoulders were rigid, tight with restraint.
You disliked John, you always had. Before, you had fought with him about his morals, about the way he held himself and the shield. Bucky had stood behind you, behind Sam. He had agreed.
There was something borderline repulsive about the scene in front of him, of you cleaning up John Walker as Bucky watched with mild concern and his friend—Sam—was nowhere to be found.
He wondered if you found it disgusting, who he had become and who he had decided to work alongside. He’d understand. He hated himself most days, too.
You handed Bob another towel.
“Keep pressure here,” you instructed, something softer in your voice as you addressed Bob. “Don’t let him bleed through it again.”
Bob nodded, instantly obedient.
You turned away.
Bucky followed you with his eyes like he couldn’t help it. Like he hadn’t been starved of you for too long. Like he had any right.
You moved past Ava, brushing her shoulder. “You hurt?”
She shook her head. “Just bruised.”
“Bathroom’s through the back,” you said. “Towels under the sink. You can clean up.”
She looked at you, eyes narrowing like she wasn’t sure how to read your tone. But she nodded once and stood, disappearing down the hallway.
And then—silence again.
Except for the fire. And Bob whispering something to Walker, Yelena’s slow, shallow breaths.
You turned, arms crossed, lips turned downwards.
And finally—finally—you looked at Bucky. You silently begged your heart not to give out.
He was bigger, healthier. Gaunter around the eyes. His hair was longer, curling at the ends, damp with snowmelt. His coat was torn. Knuckles scabbed over. Metal hand twitched like he wanted to reach for something—someone.
You didn’t let yourself soften—not at the look in his eyes, not at the way his entire body looked like it was a second away from giving out.
“You can take the cot,” you said, jerking your head toward the corner. “If you think you’ll sleep.”
It was a low-blow, something petty and mean, bringing attention to his trouble with sleeping, but it was all you had. Just these quips, the coldness in your voice. It was all you could throw at him, all you had since he had taken everything else—your trust, heart, and smile.
“I—” He cleared his throat, hoarse. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, and came out too quickly, too quietly. It was too heavy, too weightless.
You scoffed, eyes shifting to the floor before meeting his. “Fuck off.”
Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again.
You turned your back to him.
It was past midnight when Yelena stirred.
You were sitting at her side, fresh gauze in your hands, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. It had been steady for hours—but now, her fingers twitched, lashes fluttered. Her body went still before she relaxed.
“Yelana?” you murmured, trying to keep your voice soft, safe.
She blinked slowly, disoriented, as her pupils adjusted to the low light of the fire. Her mouth moved, cracked lips forming words you couldn’t hear.
“Hey,” you leaned in. “You’re okay. You and your team are safe.”
Her gaze drifted, found your face. Her eyes drifted along your skin, taking in your features. Recognition flashed in them before they moved to the room behind you.
“...we made it?” she rasped, voice hoarse and dry.
You nodded, features softening a bit at the slight accent in her voice. It reminded you of Nat’s, the way it slipped out sometimes, because of certain words, when she felt safe.
“Bled all over my floor, but yeah.”
A small, broken laugh escaped her and she winced immediately, bringing a hand to her ribs.
“Try not to move,” you said gently. “You’ll ruin my fine patch job.”
She was quiet for a beat before she lifted her eyes, lips curled downwards. “You were her friend, weren’t you?”
You blinked in surprise, lips parting. You had heard about Yelena from Nat, near the end. During the blip, when she had decided that she had kept enough to herself, she told you about her little sister. You never thought you’d get to meet her.
“I was,” you swallowed. “We were good friends.”
“She told me about you,” Yelena said, quietly, like it was a secret. “Just once. Told me I could come to you for anything.”
Your heart tightened in your chest and you nodded, trying for a smile. “Yeah. You could—can.”
Something dark, a mixture of grief and anger bubbled in Yelena’s chest and you saw it, saw the way it pulled at her from her hair. It was familiar, a feeling you knew well. “She talked about you,” you offered, trying to pull her out of her own mind. “She loved you.”
“Yeah,” Yelena swallowed, “I know.”
You patted her shoulder gently before pushing yourself up. Her hand caught your wrist and you looked down, eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
You crouched down. “Know what?”
“That you’re her.”
You frowned, tilting your head in question. “Her?”
Yelena’s eyes lingered on your face, tracing your scars and the bridge of your nose. “The one he never talks about.”
Your breath caught, and your eyes widened, just a bit, but enough. You said nothing.
“He’s in love with you, you know.” She winced as she tried to sit up. “He doesn’t know how not to be.” She paused, glancing at your trembling fingers. “It leaks out of him.”
Your jaw clenched and you looked away, heart falling to your stomach and fingers curled. She watched as you kept your eyes on the fire, hating how dry your throat had gotten.
“I’ll check on you in a bit,” you said finally, quietly. “Try to sleep.”
She didn’t protest, just smiled softly before shutting her eyes.
They were all asleep by two, or pretending. But it was quiet, tense, something weighed.
Walker was sprawled ungracefully on the rug, arm bandaged and elevated, snoring softly. Bob had curled up in the armchair, long limbs tucked close, face peaceful. Ava took the cot near the back wall, one leg bouncing softly until it stilled.
And Bucky—
Bucky sat in the kitchen, silent, staring into the dark like it held answers he hadn’t earned. It was too overwhelming—being here. There were memories, soft laughter and lingering touches that had crawled into the crevices of the wood, peeled the stains back until the entire cabin felt smaller, haunted. In the warmth of the kitchen, the wood groaning under his weight, he felt like he could have done it.
He could have stayed. Could have fought off Val for you, kept you out of the limelight.
He could have fought harder.
He should have fought harder.
He doesn’t know what that made him—a coward, maybe. Someone afraid. He had grown, gone to therapy and made friends, but the fear, the curling of unworthiness in his bones would never leave. He knew that.
He stared down at the table, eyes focusing on the swirls and edges of the wood. His herbal tea, the one you had forced them all to drink, was sitting cold in front of him. He was glad you hadn’t given him the one he used to drink—the exotic ones, ones he’d never heard of and couldn’t imagine. It would have felt like holy water in hell, something condemning and horrid, but sweet all the while.
You slipped on your boots and coat and eased the front door open, letting the cold bite at your face. The stars above were clear, silver on black. The trees whispered in the distance, inviting.
Bucky heard the door open and froze, stilled as he stared into the open space.
You sat on the porch steps and pulled the knife from your side pocket.
It was old now, worn. The handle smooth from your thumb, the constant rubbing and brushing.
You’d never stopped carrying it.
Sam had found it at a vintage store. “Some kind of weird sentimental symbolism,” he’d said, when he gave it to you. “Sharp. Pointed. Quiet. Soft around the edges. Like you.” Bucky had added your initials to the leather sheath in his own careful scrawl.
You used to carry it just to remember the two of them. When you were on long missions, when they had stumbled into some trouble far away—when it was quiet.
Now, you carried it because it was all you had left.
You pressed your thumb into the base of the blade, not enough to break skin, but just enough to feel something—to wake you up if this was a bad dream. It felt like one. It felt strange, like you could guess the ending but it changed every time you searched for it, when the flicker of want, of fear, grew larger.
The cabin behind you creaked softly, weight shifting and the wind howling.
You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.
His footsteps were heavier now. Not loud, but familiar—measured, hesitant. A bit like when he first arrived here, years ago. The way he never pressed his full weight into the wood until he grew comfortable, until he was sure that the wood—that you—could support him.
He sat beside you.
Not too close, but closer than he had been in a year. The porch was old pine and groaned beneath his weight, like the cabin couldn’t help but mimic the sadness that dwelled in you—in the absence of him.
You stared at the trees, eyes fluttering shut briefly as the cold wind brushed against your skin. The moonlight was sharper now, illuminating you both perfectly, a silent spectacle for the Gods.
The knife gleamed in your palm like it could split you open. Something was tearing apart.
“It’s…colder than I remember,” Bucky said, after a long silence.
You said nothing.
A part of you wanted to lunge at him, plunge the knife into his heart and ask him if it hurts, if the pain measures to your own. You gripped the hilt of the knife tighter, looked at a tree where a gun was hidden.
He exhaled slowly, white breath curling in the air as his nose twitched. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” He said it like it made it better, like he knew you were bleeding out and these words were all he could offer, little bandaids he kept on hand.
“Yeah,” you said, voice sharp and bitter. “You’ve mentioned that.”
He rubbed his hands together, flesh and metal and yet he hadn’t felt warmth in months, years—whenever he touched you last. A brush against your shoulder, knees bumping under the blanket.
“You shouldn’t’ve been.”
You turned sharply, eyes narrowed into slits. He almost moved back. “You think you get to decide where I go now?” Your hold on the knife tightened, slipped into place.
“No—”
“Because last I checked,” you interrupted, “you lost that right. When you ghosted me. When you walked away from Sam and into fucking politics. When instead of taking her down, you joined up with Val fucking Fontaine and turned into some New Avenger.”
You were seething, jaw clenched as the words came out like bullets. Your fingers twitched around the blade and you almost, almost, lifted it, just to see what he would do. You were angry, so fucking angry, and hurt, and worried, and—God—Why was he staring at you like that?
“I was trying to protect you,” Bucky said quietly, a whisper that floated into the wind.
“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”
He looked down, hair falling across his face as his fingers curled into fists.
“Do you know what it felt like?” You whispered, voice cracking, mentally blaming the cold. “Coming home after six months to find no one there? I saw Sam. He looked at me like I’d been buried alive. And then I had to ask about you and he just—he looked so tired. Like he didn’t have any energy left.”
Your grip on the knife loosened but his shoulders tensed, pinched together like he was trying to keep himself still.
“Sam was busy with the government and he had Joaquin and I…I had no one.” You inched forward, wanting him to see the look in your eyes. “I called you. Every day. Texted you, sent voice messages. I got nothing. Nothing, Buck. Not even a fuck-you.”
Bucky couldn’t breathe, he was sure he had stopped breathing the moment he sat down but now his chest hurt, his eyes stung and his fingers twitched. “I couldn’t,” he said, almost begging, his voice cracking.
“I couldn’t.”
You finally turned your full body toward him. If this conversation was finally happening, maybe for the last time ever, you wanted to be present for it. If he was truly going to rip your heart out of your chest, you wanted him to have a clear shot. “Why not?”
He met your eyes—red, bright blue, and so exhausted.
“Because Val knew about you.”
Your stomach twisted. The way he said it—haunted, like it was the worst thing in the world, like he’d never been more shaken.
“She knew everything. She had a file, your name. Where you trained, where you came from. She knew. And she told me…if I didn’t cooperate, if I didn’t step in line, she’d make you vanish.”
You stared at him, lips parting in surprise. The air thinned around you. It was less about what he said and more about the way he said it, the way he panted out the words, like they’d been taking so much space in his body.
“She said it like she was doing me a favour,” he whispered. “Like she was giving me an option. I knew what she was capable of. I’ve seen what her people do, Y/n.”
“So you left,” you breathed out. “Without a word.”
“It was the only way to keep her away from you,” he said, his eyes pleading. You had to understand—understand that he’d do anything to keep you safe. “I had to disappear from your life. I thought…if I stayed gone long enough, she’d think you didn’t matter.”
Your throat closed, anger bubbling into something colder—grief. “I did matter.”
“I know,” he said, eyes piercing into yours, pink lips pulled into a frown. “Christ, I know. Don’t you think I’ve thought about it every day? Don’t you think I regret it? I thought I was saving you. But I was just…just a fucking coward.”
Silence—the woods watched, trees listened.
The stars did not blink, just stayed still, offering as much comfort as they could.
You breathed in the fresh air, trying to get your blood circulating. Your pulse pounded in your chest and you wiped at your face, angry and so fucking sad. All you wanted was to live in your anger forever, to keep it at the surface and present, but here he was, hands trembling, telling you how far he had gone to keep you safe.
“I missed you,” you admitted, softly. “Every day. Even when I was angry.”
Bucky turned toward you, jaw clenched. His hand reached out before he dropped it. His eyes were wide and bright and sorry.
You looked down at the knife. “I came here, once. After you left. I thought maybe being here would help. That I could feel close to you.”
He swallowed hard, dug his nails into his palm.
“But it just…just made it worse. Every corner. Every stupid crevice. You’re in all of it.” You paused, a small smile, filled with everything but warmth. “Ended up staying. What does that say about me?”
He looked small, like he might shatter. Like the weight of your words was too much, like his superhuman strength was nothing against them.
“I wanted my best friend,” you said, voice small. It was easier to be like this—sad, fucking pathetic, and angry, with him. It always had been. “I needed you, Buck. And you weren’t there.”
“I wanted to be,” his words came tumbling out, hurried and harsh. “You think I didn’t want to break every fucking rule and come running the second I saw your name pop up on my screen? I wanted to call, to explain. But Val—she had eyes. I thought if I held out long enough, she’d lose interest.”
“She didn’t,” you mused. “She sent you here.”
Bucky looked startled, exhaled sharply, like he hadn’t considered it. This whole time—he thought it was a coincidence. His bad fucking luck. But it was Val—of course. That scared him, made him want to pick up his team and leave you, the sooner he left the further Val got to you.
“I shouldn’t’ve come.”
“No,” you said, softer, a bit surprised at your immediate answer. “But I’m glad you did.”
He looked at you, startled. His eyes, so blue, so bright, widened a fraction.
You wiped at your eyes again, trying to brush away the feelings that had bubbled out of your chest and out in the open, dancing across your skin.
“Because now you get to see what you left behind…and I—I get to see you. Alive.”
Bucky’s breath caught and his fingers shook. His shoulders dropped and a part of you, a small, horrible part of you relished in it. Briefly, but it pleased you.
“You’re my best friend,” he said, like a confession. Like it meant something else, something he thought about, something that burned bright and warm in his veins every night. “That’s the problem. I had to walk away.”
He said it with heat—desperation.
Please, he was saying, understand—I love you.
You looked at him then, fully, completely. And for the first time in nearly a year, your anger cracked, just a little—then crumbled, until it fell off you like rain. It was still there, soaking into your skin, but slid off.
“Then stop walking away,” you whispered, responding to the words he wasn’t saying but was leaking out of him. “If I’m your best friend,”—if you love me—“stay. Stop running.”
The words found a life of their own, stumbled out of your mouth before you could catch them, before you could measure their consequences—they fell along Bucky’s skin like snow, soft and beautiful and cold and unseen.
The moon above you was heavy and silver and listening—waiting, glowing, yearning.
The silence stretches on, hovers softly over the snow, a blanket over the cold.
You don’t say anything for a long time.
Not after you ask him to stay.
There’s just the knife in your hand and the throb in your chest and the goddamn moon staring down at you like she knows, like she understands—despite your embarrassment, the hole in your chest that was once filled with anger and pride and hurt. Now hollow, remnants of it all dried and crisp.
And then—
You laugh.
It’s not soft, not amused. It’s empty, something clipped.
“I can’t believe I just asked you to stay,” you admit, bitter and in disbelief. “I’m your best friend. Right. You care about me so much I had to grieve you.”
He flinches, chin tipping downwards.
You’re on your feet before you even realize it, pacing the porch like it’s the only way to stay upright. You had imagined having this conversation with him hundreds of times, all different. When you had come back and Sam told you he didn’t know where Bucky was, your entire life fell apart. Sometimes, on bad days, you can still feel the ache in your chest.
For a moment, a day, a week, a while, you had thought you had lost him. Until he turned up on your fucking television.
“I lit a candle for you in some tiny church in Madrid. Did you know that?” you spit. “I thought you were dead. Or worse—I thought you’d become someone I didn’t recognize.” Your eyes met his and they fell along his suit, the black, the A that had once meant so much to you.
“I’m not sure I recognize you now.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything—can’t. His heart is beating out of his chest and he’s blinking too fast. He never meant for this to happen—never wanted you to be in pain because of him.
“I hated you,” you whisper into the air. “But I never stopped—” You stopped, swallowed the words, the ache. “You don’t get to say that to me. Best friend? Please.”
“You always have been,” he said, quietly. “Even when I tried to forget you.”
You whirled on him, a flicker of anger raging in your eyes. “And what? I’m supposed to be grateful? Being your best fucking friend? Like it didn’t crush me? Like it’s enough?”
“No,” he responds, throat dry. “I don’t expect that.” He knows, he fucking knows.
“Then what do you want, Bucky? Forgiveness? Closure? You want to cry under the stars and say you’re sorry and pretend like that makes it better?” You can’t breathe, fingers trembling.
“No.”
“Then what?”
Bucky stood slowly, took a step forward—didn’t reach for you.
“I just wanted you to know,” his voice is so quiet, his breath warm and cheeks pink. “That I never stopped choosing you. Even when it looked like I didn’t.” He moved closer, needed you to see him, hear him.
“You have been, and always will be, my first choice. Even if it won’t lead me to you.”
You look away, shaking and eyes shining. “I didn’t—don't—want your protection. I wanted you.”
I always have, you didn’t say.
“I know,” he says, voice breaking and heart heavy. “I know that now.”
You wanted to hit him—to kiss him. You wanted to break every bone in your body until the pain matched the ache in your chest, just so it could feel real.
You pressed your palms to your eyes, feeling too much and pathetic and like the facade you had tried to bolt into place for months was slipping. “You let me think you didn’t care.”
“I thought it would make it easier.” He was close now, his body heat caressing yours, inviting and sorry.
“It didn’t.”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“I’m not made of glass,” you hissed. “I’m not something fragile. Stop acting like I am.”
“I know that,” he admits, voice gruff and shaking. “I know how strong you are. That’s never been the problem.”
“Then what is?” Why couldn’t he just say it—how many years had passed in this dance, in this slow waltz you both were determined to participate in.
Bucky looks at you and your heart skipped a breath. He heard it, almost smiled, but he was lost in your eyes, in the way they glowed and were on him.
“I don’t get to keep good things,” he says, words coming out like glass in his throat.
“I don’t get forever, Y/n. I don’t get safe. I don’t get to love something without watching it get taken from me.”
You stopped breathing, head tilting back as he moved closer, lips parted. His words collided into your chest, ripped through layers and layers of skin until they sat heavily on your bones, pried their way inside your heart.
“You think I was protecting you? I was protecting me.” His hands were fists at his side. “Because the second I saw her file, the second Val mentioned your name, all I could think about was you bleeding out somewhere—and it being my fault.”
His voice cracks—hard, raw. He’s looking at you like he’s never going to see you again, like he’s at the crossroads and at any moment, he’ll be dragged to hell. The way the damned look an angel, in yearning and mourning.
“I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered. “So I walked away.”
You shook your head, fingers uncurling and curling. “So you lived with a ghost.”
He nodded, solemn. “Better than your blood on my hands.”
“And what about me?” You snapped. “What about what I had to live with? You think it didn’t kill me, wondering why I wasn’t enough to stay for? Why Sam and I weren’t?”
His whole body tensed and his breathing hitched.
“I would’ve rather had you,” you said, words trembling. “Ruined. Broken. Afraid. I would’ve taken every messy fucking day, every stupid risk, every scar. I wanted you. I didn’t want safety.”
Bucky’s quiet for a long time.
His shoulders shake once—twice.
With stark apprehension, your eyes widened—- he’s crying.
Not softly, but like it’s wrenching out of him. Like the pain has been festering for years, decades, even. Like he’s refused to feel any emotion for so long that now, it’s tearing out of him.
You don’t move—can’t. You’ve never seen Bucky cry before—not when Steve left, not when his nightmares had him yelling in his sleep.
He didn’t ask for comfort.
You stood still.
“I kept thinking,” he said, through the tears, absolutely wrecked, “that maybe if I left early on, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Did it help?” You asked quietly, resisting the urge to rub his arm.
He shook his head. “I’ve never been more miserable.”
You’re both quiet again.
Just the wind now, the trees.
He sat back down, slowly, like the weight of it all is too much.
After a long, long beat—you sat too.
The knife is still in your hand.
You don’t touch him. He doesn’t try.
He just sits there, eyes red, face raw. A man undone.
And for the first time in a year, the silence between you is not empty.
It’s full—of pain, history, of the soft, slow pulse of something broken that still wants to live.
The silence stretched again—different, not bitter. Just tired.
The kind of quiet that lived after grief has passed itself, after all the screaming is done. What remained is ache, the king you can breathe through, if you sit still long enough.
You stared at the woods, the snow drifting off the trees. Your fingers curled tight around the knife.
“I kept it,” you said, suddenly. Filling the silence. “The knife.”
Bucky turned his head slightly, eyes falling on the metal in wonder.
You traced your thumb over the hilt. “You and Sam gave it to me after Belgium. Said I earned it, saved both your asses. A gift.”
“You did,” he murmured, licking his lips.
You almost smiled.
Instead, you nodded towards the woods. “I took it on this last mission.”
Bucky’s quiet for a beat, then, “What happened?”
You don’t answer right away—breath curling in the cold. “I don’t know if I want to tell you.”
His voice is gentle, understanding. “That’s okay.”
You shifted, momentarily uncomfortable, knife balanced on your knee.
“I was in Kaltag,” you said, finally. “Started as intel extraction. Easy, in and out. But it wasn’t. Not even close.”
Bucky hated how haunted you sounded, how winded, even after a year, you seemed to be. Like you weren’t sure if you had outrun the threat, or if it loomed behind you still.
You swallowed and ran your hand through your hair. “It went on for three months longer than it should’ve. I lost my whole team.”
You could feel him tense, the way the guilt inside and around him increased tenfold.
“I made it out,” you said softly, reminding him and yourself that you were okay. “But it was close.”
He turned slightly, not touching you, but near. Closer than before.
You tried to ignore how good it felt, how it immediately eased the tension in your own shoulders.
“When I got back to New York,” you continued, “I called you, first thing. I couldn’t think about anything else. Just—telling you I was alive.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched
You wrapped your arms around your knees and rested your cheek against your arm, eyes on him. He looked so beautiful, so tortured as he sat there, listening to you.
“I left you a voicemail. Told you I missed you.”
“I listened to it,” he said, hoarsely, pained.
“I almost wish you hadn’t.”
He opened his mouth before shutting it. He couldn’t argue—not when your voicemails, your voice, kept him sane for so long. It was the only physical thing he had of you.
You pressed your lips together when the wound felt like cracking open again.
He pressed his hand to his mouth, exhaled hard. “I’m sorry.”
You nodded once, expecting it. Taking it better than you did earlier.
He glanced towards the cabin, peeking inside. You followed his gaze.
“Your team,” you started. “They’re good people.”
Bucky shook his head. “Not exactly.”
You shrugged, the ghost of a smile passing by your lips.
“Yeah. Maybe not good. But…they’re trying. I think.”
He nodded then. “Yeah. They are.”
There was something in his voice, something soft and vulnerable and uncomfortable. “You care about them.”
He paused, like he didn’t like how fast he might’ve answered. “I do.”
You traced the knife again. It felt a bit like your spine–rigid, cold, worn out. You glanced at him once, just to understand, to dig the pain in further. “Are you happy?” Your voice is soft, almost serene. “You said you were miserable but did you find something with them? Something you didn’t have before?”
Bucky looked at you, his whole body stiffening. There’s more beneath your words, he hears it. The sharp edge of grief, of doubt. He doesn’t answer immediately because the truth is—he doesn’t know. He hasn’t thought about himself, about his wants or his feelings in months.
You were braced for it—the soft, diplomatic lie. Bucky missed you, you knew that. He missed Sam too, even if he hadn’t said it. But you saw the way his eyes narrowed when one of them winced. It was a look you were more than familiar with—what you weren’t familiar with—was not being on the other end of it.
He clears his throat and looks up, his eyes twinkling under the starlight. “It’s not the same.”
You looked at him, wary. He sounded older, exhausted.
“It’s good. They’re good,” he said. “But it’s not the same. Not even close.” His throat was clogged with sadness, with nostalgia.
You turned away, tried to breathe. You hated how he could get you like this, all unraveled and messy. He was the only one who ever could.
Bucky waited. Then said, gently, “It’s okay.”
You shook your head, gripped the knife tighter. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s okay to ask me.”
You blinked, knife slipping slowly from your hand. You both had said so much tonight, opened the floor to feelings and anger and questions neither of you had ever thought you’d get to. It felt a bit like going in circles, like he couldn’t help but keep you safe and you couldn’t help but hate him for it over, and over again.
“To wonder,” he added. “You can ask. You always could.”
You gripped the knife tighter and your lips trembled, partly due to the cold and partly due to the weight of what you wanted to ask.
Were you ever going to come back? You wanted to ask, scream into the air. Did you find a new family?
Bucky breathed in deeply, closed his eyes. When he opened them, he turned his head to look at you. His eyes were bright, earnest. “I’ve only ever belonged to one place,” he said, softly. “One person.”
His words, wrapped in gentle warmth, brushed against your skin and you froze, stilled as your eyes widened a bit.
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
Something quiet, a mixture of grief and love and sadness paints across his face and the corners of his lips quirk upwards momentarily, like he imagined this conversation, but not like this.
“I’ve never meant anything more.”
The knife dropped slightly in your lap. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to take his words and cradle them to your chest, coo at them.
But your heart was still wrapped in barbed wire, hands bloody as you tried to keep him at arm's length.
There’s a long, still beat.
“What about this mission?” You cleared your throat, tried to push the warmth away with your cold breath.
“What brought you here?”
Bucky exhaled and looked out over the snow. His jaw flexed and he ran a hand through his hair. It was longer, parted and freshly cut. He looked so good. You looked away.
“There was a compound,” he started. “Hidden in the mountains. Yelena had a lead. Val gave the green light, but the intel was wrong.”
He shook his head, looking years older and frustrated—jaw tight.
“It was a trap. A set-up. Ava nearly got blown apart. Yelena and Walker took shrapnel. Bob was doing well but then he panicked. We barely got out.”
You looked at him then, quietly stunned. He sounded like a proper leader, someone who cared. He sounded a bit like a Sergeant and a small—large—part of you almost winced in pain. You always knew he was a leader, despite following Steve everywhere. It was who he was, a man who took the lead, control, when he had too.
“And then you came here.”
His voice dipped, a little bashful. “Didn’t realize where I was at first. Not until I checked the coordinates again.”
“And when you did?”
His eyes were glasser now, glowing brightly, like your very own temptation. “I didn’t want to.”
“But you did.”
He nodded, solemn. “Because I knew it was the only place they’d be safe.”
You understood, in retrospect. He was right. You knew this terrain, and had heard whispers of the death that followed. It’s why you chose this place for solitude, not just anyone can survive in a place like this.
“I would’ve helped, you know.” You brought your knees to your chest. “Even if you weren’t there.”
He nodded, like it was obvious. “I know.” You’re a good person. The best he knows. But he was a coward and he was selfish and there was a part of him that would have done anything to see you, even if it meant shooting himself in the foot.
There’s a long pause—seems to welcome itself between every moment.
And then—his voice breaks a little, vulnerable.
“I’m sorry.”
You don’t look at him. You can feel the fire melting. It’s all gone and now he’s smothering the burned ambers, making sure there isn’t anything left.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Bucky said, again, harder, wetter. “For all of it. For walking away. For staying away. For not calling. For letting you think—”
“Stop, Buck.”
He stopped, eyes wild and lips parted. You stared out at the snow, the rising light. You often stayed awake until sunrise, but you had barely done it with company.
“What’s done is done. And you can’t fix it.” You paused, pretended not to notice his full-body flinch. “Not with words, at least.”
“I know.” He sounded so defeated, like he was about to be dragged away and he was using his last breath on this, on apologizing, even if it didn’t mean anything to you.
You glanced down at your hands, brushed your thumb across the engraving. It was still warm, still smelled like him if you pretended long enough. “But,” you almost smiled, “thank you. For apologizing. It’s a start.”
Bucky released a short breath and his eyes gleamed. He nodded and slowly—so slowly—you let your shoulder brush his.
Just barely—enough. The first touch between you both in a year, something soft and passing, weightless, but so incredibly heavy.
His breath stuttered and he froze, almost as if his stillness could convince you to do it again.
You don’t say anything.
Neither does he.
The sun began to rise, gold light spilling over the trees. It touched your porch, your boots, the blade of your knife. The world around you began to glow.
And for the first time in a long time, you both felt warm—not whole, but alive. Like there was meaning now, like maybe, just maybe—you could start again.
The morning came quietly.
Fog clung to the trees like ghosts reluctant to leave, coiled through the branches and rolling over the forest floor. It muffled the sounds of birds and leaves, wrapped the cabin in a kind of hush—a sacred, fragile peace. You didn’t sleep, just sat near the front window for most of the night, listened to the crackle of the dying fire, feeling Bucky’s presence behind you like static in the air.
When you finally stepped outside, the grass was slick with dew. Cold bit at your ankles through your boots. You made your usual perimeter check—like muscle memory, a prayer.
It wasn’t until you circled behind the old shed, half-hidden in undergrowth, that you noticed it. Something thin and taut stretched between two trees—nearly invisible unless the light caught it just right.
Infrared wire. Trip-triggered—directional.
Your heart stuttered. That wasn’t yours.
You crouched, studied it. It was recent—clean. Hadn’t been disturbed by animals. That meant one thing—someone had been here.
And not long ago.
You didn’t make a sound, just rose and moved, boots silent against the snow.You ducked back into the cabin and found the team already stirring.
Yelena sharpened a knife by the fireplace, Walker was rubbing sleep from his eyes, Ava said cross-legged with a datapad balanced on her knee. Bob was quietly eating dry granola and leaned over the arm of the chair he was sitting in, trying to get a closer look at whatever Ava was looking at.
And Bucky—
Bucky watched you before the door even closed.
You didn’t say anything at first, just met his eyes, that solemn blue set into all that worry and quiet guilt. The heat from the night before was still burning in those eyes, still warm and attentive.
You looked away and cleared your throat, shattering the comfortable silence that had built upon the slow fire.
“We’ve been compromised.”
They all stilled, exhaled quietly.
You stepped towards the table, pulled the map out, laid it flat. “Infrared tripwire. North perimeter, ten meters past the old woodpile. Wasn’t there yesterday.”
Yelena stood immediately, trying to hide the wince of pain. “Can you show me?” She wheezed a little.
You shook your head, held up a hand. “Not now. I already marked it. We need to assume they know you’re here.”
Bob cursed low under this breath as Walker rubbed his temples. “That’s just great.”
Ava’s voice was sharp, “How long do we have?”
“Not long enough,” you said, voice tight.
And that’s when Bucky moved. Just a step, but the whole room shifted with him. The air charged, the team straightened.
“I’ll handle it,” he said, voice calm, strong. Like there wasn’t a world, a situation, where he wouldn’t handle it.
You turned to him, sharply. “You’ll—Bucky, you think I can’t handle my own perimeter?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
You crossed your arms. “Then what are you saying?” There was almost no heat behind your words—very little curtness, nothing like the day before. The team noticed, the way your shoulders weren’t as tense, the way Bucky slightly leaned towards you, like he couldn’t help it.
He looked at you, pain flickering through his expression. “I’m saying we brought this upon you—I did.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes and dropped your arms.
“Oh, please.”
“We did,” he said, louder now, more insistentent. The moment he noticed that look in your eyes, like you were disturbed, he knew what had happened. His heart had stopped beating at the idea of drawing danger to you.
“You were off the radar and safe. And we dragged you back into this.”
“I took you in,” You reminded him. “You didn’t force me.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” he snapped, worried and furious with himself. “You should’ve been allowed to live without the past coming to your front door with guns and tripwires.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you hissed, low, stepping in close. “We talked about this. I’m not some fragile memory in your head. I’m right here. I chose to help. I knew the consequences.”
His voice dropped, low and softer, like he was pleading. “And I’m choosing not to let you get killed because of us.”
There it was.
The silence was sharp, crackling. Everyone else disappeared into background noise, blurred by the weight of what passed between you, the anger and softness of last night, the years in between.
Bucky knew—knew the likelihood of you actually dying was low, you were strong, so fucking strong and so intelligent and one of the best fighters he knew, but he couldn’t get the image of you—hurt, bleeding—out of his head.
“I know you think you have to fix everything,” you said, quiet, tired, understanding. “But not this.”
“This is the only thing I can fix,” he said, and his voice cracked. Like he had spent the few hours after your time on the porch just thinking, mulling over everything you had said, everything he hadn’t said. “Please, let me.”
The rest of the team had scattered quietly, trying their best to give you space. They shifted away, towards the fireplace and the wall, made themselves smaller, but watched carefully, nosey and interested.
They didn’t know much about Bucky. He had always been a private person, preferred to listen to their stories than share any of his own. But in the beginning, when it was all new, they could tell his heart wasn’t in it, that obligation and morality drove him.
His heart had always belonged to another, he had left it somewhere—ran without it.
Now, they had finally seen it—the woman that kept his heart, the one place his guard hadn’t been up, the way he let himself be small, let himself be, with no title. They weren’t even sure if he knew, if he knew that his heart lived here, existed in the palm of your hand, in the edges of the wood.
You stared at him, and maybe it was adrenaline, or just the years of knowing him—of knowing his heart even when he wouldn’t speak on it—but something in your chest broke. The softness in his eyes, replacing the usual hardness and fury. The way he had naturally moved closer to you, like you were the center of his gravity.
“Y/n,” he said then, softly. Your name felt holy on his tongue, something divine. Like he was standing at the top of some cathedral and the beauty overwhelmed him and all he could do was utter the name of his worship. It felt like a promise, something far deeper than the word itself.
“James,” you whispered back, just as softly—delicate. It slipped out, something instinctual. You watched his entire body tense before it relaxed, before the wrinkles near his eyes smoothed out and his eyes gleamed—just for a moment, but blinding.
He stared at you like you’d just torn open the sky. He hadn’t been called that in years, not by anyone else but you. It was his name, but it felt like yours, something you held onto.
But then the moment passed. The threat crept back in, like a shadow reasserting itself.
He shook his head, leaned back. This always happened, he always got lost in you, lost his mind as soon as he laid eyes on you. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” you said, breath catching, feeling like you had been pushed off a cliff.
“We’re going to pull the enemy off your trail. Lead them into the open. Finish it.”
“No,” you said, chest tight, feeling like a child and the blanket was being ripped off of you. “You need me.”
“I can’t ask you to do this.”
“You’re not asking,” you told him. “I’m telling you I can. I’ve fought beside you. I’ve bled beside you, you know I’m good for this.”
“I know,” he said, like it pained him. “God, I know. You’ve always been better than me at this. But let me do this. Let me protect something, just once, without destroying it.”
“Bucky—”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said, quickly, breathless, stepping closer. “Not forever. Just for this. Let me end it, and I swear—I’ll come back.”
Your throat closed, his cold, metal hand closing around your heart. You didn’t even know when he had reached in, when the barbed wire had fallen away. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he said, his forehead almost touching yours. His breath was warm as it brushed your cheek. He sounded so sure, so confident. “And I am. I will come back.”
The firelight in his eyes wasn’t desperate, wasn’t afraid—it was resolute. “I can’t let you go again. I’m not strong enough.”
He was already pulling on his gear when you stepped in front of him again, heart in your throat.
“This isn’t fair,” you said. None of it felt fair—felt real. You had just gotten him back, just made peace with him, with the familiarity that gripped you by the jaw.
“I know,” he replied.
You looked into his eyes, in the way they drank you in. They shifted downwards, over his body, memorizing. Without thinking too hardly, you reached for his hand.
His fingers closed around yours instantly, like they’d been waiting—like he’d been falling and you had just reached out for him. His calluses scraped against your knuckles, grounding you. Heat flooded your body, almost tipped you over. His thumb brushed against your pulse point, pressed on it.
“I hate you,” you whispered, not a single hating bone in your body. You were sure the hatred, the anger was somewhere deep within your body, hiding and floating and real, but it wasn’t present, wasn’t pressing against your skin the way the fear, the love—the want—was.
“I know,” he said again, smiling just a little. “I don’t.”
You pulled him into a hug and you both breathed for the first time. He held on like he never wanted to let go, his arms instantly wrapped around you, hands pressing into your skin. The silence between you was fuller now—stitched together with hope, with fear, with the half-formed shape of something possible—real.
He pulled back, looked you in the eye. He looked younger, someone in love.
“I’ll come back,” he said again, and this time, it felt like a vow.
You let him go.
Stood there as he went, silent and still as snow fell. Let him hold your hand for a second longer than he should have. Let his eyes rest on you like they always had—gently, painfully, like it was the last time.
“Stay safe,” he said, smiling softly.
You watched as they disappeared into the mist and the trees with soft smiles and nods, into the fight that waited beyond the edge of safety.
He had promised. He’d whispered it in the hush between your porch and you, where things had often been left unsaid but then he said it.
“I’ll come back. You don’t have to let me in—but I’ll come back anyway.”
You stood on the porch until they were gone, arms wrapped around yourself, chilled to the bone.
You just stood there, empty and filled with hope—waiting.
And hoping he wouldn’t break this promise too.
It snowed again that morning.
This white lace drifted down from the treetops, quieting the woods like a lullaby. Two weeks had passed since he left. Since he stood at the tree line with his eyes locked to yours like it would be the last time.
You tried not to count the days. Tried to act like it didn’t matter—but the ache in your chest made a liar of you. It always did.
Each morning you opened your door just a little too fast. Each night you lit the fireplace and left the hall light on, telling yourself it was just for warmth, for visibility. But really, you didn’t want the place to feel so empty if—when—he came back.
Today, you wore one of his old shirts. Soft cotton and faint cologne still clinging to the collar. You hadn’t meant to put it on, not really, didn’t even know it was his at first, but when you touched the fabric, it felt like a memory.
And that’s when it happened.
Three slow, heavy knocks at the door.
You froze, heart in your throat. Then you rushed, stumbled barefoot through the living room, fingers fumbling with the handle. When the door creaked open, the cold hit you first—and then him.
Bucky.
He stood there, snow in his hair, lips split, knuckles scraped, breath heaving like he’d run through the forest without stopping. A duffle hung over one shoulder. His blue eyes were glassy, rimmed red with exhaustion and something else—something soft, searching.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he breathed out, quickly. “I had to make sure everything was finished. That you were safe.”
You said nothing, couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, wide-eyed, chest rising.
“I didn’t know if I’d make it back,” he continued, like he knew you were barely breathing and wanted to give you a second. “Didn’t know if you’d still want me here. And if you slam the door in my face, I’ll understand.”
You didn’t.
Instead, you stepped out onto the porch, into the snow. Shoved him hard in the chest—once, twice. And he took it, didn’t move or flinch, just let you. He looked at you like you were sunlight.
And then you grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him down and kissed him.
God, the kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire—heat and years of longing poured into it like you both had been holding your breath since the day you met. His hands dropped the bag, found your waist, warm and trembling and real. You opened your mouth to him and he groaned, low and guttural like he’d waited years for the taste of you.
He stumbled into the cabin with you in his arms, the door shutting behind him. Snow melted off his jacket onto the floor as he pressed you against the wall, mouths locked, hearts wild.
He kissed you like a promise, like he’s finally letting himself fall. His lips moved with yours in slow, lingering passes, breath hitching slightly when your fingers tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
“Bucky…” you whispered, breathless, as he pulled back just a little, just enough to look at you again.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not going anywhere.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time, hungrier—but still gentle, like every kiss was him saying I’m here without needing the words.
“I love you,” he rasped out, pressing his lips firmly against yours. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered against your mouth, breathing like a man starved. “I’ve always been in love with you.” He sounded reverent, voice raw.
You pressed your forehead to his, blinking back tears, lips plump and breathless. “You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“I’m still so angry.”
He pressed a soft, hovering kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take all of it. Every piece of it.”
You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears. “I’m in love with you, you idiot.”
He smiled then, the softest, most brightest thing you’d ever seen. A man who had been lost in the woods, in the snow, who finally found his way home.
The fire cracked behind you, casting everything in gold and flickering shadows. He looked beautiful, something magical and unreal, like he had been crafted by the most expensive stained glass.
You looked up at him, slid your hand to the base of his throat. “What does this change?”
“Everything,” Bucky said, voice raw. “But it doesn’t have to change all at once. You don’t have to let me in tonight. You can hate me, scream. I’ll wait.”
You exhaled shakily, shifted closer. “I’ll be mad at you tomorrow.”
He nodded, like he expected worse, like he was so enamoured by you.
“But tonight—” You touched his jaw, traced the bruises like they were yours to soothe. “Tonight… I just want to feel you. Want to know you’re mine.”
His mouth opened like he might say something, but all that came out was a soft, wounded nose before he kissed you again. Slower, deeper. His tongue traced his devotion into his gums as he slid his trembling hands under your—his—shirt and when his palms found bare skin, he sighed against your lips.
“I’ve always been yours.”
You took his hand and led him down the familiar hallway, toward the bedroom. The fireplace crackled low in the other room. Moonlight spilled across your floorboards. A few candles flickered by your bedside, forgotten after another sleepless night—but now, they painted him in gold.
The door shut behind him and he watched you like he didn’t believe you were real. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked gently, eyes soft. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You nodded, looking up at him like he had always belonged here, in your room, desperate and panting and beautiful.
“Do you know how many nights I longed for you? Wanted your touch?”
He reached for you then, slow and gentle, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, everything would fall apart. His lips found your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Kisses layered like apology, like worship.
“I’ll make up for lost time,” he murmured, unbuttoning your shorts with careful fingers. “I swear to you.”
When your shirt slipped off your shoulders, his breath caught.
He stepped forward, hands devout, fingertips grazing your skin like he was afraid to wake from a dream.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “You don’t know what it did to me—thinking I’d never get to touch you. Never get to love you.”
He touched you like you were something sacred, something so beautiful and otherworldly. He made you feel wanted, loved.
“You’re here now,” you whispered, lips lifting into a small smile. You watched as his breath hitched, as his fingers flexed and he almost fell into you.
He kissed you again, rough and deep and messy. Like every second he’d spent away had built this fire under his skin and only you could soothe it. His hand slid into your hair, pulled you closer. His lips moved to your jaw, your collarbone—and he moaned softly, like the taste of your skin was salvation.
You unzipped his jacket, whimpered as Bucky’s teeth grazed against your ear, the skin just below. You pulled at his shirt and with one hand, he pulled his henly off, reattaching his lips to your skin, kissing down your neck.
Your hands slid down his chest as you leaned into him, panting against the side of his head. His lips sucked and licked your skin, finding comfort in leaving marks on your skin.
You pulled away, needing to see him, to breathe him in. “I wanted to take care of you,” you whispered, reaching for the waistband of his pants. You kissed his neck, licked a bead of sweat.
“Wanted to—”
He caught your wrist gently, kissing your knuckles. You were glowing, something ethereal and his heart almost gave out. “Let me,” he said. “Please. Let me love you first.”
He sounded so pretty, so breathless. You melted, relishing in the way his gaze burned into you. Fell back onto the bed as he knelt between your thighs, spreading you open like something holy. His kisses trailed lower, burning a path down your body. Over your breasts, your stomach, down the soft skin of your hips.
He pressed hot, wet kisses all over your breasts, cupped one while he sucked on your nipple, tongue swirling. He whispered against your skin, his devotion, his cries of your beauty.
He sucked, licked and kissed the skin of your hips, just above your panty-line. Blew air onto the mark, kissed it once, twice, then grinned. Bucky looked up at you—eyes dark and tender—and his smile turned into something soft, something so devastating.
“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.” He nudged your thighs apart even more, shifted you up on the mattress so he could lay down on his stomach comfortably. He kissed your inner thigh before brushing his nose against your cunt. You almost squeezed your legs shut when he sniffed, a moan escaping his lips.
“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” He asked, voice husky. When you nodded, slid your hand into his hair and pulled, desperation and heat dancing in your eyes, he pressed a kiss to your folds.
“Please, Buck,” you breathed out.
That was all he needed. He buried his mouth between your legs like he’d been born for this. Like nothing mattered more than making you feel it. He moaned into you, fingers gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, letting his tongue swirl and suck and worship until you were crying out his name, hips trembling under his hands.
You gasped when his tongue swirled around your cunt—broad, slow licks that made your knees shake. He moaned like it was his release, like your pleasure soothed something deep in him. He sucked your clit with such reverence, it made you sob.
“James—”
His arms wrapped around your thighs, grounding you. He pressed his nose against your clit, rubbed your slick all over his face as his tongue fucked you, curving just right.
“That’s it, baby,” he moaned into your pussy, the vibrations making your head spin. “Say my name.”
“So good,” you panted, grinding your hips against his face, pulling at his fair. His metal hand spread your folds and you almost screamed, the sudden cold mixed with the heat of his warm breath was too much.
He sucked and licked, tongue swirling around your clit. He felt your whole body tense, the way you tried closing your legs around him. He held your hips still, sucked harder. “Cum for me,” he whispered. “Want to taste you. Need to—fuck, baby, please.”
And when you did, when you shattered his tongue, cried out his name, he didn’t stop. He kissed you through it, breathed your name like a prayer as he sucked and swallowed your cum. He kissed your thighs and your belly, rested his cheek against your stomach like he could live there.
“That’s it. So sweet. So fuckin’ good for me,” he babbled, kissing your skin. “That’s my girl.”
He stripped, pulled his pants off and kicked off his boxers. His cock was hard, red, pre-cum dripping like it never had before.
When he finally climbed over you, lips swollen, pupils blown, you grabbed his face and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on him and it made your head spin. You needed him, needed all of him.
“What do you need, baby?” He asked against your lips, sucked on your tongue.
“You,” you breathed out. “I want you. Please, Bucky—need you inside—”
He gripped his cock and slid it in between your folds, hissing in pain when your pussy fluttered around him. He met your gaze and smiled, something soft and wicked and angled his cock, sliding in, slow and thick, his mouth open as he groaned, long and low.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” he groaned. “Fuck—so tight—”
He pulled out, slowly, moaned—loudly—forehead pressed to yours, his hand gripping your waist as he thrust in slowly, deep, claiming you like he meant it. He was so big, so thick and veiny. Heavy on top of you, metal arm braced beside your head.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he rasped. “Always dreamed of it being like this. Of being yours.”
“You are,” you whispered, seeing stars. “You’ve only ever been mine.”
He groaned against your throat and fucked you with everything he had, slow and worshipful, but every time your hips met, he whimpered like it was too much, like it wasn’t his cock sliding in and out of your sopping pussy. The candlelight danced across his skin, sweat glistening on his back as he hovered over you, panting against your mouth, begging softly with every thrust.
“Tell me I’m yours,” he begged, practically growling into your mouth.
“M-mine, James, fuck. You’re—mine.”
“That’s right,” he moaned. “I’m yours. And you’re mine. My perfect girl. My fuckin’ everything.”
Bucky’s obsessed with you, with your pussy, with the warmth of the cabin and being where he belongs, here, with you—loving you. His lips are all over you—biting, sucking, kissing your throat, your tits, your mouth. You look up at him and roll out your tongue, eyes glassy. His hips stuttered for a moment before he spat in your mouth, watched you swallowed with this groan that sounded like he’s in pain.
His cock dragged along your walls, bruised your cervix, making you sob. Your nails dragged across his back as his dog tags dangled in your face. “Fucking me so good,” you moaned, kissing his ear.
“You’re so good,” he panted. “Takin’ it so well, my sweet girl.”
He pulled out halfway, smiling briefly when you whined.
And then—he slammed back in, hips snapping hard, cock punching into your cunt so deep you scream.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me make up for everything.”
“You already are,” you breathed, toes tingling and the coil in your chest tightening. “I love you, Buck.”
He kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, your tongues tangling, breath mixing, spit shining your lips. He was so deep, so thick inside you, and when he angled his hips just right, you cried out, clutching his back, nails digging in.
“Gonna come,” you gasped, drooling a bit, pussy gushing.
“Do it,” Bucky said, desperate. He kissed you again, licked the edge of your mouth. “Come for me, sweet girl. God, I need it.”
He pressed his chest harder against yours, fucked into you harder. Your breath stuttered as white flashed across your gaze and the coil in your chest unravelled and you cummed, body wracked with pleasure.
His name left your mouth like a prayer. You pulled him down, kissed his cheeks, his neck, held his face in your hands as you whispered the words he’d waited a lifetime to hear.
“Come inside me”
He stilled, shuddered. His eyes found yours, full of disbelief and adoration.
“Please,” you said, eyes almost rolling back. “I’ve only ever belonged to you.”
He surged forward, pressed his lips hard against yours as he cummed with a broken moan, hips rocking, cock pulsing inside you as he whispered your name over and over. He fucked his cum into you, collapsed into your arms, buried his face in your neck.
“I love you,” Bucky breathed out, pressing a soft kiss under your ear.
You hummed, ran your fingers through his hair, feeling full and content. “And I love you.”
Neither of you moved for a long time.
Eventually, he shifted, just enough to pull the blankets over you both. His body stayed half on top of yours, your arms around his waist, holding him tightly.
Outside, the snow fell silently.
Inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both had finally found home.
18+ Minors dni. Buckys innocent neighbor who bakes him cookies and muffins just cause. The girl next door who has the coziest apartment he's ever been in. Shelves filled with books along with plenty of comfy blankets decorating the couches. Bucky has his own place right across but home is with her (even if she doesn't know it yet).
She's the type of girl he's going to take his time with, asking her out on a date, just coffee and a walk in the park. Nothing more than a kiss on her cheek at the end of the night. Another date. Dinner. Another kiss to her other cheek. He wouldn't dare rush anything, especially not someone as soft and sweet as her.
He feels like such a dirty little pervert when he thinks about her afterwards when he's alone in bed, all the blood in his body rushing south, and fuck he's so hard. He tries to ignore it, he didn't want to do something so debauched by thinking of her like that, he even tries to think about his grocery list, laundry, he'd probably wash his arm later, it would probably be fine in the dishwasher-
Nothing worked.
He groans, shuffling and kicking his sweats off, hissing when his hand goes down to tug at his aching cock, relief flooding his veins at the sensation. He lets his mind wander to how adorable she'd be, the way he'd take her apart in the most gentle way. Lay her against the pillows while he holds those soft thighs apart, giving her the most feather light suckles on that perfect clit, basking in all the sounds she'd make. He strokes himself faster thinking about the way he'd get her ready to take all of him. How he'd make it so good for her-shit he was going to blow-maybe if he was lucky, one day she'd let him put his cock in her mou-
"Fuck!!" Bucky threw his head back, spurts of cum shooting from his sensitive head, his post orgasm haze leaving him feeling like a filthy old man. She were here making him baked treats and he was jerking his dick off like a sick fuck.
Then the night finally comes. Bucky is ready to cuddle and nothing else but he's thrown off because never in his wildest fantasies did he expect this.
She is the girl who sends him reeling the first time he takes her clothes off one by one revealing dark ink on her back and hips. He has to suppress a growl, his eyes growing wide at the scantily clad lace that covers her body.
"Like what you see, Sergeant?" she practically purrs in his ear while he lets his han ghost over her bare skin, his chest heaving when his eyes fall to her perfect breasts, hints of silver peeking from under her lingerie, there was no way-
"Can I?" He asks breathlessly, his hand reaching behind to unclasp the bra, those pretty pierced nipples begging to be sucked.
Bucky who turns into a fucking menace, his entire world flipping upside down when she grinds down on his crotch not hiding exactly what she needs from him. He doesn't even have the ability to hide how feral he is, letting all his inhibitions slip.
-
"My little bunny's a slut, fuck, c'mere" He grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder, hauling you over to his bedroom like an untamed beast, tossing you onto his bed with no remorse. You're in nothing but your panties which he rips right off, your thighs squeezing together at the way he stalks over to you, his hungry eyes raking up and down your body without an ounce of shame. He tugs his sweats down to reveal his leaky cock, stroking it at the edge of his bed after tossing his shirt off.
"See this baby? Been fuckin' stroking and touching myself like a fuckin' teenager because of you-" He throws off his pants before climbing onto the bed and kneeling between your thighs, spreading them apart with his knees, "-and you've been here lookin' like God damn sin under those cute little sweaters"
He flicks his cockhead against your clit, humming at the clear beads of his arousal that drip onto your cunt.
"Fuck James, need more, pl-"
"Nuh uh, what was that you called me earlier, sweets?" He lets out a dark chuckle, the veins in his cock throbbing as he tightly holds the base, waiting to hear it again.
"Sergeant" you whine with mischief in your eyes and Bucky is a goner. He'll taste you later and most definitely feed you his cock another day but right now he wants to be nowhere else other than your pussy. He wants to watch you take every bit of him, rolling over to lay on his back while you straddle him, his length slotted against your cunt. He holds it up for you with a cocky look on his face, moaning when his tip breeches your tight pussy, your walls gripping his swollen, pink head.
"That's just the tip baby, c'mon, sit on it, wanna put all of my dick in you, that's it, good girl-shittt"
"Oh fuccckk,s'big" You moan feeling the stretch as you sink all the way down, panting and staying still while you adjust to his size.
"That's it bunny, that's it, ride me, ride your Sergeant" He grabs you by the hips, guiding you to grind down on him, making you feel his entire cock in your stomach. "You're a slut for big dick aren't you baby, acting all cute and shy when all you really wanted was the winter soldier's cock"
Bucky wasn't even sure where all the filth spewing from his mouth was even coming from but he couldn't stop.
"S'that it bunny? Say it baby, tell me how much you wanted my fat cock in you"
"Wanted it! F-cuk Sergeant, wanted your cock s-o-so bad!!"
"Fuck yes!!" His feet plant to meet your bounces, his hips thrusting up, slamming his entire length into you. "M'close, fuck bunny, gonna cum already, I can't hold it-
He doesn't have time to be embarrassed. You feel to good. He rubs your clit needing you to cum all over him so he can let go.
"Please, cum all over Sergeants cock baby, give it to me, be a good girl n'cum, c'mon, cum on my dick, yes, oh fuck yes I can feel it-milk it, shit touch my balls-"
You nearly collapse as your orgasm starts to wash over you, his sponge head hitting the most sensitive parts against your walls while he toys with your clit. His voice is muffled as you start to feel waves of pleasure consume you but you head just enough to reach behind, rubbing his heavy, so full of cum ba-
"FUUUCCCCKKK" He grabs you and wraps his arms around your body while he relentlessly thrusts up, biting down on your shoulder while he lets out the sluttiest, loudest moan with 0 remorse. It feels too good and he's sure the neighbors can hear but honestly, everyone should know how amazing it feels.
-
"I got you pretty baby" Bucky coos as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, a shiver running through you while you float in bliss. Bucky pulls the covers up, deciding to cuddle up with you for a bit before running a shower, his previous demeanor replaced with the far less debauched version of him.
Peter Parker, being the gentleman that he is - always offers to help you with your shoes. Whether that is tying or untying laces, slipping on some heels, or making sure your manicure doesn't get messed up by your sandals. He also does this because he loves your plush, round thighs. But this is one of the times that he gets a little carried away.
Request a fic-athon Check my dedicated post about it for more details! Happy requesting everyone!
You had just shut the fridge shut with a sigh. It was basically empty aside from the half empty bottle of mayonnaise, jar of pickles, and a carton of orange juice. But of course, those three ingredients wouldn't make the most appetizing dinner.
Shuffling towards the couch, you grabbed your purse and grabbed your house keys from its designate spot on the key hook. The jangling of keys alerted Peter that you were leaving. You watched as he rounded the corner from your shared bedroom and halted right in front of where you stood.
"Pete, do you need anything from the store?" you asked, hanging the lanyard that held your keys around your neck.
"Err, Eggos and frozen chicken tenders." Your boyfriend replied and you offered him a small laugh. "What?" he chuckled, "They're easy to make and eat in like five minutes," he defended.
"I'll make sure that I grab some," you nodded, turning to the shoe rack and reaching for a pair of converses but with a single thwip, Peter beat you to it.
With your sneakers in his hands, he kneeled before you and patted his thigh. You instinctively raised your leg and propped your foot gently on his thigh.
Peter tugged on the tongue of your shoes and loosened the laces a tad. Gently, he took hold of the back of your calf and raised your leg slightly to help you slide your foot into the sole. This always made butterflies flutter in your stomach. Especially on this summer day when you decided to wear a short dress to beat the heat.
Peter watched your heel sink into place before quickly tying your laces. Then he moved onto the other leg, doing the same patting motion and lacing up your sneaker. But instead of letting your leg drop to the ground, he just held it steady on his thigh.
"Peter, you're going to get your pants dirty." you warned, thinking of the shoe marks that you were going to have to wash off of it later.
"I just like seeing you like this," your boyfriend beathed as his hands glided up and down your leg.
From this angle, Peter got a great view of the lace underwear you shimmied on after your shower this morning. And the best part? it was red, his favorite color.
"I gotta head out before the store gets busy," You remind him, trying to muster up reasons to free yourself from this trap.
Your boyfriend's hand hiked up your skirt and goosebumps bloomed atop of your skin. He grabbed your ass, giving it a greedy squeeze before hooking a finger around the waist band of your underwear. Filled with anticipation, you watched as Peter wordlessly slid your panties down your leg.
"The groceries can wait baby," Peter insisted in almost a whisper as he threw them god knows where.
Pressing a hand to the wall, you tried to maintain balance as Peter kept a firm grip on your hip. You were already aware that a bruise would form later because of it.
Carefully, he placed your propped leg over his shoulder, moving dangerously close to your slick covered cunt. Your breathing hitched at the closeness, feeling your boyfriend’s hot breath on your lips.
"You're soaked baby," Peter chuckled before dragging his middle finger down the crevice of your folds.
You watched as he pulled his hand back and string of your arousal clung to his finger. Hungrily, he licked his finger before moving back to your pussy lips.
A moan breached past your lips as Peter slipped two digits past your folds and into your core. His grasp became an anchor around your waist after you jolted at the pleasurable feeling.
He pumped them slow but with precision, making sure to curl his fingers against your walls. You pursed your lips as you watched Peter work your cunt.
Countless "Peter", "Yes, like that", and "You feel so good inside me"s made your boyfriend smirk with pride. He loved watching you give into his touch and never getting enough of the pretty words that left your lips.
Peter scooted forward just enough that he was directly under your dripping cunt. His eyes never tearing away from yours as he dropped his jaw and inched closer to your throbbing core.
As soon as his tongue came in contact with your clit, your hand went straight for his already messy hair. You yanked at the roots of his brown hair as your hips moved in sync with his tongue.
Peter groaned as he watched you get lost on his tongue. The vibration shooting through you like a firework. Your moans were on a continuous loop as he sucked your sensitive bud.
Just as though it couldn't get any better, Peter inserted his fingers once more. You whimpered something incoherent at the sensation, not even sure if it was even words that just escaped your throat.
"You close baby?" Peter asked, pulling away from your clit momentarily.
With no words forming in your mind, your hand pushed his head back in between your legs. Your boyfriend didn't need to be instructed anymore and kept working your pussy.
Peter pumped his finger into your walls relentlessly and started flicking your bud with his tongue. The orgasm that came barreling through your core made your legs quake. But Peter made sure to keep you in place.
And even as you came, his tongue didn't cease to work on you. He began lapping up the wetness of your high, making you shiver at the overwhelming feeling.
You watched as Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood up and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You were breathless after he pulled away with a smile.
"Don't forget my waffles baby," he said and clicked his tongue, with finger guns pointed at you.
You were left speechless in the entry way of your apartment, wondering about how the hell you were going to focus on making dinner after getting ate out by your boyfriend.
