Military!Dex who has zero actual social skills in the barracks, but the second anyone asks about home he lights up like a damn Christmas tree. He’s that guy pulling out his wallet to show off picture after picture of you — you smiling at the camera, you in his old hoodie, you kissing his cheek. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he brags, voice full of rare, genuine pride. The other guys tease him for being whipped, but he doesn’t care. Talking about you is the only time he feels normal.
Military!Dex who will never, ever admit to you that he sometimes hires private eyes to keep tabs while he’s deployed. He tells himself it’s just worry. He’s halfway across the world with a rifle in his hands and nightmares in his head; he just needs to know you’re safe, that you’re waiting for him, that no one’s trying to take you away. Every report that comes back saying you’re okay lets him breathe a little easier.
Military!Dex who used to nervously twirl a challenge coin between his knuckles to keep his hands busy and his mind steady. The day he decided to propose, he replaced that coin with your engagement ring. Now when the anxiety creeps in, he spins the ring on its chain around his neck instead — a constant reminder of you, that you’re his, that he has something worth coming home to.
Military!Dex who writes you letters that are almost painfully honest at 0300 when he can’t sleep. He never sends the ones where he sounds too broken. Instead he sends the ones where he tells you he’s counting down the days, that he’s being careful behind the scope, that he’s trying to be better for you.
Military!Dex who fucks you like crazy the second he’s back on American soil. The insecurity hits hardest after long deployments — he’s convinced you could do better, but the way you look at him and the way you moan his name keeps the darkness quiet.
Military!Dex who keeps a photo of you tucked inside his helmet. During long, silent hours on overwatch, he pulls it out and traces your face with his thumb. You’re the only thing that makes the violent thoughts fade. His reason to keep his aim true and his mind intact.
Pairings: Shane Maguire/Reader & Steve Kemp/Reader
Fandoms: Untamed; Fresh
Summary: You try dating again after breaking up with your overprotective ex of four years, Shane. Little did you know, he knew what he was talking about.
Warnings: Angst(?), Smut; Explicit, there's short smut only at the beginning, reader is in her 40s, shower sx with Steve, I think i made Steve a little more evil?, graphic depictions of violence; blood mention, kidnapping, cannibalism mentioned, reader actually has situational awareness, reader has the bestest friend in the world, manipulation, death threats, overprotective Shane saves the day, barely proofread
Not my idea! Based on this ask. I'm following the plot of Fresh and I lowkey used this to experiment with how I did the flashbacks so feedback on that would be appreciated! (Like if it was easy to follow)
Green divider by @cursed-carmine
Word count: 4.7k+
You woke up with a stretch, sun in your eyes and muscles a little sore. You turn over and see the man you slept with on the first date. It's been years since you've done such a thing. You smiled softly at how peaceful he looked so you snapped a quick photo and sent it to your best friend, Sade, before getting up to take a shower.
You stood in the hot water for a few moments just to let it run down your body and process this past week. You were in a weird spot and still processing your breakup, you met this cute guy while buying groceries, he surprisingly texted first and set up a date later this week, the date went great and...you vaguely remember stumbling into your apartment...something about making out...clothes flying... naked bodies, panting...sweating...
Oh, that's where that hickey came from.
You chuckled to yourself as you could just imagine what Sade would say about all this. But as you were thinking about it, you felt a warm pair of arms circle your waist and a warm pair lips kiss along your neck.
"Well good morning to you, too," you mused and rubbed his arm affectionately. "Didn't wanna disturb your sleep."
"If this is what it was going to be, I would never mind the disturbance."
You turned and wrapped your arms around his neck.
"Maybe I just wanted to wash off last nights activities. Alone."
He laughed softly, prompting you to caress the lines by his eyes.
"Where's the fun in that? You're not the only one who got dirty. Wouldn't wanna waste your hot water."
"Hmm, I feel like it would be all gone if we continue said activities with the hot water running the whole time."
"You raise a good point," he said as he caressed your lower back and looked past you to eye the knobs. "What if we just didn't use the hot water?"
You didn't even have time to question what he meant before he switched positions so that his back would be facing the water, turning off the hot water and turning up the cold water.
You gasped and laughed at the absurdity of the situation, ending up back in his arms--to shield you from the cold, of course--and his hand loosely wrapped around your throat as he took the liberty of slipping himself inside. He shushed you as your back arched instinctively and leaned back on his shoulder.
"Steve..." you mewled at how slow he was dragging against your walls. It didn't occur at all that he was casually letting ice cold water beat against his back with barely any reaction. All his focus was on you and pressing your back against his chest as much as possible.
This was crazy. Crazy! A second round with a man you just met not even a week ago. Sade is probably blowing your phone up as we speak, but you were, uh...busy!
"You always sound this pretty in the morning?"
"You always...this slow, in the morning?"
"Ooo, message received. Haven't you heard about couples hitting their sexual prime when they hit their 40s?"
He increased the pace of his hips, the sudden, sharp movements forcing a loud groan from your lips. In his mind, this wasn't just sex; he was studying you. He's been studying you since you met up with him at that bar last night. Your tics, habits. What makes you react certain ways, and this was enhanced once he got the alcohol in his system and made it back to your apartment. It's almost too easy.
One arm tightened around you and the other hand that was on your neck slid down to squeeze your breasts. Your climax arrived quicker than you anticipated and when your walls clamped down on him, he groaned and pulled out in the knick of time. His hold didn't loosen as you two caught your breath.
"So," he began after a moment of quiet. "About that hot shower."
Later that evening.
"You're sure you don't want any of these really good ribs? I'll feel bad if I eat them all by myself," you said while licking your fingers clean of sauce. Steve waved off the offer with a small smile.
"They look good but you go ahead. I don't eat animals."
"Oh."
You playfully sulked as you stared at the rib you literally just picked up.
"Now I feel bad."
"No, no, please, don't feel bad, it's just a me thing."
"These are, like, my favorite food ever..."
"You can eat whatever you want."
You stared at it more before dropping it back in the styrofoam container it came in and going to wash your hands in the kitchen with a dramatic huff. Steve watched you from the living room and ran a hand through his hair as he cleared his throat.
"So, have you, uh... have you told anyone about me?" He called out. You turned around coyly as you dried your hands and came back to the living room with a drink in hand.
"I might've," you replied. He nodded and let you continue. "Just my best friend, Sade."
"Mhm... and what did you tell your best friend, Sade?" He asked with a chuckle to soothe his nerves.
"You know...that I met a nice guy. And I might kind of like him. Just a little."
"Ah, tell me more about Sade."
You sat next to him and gave a summary of how you two met and how close you are now.
"She's basically my sister at this point. We're like this." You held up crossed fingers and smiled at the thought of her. And at the phone call earlier where she was hyping you up but also telling you to be careful. Sade always looked out for you.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Only thing separating us is blood."
Ding!
You glanced at your phone screen on the table lighting up.
"I don't like how we ended things."
Your breathing pattern skipped. Damn it.
"Can we talk?"
"Who's that?" Steve asked as he sat back on the couch so it didn't look like he was prying.
"Nobody," you shrugged it off, but he could see how your shoulders got stiff. Steve said your name once and you sighed heavily, taking a sip and flipping your phone over after putting it in silence.
"My ex... it's not fresh...necessarily."
"Necessarily?"
"I dunno, is a month and some change a fresh breakup?"
"Depends. How long were you together?"
You hesitated. He noticed.
He said your name again.
"Four years."
"Jesus."
"In my defense, I was the one who broke up with him. He was crazy."
"Define crazy."
"...well..."
A month and a half ago.
"Shane," you exhaled a tired sigh and held up the blocky object to his face. "Why...the hell is there a tracker on my car?"
He snatched it from you and checked to make sure it was still operating properly before going back to his work bench. "Why do you think?"
"Because you're an insane person?"
"Because I don't need you coming home to me talking about how you almost got took. And when that happens, don't be mad that I told you so."
"Shane- Okay, I understand you're on edge because of the sudden influx of missing persons reports. A lot of them are women. I get it. Really. But a tracker? On my car? You can't just, I don't know, check up on me every once in a while like a regular person?"
"I work patrol almost all day in the damn woods. I don't have time for that shit. You know this."
"So make time! Seriously, this is the third time you've done some elaborate weird tracking scheme and still you haven't even gone this far before. Even if I were to get kidnapped, why would they steal my car?"
-
"You raised a good point," Steve chimed in.
"I know, right?"
-
"I can't keep dealing with this."
"What does that mean?" He looked up from the bench with actual concern in his eyes. The most concern you've seen in four years.
"It means... that we're done...I'm sorry. And, please, do not follow me this time."
-
"That's the last thing you said to him?"
"I mean, there were some other things, but that's the last time I've ever spoken to him. He, for some reason, randomly decided to text again after all this time, but, I can assure you we are through. I'm moving on from him and, hopefully... someone new. Normal."
Steve pursed his lips together and hummed to himself.
"Block him."
You blinked. "Block him?"
"Block him," he repeated. "If he's not involved in your life anymore and is pestering you at this point, block him."
He had a point...you think.
You grabbed your phone and tapped the text notification.
"I don't like how we ended things.
"Can we talk?"
You stared at the texts. A small wave of guilt hit the pit of your stomach before glancing at the man across from you. Anticipating. You looked back down at your phone and bit the bullet in swift motions.
"Are you sure you want to block this caller?"
You nodded to yourself like it was asked out loud. Didn't even question the logic of blocking someone you've known for almost a decade.
"It's done," you showed him your phone screen then turned it off with a bit of discomfort on your face, but he didn't comment on it.
"I know it wasn't easy to do that," he said with a softer tone. "But it shows your commitment to...this. Us."
"Yeah," you whispered and drank some more. Steve was watching you again. Like he could physically see the cogs moving around in your head.
"This might sound crazy," he continued. "Just hear me out."
"Okay...?"
"I think...we should go away together. Cute little road trip over the weekend."
You gave him a look of surprise before chuckling with uncertainty.
"I... I don't know. Seems a bit sudden."
"I know, totally get that. I just think it would help us get closer, you know? Learn more about each other while cozied up in the mountains or something."
"Wow," you laughed. "Mountains, huh? Didn't peg a guy from Texas to be into 10 inch snow."
Now he laughed. You got him there.
"It's been this dream of mine since I was a kid. Made this weird promise to myself that I'd go to the mountains with someone I cared about. But, again, I get it. We haven't even known each other a week. That'd be... weird. Right?"
Oh, you were too nice for your own good. He knew.
"It's not weird."
Gotcha.
"It's not?"
"No, it's...kinda sweet."
You sat there and contemplated the options. Honestly, when was the last time you went on a trip with Shane? That didn't involve hunting or sitting out in the blazing heat. Sure, there have been genuinely great dates or a memorable trip or two, but it wasn't like this. Some surprise nice gesture just because.
"...can I DJ?" You added.
He laughed and nodded. "Of course you can. We can even take your car."
Apparently there was really bad traffic on the way to this mystery vacation destination so he offered staying at his place overnight and leaving in the morning. You were hesitant once more but he reassured over and over again, even showed you the shitty traffic to prove he wasn't lying.
On the way there you took in the sights, taking a picture and sending it to Sade to keep her updated. Even sent her your location. Well, tried to. The service was only getting worse the closer you got to his place.
The inside of his place was gorgeous. Real artsy and matched his personality. He offered to make you his version of an old fashion and you watched him make the drink while sparking up conversation about his house.
You checked your phone, still no service. He handed you the drink and you had some while holding your phone up.
"Do you have wifi?"
"Shit. Must've gone out again."
You put the glass down while walking around the living room, mumbling to yourself about how the data on your phone won't even work. It started to make you nervous so you glanced over your shoulder and cleared your throat.
"I'm gonna check to see if I can some better service outside."
Your eyes quickly landed on the door and you started heading towards it without a second thought. The sound of him putting his glass down put some pep in your step.
But you just weren't fast enough.
You felt a warm pair of arms circle your waist the second your hand touched that door knob, pulling you back and making you drop your phone.
"I didn't want to have to do this," he grunted as he moved one of his arms to put you in a headlock. You flailed as much as you could to get loose, shifting your weight to maybe get some traction, but he was stronger. The last thing you can remember is scratching at his forearm before everything went dark. When you fell limp, he finally let go as he caught his breath.
You woke up with a stretch, bright lights in your eyes and muscles a little sore. You turn over and see the man you slept with on the first date. It's been years since you've done such a thing.
...this isn't your room.
He's sitting in a chair all the way across the room and looks a little annoyed. You sit up just to realize your movements are limited as you look down to see your wrist cuffed to the ground. You look back up at him. He doesn't look happy.
"Steve...?"
"You are one tough cookie," he said with a soft humorless chuckle. "Never told me you knew how to almost flip someone over."
"What's going on?"
He didn't respond immediately.
"Did you...are you gonna...?"
He watched you curl into yourself as he caught what you were implying.
"I did not," he said. "And I'm not going to. Not really my style," he paused. "Unless you're bad."
Your whole body felt like you jumped head first into a cold plunge.
"That was a joke," he added with a lighter tone but the sentiment didn't reach his eyes. "It's bad for business."
"Tell me what's going on, Steve."
He sighed. "I'm gonna tell you, but you're gonna freak out.
"Steve," you began. Voice calm but unsteady. "Can you take these off, please?"
"Can't do that."
"Steve," your voice got a little louder. "Take these off."
"Can't do that."
"Take. This. Off."
"I. Can't. Do. That."
Your head starts to shake in denial when you look back down at your restraints. Mumbling 'no' repeatedly. This isn't happening. This... this is not happening.
"This isn't happening..."
"Yeah, it's happening."
"No, no," you ran your hands down your face and looked around the room you were being held captive in. The room you were being held captive in. "This... this is not happening."
"Yes. It is."
He stood up once you started to panic.
"Look, why don't you just try to calm-"
You to scurried to the corner and held your hand up.
"Don't you fucking dare," you gritted through the tears that began to fall. He put his hands up in defense.
"I'll stay right here."
Every muscle in your body tensed up as the tears kept falling. He slowly came closer and your heavy breaths only got worse.
"Please," you swallowed thickly. "I don't understand what's going on. Steve."
"I like you," he said your name all soft-like. Just as tender as the night you shared together lord knows how long ago at this point. "I like you. Okay? Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Are you listening?"
Your eyes were shut tight and you kept panting in fear. He didn't like that.
When he suddenly shouted your name you froze and opened your eyes slowly. His flat expression was lifted once he saw your eyes.
"There you are," he said with a little smile. "I'm gonna tell you now. I'm gonna sell your meat. And your hair. And weird shit like that. People pay me a lottt of money for it. It's a thing, so," he chuckled. "I'm not gonna kill you...right away. Because the fresher the meat, the better, so I'm gonna keep you alive as long as I can," he paused again with a chilling smile. "Unless you're bad."
You swear your heart stopped.
"But listen, until then, I'm gonna take care of you. Even cook for you! I'm actually a really good cook. You just don't know it yet. As long as you're good, nothing bad has to happen, right? It's not so bad, huh? Look around,"
Steve turned around to talk about the pretty paintings on the cold gray walls of your cell. You got the idea to take that as opportunity to get up and run at him...the cuff didn't quite reach far enough to grab him. He turned and watched you try to break free, attempting to placate you for like half a second before deciding to grab and wrestle you to the ground.
You gasped and laughed at the absurdity of the situation, ending up back in his arms. His hand loosely wrapped around your throat.
You were trapped in his arms as you flailed like you did upstairs. One hand covering your mouth as he shushed you, but the last thing you could do was calm down.
"Relax," he whispered. You only de-tensed by a fraction because you were using up so much energy. "Stop being so dramatic...there you go."
After a moment he sighed softly and abruptly let you go, grumbling to himself as he walked out and shut the door.
Ding!
"Hey, girl...just checking in. You're kinda freaking me the fuck out...call me. Or text me. And I wanna hear about where this surprise vacation was."
Buzz.
"We're in Cottage Grove! I'll try to call you later but the service isn't great."
Sade stared at the text from you. Really stared at it. Another message came and it was a photo of a waterfall. She narrowed her eyes at it for a few seconds then thought, hey, maybe she's tripping.
Two days go by. Radio silence. Sade opened the text again, staring at that photo.
"Something ain't right," she muttered to herself. "Google...reverse image...search..."
The photo "you" sent was on the front page of that cottage website.
"Shit. Shit!" She got up from her desk and started pacing the room. She knows what she has to do even if it's going to be a pain in the ass.
The chimes at the door of the bar rang as she quickly stepped in. There wasn't time to try to look cute for that hot bartender she's been eyeing the past few weeks. 6:30 p.m. Right on schedule.
"Shane."
He looked over while taking a swig. Eyes tired and his hair a bit messy. He clearly hasn't shaved in a week too. Maybe longer. Sade and him didn't get along. He thought she was a bad influence and she thought he was crazy. But, nonetheless, she needed his help.
"Why are you here?"
His sharp, asshole tone stopped fazing her years ago. When she said your name, he froze.
"She's missing."
Shane tapped the neck of the bottle--probably his fifth beer.
"How do you know?"
"Have you tried calling her?"
"Why would I call her?"
"Okay, fine, have you tried texting her?"
He hesitated.
"Shane!"
"She blocked me."
Sade's head tilted. You... don't block people. She sat down at a stool adjacent to his.
"She doesn't block people."
"I know. It was after I, uh... texted her."
"Did you say something that would make her block you?"
"No, I just- I wanted to talk. That's it. Look, it's not my problem anymore. She's probably off somewhere having the time of her life. You know she likes her phone-free days."
"This is different," Sade said as she pulled up the texts between "you" and her. "She sent me her location and it stopped around here. First red flag. Then she texted me the other day telling me she was at Cottage Grove but couldn't call me because there wasn't service. I found it a little weird that her texting seemed off but chalked it up to me being paranoid. Second red flag. I looked up where this photo came from that 'she' sent," Sade switched tabs to show him where the picture came from.
"She's in danger, Shane. You have to find her."
Shane stared at her phone with a tight jaw and put the bottle down before he broke it with sheer force. Fuck. Fuck! This is exactly what he was warning you about. The two locked eyes as he stood up and grabbed his jacket.
"I'll handle it."
One week later.
Honestly, if you were talking to yourself a week ago, you would never believe the whole "good behavior gets rewarded" thing was real. Because now, you were having dinner with the man you slept with on the first date. Your captor. Your jailer. The man who threatened to kill or sell you alive after that one time you tried to knock him out and escape. The man who punished you by carving off a thin layer of the skin on your ass and kept it for fun.
You put on a smile and pretended to be someone who's curious. Someone who wasn't about to vomit from knowingly eating what was once Veronica. The texture alone could bring a grown man to tears.
You really put on a show. Crying to make it look like you felt so bad for not feeling bad. Steve cradled your face and kissed your tears away as you planned your grand exit. Even offered to slow dance to cheer you up. When he held your hands at the end of the song, he laughed to himself.
"I forgot to cuff you," he murmured.
Then he led you to his room. Two pecks on the lips before you went to the bathroom to make yourself "look better". You came back with the dress he gave you slightly open to show off your cleavage. He licked his lips and you sank to your knees in front of him. He assisted in pulling down his pants and boxers...You wrapped your lips around his shaft and...
He screamed.
You bit down so hard that it drew blood. You smeared toothpaste in his eyes and bolted out the room as his cries became a distant sound.
God damn it this house is fucking massive.
The twists and turns you took finally landed you in the kitchen but he caught up to you. Since you weren't off guard this time, you could fight him off just enough to impair him and finally escape.
You whacked him with a pan and took off to the front door.
Locked. Okay.
You took off to the back door.
Even bigger backyard. Okay.
It was so damn dark you could barely see anything. You ran out to the nearest tree in the distance and hid. Out of breath.
Gunshot. You've gotta be kidding.
He screamed your name as he held his nearly bitten off dick. Shooting anywhere that looked like it could be you running around.
"I thought we had something!" He yelled. He was getting closer but you didn't know where to go without him seeing you. "I'm sorry about the threats, baby! I didn't mean it! I swear!!"
The next gunshot was so close you flinched and covered your mouth with both hands.
"I told you what would happen if you were bad! You didn't fucking listen to me!!!"
Steve stopped walking and lowered the gun for a moment. He was standing right in front of you. Back facing you. Maybe, just maybe it's too dark for him to notice...
He whipped around and managed to catch you after shooting you in the side. Skin wound. He didn't know that. You cried out in pain and his hands wrapped around your neck as he pushed you up against the tree so you definitely had nowhere to go.
"I'm going to kill you," he practically growled. "And I'm going to sell every single part of you at a markup price. Some of my clients like the ones who fought back. Makes the meat tougher. Did you know that?"
You weakly pulled at his fingers as everything started to go dark again. And darker...and darker...
Fwip!
Your half opened eyes watched a bullet go through his head.
That...was a sniper.
Steve's body fell to the ground with a loud thump, making you flinch again. You slowly looked over to see the familiar gleam reflecting off that scope from 20 feet away. When the gun lowered, you could've cried a pool's worth right there. There was no mistaking that silhouette slinging it over his shoulder and running towards you.
Once he got close, you could faintly see his face because of the moonlight.
"Shane..."
The lack of voice you had to even say his name made his heart shatter into a million pieces. Even worse than when you dumped him. You wanted to smile in relief but your lips started quivering and the tears began to flow. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The second that shaky inhale registered in his ears, he took a step towards you with open arms. Holding you like he never intended to let you go ever again. In more ways than one.
You laid against his shoulder and just sobbed. Having just enough energy to weakly hug him back. When you were together, you almost never cried. You could handle Shane's harshness because you could deliver it back if it was needed. It was why you were together for so long.
If you did cry, he didn't see it. But he knew. Never said anything because that was your business. So seeing you like this? Bawling your eyes out in his well missed warm embrace? If he had the power to revive this fucker from the dead and kill him over and over again until he got tired, he would. In a heartbeat.
He took you back to his place per your request. You were curled up on the living room floor by the fireplace and a had cup of tea, looking down at your hands that Shane cleaned of blood. It was still under your nails. He came and sat with you in silence.
"You tracked my phone, didn't you?"
Your quiet question held certainty. You didn't need to ask.
"I did," he confirmed. "I know I shouldn't have done that in the first place-"
"Thank you," you said. You looked over to him with such exhaustion, but also such gratitude. "I would be dead right now if you hadn't tracked me down and killed him."
He went quiet for a few seconds.
"I won't take all the credit. Sade came to me and put the tools in my hands. It would've never occurred to me to come running since you, you know... blocked me."
"Fuck," you winced. And it wasn't at the wound he patched up. "I am so sorry about that."
"I probably deserved it."
Now you went quiet for a few seconds.
"...you don't have to sit so far."
He glanced down at the space he gave you.
"You're asking me to sit closer."
"I'm telling you to sit closer."
There it was. That banter. It was good to know that prick didn't break you.
Shane scooted closer and you almost immediately laid your head on his shoulder, curling your fingers around his arm.
"...you can say it."
"Say what?"
"That you told me so."
He scoffed.
"I'm not doing that."
"I'm giving you permission to."
"I'm not doing that," he repeated slower. "You're here. You're alive. That motherfucker is dead. Those other women are free. That's all that matters. You are all that matters. Is that clear?"
You closed your eyes and held his arm tighter. He interlaced his fingers with yours and gently leaned his head against you. You just nodded with a small smile. The first real smile you've worn in what feels like forever.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, pwp, straight porn, missionary, d/s dynamics, softdom!bucky, sub!reader, slight brat!reader, slight dumbification, oral fixation, sweat/spit/teeth kink (idk maybe lol), the aftercare is fucking again, creampie, bucky has a bush . . .
word count: 1.8k
a/n: this is me trying to get some requests finished :") i have a whole bunch, some of which i accidentally turned into long fics, some i hate the things i wrote and am trying to start again and some im figuring out, but this one came to me when i woke up horny for bucky barnes lol
thank you anon for the request !! <3
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The mattress creaks and the frame knocks into the wall, chipping the paint, denting the wood where the two meet.
Forehead to forehead, sweat accumulating with torrid breaths and aching muscles, Bucky's hips caught to yours. Pressing, slamming, holding down as he clenches his glutes and humps, elongating the pleasure, taunting.
But the light chime of his tags kept ringing. They keep batting across your chest, cold and moist, patting your chin and dragging across your skin when you were right there.
It was just as your legs fell open, knees laying up as his dick dragged in and out, and he willed his noises to stay at a minimum, when the tags flittered to the dip of your neck. Your lips parted, sighing, rolling your eyes as it tap tap tap's and sings against your hot skin. You move, careful not to ruin the precision, pressing the chain against his peck, holding them firm to his chest.
At first, Bucky almost sat up, almost paused to ask if you were okay — pushing at his sternum, brows taut and eyes glassy, whining with every breath. Instead he pushed deeper, metal fingers drawing up your body until they held your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, making you look into his eyes.
"What's the matter?" His breath sticks to your face, bumping his nose to yours. "Pushin' me away? C'mon, speak to me."
You can't. That's the problem. It feels like with each pull and push, each pulse around his cock, and every kiss his tip grants your cervix, he drives all linguistic knowledge out of your brain, spilling it from your lips in garbled nonsense and breathy moans.
A whiney hum spills out as you tighten your lips into a line, keeping your jaw firm. You lean back into the pillow, shutting your eyes trying to find any semblance of words, but his hips keep moving. Slower now, yet still as effective, still holding you rigid and perfectly, and tauntingly precise. Rutting the length of himself inside of you while the fuzz of hair that littered the base kept grazing your clit. It isn't until one hand claws at the meat of his shoulder, and the other, the hand that pushed at the chain, leaving tiny dents in it's wake, fisted at the metal.
It clinks as the tags stay dangling from your palm, bumping to and fro.
"Oh, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, the warm metal of his thumb strokes against your bottom lip, slicked with spit and salty with sweat. "We're they botherin' you?"
You nod quickly, leaving a sharp smile on his face, dipping down to leave gentle kisses against your jaw.
"My smart girl," you keen into the praise, leaning deeper into his hand, letting his voice rasp and vibrate into your skin, leaving more room for him to lick and kiss. "Thought you wanted me to stop."
Ardently, you shake your head, ruffling your hair into the pillow behind you.
"No, no stopping. 'M not gonna stop." And he doesn't. His flesh hand replaces your own around the tags and he slots them between his teeth.
Salt and iron cover his tongue, sweat that had dripped from his down body, and your own that had mixed in as it had laid against your own skin, or tapped annoyingly your neck. It makes a dull sound as they sat firmly between his teeth, braced to the side, just where his molars start and his canines dig into the printed letters of his name.
It shouldn't be hot.
The sight of his mouth full, his teeth bared, carrying something precious with an iron grip of his jaw, made your walls pulse. You almost wanted to swap it out, to reach up and take the tags in your own mouth, enveloped in the debauched taste of century old metal, skin and spit.
But its hedonic. You love how he looks. Skin slick, chest heaving, drool already pooling at the edges of the tags, at the corner of his mouth right where his lips met. Animalistic in a way.
"There we go, there we go," his speech muffled, yet still affirmative and firm as he brings back the pace. Making your head drop back and mouth hang open on a gasp, arching your back. The warmth of his palm glides up your torso, leaving goosebumps as he drags up and down, before pulling your leg up by the thigh to latch onto his waist and holding you firmly at the hip. All while holding himself up on his forearm, vibranium fingers holding the top of your head reassuringly, grazing his thumb on your hairline.
He hums, unable to speak with his mouth full, unable to gather the spit about to fall. Your hands claw at the contorting muscles of his shoulder blades, moving to capture his hair between your fingers.
The tug you force has him stuttering, hips pressing to your own, the hair surrounding his base tickles again, right against your nub.
"Oh—fuck," you breathe out, jaw slack and tight all at once, the light feeling of release easing up your back as your thighs begin to tingle and tremble around his torso. "Bucky… Bucky, please."
The rivulets of spit drop, coating your neck and chin, and he follows them down until his hot, wet breath finds your temple. His chest caves with each inhale, keeping his hips up, holding down the pace that has you throbbing up his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulder and thighs shaking. He can feel the ring around the root of him, creamy and white, mixed in with the dark patch of hair.
The tags tinkle dully, let go from the cell of his teeth to lay wet next to your neck. You pay no mind to the slurping sound of him gathering spit from his lips; only staying in the blissed out haze of Bucky's body atop of yours and his pretty cock slapping in and out of you.
"C'mon, c'mon…" he repeats like a mantra, whispering under his breath, heated on the shell of your ear. "You got it, fuck, you feel so good. Wanna cum—cum inside of you, wanna push it in deep, n'keep fuckin' it in… Please, please, please…"
As your nails print crescents into his skin, your mouth holds a jumble of 'yes's to his shoulder. Balm and torrid to the meat of his shoulder, your body locks and a sweet ache begins to release around the stretch of him. Your lips press to his collarbone, muffling the shudders and whines and gasps that release as he fucks you through it, wet slaps and mumbled grunts chorusing together while you jolt and pulse.
It isn't long until he follows through, finishing deep inside, pressing and holding himself as his cock twitches with each spurt of cum. As if awoken from his daze, he keeps his hips moving.
Splatterings of white coat both of your pelvises and thighs, shuddering with overstimulation, muscles limp from overexertion, eyes half lidded and lips parted and red.
Bucky slowed himself as your jerking lessened and your teeth bared to hiss at the mild pain, and his dick softened. He watched, holding himself up with his knuckles to the pillow, guiding the softer limb to stay inside of your full warmth, uncaring about the mess that now coats his fingers — absentmindedly licking them off like candy residue.
Sighs and soft groans alike leave you both as he slips out. Your nails caress his torso, gliding gently up the red marks you printed on his back, down to the sensitive muscles of his ass, making him twitch and press his hips to yours again with a stifled laugh to your jaw.
"Careful, might get hard again before I can clean you up." He kisses and breathes you in, holding you into his body as your fingers hold their gentle rhythm.
You huff a lazy version of a laugh, nosing against the sweet smell of sweat where his neck meets his shoulder.
"Oh no, how awful," You croak sarcastically. The weakness in your voice makes you both laugh fully, rumbling chests pressed against one another, cheeks tight with smiles, and eyes watching with warm fragments. After a short moment of silence, of lungs catching up, you follow down the column of his neck to where his dog tags laid lopsided on your chest, and hummed. "I liked that thing you did."
"'That thing'?" He pressed, smirking, lowering his voice. "I've got many things goin' for me, sweetheart, be specific."
Another laugh breaks, crinkling your eyes at the corners, playfully pushing at his chest.
"That dog tag thing, you know, putting them in your mouth."
"You liked that?"
You nodded, fervently. "Uh-huh. Very much."
His lips move into a soft smile, catching the slick metal cards between his fingers to bring them up.
"That so?" He teases quietly, dragging them across your bottom lip, leaving the dewy residue to sit, sliding them just between the seam of your lips only to jut it out with a pop. "Maybe next time you can hold them for me?"
With your tongue poking out, you get a taste of the flavour that pooled alongside Bucky's own tongue. Musky and sour, tangy with body heat. And with a soft press on your thigh, you know that you're under a limit.
"Next time meaning five minutes?" You prod, tilting your head innocently. "Haven't even gotten cleaned up and it seems like little Sergeant Barnes is reporting for duty."
With a tut, he holds your chin, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, fuck that and your smart mouth. Open wide, hold tight."
You obey and bite down as he slots the tags between your teeth, tugging at the chain twice to test out your grip. You scrunch your nose and furrow your brows, playfully pulling back at the chain. The grotesque brackishness of the tester you got grips you fully and drips down your throat.
"'Little Sergeant Barnes'," he repeats, sitting up as far as he could to grab ahold on himself. Sticky, wet and just as hard as before. He strokes himself, groaning as he fists tighter at his ruddy tip, coaxing a pearl of precum. Defiantly, he taps his heaviness on your clit. "Keep that up and making sure every inch of you aches with me the next day, understood?"
A giggle bubbles up before you could force it down. He slaps his cock against your clit again, holding and coating it down and between your lips, still creamy and dripping his own release, bullying your button with his tip. Your whine is muffled between your teeth as you bear them down.
"Understood?" He pushes, voice firmer, harsher, and you nod, heart racing, ribs already quivering. The sounds of your joint bodies squelch louder and louder, as your head lays dizzier and dizzier, but his voice whispers so soft and the way he terrorises and hounds your insides brings stars to the corners of your eyes.
thinking about alt!reader purposefully wearing short skirts & no bra to her bartending shifts bc shane maguire tips 50% on every beer. bending down to grab him another bottle, slightly arching your back to poke your ass out, you glance over and catch shane's lusty gaze run from your ass to your face. he winks and slides two crumpled bills your way. when u reach for the cash, he catches ur wrist with a calloused mitt of a hand. his thumb strokes the soft skin of your arm, back and forth, and he smirks when ur breath audibly catches. "new skirt, sweets?" your pretty nod makes him bite his lip, dick twitching in his pants. you say, "mhm, how'd you know?" all sweet n sheepish, blinking up at him through ur makeup. you play the game perfectly, feigning ignorance. he licks his lips, eyes flitting to ur tits, to ur hard nipples stretching the shirt, and shane has to fight the groan rising in his throat. "think i wouldn't remember?" he had the gall to look offended and you laughed. "m'not that old, baby. the tiny black one with that silver belt is my favorite." your flush reaches the tips of your ears, so u busy yourself taking other orders, though it's shane you spend the most time with. he pretends not to notice when u wear that specific skirt the next night.
and god forbid you wore platform boots...he's already sixteen steps ahead, imagining what it'd look like if he bent you over the bar. how is he expected to contain himself when u look like a doll? would your feet kick when you were close? if he took you on the bartop, legs draped over his broad shoulders, would they kick then? he felt like a horny teenager. for now, he'd settle for double-entendres and the long game bc a hunt is what shane maguire was made for!
shane defends u from creeps who are just trying to peek up ur skirt...he himself doesn't count, obviously. you're his girl. sure, the bar was public, and you're dressed like a slut, but other men weren't allowed to see you. he waits until you drift to the other end of the bar to approach any confused man who got it in their head that you were flirting with him. on more than one occasion, you'd see shane talking to a guy who just won't take 'no' for an answer, and that customer would hastily close their tab and leave the bar. you roll your eyes at his very clear display of jealousy, because of course he's pouting now. despite yourself, his protectiveness melts you. you did only flirt with him, and not just because it was easy as breathing, but because he was infuriatingly attractive and he knew it. you slide him a beer on the house and perch yourself in front of him, yapping about the day you'd had so far, like it was domestic. he would do the same til your shift ended and he walked you to your car before kissing ur knuckles goodnight. wouldn't go any further unless u begged <3
summary: You spent months trying to catch the person breaking into your apartment. The last thing you expected was waking up face to face with him.
pairings: benjamin “dex” poindexter x afab!reader
warnings: 17k words. mature themes. dubcon. voyeurism. unprotected p in v. stalking. home invasion. invasion of privacy. hidden cameras. fingering. panty stealing. masturbation mention. power imbalance. unhealthy relationship dynamics. firearm. praise kink. degradation. dirty talk. clothed grinding. hair pulling. clitoral stimulation. nipple play. breast play. multiple sex positions. internal ejaculation. creampie. breeding implications. read responsibly.
note: this fic took me a while to write it and also stressed me out. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
Dex looks back at the months before he ever knew you existed, and he can’t believe how everything changed. He used to maintain his schedule, but now his entire life revolves around what you do. He didn’t plan to follow your path home or learn your daily habits when he first saw you. It started out as a random coincidence on a Tuesday night, yet it turned into a fixation he couldn’t stop. Now he spends his evenings watching your windows from the shadows across the street, and he remembers every single detail of the moment his small little world got disrupted. It happened late at night at the local supermarket while you stood in the brightly lit produce section. You were inspecting the fruit display when you already had two large pineapples resting in your basket.
Dex stepped up right beside you to check the pile for himself because he needed something to do with his hands. He watched your face as you turned another pineapple around to check the surface, and he wanted to speak up before he could hold himself back. He wanted to see how you would react to being interrupted. You moved your hair out of your way, but you didn’t look up until he initiated the conversation. He picked up a fruit of his own and turned it in his hand before he spoke. “That’s plenty of pineapples for a girl like you,” Dex said as he rolled the rough texture under his palm. You stopped what you’re doing while heat flooded your face because you knew what people thought about that specific fruit.
Your shoulders tensed up while you clutched the handle of your basket tightly to hide your sudden discomfort. Dex sensed the immediate change in your posture, and he realized what his words implied. “Oh, god. No, no,” Dex muttered while he held his hands up to show he wasn’t trying to be crude. “That’s not what I mean at all,” he added before you could walk away from the display. “I have a big family,” you lied as you tossed the third pineapple into your basket and tried to look confident. He could see right through the deception because your nervous blinking gave everything away. “Sure, pineapple girl,” Dex replied with a chuckle before he turned on his heel and left you alone with the fruits.
You thought the strange encounter was over, but he waited outside the glass doors until you finished paying for your groceries. He kept his distance on the dark sidewalk as you walked towards your apartment building, which was only a short distance from the store. He trailed behind you on the dark streets, and he carefully watched how you walked. You reached the front entrance and unlocked the door before you stepped inside without checking behind you. He watched from across the road until a single light flipped on in a third-floor window, and he confirmed his initial suspicion. There was no big family waiting inside that apartment because you lived by yourself. Living alone without checking your surroundings isn’t safe at all.
What if a different person found you instead of him? Someone else might easily have bad intentions if they followed you to your door. Dex wouldn’t do anything actually to hurt you, though. He constantly tells himself he only wants to watch over you. He believes he’s doing you a massive favor by making sure nobody else can get close. You’re unaware of how vulnerable you are every single night. Dex cared about you enough to learn every detail of your life. He knows you have an old laptop you only ever use for writing. He didn’t know who you were writing about at first, but he looked it up later. He learned that you write stories about characters in movies or on television.
The internet showed him that whatever you do in your free time is called fanfiction. Dex only found out about your hobby because he cared enough to pick the lock of your apartment while you were out. He found the same key for your door online, so he could come back whenever he wanted. He also cared enough to install multiple cameras from different angles inside your apartment. You won’t ever find them because they’re well hidden in places you barely ever look at or touch. The only place lacking a camera right now is your bathroom. He knows he’s a huge hypocrite for putting a camera in your bedroom without putting one in the shower too. He prefers to draw a weird line right there so he doesn’t feel like a creep.
He wants to watch you sleep or type on your bed rather than cross that one boundary. It makes him feel like a protector instead of a bad guy. Dex rarely follows you around the streets when you actually leave your home. He does it sometimes, but doing it in person is a lot more tiring. Trailing behind you in public has way too much risk compared to breaking in. He much prefers watching over the camera screens when he relaxes comfortably at his own place. He finally started reading some of the stories you wrote by opening your laptop while he stood right inside your bedroom. Dex already figured out the fanfiction part earlier, yet he didn’t realize you were writing pure smut until he actually clicked on the specific documents.
He never expected a girl like you to write something so dirty and he couldn’t even imagine doing half the things he read, but you somehow brought them into reality. What only drove him to jerk off in the first place was when he found out your hidden drafts on that old laptop. Finding those files made him start digging your dirty panties out of your laundry basket whenever he visits your empty apartment. He uses the unwashed fabric to jerk off to the scenes you wrote while he takes a spot on the edge of your bed. He imagined it was you and him doing it while he read a draft where the characters were fucking over a table.
He easily pictured bending you over your own table to make you read your own words out loud while his cock thrusts inside your cunt. Dex swears he always brings the garments right back to their spot in the hamper so you never notice they went missing. He was never sloppy when he did those kinds of things in your apartment. He never actually took your clothes home because he made sure they were strictly for one-time use. He would find a pair of dirty panties, and he always put them right back in the same spot after he finished. He never left any evidence behind that could prove he was inside your bedroom while you were gone. He knew your schedule well, so he knew how much time he had to finish his business before you came back.
He never let himself get distracted enough to make a careless mistake. Dex likes to think he’s a good guy at the end of the day. He might admit he’s a little perverted, but he’s just a normal guy. What else was he supposed to do when he read those things on your screen? His cock got hard as soon as he pictured you doing those acts so that he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t just take care of it right then and there. He convinced himself it was natural for a man to react that way to such graphic writing. He didn’t feel guilty because he believed anyone else in his position would do the same thing. He even went into your bathroom to clean himself up whenever he had extra time. He memorized how everything originally looked before he ever touched your things, so he remembered where every item belonged.
Dex’s condition actually helped his case during these visits because he couldn’t physically rest until everything in the room looked the way he’d left it. He would adjust the laundry basket or wipe down the sink until the apartment was spotless again. He made sure the entire place looked untouched so you would never suspect a single thing. He left your home as he found it every time. What he doesn’t know is that you aren’t stupid or clueless at all. You felt it for weeks, and maybe even months. You get a strange feeling that someone has been inside your apartment while you were gone. You always feel like someone is watching you, but proving it is hard. Trying to confirm your suspicions never works out because every single item is where you left it.
Sometimes the whole apartment smells different when you walk through the front door. There are times you smell a trace of an unknown laundry detergent on your bedsheets, or you notice a different cologne in the bedroom. The place smells like a man when you come back home. You start taking photos of your rooms before you leave. Your camera roll fills up with pictures of your bookshelf, desk, and kitchen counter. Then you compare them on your phone once you get back home, but every object matches the photos, so it only makes you feel crazier. You didn’t tell your friends about the situation since nobody would ever take you seriously. They would blame it on your stress or point out how burnt out you are.
Your obsession with horror movies and documentaries would become their excuse for your fear if you ever told them, so you prefer to hide the truth. It bothers you too much that you wonder if you are mentally unwell, especially those nights when you wake up from interrupted sleep because you feel somebody is standing right beside your bed, yet the room is always empty when you look around. Your paranoia led you to change little things on purpose to test your sanity. Leaving your laptop directly on the bed instead of your desk is your first attempt at setting a trap, but nothing happened. You try turning a random book upside down on the shelf. Sometimes you even leave a cabinet door slightly open in the kitchen before walking out of the place.
Everything is the way you usually leave it every time you return home. It scares you more than you’ll ever admit. A normal person breaking in would never bother cleaning up after themselves, or at least they would get sloppy enough. You decide to do something about the situation to cope with it. That’s why you start writing a new story about your experience. It’s obvious a stalker must check their victim’s gadgets too. The plot revolves around a stalker character and a woman who knows somebody is watching her but can’t prove a single thing, which is basically just your situation. Typing it out helps you manage your anxiety at first. You use the story as a test to see if anyone is actually looking through your laptop.
What you don’t realize is that Dex is actually reading those drafts. He sees every single word you type about him, but simply writing about the situation doesn’t rattle him. It pushes you to try something more direct, where you type out a new scene in which the victim leaves a sticky note beside her laptop. The note contains three simple words asking who the stalker is. You write that draft late at night, and you have absolutely no idea he knows what you are doing because he watches you type through the hidden cameras inside your bedroom. You tell yourself to wait for the morning to actually write it on the paper, and you stand by your word when you grab a sticky note from your desk the second you wake up.
You write the same question and leave a simple ‘Who are you?’ right beside your closed laptop so your room matches the draft before you leave for the day. You expect to feel a sense of control over the situation, yet your stomach drops the moment you lock your front door. The anxiety follows you everywhere you go and makes it difficult to focus on anything else because you only want to get back home to check your desk. You expect to find a clear answer waiting for you, but everything looks the same when you step inside. There is nothing different, and not even a single item is out of place. It leaves you feeling disappointed after seeing the paper resting there without anything written on it besides your own handwriting.
The scene ends where you left it, without a single letter edited in your document, too. You desperately want him to react, and the lack of proof frustrates you more than you would ever admit. It makes you wonder if you are losing your mind over nothing. That frustration only pushes you to try harder, so you write another scene showing how the victim feels like she is going crazy from the silence. You write that the character leaves a new message claiming ‘I know you’re here.’ before you put a second real note right beside your laptop. You refuse to move the paper or write anything new since you put that on your desk, and you force yourself to wait for him to make a move. You spend three days checking that same spot every single morning and night without getting a single reaction.
The agonizing wait only makes you more bothered by every little sound in your apartment until you decide to escalate the situation after waiting two more exhausting days. You write about the victim leaving a cup on the kitchen counter to catch her stalker, and you put a sticky note underneath a mug in your actual kitchen right after you finish typing. What you do in real life becomes a reflection of what you write on your laptop. You ask a simple question on the paper and put, ‘Are you reading this?’ to test if he actually reads your screen. You spend your entire time outside your home distracted, as you constantly wonder if this attempt will finally work. Maybe it’s fate that your instincts are telling you something because there are finally changes when you push your front door open later that night.
The mug is positioned where you left it, so nothing seems obvious at first glance. The sticky note waits hidden at the bottom, and you almost throw the paper away in defeat until you notice the mug is facing the wrong direction. You realize that the small detail has to be an intentional answer. The handle originally pointing toward the refrigerator now points directly at the sink. Nobody else would ever spot such a small difference, but you only notice it because you took a photo to compare against the counter. Your hands shake while you hold your phone up close to the cup. You don’t call the police or tell your friends about the update regardless of how you feel. You immediately run to your room to finish the draft you’re working on instead.
You type out how the stalker visited the apartment and moved the mug so the victim finally gets her proof. A sick thrill takes over you after finally confirming a real person was actually inside your personal space. That adrenaline makes you write another update where the victim becomes much bolder about the whole situation. She stops asking whether somebody is there because she already knows the undeniable truth. You refuse to let that rush of adrenaline die down, so you quickly plan your next move. The chapter ends with her wanting to know what the stalker wants from her. You stick a new note directly onto the center of your laptop screen asking, ‘What do you want from me?’ right before you leave your apartment the following morning.
It brings a personal risk, but you crave the closure it might bring. The note is where you left it when you finally returned hours later. You pull it off the screen, and your heart races while you flip the paper over. You trace your trembling fingers over the letters because his only response is a handwritten ‘Keep writing, sweetheart.’ on the back. The reality of the situation slaps you in the face while you stare down at his handwriting. Who actually does something like this? What kind of sick freak thinks this is a game? You are so pissed that your fingers dig into the edge of the desk. You grab a marker to write a message telling the stalker to fuck off. You leave the paper on your desk and threaten to call the police if he ever comes back.
“Just leave me alone,” you mutter to the empty room. That was your boiling point to stop writing more drafts to entertain a sicko. You shut your laptop hard enough that it makes a loud sound against your desk, and you almost throw the machine across the room. Dex watches you through the live feed on his monitor with a small smirk on his face. He leans back in his chair because he loves seeing you get all fired up, yet he avoids your apartment for the next few days to give you space rather than backing away out of fear. He wants you to deal with your own anger. The silence he gives you almost makes you believe your threat scared him away. Are you safe? Did he actually listen to you? It feels like you can breathe again, but you should have known a guy this obsessed would never easily give up.
You should have known he would pull some tricks on you, like leaving a rose right on your kitchen counter. How the fuck did he even get inside again? You grab the flower and then throw it into the trash without a second thought. Dex watches you destroy his gift through the screen before he rubs a hand over his face in frustration. He can’t understand why you would do that, but he also loves pushing your buttons. Did you not like the flower he picked? Who wouldn’t like roses? It was the first flower he bought to test the waters since it was always a classic choice. He is a persistent guy, so he leaves more bouquets despite your refusal to acknowledge them. He knows it pisses you off, and he thrives on it even when every single one ends up in the garbage the second you find them.
He switches to tulips the next time he visits your place, but you don’t even try to smell them. Flowers are not cheap in this economy, yet he is willing to buy different kinds of flowers as gifts for you, only to see how mad you can get. His next choice is peonies because he hopes to figure out what will make you smile, or maybe he wants to see you snap again. What does he expect you to do? Thank him for stalking you? Write him a love letter? Those gifts might feel less threatening, but they invade your personal space. The way you ignore every delivery starts working, though, because it drives him crazy. He might be getting frustrated by you, but your fear starts to turn into pure annoyance. You hate yourself for starting to expect flowers waiting for you after a few weeks, and that makes you angry because he acts like a boyfriend instead of a stalker with crazy tendencies.
Why is he playing house with you? It makes your stomach churn that you have to check around out of habit to see what kind of flower he brought inside. You know what he’s doing, and he’s fucked to think he can train you to act like a pet waiting for a treat from its owner, but this time you refuse to let it happen. You are not dumb enough to ignore the break-ins, and you are tired of his shit. He’s wearing down your patience to the point where you’re considering hiring someone to replace the locks. You pay good money so that you can feel safe again, but replacing them does absolutely nothing. Dex picks the door in seconds, like he always does, before he leaves another bouquet on your kitchen table the next afternoon.
How is he doing this? Is your privacy a joke to him? Him picking the new lock pisses you off way more than the flowers do. He has no boundaries at all, and he wants you to know it. “You have got to be kidding me,” you groan out loud while tossing the fresh flowers into the trash. You start leaving hostile written messages scattered around the apartment knowing he will read them. You want him to know how much you despise his actions. You put notes on the fridge or the bathroom mirror out of spite to tell him how much you hate his presence. Dex collects every piece of paper you leave behind like he enjoys making you angry. He never leaves a written response to any of your notes because he wants to see how far your frustration will push you.
His responses come through actions instead, like leaving a basket of groceries on your counter or dropping off a new book you wanted. Does he think he is taking care of you? Is he treating you like a pet? You reach your breaking point when you open the fridge to find a new carton of milk he bought for you. The audacity makes you want to move away and live somewhere else. “Stop hiding like a coward!” you shout at the ceiling before grabbing a marker from the counter. You write a message telling him to show his face if he plans to continue entering your home because you are done playing his stupid game. Dex watches you slap the paper onto the fridge, and he smiles knowing you finally gave him the invitation he wanted.
His only response to your angry message is a short note left right on your bathroom mirror. It says ‘See you soon’ without any other explanation. You spend the next few weeks waiting for him to make a move. The first week is hell because every noise outside your apartment makes you think tonight is finally the night. You spend hours staring at the ceiling while wondering if he’s standing right outside your door. Your mind goes right back to how easily he got inside before every time you try to find some comfort, everything might be over. You even start looking inside your closet or pulling back the shower curtain every time you come home. How long can someone continue living like this before they finally lose it?
Nothing happens yet, but somehow that makes everything worse because it feels like you’re just waiting for him to show up. The lack of effort from him makes the anticipation worse. The paranoia drains your energy until you can barely hold your eyes open during the second week. You stop checking the door every few minutes because you’re too tired to continue doing it. All you could do was get through the day, then come home to an apartment that’s constantly messing with your head. That exhaustion lets your guard down when the third week passes without any new flowers or rearranged groceries. You convince yourself the note was just another way to scare you. Maybe he got bored and found someone else to mess with.
You actually think he gave up after you didn’t find any sign that someone got inside again. You slowly start to believe you’re alone again, so you don’t bother checking every corner of your bedroom before climbing into bed. You don’t even remember falling asleep because the next thing you know you’re staring up at your ceiling again when something wakes you up in the middle of the night. You don’t think anything of it at first because you’ve been waking up like this almost every night. Nothing bad ever happens when you wake up like this, so why would tonight be any different? You only wait there for a few seconds before pushing yourself up against the headboard to rub your eyes because all you want is to look around the room before going back to sleep.
Everything seems normal at first glance until you notice somebody sitting right at the edge of your bed. This can’t actually be happening right now. You instinctively yank the blanket up closer around yourself while staring at the intruder who somehow got past your door again. How the fuck did he get inside? It takes a few seconds for your brain to process who it is. The guy isn’t some random stranger because you recognize him from the supermarket. You shouldn’t even remember that awkward conversation about pineapples, yet everything suddenly makes sense. Everything leads back to him, and you try to process how long he has been waiting there watching you sleep. Dex doesn’t move closer to you or try to touch you.
He looks comfortable, as if being in your bedroom in the middle of the night were the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t move from where he is to let you process the situation before he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says calmly while he looks right at you. He notices the fear on your face before he tells you that he genuinely believes those words should reassure you. Those promises mean nothing coming from a man like him. You don’t find his reassurance comforting in the slightest bit because he already crossed every possible boundary long before he appeared in your bedroom. There isn’t a single part of this that is okay. What kind of logic makes him think those words are enough, after everything he’s already been through?
The audacity of his calmness sparks anger right beneath your fear. He already broke into your home to watch you sleep, so there is no excuse for this. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you demand while trying to steady your shaking voice as you point toward the bedroom door. You expect him to apologize for sneaking in, but he acts like this entire situation is normal. Dex ignores your order from the edge of the bed. “I’m one of the good guys,” he says calmly while watching your reaction. You let out a breath because you can’t believe a single word coming from a man who spent months stalking you. “Good guys don’t break into houses to watch people sleep,” you snap back at him while gripping the blanket.
The lack of guilt on his face makes you want to punch him since he honestly thinks he did nothing wrong. “Your intentions don’t matter after everything you already did, so prove it instead of expecting blind trust,” you say while maintaining your distance from him. Dex nods before reaching toward the waistband of his pants. You tense up because you genuinely think he’s finally about to attack you. He slowly pulls out the gun he brought with him instead. You expect him to aim it, but he places the firearm on the mattress right between the two of you. He gently nudges the pistol toward you so it sits closer to your hands. You stare at the object while trying to figure out his actual plan.
“Take it,” he says while he checks your face for a reaction. “If you really think I’m here to hurt you, then you should have something to stop me,” he explains while leaving his hands visible. He rests his palms against his thighs, so you know he isn’t grabbing anything else. This action is meant to reassure you, but it only reminds you that you have no idea what he is thinking. You hesitate to grab the pistol because every instinct tells you this is a bad idea. What if he just wants an excuse to hurt you? You eventually reach out to snatch the gun off the sheets before you can change your mind. You grip the handle tightly and point the barrel directly at his forehead without even thinking about it.
You expect him to dodge or hold his hands up in defense. Dex doesn’t flinch or argue with you at all. He doesn’t try to take the gun back either. You can feel the sweat forming on your palms while you hold the weapon up. He sits on the bed while you aim the firearm in his direction with shaking hands. You wait for him to do something while resting your finger right next to the trigger. The room is silent while Dex slowly scoots closer across the mattress instead of backing away from the gun. “Stop moving,” you warn him while tightening your grip on the pistol. He ignores your warning without acting aggressively at all. He moves forward until the barrel is only a few inches from his face. You push yourself harder against the headboard to get away from him.
He leans forward until his forehead touches the metal. He looks you straight in the eye without blinking. This gesture isn’t a bluff or some kind of challenge to him. Dex genuinely believes he’s proving he never intended to hurt you. You are dealing with someone whose mind works nothing like everyone else’s. “Shut the fuck up,” you warn him while pushing the barrel against his forehead. Dex doesn’t flinch away from the metal. “You’re not going to shoot me,” he says, and watches your expression. He talks like you hold a toy instead of a loaded gun. “You spent months leaving notes to make me show up,” he explains before pointing at the weapon. He believes those papers were an open invitation. “You wanted this as badly as I did,” he adds without a hint of fear.
You shake your head to shut down his twisted logic. “I wanted to know if I was going fucking crazy,” you snap back at him and push the gun harder against his skin. You insist you only left those messages to prove someone was breaking in. “I never wanted some creep inside my apartment,” you tell him while your chest heaves with every breath. Dex doesn’t look convinced by your anger. “We’ve been communicating for months already,” he argues like you two were exchanging friendly letters. He views the situation as a normal relationship instead of an invasion of your privacy. He ignores the weapon to bring up private details nobody else should know. “You’re a good writer,” he says, and looks into your eyes.
“Don’t bring that shit up,” you warn him while your finger twitches over the trigger. “I opened every document on that laptop because I wanted to know you,” he confesses while watching your face. You think he lies to get inside your head. “Even the drafts you never posted,” he adds before quoting a line from a scene where a character begs to be fucked on a desk. You never posted any of those drafts online, yet he knew the exact lines, so you realized he had really gone through your computer. Dex doesn’t stop there because he wants you to know what he does in your bedroom. “I read those stories way before you started leaving me notes,” he reveals while a smirk forms on his lips. He casually mentions how much he enjoyed reading your dirty drafts whenever he broke into your place.
You stare at him as you try to process the invasion of your privacy. “I didn’t expect you to write things like that,” he says before chuckling at your reaction. The way he talks about your personal files makes you feel exposed. “You have such a dirty mind,” he says without any shame. Dex finally lifts his hand from his thigh and reaches forward to touch your face. He brings his hand up to the back of your head while his thumb gently rubs your cheek. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair like he is trying to calm you down. You let the gun fall onto the mattress so you can place both hands against his chest to push him away. His body doesn’t move an inch when you shove him backward.
You try to push him a second time, but he ignores your effort. Your frustration boils over so you punch his chest before your hands grab handfuls of his shirt. “Get off me right now,” you demand while glaring up at him. Dex caresses your hair without acting bothered by your anger. “You can punch me all you want,” he says before he looks down at your hands. He tilts his head because he feels the anger radiating off your body. “I really don’t want to hurt you,” Dex promises while looking right into your eyes. You don’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. He notices your doubt, so he tries to explain himself again. “I have no intention of harming you,” he insists while his voice sounds calm.
You want to scream because stalking is already a crime. “I never left any threats around the apartment,” he points out before defending his actions. He acts like unlocking your door is no big deal. He even reminds you of the times he fixed things around the apartment without asking for a thank-you. “I only ever left you flowers or groceries instead of anything dangerous,” he reminds you while his fingers massage your scalp. You know he is right about the gifts, but having a stranger inside your home is terrifying enough. You refuse to let him play the good guy. “You broke into my house,” you remind him while tightening your grip on his shirt. He nods slowly because he understands why you are so angry.
He knows you never asked for this situation, but he genuinely believes he is doing the right thing. You want to wipe that understanding look off his face so you insult him. “You’re just a lonely fucking loser,” you spit at him while hoping to finally piss him off. You try to find the cruelest thing to say. “You have no life so you have to stalk mine,” you add while watching for a reaction. Dex doesn’t look angry or offended by your words at all. He expects you to hate him so he accepts the insults without arguing back. He doesn’t think you should be grateful for his presence. “I know you hate me right now,” he replies while his hand continues stroking the back of your head. His voice sounds way too sincere for a home invader.
“But I just want to protect you from everyone else,” he explains like that justifies all his actions. His twisted reasoning baffles you. “What if some other guy found those stories on your laptop?” Dex asks before he scoffs at the thought. He shakes his head while imagining a different scenario. “Another guy would just force himself on you after reading all that,” he tells you while his fingers move softly against your scalp. He expects you to thank him for reading your computer. “You’re sick in the head,” you tell him because his reasoning is insane. Dex chuckles again while he stares down at your hands holding his shirt. He tilts his chin down to look at the space between your bodies.
“If I’m so sick, then why am I stopping you from calling the cops?” he asks without raising his voice at all. You look at your arms and realize he isn’t restraining you at all. “I’m not even holding you here by force,” he points out while his hands rest gently against your face and head. You hate to admit his trick actually works on you. He acts like you have full control over the situation, only to mess with your head. You know he could easily hurt you right now if he actually wanted to do it. “You think I believe that bullshit?” you ask him while your hands grip his shirt tighter. What kind of idiot would trust a man who breaks into homes because they think they’re protecting you? He’s playing a twisted game to see what you’ll do.
His claim that you can call the cops is obviously a lie. You know damn well he would run away, or you would end up dead long before the police ever arrived. He wants you to believe you hold all the power, but you know how dangerous he really is. “I promise you’re safe with me,” he whispers while his fingers move softly through your hair. The way he repeats he won’t hurt you messes with your head. He holds his other hand on your face as his thumb rubs your lower lip. You hate how your body reacts to him because you instinctively part your mouth without even meaning to. You end up breathing through your mouth the second your lips open under his thumb. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he tells you again like it’s the absolute truth.
The way he touches you makes your brain forget how messed up this whole thing is. It feels disturbing to experience something like this in reality. There are times you read books or watch movies about obsessed guys, but you never expected a stalker to actually show up in your bedroom. You always thought you would fight back or scream if this ever happened, yet here you are just letting him touch your face without doing a single thing to stop him, and it makes you feel pathetic. Dex watches your face carefully before he speaks again. “You call me lonely, but you’re exactly the same,” he points out while looking right into your eyes. He knows you spend all your time alone so you don’t have anyone else to take care of you.
He thinks you need him just because you don’t go out with friends every weekend. The pure arrogance in his voice makes you want to slap him. “I can take care of myself just fine,” you argue back before trying to turn your face away. He moves his hand with you to maintain his grip on your jaw. “You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself,” he replies before he finally tests the waters. He slips his thumb past your parted lips to rest it directly against your tongue. You let out a muffled sound against his finger because you didn’t expect him to actually do that. His thumb tastes a little salty right on your tongue. You try to back away, but his fingers tighten in your hair to stop you from escaping, and you glare at him.
“I want to take care of you,” he adds while watching your chest rise with another deep breath. Dex uses his thumb inside your mouth and pushes it down on your tongue. The pad of his finger scrapes against your teeth before resting deep inside. You try to use your hands on his shirt to shove him away again. You want to scream at him to get out, but you can’t even form a word. He simply leans over you and uses his body weight to press you against the headboard. His chest pushes against your arms while his thumb stops you from speaking. “I really want to take care of you,” he whispers right to your face. He acts like having his fingers deep in your mouth is an ordinary part of the conversation. “You never let anyone else do it,” he adds as he watches your chest rise.
He looks you straight in the eye while you struggle to breathe around his hand. You try to swallow around his thumb, but the action makes your throat tighten uncomfortably. A muffled sound slips out before you can bite it back. You glare up at him with hatred right in your eye and want to look disgusted, but your body betrays your anger. The warmth of his hand on your face feels entirely too good, so your eyelids flutter shut for a second while a breath hitches in your chest. The involuntary reaction happens before you can even stop it. You open your eyes again to find him staring down at you. He watches your pupils dilate with a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to punch him for making you feel like this, and you hate that you just gave him what he wants.
He notices every reaction you try to hide from him, and he sees the exact moment your anger turns into something else. “Fuck,” Dex mutters under his breath as he takes in your expression. He sounds genuinely amazed by the way you react to him. “Look at you,” he whispers before a smirk forms on his face. He knows what he is doing to you, yet he points out how fast you gave up fighting him despite how much you claim to hate his guts. His arrogant tone makes you want to wipe that smirk away. You try to bite his thumb to erase that look off his face. Dex easily slides his finger deeper before your teeth can actually catch him. He pushes his thumb down harder on your tongue to force your mouth open again while his other hand grips your hair more firmly to tilt your head back.
The way he effortlessly pins you down against the headboard makes your stomach drop, and you feel fear with an unwanted thrill. You start to question whether you actually enjoy what he is doing to you right now. You wonder if you are really dumb enough to fold for a guy who broke into your apartment. A part of you wants to know if his gentle actions prove he won’t actually hurt you. Your brain struggles to process all these confusing thoughts at once. You should be fighting for your life, but your body wants more of his attention, and that’s when you realize you are leaning into his touch instead of pulling away. You look down and see how your hands are tangled in his shirt, and you’re no longer pushing him away from your body at all.
You clutch the fabric of his shirt while his hand rests firmly in your hair. Dex leans down until his lips almost brush against your ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers directly against your neck. He promises he will walk away forever if you just say the word. You know he would never actually let you go, and he wants you to admit you want this just as much as he does. He turns his head until his mouth grazes along your jawline. He slowly pulls his thumb out of your mouth to leave a wet string of saliva behind, and you let out a whine when he does that. He wipes his damp thumb on your top before his hand drops down to grab your waist tightly. “Tell me to quit leaving things and watching you,” he begs, like he actually needs your permission to leave.
He waits for your answer while his chest is inches away from yours. You don’t say a single word while your hand moves up from his shirt. You slide your fingers to the back of his head to gently caress his hair. You look at him and realize you don’t want him to leave even though you know he is crazy for doing all of those things in the first place, but having him right here feels better than being alone. Your hand moves from his hair down to his shoulder instead of bringing him into a kiss against the headboard. You push against his chest just enough to create some space between your bodies. You don’t tell him to stop or leave the apartment, but you finally make him back off. “Go get my laptop from the desk,” you tell him while pointing across the room.
Dex looks confused for a second because he clearly didn’t expect you to say that. He stands up anyway before walking over to grab the laptop. You crawl forward to sit right in the middle of the mattress while he has his back turned. You want him to realize you are not just going to roll over for him like he expects you to. He walks back over to the bed and hands the device over to you. You flip the screen open and log in before pushing it right back into his chest. “Open your favorite one,” you instruct him while watching his face. You know he has a preference after spending so much time snooping through your files. You want to see what kind of things he enjoys reading the most. “Read it out loud to me,” you tell him while pointing at the screen.
You challenge him directly to see if he can actually handle the words he claims to enjoy. You want to hear his voice saying those sentences. “Read the part you liked the most,” you add, so he has to make the choice himself. Dex actually hesitates for a second and gets flustered by your words. He just had you pinned against the headboard, but now he suddenly looks caught off guard. He tries to look at the screen instead of looking at your face. His fingers hesitate over the keyboard while he stares blankly at the folders. He just sits there in silence without clicking on a single file. You watch him struggle to type the title into the search bar. “Are you actually shy right now?” you ask him while leaning slightly closer to his face. You cannot believe the guy who broke into your house is suddenly struggling to speak.
You let out a short laugh because the role reversal is almost funny. “You had absolutely no problem sneaking into my apartment and watching me,” you point out while he refuses to look up. You remind him that he crossed every single boundary long before today. You make sure he realizes how stupid his hesitation looks. “You already read all of them behind my back,” you remind him while waiting for a reaction. You know he spent hours staring at your laptop while you were gone. “It’s pathetic you’re suddenly embarrassed to read them out loud,” you add while watching him swallow. He scoffs at your insult, but he finally starts typing the title of the story. He clicks the document open before scrolling down the page to find the specific paragraph.
He reads the words on the screen silently to himself for a few seconds. “Why do I even need to read this out loud?” Dex asks while focusing his eyes on the text. He tries to act unaffected while sitting right across from you. “It’s not like you’re actually going to let me fuck you like this,” he adds while pointing at the screen. He is obviously trying to provoke you so he can take control again. You might fall a little right into his game without even thinking about it. “I didn’t tell you we wouldn’t,” you answer back while looking right into his eyes. You don’t give him a clear yes-or-no, but the vague reply works perfectly. Dex smirks a little bit before he clicks the cursor at the top of the paragraph. He clears his throat and prepares to read your filthy words back to you.
Dex clears his throat before he glances up at you. He places the laptop onto the sheets right beside him so he can view the screen. He looks back down at the document as he prepares to read your words out loud. “He pushes her legs open to get a good look at her cunt,” Dex starts reading directly from your laptop. He sounds casual while saying filthy sentences. You stare at him because you can’t believe he actually said that without any shame. Hearing your own words spoken out loud makes your stomach drop. He reaches his free hand forward to grab your knee right after he finishes the line. You watch him push your legs apart while his eyes scan the next paragraph. Dex drops his eyes back to the screen while his hand grips your thigh.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says while quoting the dialogue from the character. He uses a deeper voice so it sounds like he’s genuinely saying it to you. His hand sneaks up your leg before he rests his palm right between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his arm blocks you from moving. You part your lips when his knuckles brush against your sleep shorts. “His eyes can’t look away from between her legs,” Dex reads next while he looks right at your crotch. He looks where his hand cups right over your cunt. “Open wider for me,” Dex demands while pushing your knee further to the side. He doesn’t look at the laptop to say that part because he wants you to obey him right now.
You hate how easily your body listens, so you let your legs fall further apart. Dex smirks while watching you expose yourself to him. He drags his thumb right over the seam of your shorts to tease you. He looks satisfied before he glances back at the screen. “She begs him to touch her while her hips buck up against him,” he reads aloud as he moves closer to you. You try to close your legs, but he forces your knee back down. “Mm- stop it,” you complain while trying to grab his wrist. He easily dodges your hand before he pushes his palm firmly against your crotch. You try to squirm away on the mattress, but his grip on your thigh holds you where he wants you. He knows you want this even if you try to fight him off.
“I haven’t even read the best part yet,” he replies while his eyes look over the next few lines. He uses the heel of his hand to grind right against your cunt through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. “Nngh-” you gasp out as he finds the right spot. He applies more pressure while rotating his hand around your cunt. You realize he plans to use your own story to turn you on while he touches you just like this. “You’ll take it so well for me,” Dex reads aloud while his palm rubs against your sleep shorts. He looks back at the screen before he continues reading the next paragraph. “He guides his thick cock right against her cunt and drags the head through all her wetness,” he quotes as he pushes his hand harder against your crotch.
You hate how good it feels against your body. “He teases her by sliding it up and down her folds without putting it inside, yet,” he finishes the sentence while staring right at your face. Your legs part then close involuntarily because he grinds the heel of his hand over your clit. “You’re dripping for me,” he adds while his hand rests right between your thighs. You know what you wrote on that laptop. You know you never typed that specific line he just said. “You just made that part up,” you accuse him while trying to control your breathing. You glare at him because he just twisted your own words. “Maybe I did,” he answers back with a smug look on his face. He clearly enjoys seeing you get so defensive about it.
“It fits the situation,” he argues back before he pushes his palm firmer against your crotch. The unexpected pressure makes you grab a handful of his shirt. “I can already feel the dampness soaking right through your clothes,” he tells you with a smirk. You honestly have no idea if he’s bluffing or telling the truth. He continues reading the filthy scene to tease you. “He pulls her hips backward so he gets a clear view of her wet cunt before he lines his cock up,” he reads aloud while watching your reaction. You try to look away, but his eyes follow your every movement. “He pushes the tip right against her cunt and slowly slides his entire length inside,” he recites while grinding the heel of his hand against your shorts.
You feel worked up by his touch, and making him read the story out loud was supposed to give you the upper hand. You wanted to make him embarrassed, but the plan backfired since he’s the one touching you. He clearly enjoys having control over you right now. He scrolls down the document to skip to the part he loved the most in what you wrote. “He forces her onto all fours so he can finally take her from behind,” Dex recites while his thumb finds your clit through the fabric. You gasp out loud when he circles the sensitive spot. “His hands grab her hips tightly to hold her in place on the mattress,” he continues reading as he grinds his palm right over your center. “He pulls his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back deep into her cunt,” he quotes aloud before pushing down harder against your shorts.
He watches your hips buck slightly upward to meet his palm. “He fucks her from behind without giving her a single second to recover,” he reads next while he moves his palm faster against your shorts. You try to squeeze your thighs shut, but his arm blocks your legs from closing. “He shoves his cock inside her cunt repeatedly until she screams for him to fuck her harder,” he finishes the paragraph while his thumb circles your clit. You hate that he knows how to get you so worked up. “Nn- your reading voice fucking sucks,” you insult him to hide how good he makes you feel. You try to sound annoyed, but your body betrays your words. He just chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him while he continues to torture you with his hand.
“Then why are you grinding right against my hand?” he asks as you involuntarily push your hips up into his palm. You realize he’s right since your body reacts to every single movement he makes. “Hah- shut up,” you gasp out when his thumb pushes down harder. He loves watching you lose your mind over his fingers. “Mm-” you complain instead of giving him a real answer. Your hands grip the bedsheets instead of actually shoving him off. “Do you want me to stop reading now?” he questions while his hand continues working between your legs. He knows you won’t tell him to stop because you want him to touch you. “Did you finally prove your point?” he asks to remind you that your little plan failed.
You reach forward to push the laptop screen down so he finally stops reading your writing. “Shut up, and do something,” you demand while glaring up at him from the mattress. Dex looks at the closed laptop before he grabs it off the sheets. He leaves his spot on the bed to place the device safely on the floor. “You want me to take your clothes off?” he asks as he turns back around to face you. He sounds almost surprised by your unexpected change in attitude. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” you challenge him before you scoot right to the edge of the mattress. You lift both of your arms in the air and wait for him to make a move. He lets out a short chuckle while looking down at your raised arms.
“Are you really going to make me work for it?” he questions before he takes a step closer to your legs. You know he wants you, so you make him prove it. He clearly enjoys the new challenge. “Is it too hard for you to just do it?” you ask sarcastically while holding your arms up high. Dex scoffs at your attitude before his hands grip the bottom hem of your top. He pulls the fabric over your head and then tosses it somewhere across the dark room. It feels absurd to ask the guy who stalks you to undress you, yet you don’t even try to cover up. You aren’t wearing a bra since you just woke up from catching him staring at you earlier, so your breasts are exposed to him. He looks at your chest before he instinctively reaches a hand out to touch you.
You lean away from him so his fingers grasp nothing but air. You drop your hands down to his belt, but you stop trying to undo the buckle when he tries to touch you again. “Fuck- sorry,” Dex mutters while he pulls his hand back fast. He clearly didn’t expect you to avoid his touch so fast. “I just wanted a feel,” he tries to explain himself while looking down at your exposed body. He sounds a little desperate as he looks you over. You can see how much your body distracts him right now. “They look really good,” he adds while his attention refuses to leave your chest. You roll your eyes at his pathetic excuse before you grab the front of his pants. You pull him closer by the waistband so he stands right between your parted knees.
“I know I look good,” you reply with a scoff as your fingers struggle with his belt. You enjoy watching him lose his composure. He usually takes whatever he wants, but right now he just stands there with his hands at his sides. “That’s why you stalked my apartment,” you point out before you go back to working on his zipper. Dex watches you fumble with his pants before he grabs the bottom of his own shirt to pull it over his head. “Yeah, maybe you’re just a stupid good-looking girl who is about to get into bed with her stalker,” he argues back as he throws his shirt onto the floor. He watches you take way too much time trying to unbutton his pants. He eventually slaps your hands away so he can do it himself.
“Let me do it,” he mutters before he quickly undoes the belt and shoves his jeans down his legs. He steps heavily out of the denim without bothering to take off his boots and kicks the fabric aside while he leaves his boxers in place. You just sit there on the edge of the bed and stare up at his body. He actually looks incredibly good standing there in front of you. You wonder why a guy like him would ever choose to be a stalker. He could easily find a normal girl to fuck him instead of breaking into apartments at night. It’s a very stupid idea to sit here half-undressed, but your gut tells you he isn’t going to hurt you. You never planned to let things go this far tonight, but your thoughts scatter when his hands grab the waistband of your sleep shorts along with your panties.
“You’re staring at me,” Dex points out as his thumbs slip under the elastic band. You look up at his face to find him watching you. The corners of his mouth turn upward into a smirk. “No- I’m not,” you lie while shaking your head to make up a random excuse. Your face heats up because he caught you checking him out. “I was just thinking about something else,” you add while trying to look away from his stomach. Dex makes a sound of agreement before he nods like he believes your lie. “I want to take these off,” he tells you while his thumbs hook under the elastic. You give him a small nod, and he starts sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips off the bed to help him push the clothes past your waist. Dex takes a step backward between your knees as he drags the shorts and panties down to your ankles.
He grabs the garments before tossing them somewhere across the bedroom. He holds your knees and pushes your thighs apart to get a better look at you. He takes a breath while his eyes stare directly between your legs. He licks his lips like he is hungry for what he sees. “I honestly don’t know what to do first,” Dex admits while his hands rest firmly on your knees. He traces his thumbs over your kneecaps. “I don’t know if I want to use my mouth or just-” He cuts himself off while looking back up at your face. His eyes trail downward when you try to close your legs, but he firmly prevents you from moving. “You’d better figure it out fast before I change my mind,” you scoff at him while shifting slightly on the mattress.
You feel vulnerable, but you refuse to let him know it bothers you. “I might just kick you out then file a restraining order,” you warn him with a small chuckle. Dex shakes his head right away while his hands slide up your thighs. “There’s no need to do that,” he replies as he steps closer to your open legs. You cross your arms over your chest when another thought crosses your mind. “Do you even have a condom?” you ask him since you expect some basic protection. Dex stops moving entirely as a confused look takes over his face. “What?” he questions before leaning forward until his mouth hovers right next to your ear. He wants to make sure you hear him clearly. You feel his chest brush against your crossed arms.
“I’m not using a condom with you,” he whispers right next to your ear. He sounds offended that you even asked. “I want to feel every part of you,” he adds while you feel his warm breath brush over your neck. You lean your head back to give him an annoyed look. “What if you aren’t clean?” you ask him while dropping your arms to rest your hands on the mattress. You take something to prevent pregnancy, but you worry about everything else. “I don’t want to catch anything,” you tell him directly as you glare up at his face. Dex looks offended by your assumption. He lets go of your thighs and places his hands firmly on your hips instead. “Do you seriously think I have time to sleep around with anyone else?” he asks with an insulted tone.
He glares back at you to show how much the question bothers him. He wants you to realize how devoted he is. “I don’t even look in another woman’s direction,” he defends himself while his fingers dig into your waist. He hates the idea of you picturing him with another girl. “You’re the only person I want,” he reminds you as he uses his hands to drag your hips against his thighs. You roll your eyes at his words before you look him up and down. You notice he is wearing his shoes even though he is standing there in nothing but his underwear. You let out a small chuckle while looking back up at his face. “You want to do all these things to me, but you have your shoes on?” you ask him with a teasing tone. You point out how funny he looks standing in your bedroom with his shoes on.
“Are you really going to fuck me in just your boxers and your shoes?” you add to mock him a little more. Dex looks down at his feet before he lets out a short scoff. “I didn’t even realize,” he admits as he steps back from your knees. He bends down to remove his boots before he kicks them across the floor. He stands back up to face you again. You reach forward to grab the elastic waistband of his boxers. You use the fabric to pull him right back between your parted knees. You drag the material down just enough so you can see the base of his cock. You want to see if he understands the clear hint you are giving him. Dex watches your hands for a second before his own fingers take over the job. He shoves your hands away so he can strip the underwear off.
He kicks the fabric aside until he stands naked in front of you. You stare at his hard cock while he steps even closer to the mattress. He doesn’t give you any time to speak before his hands grab your shoulders. Dex pushes you backward so you lie down on the mattress. You were sitting right on the edge, so your legs ended up dangling off the bed. He steps into the open space between your thighs. Your legs naturally fall to rest against his sides while he stands over you. He takes up all the space right between your parted knees as he looks down at your exposed body. “You look so fucking good like this,” he tells you while checking your reaction. He watches your chest rise and fall before his eyes drop lower to get a perfect view of your cunt.
Dex brings one hand up to gently touch your thigh. His fingers trail slowly up your leg before moving across your stomach. He continues the path upward to drag his hand over your breast. You wonder if he can feel your racing heartbeat under his palm. His hand feels incredibly hot against your body. You take a deep breath when his fingers travel up your shoulder to caress your neck. You watch his eyes track every single movement of his hand over your chest. It makes your stomach drop because he looks captivated by you. You want to ask him to hurry up, but your throat feels dry. He finally cups your cheek while his thumb rubs right over your cheekbone. His other hand reaches down to wrap firmly around his cock.
He guides the head right against your wet folds to coat himself in your slick. He rubs his length back and forth across your wet cunt. “Fuck- feels nice,” Dex mutters out as he feels the dampness between your legs. He pushes the broad tip right against your cunt to tease you a little more. You lift your hips upward because you desperately want him inside. “Nngh- j-just- put it in,” you whine back while your hands grab the bedsheets tightly. Dex pushes the head of his cock inside you while his hand caresses your cheek. His thumb brushes your face as he slowly slides deeper. He thrusts into your cunt very carefully, like he fears he might hurt you. You lie directly against the mattress without any pillows beneath your head.
He finally pushes all the way in before he closes his eyes. “Shit,” he grunts as he buries himself deep inside your body. Your toes curl when his thick cock fills you out. You bend your knees to wrap your legs securely around his waist. He drops his free hand down to hold your hip firmly. Dex slowly slides out and then pushes right back into your cunt. He watches your chest bounce every time he moves inside you. “You look so good taking me,” he tells you while staring down at your body. “Ah- hah- just go deeper,” you whine, but he refuses to thrust faster. He wants to watch your body react so he doesn’t speed up at all. He takes his time sliding in and out of your wet folds. You reach up with one hand to hold the wrist he has near your face.
Your other hand drops down to rest directly over your stomach. You grind your hips upward right when he pushes deep inside you. “Nngh- such a loser,” you insult him while pushing back against his cock. You clench your cunt tightly around him. “Mmph- yeah?” Dex questions as his jaw clenches. You can tell your degrading words affect him more than he wants to admit. You squeeze your cunt around him again just to mess with his head. His nails dig right into your hip. Dex moves his hand away from your cheek so he can reach the back of your head. He tangles his fingers into your hair to hold your head down on the mattress. “But you love having this loser inside you,” he reminds you while his hand tightens on your hair.
The look in his eyes proves he dropped the gentle act. “Hngh- god-” you gasp out when he thrusts much harder into your cunt. He stops worrying about hurting you and just starts fucking you how he wants to. You scratch your nails across his wrist to stop him from going so deep. “Nn- don’t do it so hard,” you complain while your heels plant firmly against his back. Dex hums in agreement to trick you, but he immediately does the exact opposite. He pulls his cock out until only the tip rests inside your cunt before he thrusts his entire length back inside you. He knows he acts like an asshole right now, yet he refuses to stop. His fingers tangle more firmly through your hair because he just needs something to hold onto while he fucks you.
“Mm- s-stop being so rough,” you gasp out as your eyes roll back. Dex ignores your demand since he likes feeling your cunt clench around him. He moves his hand away from your hip so he can reach up to grope your breast. He thinks about how long he waited to finally touch you. Having you right here feels better than he ever imagined. He pinches your nipple right between his fingers to make you squirm under him. Dex feels satisfied as he finally touches the person he stalked for months. He knows he crossed every boundary to get here, but he honestly doesn’t regret a single thing. He used only to watch you walk around this bedroom through the hidden cameras he planted behind your furniture.
Now he gets to see everything right in front of his own eyes while he pushes his cock in and out of your cunt. Having you respond to him is what he wanted. “Fucking creep- ahhn- you’re so messed up,” you degrade him while your other hand rests directly over your stomach. Dex knows you only say those insults because you feel stupid for sleeping with your stalker. “You think I care what you call me when you wrap your legs around me like this?” Dex asks while he feels your toes curl against his lower back. He knows you are conflicted about this situation, but your body tells him what you actually want. You part your mouth to gasp when he hits that specific spot deep inside you. He knows what kind of pace gets you going.
The degrading names you use only make him want to go harder. Your nails naturally dig harder into his arm the deeper he goes. “Hah- shut up- mmph!” you whine back while scratching your fingers over your stomach. He chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him because your moans give you away. The way you react to him actually mesmerizes him enough to make him slow his pace down. Slowing his pace gives him time to take in every detail of your face, as he wants to memorize how you look when he takes you. Seeing you take him so well satisfies him even while he thinks it is funny how you try to act tough. You notice his head tilting downward to watch his cock slide in and out of your entrance.
He wonders if you enjoy looking at the sight of your bodies moving together just as much as he does. You see his eyes move from your stomach right back up to your chest. He thinks you look perfect like this and wants to burn this exact image into his memory. Staring openly at the breast he gropes makes him consider using his mouth on you instead before he watches your other breast bounce with every single movement he makes. Knowing he has your full attention pleases him because he genuinely enjoys making you feel so flustered. You notice him looking right at your face next, yet you fail to figure out what goes on inside his head. “Nngh- what are you looking at?” you ask because his constant staring bothers you.
You hate how he always studies you without explaining himself. You want him to speak up instead of being so quiet. Dex ignores your question and stops moving his cock inside you. He keeps staring right into your eyes while he slides his hands from the back of your head to your shoulders. He pulls you up from the mattress until you sit upright on the edge of the bed. Your legs are already wrapped around his waist while you naturally reach out to grab his shoulders for balance. “Hold onto me,” Dex commands before he slides his hands down your sides. He places his hands on your waist to hold you in place. He starts pushing his cock in and out of your cunt again. You hold his shoulders tightly so you don’t fall backward while he fucks you.
“Nngh- why can’t we just do it in one position?” you complain about him moving you around too much. Dex ignores your whining before he leans forward to bury his face into your neck. He lets his mouth touch your collarbone while his hands hold your waist firmly. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt as he brings his lips right next to your ear. “I just want to create every position you wrote,” Dex whispers directly into your ear while he shoves his cock inside you. Your cunt squeezes tight around his cock right after he says those words. Hearing his plan brings a rush of pleasure to your body. You think about what position comes next to fucking you while sitting like this. You wonder if he plans to flip you over the bed to fuck you on your stomach.
Dex bites down on your shoulder before he grunts against your neck to hide a whimper. He pulls his cock almost all the way out before shoving it back in. He likes the way your body responds to his twisted ideas. “Do you like that?” Dex asks as he feels your cunt clench around him. He wants to know if you enjoy the idea of having him in all those different positions. “Hah- s-shut- fuck-” you gasp out while your back arches. You hate how his crazy obsession actually turns you on. He chuckles softly at your denial because your actions contradict your words. He lets you dig your nails into his shoulder while his hands squeeze your waist tighter. Dex kisses your collarbone while he shoves his cock inside you.
He gets too caught up in the pleasure to filter his thoughts. He loves having you right here instead of just watching you through a monitor. “Mhm... You look so much better than the scre-” Dex stutters against your neck before he forces his mouth shut. He almost exposed the hidden cameras he planted around your home. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from ruining the moment with a stupid mistake. You place both hands on his chest to shove him away from your neck so you can look at his face. “Ahhn- what were you going to say?” you ask while narrowing your eyes at him. You know he hides things from you. Dex slows his movements down so he can think of a lie while his hands caress your waist.
“Come on- it’s nothing,” Dex replies as he gives you a sloppy excuse to brush off your question. “I just meant you look better than I imagined,” he adds to cover his tracks. You want to question him more, but he refuses to give you the chance to speak. Dex leans forward again to bury his face against your chest this time. He takes your nipple into his mouth to suck on it hard. “Hah- wait-” you gasp out as his teeth bite down. He takes one hand off your ribs to slide it down between your bodies. He finds your clit before he starts rubbing it with his thumb. He uses it to his advantage to make you forget what he just said to you. Your hands move up from his chest to grab his hair while he works your clit.
He rubs his thumb over the sensitive spot as he continues moving in and out of your cunt. “Oh god- nngh- right there,” you whine out while your hips buck upward against his hand. Dex swirls his tongue over your nipple before he grazes his teeth over the tip. He moves his mouth away about an inch to kiss your breast before he goes right back to sucking hard on the peak. He thinks about how long he craved this exact taste while the soft whimpers you make only encourage him to bite down harder. He wants to leave a mark you will feel for days. Dex moves his face over to give the other side the same attention. You grip his hair firmly before you lean your head down to nuzzle your face right into his sweaty hair. “Mm- you really like it there,” you whisper while your hips buck up against his hand.
He feels right at home against your body, and having your hands all over him feels better than anything else. He knows he would never change a single thing if he could go back to the moment he first saw you at the supermarket. His therapist used to tell him his moral compass was never broken, but he just needed someone to guide him. He realizes now you are that person, but he never expected things to get this far. He was only supposed to watch you from a distance without making contact, and he never wanted you to find out he was stalking you. You were just too smart for him to hide from you. You played a clever game to expose him, and he fell right into it. His thumb slows down over your clit because he gets distracted by your breast.
He wonders if you notice how easily you affect everything he does, even with the way you arch into his touch. You can feel his cock twitching deep inside your cunt, and the feeling makes your breath hitch. The bed creaks loudly underneath you every time he shoves his cock in and out of you. “Ahhn- right there- fuck-” you moan out as the heat builds up between your bodies, and sweat drips down your chest. Everything he does pushes you closer to your limit, especially with how he moves fast before he goes slow. Dex grunts from the sensation while he continues to use his thumb to circle and rub your clit. It makes your toes curl while you struggle to catch your breath. “Hah- god- right there-” you whine while your cunt squeezes around his cock. Your nails dig into his scalp as the pleasure builds up because you want him to push you over the edge instead of just teasing you.
He sucks harder on your nipple, and you tilt your head back when his cock finds your g-spot. “Hah- god- I’m getting so close,” you pant out while your hips buck upward. Dex finally moves his mouth away from your breast so he can watch your reaction. You bury your face right into his chest because you refuse to let him look at you. You turn into a moaning mess against him as the pleasure brings you right to the edge. He hates it whenever you try to hide from him when he wants to see every single expression you make. “Nn- please,” you whine directly against his collarbone. He loves hearing you beg for him. He removes his hand from your clit before he uses that same hand to push your body away from his chest.
He pushes you back just enough to see your face properly. “Stop hiding from me,” Dex commands as he forces you to look at him. His hand moves up to the back of your head to tilt it backward while his other hand slides from your waist down to your hip. He enjoys the feeling of holding you in place while he fucks you when you look exactly how he always pictured you. You can’t help but part your mouth when you moan before you close your eyes, and you can feel your clit pulsing without his touch. Your cunt clenches around his cock while he watches your expression carefully before a smirk forms on his lips. He knows how to push you over the edge, and he loves knowing he causes this kind of reaction in you.
He leans down a little closer to your face to spit right into your open mouth. “Mm- hah-” you gasp out in surprise as the spit lands on your tongue. You open your eyes in surprise since you never expected him to do something like that. Your face heats up with embarrassment even though you actually enjoy what he did. His spit inside your mouth makes your cunt clench hard around his cock to the point he slows his pace down before he stops moving his hips entirely when you start cumming. His cock throbs inside you, and you tremble against him. He holds your hair and your hip firmly to brace himself. Dex closes his eyes while his mouth parts, but he quickly bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from being too loud. “Ahhhnn- fuck- Dex-” you whine out as you finish around his cock.
“I know,” Dex whispers while his hand moves to caress your back. He takes his hands off your hip and head before he unwraps your legs from his waist. He steps back to slide his cock out of your body. He wonders if you have any idea how much he loves the mess he makes out of you. He watches how puffy your cunt looks right after you finish, and he stares at how your clit pulses while your cum trails down your skin. You feel glad he backed away because your chest heaves as you catch your breath. You suddenly remember he hasn’t cum yet, but he grabs your arms before you can bring it up to force you to stand up. He turns you around to face the bed before he pushes you down onto your stomach. You react quickly by crawling forward until you get on all fours so your legs finally make it onto the mattress.
“Hah- what are you doing?” you complain while he climbs onto the bed right behind you. You hate how he always catches you off guard. His unpredictable behavior frustrates you to no end. “Shh- I told you we’d do another position from what you wrote,” Dex replies as he places a pillow under your stomach. He grabs a second pillow to put it directly beneath your face. You look over your shoulder with a pissed expression, but you look forward to what he plans to do next. “I haven’t cum, yet,” Dex states while his hand finds its way to your hip. His other hand reaches down to guide his cock right against your cunt. He easily slides inside you because you are so slippery from your own cum. “You don’t want to give me blue balls, right?” he asks while looking down at your back. His tone sounds more like a warning than a genuine question. He knows how much you crave his attention.
“Nngh- wait- I’m too s-sensi-” you try to say before his actions cut your words off. He shoves all the way in without any warning while his guiding hand moves up to hold your waist. “Ahhn- I just came- Dex,” you whine out while trying to adjust to his size. Your words tick him off enough to make him drag his cock out to the tip before he slams back in whole. “Well, I didn’t,” Dex grunts while he hits you deep inside. You stop looking over your shoulder to let your face hover inches above the pillow. You don’t care if your eyes close or if your mouth hangs open while he fucks you relentlessly. “I know I could finish in your mouth,” Dex says as he continues thrusting behind you.
Your hands grip the bedsheets while your toes curl against the mattress. “Mmph- then why didn’t you?” you ask him between breaths.
Dex shoves his cock deeper into your cunt before he leans his chest over your back. He uses his body weight to push your torso down against the stomach pillow. “There is nothing comparable to this,” he answers while he fucks you harder. You know he plans to take a lot more from you until you tire out. You aren’t against the idea because you actually look forward to it. Experiencing this kind of thing usually only happens when you read other people’s writing or your own stories. You never expected you’d end up getting fucked in so many different ways tonight. It feels like a win since it all happens right here in your bed. Your body manages to take every inch of him while the deep friction makes you gasp into the sheets.
His weight presses heavily against your back. The firm pressure holds you down and securely pins you to the mattress. Your face rests against the top pillow while your stomach pushes into the second one as his cock goes in and out of you. “Mmmff- hah- oh god-” your moans get muffled into the sheets from the way his body pins you down. Dex places one hand on your hip while his other hand reaches around to grab your side. You hear the loud sound of flesh slapping together whenever he thrusts his hips forward. You can also feel his balls hitting against your ass with every single movement he makes. It feels degrading to take him like this, but the sensation of his cock sliding over your cunt only turns you on more.
You find it embarrassing to admit how much you enjoy every dirty thing he does to you. “God, you feel amazing,” Dex grunts while he buries himself as deep as he can go. He knows how to use his heavy pressure to get the hardest reactions out of you. He leans his head down so his lips brush right against your shoulder blade. Dex eventually gets careless, and he realizes that the moment he opens his mouth to brag about what he saw on his monitors. “That guy from last month couldn’t even hit your spot like I do when he f-fucked you-” Dex stutters before he forces himself to shut up. He realizes he almost exposed his hidden cameras again, so he punishes himself for his sloppy mistake by biting down hard on your back.
“Ahhn- god- right there,” you whine out as the feeling of his teeth makes your cunt squeeze around his cock. Dex loves the way your cunt takes him, so he just lets himself continue fucking you into the mattress while he leaves bite marks all over your shoulder. You don’t even care about his confession because you are too exhausted to process what he says. He gives you back a few more bites before he stops leaning his weight over you. He raises himself to kneel right behind you. He grabs your hips to pull them higher so your lower back arches while your ass sticks up in the air. He raises his hand up before he slaps your ass roughly. The loud smack of flesh echoes through the room right before his fingers dig firmly back into your hip.
“Mm! Y-yes,” you gasp out while your nails scratch at the bedsheets. Dex groans loud enough for you to hear as he matches his fast pace with your needy sounds. He knows he can last for hours since he waited so long for this exact moment. Dex moves his free hand to your ass to squeeze it. Your chest rests against the bed while the side of your face lies on the pillow. You try to push your upper body off the mattress to get on all fours again. Your arms shake instantly when you try to lift your weight up. You feel too weak to hold yourself up, so you fall right back down to where you started. Dex chuckles loudly at your pathetic attempt to move. “Aww, poor girl can’t even support her own weight,” he mocks you while rubbing his hand over your ass cheek.
You let out a frustrated huff into the pillow since you hate it when he makes fun of you. He slides his hand under your stomach to help you out. “Bring yourself up,” Dex commands as he lifts your torso away from the bed. You try again with his help until you manage to get on your knees. He moves you all the way back so your back rests directly against his chest. He wraps his arm securely around your waist to hold you upright. You reach your hands out to hold onto his forearm for balance. “Good girl,” Dex praises you awkwardly because he never usually says things like that. He pushes his cock into your cunt to test how this new position feels. “Does this feel okay for you?” Dex asks while he thrusts his hips slowly behind you.
You want to adjust a little bit so you look towards the top of the bed. “Mm- let’s move closer to the headboard,” you suggest while leaning back against him. He nods before he takes his cock out of your cunt. He uses his free hand to remove your fingers from his arm. He guides you forward, so you both scoot across the mattress on your knees. It only takes a few short movements until your hands find their way to the headboard. You lean forward to rest your chest against the pillows stacked against the wood. Dex whistles at the sight of you bent over the headboard. He loves how you arch your back for him to fuck.
He raises his hand to slap your ass hard enough to leave a loud smack in the room. “Ah!- Dex,” you yelp out while your fingers curl around it. He grabs your hips firmly before he slides his cock right back inside your cunt. He starts thrusting deep into you again while you adjust to his size. “Too many interruptions tonight,” Dex whispers right near your ear as if he wants to taunt you. He knows he causes all the delays, but he loves acting like an asshole to annoy you. You clench your cunt tight around his cock on purpose to stop him from thrusting. You hate his arrogant attitude right now. “Ahhn- so are you telling me I’m an interruption?” you ask while looking over your shoulder to glare at him. The way your cunt squeezes makes it hard for him to move his hips.
“Fuck- wait- ngh,” Dex groans behind you as the tight squeeze makes his cock throb deep inside you. He easily folds because he knows he needs to play nice with you. You are literally offering him what he wants tonight. Anyone else would have pulled the trigger of that gun you held against his forehead earlier. He knows he is lucky you decided to fuck him instead of shooting him. He struggles to catch his breath while his cock pulses inside you. He hates losing control, but he hates the idea of you stopping even more. He doesn’t know how to process his emotions properly, so he struggles to find the right words to say. “I’m sorry- just stop doing that,” Dex whispers awkwardly while his fingers squeeze your hips.
He never apologizes to anyone, but he acts desperate to continue fucking you. “Nngh- please let me move,” he begs you while resting his forehead against your back. He tries to convince you to stop squeezing so he can reach his orgasm. He knows he sounds pathetic, but he only wishes that you would let him have it his way. You listen to his clumsy apology for a moment before you stop clenching his cock purposely. You grind your ass back against him to let him know he earned your mercy. You push your body directly into his crotch to make him take the hint. “Mm- you better behave then,” you warn him as you let him slide all the way in. Dex takes a deep breath before he starts moving his hips slowly behind you.
His hands squeeze your hips to balance you against the headboard. “Fuck- you feel so good,” Dex grunts out while he pushes deep into your cunt. The slow pace feels amazing as he hits every sensitive spot inside you. You let your eyes close while your fingers wrap securely around the wood. He eventually speeds up his thrusts once he realizes you aren’t going to stop him again. He slides his cock almost out before he shoves it back inside your cunt. “Ahhhnn- right there,” you moan loudly into the pillows while your back arches for him. Dex watches the way your spine curves while he fucks you from behind. He loves the way your body responds to everything he does. “God- you take it so well,” he groans out while his thumbs rub over your hip.
He makes sure to hit your g-spot with every single thrust so you forget about his cocky words. You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from being too loud in the room. He just continues fucking you until your legs start trembling against the mattress. Dex closes his eyes while his hips move in a careless manner behind you. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt before he grinds his hips against your ass. He pulls out to the tip to take a few seconds to breathe. He shoves back inside you when you expect it the least. “Fuck- you take me so perfectly,” Dex whispers out while he forces himself inside you. He doesn’t know the exact right words to say, but he wants to give you a genuine compliment. “You are so good to me,” he grunts as he slides against your g-spot with every thrust.
He stops moving for a few seconds every time he buries his cock deep inside your body. You grind your ass back against him to help him out because you want him to continue. “Hah- don’t stop- nn,” you whine out to urge him forward. Dex feels the way you push back against him while his cock pulses inside your cunt. He connects your needy movements to how close you are to another orgasm. He loves seeing you get so desperate for his cock when you’re right on the edge. You look over your shoulder to see what he does behind you. You find his head tilted back as he shuts his eyes tightly. You actually think he looks gorgeous like this even though you hate admitting it. You let go of the headboard with your right hand so you can reach backward.
You try to find his arm while he starts thrusting his hips again. Your fingers brush against his forearm to get his attention. “Mm- Dex,” you gasp out while your hand slides down his wrist. Dex opens his eyes the moment he feels your fingers touch his arm. He leans closer to your back so he can place his hand right beside yours. He easily intertwines his fingers with yours before he brings your hand forward to secure it against the headboard. “Shit- wait,” Dex curses loudly because that simple touch pushes him right over the edge. He thrusts his hips much faster while he fucks you without any mercy. “Fuck- I’m going to-” he whispers directly against your ear as his pace gets rougher. You feel his cock burying deep inside you every time he thrusts his hips forward.
You realize you can’t hold back your own orgasm when he moves this fast. “Ah!- y-yes- fuck,” you stutter out while you brace yourself against the wood. Dex shoves into you a few more times before he finishes deep inside your cunt. “God-” he grunts out as he unloads his cum right into you. Your body reacts to his climax like a switch flips in your brain to make your walls squeeze tight around his cock. You feel sensitive from the overstimulation, while the warm feeling of being filled makes you melt into the mattress. It feels stupid to let him finish inside you, but you refuse to stop him since it feels too good. He moves his chest away from your back to stand up straight on his knees before he lets go of your hand to hold your hip.
Both of his hands grab your hips to hold you in place while he slowly thrusts back inside you. He watches the way both of your cum coats his cock with every slow movement to see the mess he made. He never misses anyway, so seeing his load deep inside your cunt makes him feel proud. He loves watching how messy he left you tonight. Dex looks down at your body to check on you while his hips push forward. You are slumped against the stacked pillows with your arms hugging them tightly. Your ass arches up in the air for him, but your face buries into the fabric. “How do you feel?” Dex asks you while he rubs his thumbs over your hip bones. You feel too exhausted to form a proper sentence, so you shake your head at his question.
He raises his eyebrow at your silent response before he decides to ask you again. “Are you going to answer me?” he asks as he slowly drags his cock out of your body. You let out a long breath when you feel him leave your cunt empty. “Tired,” you mumble into the pillows. He chuckles at your honest answer because he knows he wore you out tonight. Dex looks over at the clock on your nightstand before he moves away from your back. He crawls up the mattress to sit right beside your head so he can lean back against the headboard. “Lie down flat,” Dex tells you while he helps guide your body onto your stomach. You follow his instructions so you can rest your body while hugging the pillow under your face.
He puts his hand right on your lower back to caress you slowly. He feels the sweat under his palm from how hard you worked tonight. You have your arms wrapped tight around the soft fabric because you feel exhausted. “Mm- it feels so late,” you whine into the pillow even though you never checked the time. Dex agrees with you before he moves his hand up from your back to reach your head. He gently caresses your head to comfort you. “It’s 4:23 in the morning,” he casually tells you while he continues petting you. You have no idea how long you actually had sex with him tonight. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he first pinned you to the mattress. You don’t even know what time you originally woke up to find him watching you sleep.
He probably stood in the dark corner for hours before he made his presence known. The terrifying thought should bother you, but his gentle touches make you feel stupidly safe instead. You realize you have no clue how long he has actually been inside your house. You adjust your head so you can turn your face towards his direction. Your cheek rests against the pillow now so you aren’t hiding your face from him anymore. You look up at him while he sits there looking comfortable in your bed. “You look like you plan to stick around,” you point out sarcastically as you narrow your eyes at him. He acts like he owns the place right after he finishes fucking you. He looks way too relaxed for a guy who broke in just a few hours ago.
You hate how easy he makes this look. Dex scoffs at your comment before he takes his hand away from your head. He reaches down to slap your ass hard to punish your attitude. “Ah!- hey,” you gasp out while he squeezes your ass cheek right after he slaps you. You glare at him because he acts so smug about having you right where he wants you. He clearly enjoys seeing how irritated you get when he treats you like his property. “Yeah, well, maybe I will just move in here,” Dex jokes back, but he actually means every single word. You probably assume he will leave when the sun comes up, but here he is, thinking about how easy it would be to watch you up close if he lived with you. He knows it will be so simple to insert himself into your life now that you have just had sex with him. He smirks down at your tired body and has no idea that he thinks about never letting you go.
Bucky would be over literally hanging out with your dad and trying not to watch you in the pool, but when did you get so hot? And he would watch you and the house while your parents were away for the weekend and when you tried to sneak off to a party to meet a boy he’d show you just why older men are so much better
(Cocky Bucky on his knees and also Bucky doing anything for you because he can’t help but feel primal and possessive UGH)
. ୨୧ ݁ ꒰ 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍’𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ⊹ . dad’s bestfriend!bucky x fem!reader. minors are prohibited from interacting.
𝔀arnings 18+ : explicit smut, age gap, possessive bucky, heavy spanking, brat taming, dirty talk, oral sex, rough sex
𝓪uthor’s 𝓷ote : OH YESSSSSS 😩 god I need a man like BUCKY or I will literally lose my mindddd
The summer heat clung to everything, thick and lazy, the kind that made the air shimmer over the backyard pool. Bucky Barnes, your dad’s oldest friend, the guy who’d been around since you were a kid scraping your knees on the driveway, lounged in one of the deck chairs like he owned the place. Sunglasses on, metal arm glinting in the sun, a beer dangling from his flesh hand.
You’d climbed out of the pool, water streaming down your skin, the tiny bikini clinging in all the right (or wrong) ways. Grabbing the sunscreen, you sauntered over with a sweet smile.
“Bucky? Can you do my back? I can’t reach, and I don’t want to burn.”
He lowered his sunglasses, eyes dragging over you. “Yeah, doll. C’mere.”
You turned, handing him the bottle. His hands, warm flesh and cool metal spread the lotion with slow, deliberate strokes across your shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles along your spine. When he reached the dip of your lower back, just above your bikini bottoms, his touch lingered.
“Lower?” you asked, voice light but teasing. “Don’t miss anything, Sergeant. I’m delicate.”
Bucky’s breath hitched. His metal fingers traced the edge of the fabric. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. Keep this up and I won’t be responsible for what happens when your dad’s not looking.”
You glanced over your shoulder, grinning. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little sunscreen duty? I thought you’d do anything for me.”
His grip tightened. “I would,” he admitted, voice rough. “That’s the fucking problem.”
The tension simmered all afternoon.
Later that evening, after your parents left for their spontaneous weekend getaway, Bucky stood at the kitchen island, arms crossed.
“Got plans tonight, doll?”
“Maybe. There’s a party. Friend’s place.”
“Boy gonna be there?”
You shrugged and headed upstairs.
You were halfway out the back door in a short dress and heels when his hand caught your wrist.
“Where you sneaking off to, sweetheart?”
“It’s just a party, Bucky. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Oh, I noticed.” His gaze raked down your body. “When the hell did you get so goddamn hot? Used to be all scraped knees and pigtails. Now you’re trying to run off to some punk who wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you. After I spent all afternoon rubbing lotion on that pretty skin like some lovesick idiot.”
Heat flooded your face. “Aw, poor Bucky. Forced to touch me for five whole minutes. Must’ve been real torture. And you’d do anything for me, right? That’s what you said while your hands were practically on my ass.”
His smirk turned predatory. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll show you exactly how much I’d do for you, doll.”
He guided you back inside, the door clicking shut. In the living room he backed you against the wall, metal arm braced beside your head, flesh hand tipping your chin up.
“You think some clumsy boy’s gonna make you feel the way I can?” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “They fumble. They rush. They don’t know how to take their time… how to make you beg for it.”
“Big talk from a guy who’s been eye-fucking me since the pool,” you shot back, heart racing. “What’s next? Gonna scold me for wearing a short dress? ‘Young lady, go change right now’?”
His eyes flashed. “You really wanna test me tonight?”
In one smooth motion he dropped to his knees, shoving your dress up. “Let me show you why older men are better, baby. Why you’re not leaving this house tonight.”
His mouth was on you before you could sass again, hot, wet and devastating. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, tongue dragging slowly through your folds, savoring every inch like he’d been dreaming about it for months. When he sucked your clit between his lips, your head thunked back against the wall.
“Fuck- Bucky…”
He hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you. Two metal fingers slid inside you, curling perfectly while his tongue worked relentless circles. He was filthy and precise, alternating between long, slow licks and fast flicks that had your thighs shaking.
“Been driving me crazy all summer,” he growled against your soaked pussy. “Prancing around in that bikini, asking me to lotion you up like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. This pussy’s been teasing me for weeks. Now it’s mine.”
You tried to keep the bratty tone even as pleasure built. “God, you’re so possessive… Is this what happens when you do ‘anything’ for me? Turn into a jealous old man on his knees?”
Bucky pulled back, lips shiny, eyes dark with lust and warning. “Brat.” He added a third finger, stretching you, pumping faster. “Keep talking and I’ll edge you until you’re crying for me.”
He didn’t.
Instead he doubled down, sucking hard on your clit while his fingers fucked you deep and steady. Your orgasm crashed over you without mercy. You came with a broken cry of his name, hips grinding against his face, fingers yanking his hair. He didn’t stop. He licked you through every aftershock, greedy and possessive, until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He scooped you up and carried you upstairs.
“Bucky- my parents-”
“Won’t be back till Sunday,” he rumbled, kicking the bedroom door shut. “And even if they walked in right now, I don’t think I could stop. You’re staying right here. With me. Where I can watch you. Touch you. Fuck you until the only name you remember is mine.”
He laid you on the bed and stripped off his shirt, muscles rippling. You propped yourself up, still breathless but mouthy. “So what’s the plan, Barnes? Gonna tie me to the bed so I don’t run off to that party? Real mature for someone who just spent ten minutes with his head between my legs.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. In a flash he flipped you onto your stomach. His palm came down, sharp, stinging spanks that echoed in the room.
You yelped, twisting to glare over your shoulder. “Did you actually just spank me?”
“You’re damn right I did,” he growled, rubbing the heated skin. “You’ve been a mouthy little brat all night- sassing me, sneaking out, teasing me by the pool like you own me. Someone’s gotta teach you some manners, sweetheart. And right now, that someone’s me.”
Your face burned. “You’re unbelievable. I’m twenty-two, not a toddler-”
Another firm smack landed, then two more in quick succession. You hissed, but the sting melted into heat that pooled low in your belly.
“I can and I will,” he said, voice low and rough against your ear. “Every time that smart mouth gets you in trouble, this ass is gonna pay for it. You’re gonna take it like a good girl, or I’ll keep going until you’re too sore to sit down tomorrow. And don’t think I forgot how you asked me to lotion your back. You knew what you were doing, doll. You wanted my hands on you.”
You squirmed, pressing back against his palm despite yourself. “You’re such an asshole, Bucky… but maybe I did.”
He chuckled darkly and flipped you onto your back. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you’re done pretending.”
You stared up at him, chest heaving, ass tingling. A slow, defiant smile curved your lips. “Make me, old man.”
He shoved your dress up to your waist, yanked your panties down and freed himself. His cock was thick, heavy, and already leaking. He rubbed the head through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you whined.
“Been waiting too long for this,” he muttered, lining up. “Gonna fuck you slow at first. Want you to feel every inch. Want you to know exactly who’s ruining you.”
He pushed in, inch by thick inch stretching you open with a groan that vibrated through his chest. You gasped at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders. When he bottomed out, he stayed there, hips flush against yours, letting you adjust.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathed. “So goddamn perfect. This pussy was made for me.”
Then he started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The contrast of his warm skin and cool metal hand pinning your hip made you dizzy. He set a devastating rhythm: slow and deliberate at first, then building, hips snapping harder as your moans grew louder.
“Listen to those pretty sounds,” he praised, leaning down to bite your neck. “That’s it, doll. Take it. Take every fucking inch like the greedy little brat you are.”
You tried to sass back between gasps. “Is this… all you got, Sergeant? Thought older men were supposed to have… stamina.”
Bucky laughed low and dark. He hooked your leg higher, changing the angle so he hit deeper, harder. “Stamina? Baby, I can do this all night. I’ll fuck the attitude right out of you.”
He proved it. The pace turned punishing, skin slapping skin, the wet sounds of your bodies obscene in the quiet room. His metal hand slid between you, fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure while he drove into you. Every thrust pushed you closer, pleasure coiling tight.
You came hard the second time, clenching around him, crying out his name. Bucky growled, fucking you through it without slowing, chasing his own release.
“Not done with you yet,” he panted. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna mark you so deep you’ll still feel me on Monday.”
With a few more brutal thrusts he came, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, groaning your name like a prayer and a curse.
He collapsed half on top of you, both of you panting. But after only a few minutes he was already hardening again.
“Round two, sweetheart,” he murmured, flipping you onto all fours. “This time I want to watch that smart mouth moan while I spank you red.”
The weekend blurred into a haze of sex, scolding, and snarky banter.
Saturday morning you woke to his mouth between your thighs again. When you tried to wiggle away teasingly, “Bucky, I’m sore, you animal” he delivered two sharp swats to your ass and growled, “You’ll take what I give you, doll. And you’ll thank me for it.”
By Sunday afternoon you were boneless, covered in marks, and laughing breathlessly as he pulled you into his lap on the couch.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, voice soft but firm, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. “Not to parties. Not to boys. You’re mine now. Been mine since you asked me to put lotion on your back like a little temptress.”
You smirked, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine. But only because you’re so good at scolding and spanking and… everything else. Old man.”
Bucky’s eyes sparkled with heat and something deeper, affection, possession, maybe even love. “Keep calling me that and I’ll bend you over the kitchen counter before your parents get home.”
You grinned. “Promise?”
He did.
And he spent every remaining hour proving exactly why James Buchanan Barnes, your dad’s best friend, the man who’d do anything for you, was undeniably, addictively better.
summary: dex finally gives you all of him. every. single. inch.
pairing: benjamin poindexter x f!reader
content/warnings: 18+ (mdni), SMUT!! with feelings, unprotected p in v sex, cunnilingus, loss of virginity, finishing inside, multiple orgasms, mentions of daredevil, suicidal ideation (brief but multiple mentions), technically reproductive coercion, manipulation, stalking, delusional dex as usual, some fluff <3
word count: 8.6k (...guys...i'm tired lol)
A/N: well...it's finally here. hope y'all enjoy because i certainly enjoyed writing it. also, housekeeping note-- you may notice that the next chapter won't be published until 7/10. mr. roxxmo and i are taking a nice long vacation! hoping i can get something to you before then, but we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming once home and i'll try and get around to asks while i'm out. thank you as always for the love on this whole series, i've had such a good time writing it and seeing that you guys love this absolute pathetic freak of a man as much as i do makes me all warm inside :)
divider by: @uzmacchiato
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Dex was doing well.
“Well”, by his standards, at least.
Being your boyfriend gave him purpose. “Boyfriend” was a loose term, admittedly– you hadn’t called him that specifically, and you had only been seeing each other for a month. To Dex, the word felt too small for what you were, anyways. “Soulmate” was probably closer. Still, “boyfriend” seemed like the most socially acceptable term and Dex was trying very hard to be socially acceptable for you.
There was structure in it. Just like the FBI, or the Army before that. A role to fill, a routine to follow.
His life finally, finally had purpose. And because of that, everything felt better. Dex was sleeping more. He was eating better. At the field office, he was sharper, less prone to that constricting feeling in his ribcage when too many things were happening at once. He could talk to other agents and remember what his face was supposed to be doing. The old Mercer cassette tapes and headphones that used to anchor him were collecting dust in the drawer of his coffee table. He didn’t need them anymore, because he had something better.
You.
After your first date, Dex committed himself to becoming the perfect partner. Like all things he excelled at, he approached it with an alarming amount of discipline and research. Advice columns, psychology blogs, old nineties rom-coms, classic romantic novels– he consumed every piece of information he could get his hands on to learn how he could make you stay.
The morning after your first date, he had caught you (as usual) in the elevator. You had shyly given him your number, like you didn’t give him the most transcendental moment of his life the night before by kissing him outside apartment 416. Like Dex hadn’t been on his way to the jewelry store on 12th Street to buy you a diamond ring and claim you forever.
“Maybe we can go out again?” you had asked quietly, batting your eyelashes as you finished typing your number into his embarrassingly empty contacts and handed his phone back. Maybe? Dex would’ve thrown himself off the roof if you didn’t go out with him again.
“Yeah,” he stuttered. “Of course. I mean– definitely."
He already had your number memorized, of course. Alongside a plethora of other information, including your social security number. But you giving it to him willingly? Dex still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. Then again, he couldn’t comprehend most things about you. How kind you were, how perfect you were, how beautiful you were, how real you were. What remained most incomprehensible, however, was the fact that you seemed to want him, too.
Dex did whatever he could to keep you wanting him. He read online that women liked good morning texts, so he texted you good morning. He learned that they liked compliments, but didn't want to be overwhelmed by them or for them to be insincere, so he chose carefully. He complimented your hair if you wore it differently, or told you he liked your earrings, or the color of a dress or skirt you wore. Specific compliments were better, he had learned, because they show attentiveness. Dex was nothing but attentive.
He knew that women liked it when men took initiative, too, so he planned your next dates and told you what time he would pick you up from across the hall. You liked that. You especially seemed to like when he paid for the dates, even though you would pretend to argue with him about it.
“Dex, seriously,” you had attempted to complain on your third date. Dex had seen you post on your Instagram about wanting to see a new sci-fi movie that had just come out, so he suggested it as nonchalantly as he could possibly manage two days later.
You both stood at the box office, and Dex was pulling out his wallet while you frowned at him. “You paid for dinner the first time, then coffee on our last date. I seriously can’t let you pay for this. My friends are going to start saying you’re my sugar daddy.”
Dex didn’t know what a “sugar daddy” was. He looked it up afterwards; shouldn’t a man want to pay for everything a woman needed if he loved her? Wasn’t that the point? To make sure she never had to ask anyone else for anything? To make sure she never needed anyone else?
He only shrugged and swiped his card. “It’s no problem. I like taking you out.”
Your only response was to roll your eyes and thread your fingers through his as you walked towards the theater.
There were things about being a good partner that were harder for him, though. The first was trying to appear less eager than he actually was. On the same relationship forum where Dex had read about the good morning texts, he also learned that he shouldn’t respond too quickly. That was easier said than done. Sometimes, after hearing his phone ping with a message from you, he would have to literally set a timer to keep himself from answering. Fifteen minutes, usually. Enough time to seem attentive. Enough time to seem like he was doing something other than waiting pathetically by his phone, pacing until the timer went off.
The worst was the ring. Dex had bought it the morning after your first date. A perfectly symmetrical two-carat diamond perched delicately atop a thin gold band. Beautiful. Permanent. The black velvet ring box sat in the coffee table drawer next to the old Mercer tapes, both of them untouched. He would’ve proposed that very morning. He wanted to, desperately. And if God had any mercy on his mottled soul and you said yes, he would’ve marched you straight to city hall and made it official right then and there.
Apparently, though, it was not considered “socially acceptable” to propose after the first date. That was “too soon”. Dex disagreed. Because what was “too soon”, really? Your relationship? To Dex, whatever the two of you had did not start when you asked him to dinner in the lobby that fateful morning. It began when he opened the door to you holding that frog-colored plate of chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe, it began before that. Maybe it began when you moved into apartment 416 and rearranged his mundane, miserable, structured world. Maybe it was before then, too. Maybe you both had always been connected, somehow, someway.
So, Dex told himself he would wait. But as much discipline as he had, Dex knew that when it came to you, he wouldn’t be able to wait forever.
Physical intimacy between the two of you was a whole different matter. The two of you had kissed since that first night. Several times, in fact. Sometimes outside your apartment door after a night out, inside the elevator in the morning, on street corners after dinner when you looked at him with your lips stained from whatever bottle of wine you two had shared. Sometimes the kisses were quick and sweet. Sometimes, they were not.
Sometimes you would lean into Dex until your breasts were pressed against his chest, your fingers curling into the edge of his shirt collar while his hands spanned the small of your back and dipped lower and lower until they met soft flesh, and Dex would have to remind himself of every single discussion thread he had read about patience. About not pressuring a woman, even though every single fiber of his being was made from pulverizing pressure.
He tried his best to wait for you.
But tonight, Dex knew it would be different.
Dinner had gone well, as it usually did these days. You laughed whenever he attempted a joke, complained about lesson plans, asked about the field office even though Dex would have much preferred to talk about you, and, after your second glass of wine, you spent the entirety of the meal staring at his mouth like you thought he wouldn’t notice. Dex noticed everything.
By the time you both stood outside your apartment door, he could feel the shift. You had been quieter on the walk home, holding his hand tighter than usual, your hand squeezing him again and again like you were trying to work up the nerve to say something.
His pulse had steadied into something strong and restless as he watched you fish your keys out of your purse. You unlocked the door, and then paused with your hand on the knob.
You looked at him. “Do you…want to come in?”
Dex had been in your apartment before. Many times, though you didn’t know it, of course. As a matter of fact, he had been inside it only nineteen hours ago, sitting in his favorite chair in the corner of your room as he watched you softly snore.
But beyond your request for him to water the fern in your living room, never had he been invited in.
Dex felt his mouth go dry. “Yeah. I’d love to.”
You stepped to the side and let him in.
When the door closed behind Dex, he realized how different it felt to be inside your apartment as a wanted guest. Everything felt warmer, softer this way. From the lamps by your couch to the scent of the vanilla candle you kept by the stove, it was like Dex had all the pieces to the puzzle of your life spread before him, arranged perfectly, but only on your invitation had he been able to connect them and see the whole picture. And the whole picture was even better than he imagined, because he was in it.
You brushed by him, toeing off your heels as you stepped into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Wine?”
Dex suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands as he followed you into the kitchen he had paced so many times before. He shoved them in his pockets. “Uh, wine is fine.”
“Would you get the glasses?” you asked, opening your fridge and peering inside. “They’re in the–”
Before you could finish speaking, Dex was already opening the cabinet above your sink. The one with the wine glasses. You blinked at him, bottle of Pinot Grigio in hand.
“Oh. You found them.”
Dex froze with his hand around the stem of a glass. Fuck. “I…I keep mine there, too.”
You raised an eyebrow.
Fucking fuck. He tried for an easy side smile and hoped it landed. “FBI intuition, I guess.”
For one horrible second, you only stared at him. Then you giggled. It worked.
“I guess I should be careful dating an agent,” you teased as you took the glass from him and poured wine into it. “I’m never going to be able to hide anything from you.”
Dex laughed. You were right.
Wine poured, you nodded towards the soft velvet couch in the living room. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
Dex walked behind you and tried not to stare at the bare line of your calves under your dress as you settled onto the couch and tucked a leg under yourself. Stiffly, he sat beside you at what he believed was an appropriate amount of space between your bodies. You looked at the space with what seemed like annoyance, then at him, and shifted closer until your knee brushed his thigh. Dex took a long sip of wine and hoped his face was arranged normally.
You fidgeted with the stem of your glass, eyes moving from his face to the dark television screen across the room. Dex realized you were nervous.
“Do you, um–” you gestured towards the screen. “Should we put something on?”
“Sure,” Dex said, though he had no idea how he was supposed to watch anything when you were sitting close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off your body. Close enough to smell that intoxicating citrus shampoo. The same kind he had bought for his own shower.
You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked the TV on.
“...and in Hell’s Kitchen tonight, locals are reporting new sightings of a masked vigilante some are claiming may be Daredevil–”
You frowned as the grainy news broadcast footage showed a blurry, dark shape on a rooftop. “I thought that guy was dead.”
Dex’s eye twitched as he watched the screen. “Even if he is, there’s always going to be some idiot trying to copy him. Half of the shit he does is illegal but because he’s wearing a mask, everyone thinks he’s a hero.”
You raised an eyebrow and flipped the channel. “I didn’t know you had such strong feelings about him.”
“It’s just…” Dex paused. For some reason, the conversation made his skin feel tight. He didn’t know why. “Guys at the field office complain about it a lot. People like him make our jobs a lot harder.”
“Hmm.” You changed the channel again until you landed on some mindless standup comedy special. “Hopefully the FBI doesn’t have strong feelings about comedians, too.”
Dex huffed out something close to a laugh because that felt like the right response, and felt you ease yourself into his side. The laugh track filled the room but he didn’t register a single joke. All he could hear was your breathing. Dex watched as you took a sip from your wine glass, the tip of your tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet on your lip. He couldn’t stop staring.
Surely, the heat of his gaze had bored into the side of your face, and finally you tipped your head up to look at him. The blue light from the screen moved softly over your face, catching on the little crease between your brows.
“I can feel you staring, you know.”
Dex felt like a hand was around his throat. “I am.”
Your voice had gone hushed when you spoke again. “Why?”
There were hundreds of answers Dex could’ve given you. Because I love you. Because I’ve been watching you sleep every night for the last two months. Because I never stop thinking about you. Because there’s a ring waiting for you just across the hall. Because I wish I could crawl into your skin and live with you forever. Because you belong to me.
All were the truth, but each answer felt too big. Instead, he gave you a small amount of honesty, though it was the most genuine Dex had ever been with you.
“I just…I can’t believe you’re real.”
The crease between your brows smoothed as your expression changed. Your eyes darted away, and then came back to meet his. “Well, last time I checked… I’m real.”
“I know you are.”
You looked at him for another moment, like you were trying to decide whether he was joking. He wasn’t. Slowly, like you were trying not to startle a skittish animal, you leaned forward and set your wine glass on the coffee table. Then you settled back on the couch, but this time your body was twisted to face him. Your hand came to rest against his chest, right over his thumping heart.
“I’m…not always good at this stuff, but– I really like you, Dex,” you whispered.
Something inside him shattered. All at once, the discipline in him– the articles, the forums, all the research into how to be a man you stayed with– left him. Every breath scraped like sandpaper through his ribs. Every organ was twisting in on itself until the only thing that would make the ache stop was touching you.
This time, though, he didn’t want to wait. He couldn’t wait.
So, Dex touched you.
His mouth crashed onto yours, all urgency and need and no hesitation. You moaned against him, lips parting so his tongue could slip inside to meet yours. Dex could taste the white wine clearly, like he was drinking it straight from you, licking it off the enamel of your teeth. Your hand had migrated from over his rapidly swelling heart to the side of his neck, fingers sliding into the coarse blond hair on the nape of his neck. He wanted you to pull it, to yank it out of his scalp. But in order to ask you to do that you would have to stop kissing him, and Dex couldn’t risk that.
Grabbing the soft flesh at your waist, he pulled you until both of your legs framed his hips and you straddled him on the couch. As you settled over his crotch and let your weight sink onto him, Dex suddenly understood with terrifying clarity that tonight would be different from the sweet little kisses you two had shared before. He would finally, finally have you. He would have something no one else had ever taken from him and give it to the only person he had ever wanted to receive it: you.
And in return, you would give yourself to him. No matter what happened after tonight, you would never be able to rid yourself of the proof that he had been here.
Dex would give his virginity to you.
“Dex,” your breathless whine brought him out of his stupor. In his haze, he had moved his mouth from your lips to your collarbone, sucking and biting hard enough he knew with all prideful certainty it would leave marks the next morning. “Can you…please…”
He felt you grind your clothed cunt helplessly against the tent that had formed against his jeans. Dex was already so hard, so aching, he felt like any movement from you would send him over the edge. He stilled your moving hips with his grip.
“What?” His lips ghosted over where your shoulder met your neck. “What do you need?”
Dex would do anything for you. You should’ve known that.
Your face was flushed. You dipped your head down so your lips skimmed the shell of his ear. “My room. Take me there.”
Dex stood immediately. One arm around your back and the other under your ass, he lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your mouth was already on him again, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw, his cheek, the crinkle of his eye, any patch of skin you could find.
You didn’t tell him where to go, because he didn’t need you to. Still holding your writhing form against him, Dex moved down the short hallway, past the framed photos of your life before him, past the bathroom door, straight to your bedroom– the same path he had taken silently in the dark more times than he could count.
You were too busy acting like a bitch in heat to notice.
Dex nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. Your room was the same as it had been nineteen hours before. But never had he allowed himself to fully, truly imagine it in the light of all that was to happen. With a single invitation, the room had mutated. No longer was it a sanctuary; it was an altar.
Reverently, Dex lowered you onto your mattress, holding himself up above you on his hands. You stared up under him, hair spread wildly against the pillow, mouth swollen and red from him. You were more beautiful than anything he had ever thought possible.
Both of your hands came to frame his face and he nuzzled into your touch like a neglected animal.
“Maybe this is embarrassing to admit, but– I’ve thought about this before,” you murmured, tracing your fingers across his brow bone. “I’ve thought about it so much.”
Dex could feel his breathing go ragged. He wanted to die. He buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“W-what…what did you think about?” he asked shakily, voice muffled against you. Dex knew what you were going to say and still didn’t know if he could survive hearing it aloud.
Your fingers carded back into his hair. “... What you would feel like. On me. In me.”
He could only groan in response. You tugged on him, ever so slightly but enough it stung so fucking good, guiding his face back to yours. Dex followed helplessly, mouth finding you again, sloppy and uncoordinated before he forced himself to slow down.
Your hands slipped from his hair to your dress, fingers searching blindly for the zipper at your side. Instinctively, Dex caught your wrist before you could find it.
You pulled back from his mouth, confusion flickering through your wild eyes.
Dex stared at your smaller hand in his, then at your dress clinging to your body like a second skin. His voice was thin when he finally managed to speak.
“...can I?”
Your expression softened for just a second before a flash of something he hadn’t seen before passed. “Can you…what?”
He wanted to light himself on fire. “T-take it off. Of you.”
You waited patiently. He wanted to light himself on fire and then stab himself.
His fingers scrambled for the zipper, fumbling with it because he couldn’t stop shaking. Finally, he caught it, and moved it down the track, each tooth giving way, inch by inch by tortuous inch.
Dex watched the fabric loosen around you, watched as the dress began to fall open beneath his hands. Finally, it was loose enough he could pull the straps down off your shoulder, then down, down, down until it bunched at your hips. You lifted them, and Dex slid the dress the rest of the way off and tossed it somewhere behind him, forgotten before it hit the floor. Only then did he allow himself to sit back on his heels and look at you fully.
Like a figure from a painting, you lay back on the pillow, arms twitching at your sides like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to cover yourself or let him see you. Your bare breasts rose and fell with each breath, full and soft with peaked nipples beginning to stiffen in the cool air. Dex forced his eyes down, over the dip of your sternum, the softness of your stomach, and lower still. There was still one barrier between you– a pair of lace panties the color of the morning sky. He knew them. He had seen them folded neatly in your drawers before, had skimmed his hand over the fabric. He always wondered what it would be like to feel them warm and damp from your arousal, or to smell your scent on them, or to taste you through them. To be honest, he had thought about taking them with him many times. But now, Dex was glad he didn’t. Because no stolen relic would be able to come anywhere close to the honor of doing what he was about to do.
A sound more animal than human left him, and instinct forced him to lean down, hands opening your thighs. Before you could even register what was happening, he placed a kiss on your clothed cunt.
“Ooh, shit–” you gasped, hips bucking against him.
Dex did it again, sloppier this time, needier. Like he was thanking you. Each kiss wetting the fabric, each kiss a gesture. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
You were close to trembling as you put your hands on each side of his face, practically having to pull him back.
“Dex, please…” your eyes met his, nearly black with want. “No more teasing. Take them off, now.”
A command. He was familiar with them. Words barked across a firing range, across a battlefield, across a rooftop with his scope trained on a life he was about to end with one clean pull of the trigger. But never had Dex wanted to obey an order as badly as this one.
His hands moved from holding your thighs open to slipping under the band of lace. Once he slid that final piece of fabric off you, there was no more script. Technically, he knew what happened next. Dex was a man and had seen what men like to see; he wasn’t a prude and he certainly wasn’t stupid. He had been in the Army, for fuck’s sake. He had been there when men opened their phones in the barracks and played videos of women pretending to find pleasure beneath men with comedically long penises. He had watched them pass around half-naked pictures of girls back home and brag about what they could do with their mouths.
Dex knew where to put his hands, his fingers, his tongue, his cock. But knowing how to do something isn’t the same as wanting to do it. Dex had never had the desire. What was the point of doing any of that to someone he didn’t care about? What was the point of pushing himself inside a body that meant nothing to him? A body that wasn’t yours? A body that didn’t belong to his North Star? Maybe that’s why he waited all this time– because in his whole thirty-three years on this planet, you were the only person who had ever made desire feel like it was worth obeying.
Dex hooked his fingers beneath the lace and pulled. He tried to be slow, but the starving, caged animal in him was screaming at him to just rip them off, bury his face in your cunt, and finally learn if you tasted the way you smelled: sweet and oh-so human. But his hands shook too badly for that, so he watched in agony as the lace made its slow descent down the curve of your hips. Dex eased the panties down your thighs, over your knees, past your calves, until they slipped free around your ankles and landed in his hand.
You whispered his name.
He looked up, and you were bare. Completely. Your flushed thighs had fallen back open, exposing your wet, swollen pussy to him, the soft curls between your legs damp and glistening with arousal.
Dex wanted to cry. Instead, he dipped his head back to you and brushed his nose against the soft crease where your thigh met your pelvis. He inhaled deeply, letting the heady musk of you infiltrate his senses, and groaned aloud.
Maybe he should’ve felt humiliated, scenting you like a dog. But this was the holiest experience he had ever had. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. Then again, higher. Then another. Until finally, his lips hovered over the swollen nub at the top of your cunt.
The tip of his tongue darted out, placing a careful lick directly to your clit.
“Fuck!” you cried out, hand flying over to cover your eyes like you couldn’t bear it.
Dex did it again, and then again. And then again, and again, and again, until your hand had moved from over your eyes to clutch at his hair. Dex lifted his gaze to see your eyes rolling into the back of your head, the whites of them showing like you had become possessed.
He didn’t know if he was doing it right. Dex knew how to study, though, and how to become accurate. He had built his life around noticing and correcting until he found that exact target. He could execute. Dex could, would do the same for you.
He moved from those small, careful licks to longer ones, slowly dragging his tongue from your dripping entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves above it. Softer, then faster. Slower, then with more pressure. Adjusting, correcting, narrowing in. He learned what you liked. Your moans became louder when he circled your clit with the edge of his tongue, so he did that. Your thighs trembled when he sealed his mouth over you and hummed, so he did that. Your body spoke, and Dex listened.
“Oh my– Jesus fucking Christ, Dex,” you gasped. Your moans had become garbled and near incoherent at this point.
He lifted his gaze again and met your eyes as he continued drawing tight, slow circles over your swollen clit. Your face was twisted in what could only be described as pleasure and agony, mouth open, brows pinched, tits heaving with every labored breath. Dex couldn’t look away.
“Mmm… I’m gonna–” your thighs tightened around his face, trembling against his ears. “Fuck, how are you doing that?”
He only hummed in response, and your back arched off the mattress.
“Dex,” you cried, hand fisting at his hair, pulling so hard it sent a shock through him. “Please, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna– oooh, fuck–”
Dex felt your cunt pulse underneath his tongue, your whole body spasming as you came with a broken sob. He held you still through it, mouth never stopping as much as you seized. He tried to watch you as much as he could to memorize this very moment, the trembling in your muscles, your eyes fluttering, the shape your mouth made as his name left it over and over.
Dex, Dex, Dex.
He could have stayed, face buried into your pussy, for days. Weeks. Months, even. Hell, Dex would have happily died of suffocation if it meant never having to take his mouth off of your still-convulsing cunt.
You, though, did not seem ready to kill him yet. Oversensitive and still twitching with aftershocks, you pried his pussy-drunk face away from you with trembling hands until he reluctantly released your cunt from the suction of his mouth. He kissed a trail back up your body, stopping to press his mouth in a grateful kiss to each peak of your breasts before finally reaching your mouth again. The second your lips met, you let out a quiet gasp at the taste of yourself on his tongue.
“Dex,” you mewled against his lips. Your breath was still shallow, though the fact that he kept sucking softly at your lower lip probably did very little to help you recover. “I think that was…shit. That was definitely the best orgasm I’ve had. Like, in my entire life. Where the fuck did you learn that?”
Dex paused only briefly, his hand stopping on its way from your waist to paw at the soft flesh of your tit. “I, uh– practice. And I pay attention. I guess.”
Apparently, you found that answer sufficient, because you gave only a girlish giggle and pulled him back down into another kiss. Your hand moved from his jaw to the cords of his neck, then lower still, over his chest, his stomach, until your fingers paused at his belt.
“Hmm,” you looped one finger through the leather. “I think we’re a little unbalanced here.”
You were right. You were bare, as naked as the day you entered this world and were bound to him. Dex, hovering above you, was still fully clothed from head to toe.
You tugged once at the belt. “Off.”
Another command he was more than happy to oblige. He sat back on his heels, first wiping the mess of your arousal off his chin before grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head before tossing it to join your dress on the floor. You sucked in a quiet intake of breath at that, though Dex wasn’t sure exactly why.
His hands moved to his buckle, and Dex could feel your eyes on him as he worked the leather free. They were everywhere, the dusting of dirty blond hair on his pectorals, the trail of darker hair that extended from his stomach to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. It felt like you were cataloging every single piece of him.
Dex shoved his jeans down his hips, kicking them off once they pooled around his ankles.
It should have made him nervous. Dex had spent his whole life finding ways to hide, behind roles, structures, masks, anything to avoid truly being seen. But this didn’t feel like exposure. It felt like…recognition. Like his body was already yours. A part of you. You two were equal, but opposite. The same soul in different skins.
His North Star.
The thought alone made his cock throb.
As if you sensed it, your eyes dropped to the bulge beneath his black briefs, and your lips parted into a small “o”. He was so hard it hurt, the fabric stretched tight. Dex had been hard because of you before. Alone in his apartment, the blue light of his laptop illuminating the screen that showed a smiling picture of you stolen from one of your social media accounts. In the shower, sniffing the exact citrus shampoo he had bought after finding the bottle in your bathroom. Sitting in this very bedroom, watching you toss and turn under the covers.
But never had he touched himself to you.
Dex wasn’t a saint, obviously. He would lay there, every fiber of his being aching for some sort, any sort of relief to the coil building low in his gut. He could never do it, though. Every time his hand would hover lower, even graze his pulsing member, a wave of disgust would come over him so strongly it forced his hand back. It would have been…false. Blasphemous. Like kicking dirt over an act of salvation.
He saved himself for this exact moment. Once he took off his briefs there was absolutely no going back. There would be before, and then there would be after. Nothing in between.
You pushed yourself up, folding your knees underneath you, rising until you were level with him again. You put your hand on his chest, delicate fingers trailing across his chest, brushing his nipples, and then lower. His abdomen braced as you skimmed your fingertips past the hard ridges, until finally, you placed your palm over his cock.
He gasped your name, head dropping to your shoulder. He hadn’t touched himself in months. No one, no one had touched him like that. Ever.
Your hand moved again, fingers closing around him through the fabric, and his hips jerked forward before he could stop them. Dex was so far gone from the taste of you and the sight of you and the knowledge that you wanted him like he wanted you that the light pressure shot through him like a bullet.
Your face turned into his, lips slotting into each other again before Dex could collapse against you. It was slower than before, your tongue exploring his mouth like you had all the time in the world. Like he wasn’t seconds away from spurting ropes of cum into his briefs when you hadn’t even actually touched him yet.
Dex kissed you back desperately, one hand fisting your hair to hold you close, the other grabbing at your waist. He could feel your hardened nipples brushing against his chest, your hand stroking him softly. He was going to cum. Just from that.
“Wait.”
With what seemed like great effort, you pulled back from Dex’s mouth. A thin, translucent string of your mingled saliva followed you until it snapped, landing against your chin. Dex resisted the urge to lick it up. Your palm still cupped the twitching length of him through the fabric of his briefs.
“Do you…” Your eyes flicked briefly away from his. “Do you have…protection?”
Dex stared at you in silence. You huffed, though your cheeks were already beginning to burn. Were you…embarrassed? Even after all he just did to you? For you?
“What?” Dex asked. He knew what you meant.
“A condom. Do you…have one?”
Technically speaking, no. Not on him, at least. There was, however, a small box of unopened condoms under his bathroom sink. He bought it exactly four weeks ago, on the afternoon before your first date. Not the thought something was going to happen that night, obviously. But Dex was always, always prepared. He had thought maybe, eventually, something like this could happen. But now…it was happening. And the idea of something stopping this, something coming in between the two of you, it was unbearable. Disgusting, even.
After everything that had already kept him from you, after all the doors and walls and locks and rules that had made him stand on the other side, waiting and waiting and fucking waiting, did he really want another barrier?
Absolutely not.
Dex leaned in and placed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Uh, n-no. No, I don’t.”
You chewed on your lip, eyes darting down to where you still held him. You were considering something.
“I…I don’t think we have to use one, if you don’t want to,” you began slowly. “I’m on birth control.”
He knew that. Dex had found the little foil packet of pink pills in your bedside drawer weeks ago. He stared at it, and it stared back at him like it had a personal vendetta. That would be dealt with another time.
“And…I’m not seeing anyone else.”
Of course you weren’t. If you had been, Dex would’ve taken care of that, too. You wouldn’t need to worry yourself with the details.
You looked back up at him, eyes wide and cautious. “Unless…you’re seeing someone else?”
Dex felt genuinely offended. He would have rather disemboweled himself and let vultures pick at his organs than even think of someone other than you. He genuinely didn’t think he was physically capable of wanting anyone else.
“What? I– no, no, of course not,” he sputtered, his grip on your waist tightening before he could stop it. Did you think so low of him? “Do you think I am?”
You shook your head quickly. “Dex, no. I didn’t think you were. I just meant…obviously, it would be okay if you were, I just–”
“I’m not seeing anyone else. I won’t be seeing anyone else.” Just like you won’t be seeing anyone else, he wanted to add.
Something in his tone made you go quiet. After a few seconds, you blushed and nodded your head. “Okay. I believe you.”
You placed one tender kiss on his lips, as if that was the final confirmation you needed, and then slipped your hand into the band of his briefs.
This was it. The final wall between the two of you.
Your fingers paused, brushing the coarse hair on his pubic bone. “...can I?”
Dex didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded.
You pulled the briefs down slowly, and Dex had to steady himself with against you. His cock sprang free, veined and girthy, and slapped against his stomach, head red and drooling with precum just below his navel.
Your eyes bulged. “I don’t…I don’t think that’s going to fit.”
His whole body pulsed at your words. He knew he was…big. Solders had made jokes of it in locker rooms. He felt it. But he had never cared before. Now, he did. And he was going to make himself fit, one way or another.
Dex kicked the briefs the rest of the way down, and your hand wrapped back around him before he had a chance to prepare himself. Your fist moved up, thumb tracing the vein underneath the head, before it moved back down the silky shaft, all the way to the base, and then back up–
Quickly, he put his hand over yours. “I–you should probably stop.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t…I don’t think I’ll last,” he admitted sheepishly. “If you keep doing that.”
Your expression softened, which only made the humiliation worse.
“Oh,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw. “That’s okay. We can go slow.”
Dex nodded weakly, and guided you back down onto the mattress with blood rushing in his ears. Your thighs opened once more, this time wrapping around his hips, heels pressing into the dimples of his back.
Slowly, shakily, he lowered himself down. The heat from your cunt was radiating. Only a few centimeters of air lay between your sexes. Only a few centimeters of air before he would be forever changed. A part of him would be inside you, and even after he left, even after you washed him from your skin, Dex would know the truth.
It had to be perfect.
Dex wrapped a trembling hand around himself and guided the sensitive head of his cock slowly to your entrance. The first touch made his whole body seize. You were so hot, so wet. He wasn’t going to last. He had to control himself.
Dex's eyes squeezed shut, face twisting. He needed to breathe. In…and out.
“...Dex?” you asked, breath hitching. You looked genuinely concerned. “Are you–”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, I just–” What was he supposed to say? I’m about to lose my virginity? My life is going to be forever changed? For the first time in my life, I’m scared?
Dex roughly exhaled through his nose, then regrouped himself. It would be perfect. He brought his leaking head back to your pussy lips, dragging himself through your slick. The tip bumped your clit, and you moaned.
“I know, baby, I know,” he mumbled, though he didn’t know anything anymore.
Finally, Dex lined himself up with your entrance, jaw clenched so hard he thought it might shatter. The head of his cock pressed against you, and stars swam in his vision.
Dex could have researched, read, and studied all he wanted, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for this.
He pushed forward, and the world ceased around him.
“Oh my God,” you whined as the head of his cock slipped inside you.
He barely had an inch of his cock in you, and already it was too much. Your cunt was tighter than he could have ever imagined, so much so that he started to think maybe you hadn’t been lying when you said he wasn’t going to fit.
Dex’s forehead, beaded with sweat, dropped to yours. He couldn’t think. Nothing existed anymore.
“You’re so…tight,” he panted. “I… I don’t think I can–”
“Please, Dex,” Your voice was shaking, your hips bucking like you could draw him deeper by sheer force. “Want you to fuck me. Want it so bad, Dex. Keep…keep going. Please.”
He obeyed. Dex pushed forward a little further, easing another inch of his cock into you. Your mouth fell open, brows pinching together as your nails dug into the muscles of his back.
It took every ounce of self-control he had to not give in to every primal instinct ingrained within him slam himself forward. He didn’t want to hurt you. Every inch, every shift, you would whimper, head tossing against the pillow while you adjusted. And Dex wanted to last. Patience, he reminded himself, teeth gritted. He would be patient with you.
Finally, after minutes of feeding you one inch after another while you whined and whimpered and begged for more, while Dex nearly bit his tongue off to keep from losing control, it was done.
One small thrust forward, and Dex bottomed out with a groan. He was buried deep inside you, the pulsing head of his cock brushing your cervix.
It didn’t feel real.
“I’m…I’m inside you.”
“OhmyfuckingGod,” you slurred, raising your head off the pillow to peer down at the obscene sight of him fully sheathed inside you, slick smeared across both your thighs, your bodies joined completely. With one trembling hand, you pressed below your navel. “I can feel you.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
In disbelief, Dex raised his hand and placed it over yours. There it was-- the long shape of him evident even under your skin. Him. Where he would live forever.
“P-please, Dex,” you dug your nails again into his back, dragging him back to reality. “Fuck me.”
He obeyed.
Dex drew his hips back an inch, terrified of leaving you completely, then pushed back in. Your head fell back onto the pillow, eyes closing in total ecstasy.
He eased himself out, a little further this time, then slowly back in. Again, then again. Again. Again. Again.
On one of his thrusts, Dex felt something spongy drag against the sensitive ridge near the head of his cock, and your eyes rolled back.
“Oooh, shit, Dex,” you whimpered, hands moving to claw at his shoulders. “Dex, right there, again, again, please…”
Dex braced his forearm beside your head and angled his hips slightly until he felt that spongy muscle once more. Your moans were getting louder, more high-pitched, with every perfect thrust. Even like this, even with his body threatening to come apart too soon, Dex could still learn you.
You were close, he could tell. Dex slipped a hand between your bodies, the pad of his thumb finding the swollen pearl he already knew was key to your pleasure. At the same time, he dipped his head and captured one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking it between his lips and rolling his tongue over the tight bud. He rubbed tight circles over your clit, trying to match the rhythm of his hips, the rhythm of how you liked his tongue only minutes earlier.
“That’s– oh, God. It's so good. You’re gonna make me come again,” you gasped. “You’re gonna make me come–”
“Yeah? You’re gonna come on my cock?” He raised his eyes, releasing your breast from his mouth with a soft pop. His voice was strangled, panicked and relieved at the same time. For the first time in his life, it was Dex’s turn to command. “Come for me.”
Your body began to convulse, back arching off the mattress, muscles of your perfect cunt clamping down around him so tightly his vision went white at the edges. It was like all language had left you, and the only thing you still knew was his name.
“Fuck,” he groaned, thrusts becoming uneven as the erratic spasms of your pussy pulled him deeper, dragging him closer to the edge. His body was winding up, the coil in his gut bracing for what he now knew was inevitable. Dex wasn’t going to last. It was too perfect. You were too perfect. “I’m close, I’m–”
Your hand shot from his shoulder to the back of his neck, dragging his face down closer to yours. Even with tears brimming at your lower lids, your eyes were clear. Focused.
“Come in me, Dex,” you whispered, world narrowing to only the slap of flesh against flesh and your hushed voice. “Do it.”
Your final wish, your final command. It was over. Every practiced act of self-restraint, of control, of trying to restrain himself, had vanished.
His hips stuttered as he tried to bury himself deeper into your organs, deep enough to leave an imprint. His mind had gone blank, feral. Dex grabbed at your chin, squishing your face between his fingers because he needed you. Needed to see you. Needed you to know.
“I love you.”
With his final utterance, the only truth he could ever fully tell you, Dex came.
His hips pushed forward, shuddering as he spilled his seed into you. He couldn’t stop the words.
“I love you,” Dex gasped again, grip tightening on your face. He couldn’t stop coming, couldn’t stop saying it, couldn’t stop the truth from pouring out of him and into you. “I love you, I love you, I– fuck–”
He collapsed onto you.
In…and out.
Dex smelled your shampoo, your sweat.
In…and out.
He felt the cool cotton of your twisted sheets, your sweat-slick breasts against his chest. His cock still twitching inside you, the warmth of his release beginning to leak out around him in a pearly track.
In…and out.
In…and…
With sudden clarity, he remembered all that he said.
Fuck.
Dex’s eyes shot open. He scrambled backwards on the bed, his softening cock slipping out of you as panic tore through him.
“I’m– I don’t know why I said that, I–” His heart rate was beginning to climb frantically, splotches of red blooming on his chest. He dragged a shaking hand down his face. “Fuck, I’m…I’m so sorry, I just–”
You followed after him, pushing yourself up on the bed from where you lay, limbs heavy and still shivering.
“Hey, hey. Dex,” You took his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing across his cheekbones. Soothing him. “Dex, it’s okay. Look at me.”
Eyes bleary with tears, he met your gaze. He fucked it up. He hadn’t done what he practiced. He was too eager. Too quick. Too honest. Too himself. It would be over now. You would send him out of your room, laugh at him, do what everyone else had done to him his whole life and abandon him.
There was no point in continuing if you did that. No purpose for Dex. No point in living if you weren’t his North Star.
He would end it all.
“Dex,” you said his name again. Dex managed to blink the hot tears from his eyes, and he saw you clearly. You were…smiling.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice soft and sweet. “I feel the same.”
He stilled.
Did you– no. No, surely he hadn’t heard you correctly. Surely the blood was still rushing throughout his body so loudly that he misunderstood.
“I…I don’t…” He stumbled over his words, throat tight. “What?”
Your smile grew wider. The same smile you gave him when he first opened his apartment door and found you standing there. The same smile that made him feel like his eyes had finally opened for the first time in his life.
“I love you, too, Dex.”
His breath, which he hadn’t realized he had been holding, left him in a shaky exhale. You loved him. You wanted him. You needed him. You felt what he had been feeling this entire time.
Your thumbs moved on his cheeks again, this time wiping away tears Dex hadn’t realized had fallen.
“I know it’s early,” You paused, and then laughed softly, like you couldn’t believe what you were saying. “It’s probably insane. And maybe it’s partially the life-changing orgasm still talking, but…”
You bit your lip bashfully, but looked deep into his eyes. “I mean it. Seriously. I care about you, and I just… I like what we have.”
Dex opened his mouth, but no sound came out. You seemed to understand anyway.
You pressed one tired, affectionate kiss to his cheek, then two to his lips, before patting his chest. “So…stop freaking out and get back into the bed so we can sleep, okay? And hopefully I can still walk in the morning.”
Dex tried to laugh. The two of you moved clumsily back beneath the sheets, bodies sticky with sex. You turned onto your side, snuggling into him and guiding his arm around your waist. You placed one last kiss to his chest, just above his heart, and closed your eyes with a sigh.
The room fell into silence.
You loved him.
Dex had been in this room so many times before, had seen the moonlight move slowly over your sleeping face with every hour that he watched over you. He had often wondered what it would feel like to finally cross the distance between you, to climb under the covers. To hold you.
Now, he was finally here.
Dex’s hand crawled from your waist to splay over your ribcage, feeling your breath begin to even out.
In…and out.
The rhythm that had once belonged to him had transferred to you.
He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this. Dex had lied, he had murdered, he had felt nothing but emptiness in spaces he should feel empathy. He had spent years convincing himself there was nothing in him but flesh and bones. No soul. Nothing worthy of mercy.
And yet, here you were. Holding onto him, sleeping like you trusted him…because you did. More than that, even. You loved him.
Dex would do whatever he could to keep you. Nothing would take you from him. Even if the world separated you, he would remain in your life. You would never be rid of him. Ever.
He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to your shoulder. His hand drifted from your chest to rest over your belly.
summary: a little girl rushes over to you when lost, you are quickly introduced to her father, an ex-army sergeant with worry in his eyes and yet is flustered at the sight of you.
warnings: single father!bucky (slightly grumpy), archivist!reader, soft and fluffy, smut, p in v, missionary, use of nicknames (doll, sweetheart), no use of y/n, not beta read, all mistakes are mine
author's note: I started on this one back in January (?) then it was announced Sebastian was going to be a father. I put it on the back burner because I was not happy the media were being so intrusive into people’s personal lives, and didn’t want to condone it with my actions. With nearly hitting 500 followers, I thought it was high time I finished this, it does jump around a lot but I hope you all enjoy it! And thank you all for continuing to read things I write for fun! 💜
word count: < 12k words
credits: divider by thekagemusha
It was short, the tug on your leg.
You peer down to see a little girl. Soft brown hair with little clips to keep it out of her face, round face and blue eyes that were full of fear.
“Hey there,” you say, and crouch down. “You okay?”
She blinks, tears falling down her cheeks. “I can’t find my daddy.”
“Hey, hey,” you reach to rub her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
She lets out a sob, unable to control the hysteria shaking her small frame.
“Oh sweetheart,” you breathe, and offer her your hand. “Hold my hand, we’ll find your daddy. Don’t worry.”
She continued to sob, unrestrained sounds that twisted your heart.
You walked slowly down the aisle, allowing her to keep pace with you, heading for the large central aisle where it would be easiest to be found.
“El!” You hear someone shout.
“Daddy?” The little girl turns her head, her eyes alert and wide.
You peek over your shoulder to see a man rushing over.
“Oh my babygirl,”
The girl lets go of your hand, her little feet pushing her forward into the arms of the man.
You smile to yourself, relieved, yet feeling a little out of place at witnessing the reunion.
The man presses his forehead to the little girl’s, his daughter you assumed.
“Are you okay?” He spoke quickly. “You aren’t hurt?”
She shakes her head. “I saw glitter pens, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he spoke as if to himself. “You’re safe.”
It was then his eyes flicker up to you. They are the exact same shade as his daughter’s, a light blue that gave away more emotion than any expression. His hair was the same colour also, pulled back into a messy bun. His face differed from hers entirely, a strong jawline marked with stubble peppered with grey, and faint lines across his forehead and eyes.
He scoops his daughter up with ease, her body looking tiny next to his large build.
“Hi, uh,” he shifts awkwardly.
“Hi,” you press your lips together nervously.
“I, uh, thanks for taking care of my Eileen,” he says.
You shake your head. “It was nothing, only for a few minutes.”
“Still,” his lips twitched. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” you shrug and turn to walk away.
“Come back!” the little girl, Eileen, called.
“El,” you hear her father hiss. “Leave the lady be.”
You feel a tug on your hand, and peek down to see the girl, who must have forced her way down and rushed to catch you.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
You tilt your head, giving it quietly.
“Pretty,” she smiles. “You’re pretty.”
“Eileen Barnes,” you hear her father call out disapprovingly.
“What?” Her eyes moved to her father. “She’s pretty.”
Her father sighs. “She’s busy, babygirl. Let her go.”
“It’s okay,” you say quietly, and crouch to Eileen’s level.
“I think your dad is wants to get going,” you tell her softly.
She frowns, her eyes appearing watery once again. “I don’t want to.”
Her father stepped closer.
“Eileen,” he put a hand on her back. “That is enough.”
His voice was gentle yet firm.
“But Daddy,” she began to protest. “She’s pretty and kind. Can we be friends?”
“El, it’s not that easy,” he breathes.
“It’s okay,” your voice came out stronger. “Eileen?”
She peeks up, her eyes meet yours.
“I can be your friend,” you say to her.
“Daddy’s friend too,” she insists. “Daddy is always alone. Daddy needs a friend.”
“Eileen,” her father’s face was starting to go red.
You laugh quietly. “That’s up to your daddy.”
She looks up expectantly at her father.
“El, I—” he looks at you, eyes moving up and down you.
“You are pretty,” he murmurs. “Really pretty.”
You feel blood rush to your cheeks.
Eileen beams, her eyes moving between you and her father.
“I’m Bucky,” he holds out a hand to you. “Bucky Barnes, this is my daughter, Eileen.”
You reach out, allowing him to shake your hand, his hand rough to touch, yet gentle.
“Hi,” you breathe, still a little flustered from his compliment.
Bucky smiles, an expression that makes your heart stutter a moment. The pull of those pink lips, the way it crinkled at the edges of his eyes. It felt like you could stare at him for days and never tire of him.
“I—” he cleared his throat. “Look I know this is, uh, weird. But, Eileen likes you, and she won’t stop until I ask. Would you… do you want to get coffee sometime?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “Yeah, sure.”
You reach into your bag, ripping off the bottom of your shopping list and pulling out a pen, then scribbling down your phone number.
You fold it in half and hold it out between your fingers.
He takes it carefully.
“Text me?” You ask with a small smile.
“Uh,” his eyes move to your lips for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I will.”
Your smile widens and you pat Eileen on the head.
“See you around then,” you say. “Eileen… Bucky.”
Eileen looks up at her father grinning.
“She’s nice,” she says as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Bucky holds the piece of paper tightly between his fingers, eyes on you walking away.
“Yeah, she is.”
That evening you’d checked your phone constantly, waiting for the text that never came. You checked again the next morning to nothing, and began to wonder if you’d written the wrong number.
A few more days pass, when you hear your phone buzz once.
You reach over from your place on the sofa, eyes still on the comforting program you are watching.
A quick glance shows a text from an unfamiliar number.
Hey, it’s Bucky. We met at the grocery store the other day. Do you still want to meet for coffee sometime?
A small smile graces your face, warmth filling your veins. He hadn’t forgotten.
I’d love to. Any recommendations? x
You send the text without thinking, jerking slightly as you realise that you’d put a kiss on there out of habit.
A few minutes pass before the next buzz.
There’s a coffee shop in the park?
Immediately another text followed.
Eileen will be coming, she can play on the swings whilst we chat x
Your lips part, seeing him also put a kiss made you smile wider.
That’ll be nice. I’d love to see Eileen again! x
She’s dying to see you again, been pestering me every day to skip work to take her x
You laugh at that.
I’d skip work for her x
There is a brief pause.
I would too, if I could. Would Saturday work for you? Say around 9am? x
You check your calendar briefly, confirming what you already knew - you weren’t busy.
That will be fine. Pretty early don’t you think? x
El will be asking when we are going all day if not. She likes to get me up at 6, and there is no stopping her once she is up x
You laugh again to yourself, there was something endearing about how this man complained about his daughter, yet you could hear his adoration for her.
I’ll be sure to get there in time for Eileen x
Appreciate that, doll. See you Saturday x
You duck your head slightly at the nickname, slightly embarrassed at how your heart squeezed despite being alone.
The park is quiet, filled with only a few people running or cycling and the distant sounds of birds.
It takes a few minutes to walk to the coffee shop, the temperature is warm, not too hot to be uncomfortable but cool enough you could wear a light jacket.
The air fills with the smell of freshly baked goods and coffee, the shop itself is small, most of the seating outside on paving slabs overlooking a playground.
You linger a moment, only seeing people enter to take out and then depart. You turn, scanning the area before reaching for your phone checking for a message. There was none.
You silently remind yourself it is only ten to nine, he wasn’t late.
The sound of your name startles you. Your head whips around until you notice little Eileen running at you.
You crouch down allowing her to fling her little arms around you.
“You came!” She declared as you broke apart.
“Of course,” you reach and boop her nose with your index finger. She grins, reaching to do the same to your nose.
You hear someone chuckle above you, and look up to see Bucky. He’s in dark blue jeans, a wool jacket with a hint of red peeking underneath.
“Hi,” you smile at him.
“Hey,” he greets you.
“Daddy!” Eileen rushes back to her father, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
“She came! She came!” The little girl bounced in place with enthusiasm.
“Easy El,” he speaks softly. “I’ve already lost one arm, I don’t need to lose another.”
You get to your feet, noticing the girl pulling on his metal fingers.
You feel yourself smiling at the sight. “Shall we go in?”
Bucky nods politely, wrapping his hand around El’s.
“Ohhhh,” Eileen pulls away from her father, the moment you enter. “Look daddy! Pain a-“ she frowns as she thinks. “Pain Aux Chocolat!”
Bucky chuckles with a shake of his head.
“She has a lot of energy,” you note.
“Yeah,” he puts his hands on his pockets, glancing at you a moment before returning his gaze back to the little girl. “She’s always like this.”
“She wanders off a lot?”
“Mhm,” he sighs. “She saw some glitter gel pens when you found her. One minute he was next to me, I turned to reach for some tins and then she was gone.”
“All that for gel pens?” You ask, amused.
“Yep,” he gives a slight smile. “They kept her busy whilst I made dinner.”
You let out a snicker.
“What?” His eyes now return to you.
“I’m sorry,” you press your lips together to suppress your smile. “That’s cute.”
“Hm,” he huffs. “Cute, eh?”
You give him a timid shrug and step forward to join Eileen.
“Hi,” you greet the barista. “Can I have a Latte, one croissant, a pain aux chocolate…” you look down to Eileen. “Would you like a drink, El?”
“Hot chocolate!” She declares. “Please.”
“A hot chocolate,” you turn to Bucky. “Bucky, what would you like?”
He recoils in surprise and approaches, your back tingles as you feel him behind your back. “A black coffee please.”
The barista puts it all in and you pull out your card, tapping it against the reader.
“They’ll just be a few minutes,” the barista tells you.
“Thanks,” you smile and walk around.
“You should have let me pay,” Bucky shakes his head, his hand holding El’s again.
“It’s fine, I wanted to get Eileen something,” you give her a grin.
Bucky sighs.
“Is he always grumpy?” You ask El, teasing him.
“Yes,” she nods.
“El,” his lips twitch and eyebrows scrunch together. “Please.”
The barista then placed down the drinks with two paper bags.
“Thank you!” El chimed in a sing-song voice, eagerly reaching for the drinks.
You get there first, picking up the ones in her reach.
Bucky reaches to take his coffee. “Let’s find a seat.”
He leads you outside, it remains quiet, peaceful. Bucky strolls to the table closest to the playground, whilst your eyes remain on his back, his wide shoulders.
He pulls out a chair, then another, places his cup down and picks up his daughter to help her up into the chair.
“Take a seat, doll,” he gestures, letting you sit first before taking the last seat.
You carefully reach over placing the hot chocolate in front of Eileen and taking the Croissant.
Eileen seems too distracted by her own food to pay any mind to anything else.
Bucky chuckles fondly before taking a long sip of his drink.
“Want any?” You ask him as you pull part of the croissant apart to eat.
“Hmm,” he considers for a moment. “Sure.”
You smile, ripping off the other end. He leans over parting his lips slightly, you carefully put the piece in his mouth. His mouth closed and he chewed carefully.
You have to sift your eyes away, a warmth filling you at how he’d trusted you.
“Daddy never eats here,” Eileen cuts through your reverie, her blue eyes on her father as she concentrated. “Says it's bad for his muscles.”
You raise an eyebrow and smirk at Bucky.
He leans back, sipping his coffee and doesn’t say a word.
“You enjoy the gym?” You ask.
“Not as much as I’d like,” he places his cup down again. “I’m ex-Army.”
“What do you do now?” You ask, taking a sip of your own drink.
“Boring office job,” he admits. “But I can work from home, and take care of this one.”
He pats his daughter on the head.
“What about—“ you pause, hesitating.
“Eileen’s mother?” He finishes.
Eileen looks at her father, as though sensing the tension of the moment, then at you.
“Mummy works away,” she speaks as if she has said it a thousand times, her eyes suddenly appearing tired.
“Busy lady,” you reply.
“Mmm,” you hear the disapproval in Bucky’s tone. “Eileen, do you want to go try the swings whilst we chat?”
“Huh?” She perks up, then drops from her seat. “Yay!!”
She runs off eagerly into the playground.
“Stay in my sight!” He calls after her.
You watch Bucky once more, his face smooth yet his eyes soften, betraying the love he has for his daughter.
“El’s mother,” he begins, eyes still on his little girl. “She doesn’t come to see Eileen much. El barely remembers her.”
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, unsure what to say.
He shrugs. “We have each other. It’s enough.”
You gently place a hand on his arm. “You’re a single parent, you shouldn’t have to face it alone.”
“Despite what El told you, I do have friends,” his eyes return to you. “They are few, but I couldn’t have gotten this far without them.”
You nod, relieved. Bucky’s eyes then flicker over you, taking you in.
“You look lovely,” he comments.
“Thank you,” you lean back, hoping the distance will hide the blush on your cheeks.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have a real first date,” you allow your eyes to drift back to him, his eyes on his daughter - now climbing steps on a slide. “You deserve to be taken out for dinner.”
“You don’t need to explain,” your voice is soft. “Your little girl has to come first.”
His head turns slightly, giving you a faint smile. “Thank you.”
“Besides, I wanted to see El again,” you continue. “She’s adorable.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, she is.”
There is a moment of silence. You keep your eyes on Bucky, taking in how his eyes never strayed from his daughter, occasionally drinking his coffee whilst his other hand lay on his lap.
“What do you do for work?” Bucky’s voice is quiet.
You twitch a second. “It’s pretty boring. I'm an archivist. Spend all day typing up what is written in old dusty books, or help people find old dusty books.”
He chuckles. “Sounds like it makes you happy.”
Your voice gets caught in your mouth for a moment. “It does,” you admit.
Bucky shifts then, turning his seat towards you.
“Would you like another drink?” He asks, the creases in his expression giving away his nerves.
“No, thank you,” you shift to face him. “I would like to just talk.”
He smiles then. Not the faint twitches of his lips before, a real smile. It seemed to light up his whole face, brightening his eyes, crinkling at the edges and his forehead.
“Your eyes,” you lean forward, heart thrumming a little harder from his gaze. “They’re incredible.”
His face drops, lips parting slightly as he drinks in your words.
“Uh, thank you,” he stammers.
You smile at him, and reach over to place your hand on his.
He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Do you like Italian food?”
“Yeah,” you respond. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a little Italian restaurant not far from my place,” he says. “We could go, if you’d like.”
“With Eileen?”
He shakes his head. “Eileen is staying with my friend on Tuesday night. It would be just the two of us.”
“I think I’d enjoy that,” your lips twitch.
“More than this?” He playfully responds.
“It’s nice,” you smirk. “And I adore Eileen. But I’d also like to get you alone.”
“Alone, huh?” He chuckles. “That might be difficult.”
You grin at his face, he seemed so happy, a far cry from the grumpy man from earlier.
“I can share,” you tease.
“Yeah?” He turned his hand over, fingers interweaving with yours.
“Yeah.”
Bucky squeezed your hand. “You know in a fight she’d win, every time.”
“I know,” you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Daddy!” Eileen was running over. “Did you see? Did you see? I was so fast.”
You suppress a laugh.
“Oh, I’m sorry, babygirl. I missed it,” he responded. “Go again, I’m watching.”
The little girl’s eyes narrow, eyes flickering between the two of you before running back, climbing the steps and flinging herself down the slide at speed.
“Oh my—” you begin to get to your feet in fear for her.
“Relax,” Bucky mutters. “She’ll be alright.”
“Did you see, Daddy?” Eileen shouts.
“I saw,” he calls back. “You were faster than my bike.”
Eileen beamed, running back over the bark chips to the table.
“That was fun!” She declared.
Bucky grins, pleased to see his little girl so happy. “Need a rest?”
She nods, climbing onto the chair. “I need a drink.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow at his daughter.
“Please,” she adds.
“Good girl,” he shakes his head fondly, reaching down into a bag Eileen had been carrying, passing over a drink bottle from the side to her.
She happily slurped through the straw.
“You’re a good dad,” you nudge him gently.
“I try,” he murmurs.
“Daddy’s happy,” she notices and then looks at you. “You’re happy.”
She takes another sip. “You make Daddy happy.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, El,” he chuckles.
“You laugh when I’m silly. Or Uncle Sam is silly,” she says.
“Uncle Sam?”
“My best friend,” Bucky explains. “He’s a pain, but he takes care of El when I can’t.”
“It’s nice of him to take care of Eileen,”
“I love Uncle Sam!” El declares in agreement.
“Because Uncle Sam lets you stay up till 8pm, and brings you chocolate,” Bucky shakes his head in disapproval.
She shrugs, taking one more sip from her drink before taking off again.
“What time do you want to meet on Tuesday?” You ask.
“I’ll book the table for seven,” his eyes were on his daughter.
You nod. “Seven then.”
He nods, his eyes flickering back to you.
“I’ll be waiting.”
You shift from one foot to the other, tugging at the material of your dress praying it’s not too short. You chose a simple red dress that hung just above your knees, in the hopes of being alluring yet modest.
You hear someone call your name, your eyes flicker around, seeing no one until you turn and spot Bucky.
He’s dressed semi formally, jeans, black boots, a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Hello,” his voice is quiet yet warm, his left hand holds out a small bunch of flowers with a nervous smile. “These are for you.”
You cannot contain the smile that crosses your face. “Thank you.”
His face remains still, but his eyes betray his relief. “I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he confessed.
You shake your head, stepping closer. “They are beautiful.”
“Shall we—” he hesitated. “Shall we go in?”
You nod, holding the flowers in one of your hands and reaching out with the other to offer your hand.
Instinctively, the fingers of his right hand weave between yours. They are gentle yet slightly rough to touch, yet somehow the feel of them sends a slight tingle up your arm.
Bucky guides you forward to the door, holding his jacket with his thumb and the rest of his fingers grasping the handle, holding it open for you.
“Thank you,” you give him a smile.
His lips twitch slightly upward, and follow you into the restaurant.
It’s small, yet quiet, simplistic in its decor.
You blink as you take it in, eyes flickering as he tugs your hand carefully to speak to the server.
“Table for two, under the name Barnes,” his voice is low.
The server nods. “Ah yes, I have it. Good to see you Mr Barnes.”
They pick up two menus and lead you to a small table to the side, a little out of earshot of the nearest table.
“Here,” Bucky pulls out a chair for you as the server places down the menus.
“Thanks,” you sit, place the flowers carefully under your chair and shrug off your jacket.
Bucky gives you a nod of satisfaction before taking his seat, slinging his jacket casually over the back.
“Any allergies we need to be aware of?” The server asks.
You shake your head.
Bucky doesn’t speak, his eyes remain on you.
The server nods and departs.
“You’re quiet,” you notice.
“I normally am,” he leans back, his gaze still intense.
Now it felt like a first date, the momentarily silence, the awkward feeling sinking into your stomach. Was this a mistake? Did he really like you?
“I come here with Sam,” he breaks the silence.
“Like— on a date?” Your tone is casual yet teasing. His nose crinkles together for a moment before he lets out a soft chuckle that shoots through you, the sound of it makes you want to join in.
“No,” a slight smile remains on his face. “We’d end up killing each other at the mere suggestion of sharing anything.”
You smile easily. “I share.”
“I remember,” he exhales. “Not sure I can say the same.”
Your lips part slightly at the implication.
“You look nice,” he adds, before allowing his eyes to move slowly over you.
There was something there, in the tenor of his voice, the way he was so obvious, yet taking it slow. It drew you in dangerously fast.
You feel blood rush to your face.
“So do you,” you admit quietly, eyes on the stubble of his jawline. Even with his long hair slicked back and the stubble, he looks smart, and the shade of his shirt brings out his features. “You’re— you’re pretty.”
His eyes widened a moment before a real smile graced his face. “Not sure I’ve been called pretty before.”
You pursue your lips. “Well, I think you are.”
He leans over the table as if to speak for no one to hear. Instead a voice interrupts you, the server.
“Can I get you any drinks?”
You see a flash of frustration on Bucky's face, and observe him inhale as if to calm himself.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” you say, giving the server a polite glance.
“I’ll have a beer,” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with emotion that was barely contained.
“I’ll be right over with them,” they walk away again.
Once out of earshot you hear Bucky make a noise of dissatisfaction, one that makes you cover your mouth to hide laughter.
“Eileen is right, you are grumpy,” you allow yourself a small giggle once the server is out of earshot.
“Aren’t you?” His eyes never strayed away from yours. “They had to interrupt when things were just getting interesting.”
“There is no rush,” you say softly.
“I only get tonight with you sweetheart,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know when we will get time like this again.”
“I don’t mind Eileen coming,” you remind him.
“I’d rather not have the questions,” he admits. “El was so young when her mother and I separated. I never expected to meet someone else. I never prepared her for it.”
Your head tilts, sensing guilt.
“Bucky,” you lean forward. “We don’t have to rush, or do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to feel any guilt.”
His eyebrows come together. “It’s not—” he pauses. “It’s been me and El for so long. She has always been my priority.”
You nod. “As it should be.”
The server then approached again, placing drinks on the table, then asked for the order. The pair of you are quick to order, wishing to return to the conversation.
As soon as they left, Bucky reached to take his glass, having a sip.
“I can’t give you what I’d want to give you,” his voice is quiet, almost tired. “I can’t put you first. If my babygirl needs care when we have a date, I have to pick her.”
He sounded as if he were convincing himself.
“Well, we aren’t there yet,” you speak lightly. “Why don’t we see how today goes before worrying about the future?”
He closes his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath.
“You’re right,” he nods, and his right hand reaches over. “We have to make the most of this.”
You copy him, stretching to take it — his large hand eclipsing yours.
“I’ve never seen you around town before,” his voice was quiet. “Not before the other week, have you just moved here?”
“Mm,” you hum the affirmative. “About six months ago, I was offered a higher paid position at the museum. Thought it might be more of a challenge.”
“And is it?”
You sip your wine at the thought of your job. “It feels like I’m doing three people’s jobs,” you admit. “There is more to record, more things to go wrong, more people to cover for.”
You finish your drink and sigh.
“I love it, but I’m not sure the pay is worth the workload,” your voice is quiet.
“Mm,” he hums. “You’re overworked.”
You shrug. “For now,” you give him a half smile. “It’s been stressful the past few months. The move, new job… but meeting you gave me a little bit of normalcy.”
You pause before admitting the next part.
“I was looking at my phone to see if you’d text me, rather than panicking over bills,” you keep your eyes to the table. “It was nice.”
He chuckles softly.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to text you,” he breathed. “I— I was afraid. It’s been so long since I did this.”
“You’re good at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel seen. You’re listening to me, paying attention to me even when I’m not asking you anything.”
“You’re more interesting,” he says, his fingers now making patterns on the back of your hand.
You shake your head slowly. “You’re an ex-army vet, with a metal arm and an adorable little girl. You are far more interesting.”
It was then your food was brought over and placed before you continue.
“I might have many stories to tell, but many of them aren’t pleasant, sweetheart,” his tone is dark and warning. “I haven’t lived a pleasant life.”
You let go of his hand, picking up a doughball from his plate and holding it between your fingers in front of him to eat.
Bucky eyes you for a moment before biting into it. Something about feeding the man felt strangely intimate.
“If you give me a chance,” your voice came out quiet yet determined. “I’d like to help you create some nice stories. Happy stories. Some about Eileen that you can embarrass her with when she’s older. Some about you and Sam… and maybe some about you and me.”
His brow furrows, contemplating.
“I'd enjoy that,” he admits.
You squeeze his hand a moment before starting to eat. The two of you eat, not quite in silence but in a comfortable quiet where you’d occasionally speak to comment on the food.
You peek up to look at Bucky, the blue of his eyes seem endless as he ponders.
“What is it?” You ask.
“What do you do outside work?” His eyes flicker up to you.
“Currently, not much, I’m still decorating,” you admit. “I like going on walks.”
“Hmmm,” he leans back.
“What about you?”
“Most of my time is taken up by Eileen,” he admits, his eyes still distant. “Or I tinker with my bike.”
“You ride motorbikes?” You tilt your head in interest.
Bucky nods. “Even when I was a kid. My friends and I used to piece together scrap to ride around.”
He pauses a moment, measuring your interest before continuing. “Working on bikes led me to the Army. I thought I could get a degree through them. Didn’t turn out as I planned.”
He looks down to his hands. “I ended up a Sniper. Turns out my hands were good for things other than fixing bikes.”
You could hear the stiffness in his voice, but he continued as if he could no longer contain himself.
“I got promoted to Sergeant,” he then twitched, his metal arm flexing slightly. “Then I lost my arm, and was allowed to resign my commission.”
“I met El’s mother a few months later,” his eyes then locked on yours. “I was still recovering, and she didn't look at me with pity. Things went fast, El came along and…”
His eyes appeared to look behind you, distant as though reliving a memory.
“When I proposed she said no,” his jaw came together, eyes watering slightly. “She screamed about how she’d put up with me for the past two years, and how Eileen and I were holding her back, keeping her life on hold, stopping her career.”
His eyes flicker back to yours.
“El thinks her mother walked away,” his voice was quiet. “But in truth, the next morning I packed up and took El with me. She was seven months old. Her mother never even contested when I requested custody of her.”
“You never got in trouble for taking El?” You wonder.
“No,” he shakes his head. “As I said, my custody was never contested. In truth, I believe she wanted me to walk out and take El with me.”
You lean over, taking both his hands in yours.
“You did the right thing,” you speak softly.
“So I’m told,” his eyes are sad, guilt etched into the lines of his face.
“What would you like for dessert?” You ask, keeping your eyes fixed on him, trying to distract him from his train of thought.
“Hmm?” He blinks. “I don’t know…”
“I was thinking of a tiramisu,” you say. “But the sorbet also looks good.”
“I usually skip and have a coffee,” he admits.
“We could share,” you suggest. “If you’d like.”
His eyes refocus.
“I can’t remember last time I had a tiramisu,” a semblance of enthusiasm began to seep into his voice.
You smile, heart fluttering slightly at your success.
You remove the silk gown slowly before hanging it up, and slipping into your bed.
You allow yourself a soft sigh, eyes closing your eyes as your fingers interlock, remembering the feel of his hands on yours.
Just as your hands begin to trail up your arms, there is a faint buzz. You ignore it, shifting under the covers in an attempt to keep warm.
You hear another buzz, and groan slightly as your eyes flicker open.
Your hand aimlessly reaches for your phone on your bedside table. With a tug, the cable disconnects and you pull the phone in front of your face to see Bucky’s name on the screen.
Your thumb lingers for a moment before pressing the green button and raising the phone to your ear.
“Hello?” You keep your voice quiet, to avoid disturbing others.
“Hey,” you hear the soft rumble. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” you admit. “Just got to bed.”
“Mm, sounds nice,” you hear him rummaging around. “El insisted on a bedtime story, and that I stay with her until she fell asleep.”
He inhales slowly, and you hear his heavy footsteps. “Haven’t got a shower yet.”
“Go and get one,” you encourage him sleepily.
He chuckles on the other end. “Are you falling asleep, sweetheart?”
“Your voice is nice,” you admit in a haze.
His laugh is brighter. “Good. I’m sorry I called, I— I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Bucky,” you blink in an attempt to keep awake.
“It’s been a long time since I met someone who seemed intent on my happiness,” he goes quiet for a moment. “My life is dedicated to Eileen, there is no room for myself.”
You shift to sit up.
“You deserve to be happy,” you say softly. “Eileen wants you to be happy too.”
“Mm,” he murmurs. “I’d like you to come with us.”
“Bucky?”
“Eileen and I were planning to go to a Science Museum in a few weeks,” he says. “I would like you to come with us.”
“I thought you didn’t want to confuse El?”
“Well,” he exhales. “Fuck it. She likes you. I like you. I want you there and I know El would too. It’ll be hard, and we may have to struggle. But, how I feel — it is worth it, you are worth it.”
You blink away at your tired eyes.
“Bucky, I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” his voice is smooth, like butter, soothing. “Just be there. That's all I ask.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be there.”
It took three weeks before a date was set.
So here you stood, in the shadow of the museum, a large backpack on your back and eyes flickering across the car park.
You hear a screech of excitement before you feel something collide with your legs.
“You’re here!” You peek down and smile at the girl clinging to your legs
“Hey El,” you greet her, and attempt to crouch down. She backs off for a moment before seeing your open arms, and jumping into them, almost launching you backwards.
You hear a chuckle from above and you give her a squeeze. Your eyes flicker up to Bucky, his shadow casting over the pair of you, protecting you.
“Hey,” he says softly. He is wearing a plain shirt and jeans, a backpack over his shoulders.
Your eyes are unable to resist flickering over the broadness of his shoulders to the way the shirt clung to his arms, down to the veins along his forearms. Seeing him in person like this suddenly made all those video calls and texts worthwhile.
Eileen backs away, stepping back towards her father and giving you a grin.
Without even thought you straighten up, still overshadowed by the man slightly.
“Hey,” you greet him. “What’s with the bag?”
“It’s for a picnic,” he shrugs. “Didn’t want to pay for the cafe.”
You tilt your head and look at Eileen. She looked unfazed, as if it were normal.
“I made ham and cheese!” El declared proudly. “And boring salad for Daddy.”
Bucky visibly rolled his eyes. “It's chicken, and my salads are to die for.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Is there enough to share?”
“I made two,” El bounced in excitement.
He pats her on the head gently.
“She insisted we make enough for you,” he shrugs casually. “El, hand please.”
The little girl reaches up automatically, taking his hand whilst Bucky holds out his metal hand to you.
“Shall we?” He suggests.
The inside of the museum is wide and open, a glass roof overhead of the central rocket filling the auditorium.
“Oooo,” El begins to rush forward, dragging her father with her. “A rocket!”
Bucky smirks in amusement at his daughter and gives you a wink.
“It’s a replica of the Rocket from Apollo 13,” Bucky keeps his eyes fixed forward.
Eileen bounds forward to the glass fence. “Three, two, one… Blast off!”
You smile and look over to Bucky who you also see smiling.
“She likes space?”
“I showed her the Artemis launch, and she’s been obsessed ever since,” he squeezes your hand. “She gets it from her father.”
“You like space?”
“Anything Physics,” he nods. “Engineering especially.”
“Nerd,” you tease him.
“Remind me what your job is again?” He sasses back, eyes returning to his daughter. You gently nudge him playfully with your arm, fingers still interlocked with his.
A slight tremor runs through him as he chuckles.
“You’re cute,” he keeps his eyes on Eileen, who is now standing entranced by a small screen showing the launch of a rocket. “People usually aren’t brave enough to tease me.”
“Because you are ex-Army, and built like a house?” You ask, your eyes remain on him, taking in how his hair was down — kept behind his ears.
“Mm,” he agrees. “I have what Sam calls a resting bitch face.”
You snicker, and feel Bucky’s eyes flicker to you.
“You aren’t denying it?”
“You do have this tendency to look a little…” you pause. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“No?” His lips twitch for a moment.
“No,” you repeat. “You’re gorgeous even with the resting bitch face.”
“Mm,” he lifts your joined hands, brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Thanks.”
The next few hours were filled with the excited squeals of Eileen at the different exhibits. Space suits, moon rocks, and a long documentary on the International Space Station. The three of you ended up in the large auditorium, sat on a bench with the picnic spread out in front of you.
Eileen sat talking animatedly about space, about all the planets she had looked up in books, what astronauts did in space and how much she wanted to see the stars.
Through it all Bucky never once interrupted her, to try to deter her from her dream. He nodded and spoke to her casually, almost like an adult.
“You okay there, honey?” Bucky’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.
“You’re such a good Dad,” you say without thinking about it.
He gives you a gentle smile, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Thank you.”
You look over to Eileen who seems content eating her sandwich, whilst carefully colouring in a page she’d been given. Her eyebrows were scrunched together slightly, and the grip on her small pencil was tight.
“Is it like this all the time?” You wonder. “With you and Eileen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Peaceful, just out having fun,” you say.
“No, this is a treat,” he admits. “Normally we spend our weekends at home, we might go to the park or take a walk.”
“Just father-daughter time,”
“I guess,” he shrugs.
“Daddy colours with me,” Eileen interrupts, taking a sip of her juice. “In our NASA colouring book.”
You smirk and from the corner of your eye spot Bucky, placing his metal hand over his face.
“Daddy bakes with me. We made cookies!” She declares proudly.
Bucky chuckles, allowing hand to fall back to the table. “The icing was everywhere.”
“It was yummy!” She waves her arms in excitement. “Can you make cookies?”
You give her a gentle smile. “Yeah.”
Eileen gasps in excitement. “Come to my house! Let’s bake cookies.”
You laugh quietly.
“Maybe another time,” Bucky reaches over to calm her. “We have more of the museum to see.”
Another hour passed, walking through the long exhibit on the Solar System. The corridors were dark, covered with small lights to represent stars, every so often opening up into a room for each planet, projections of the planet flowing onto the walls, with paintings of the surface of the planet.
Upon reaching Saturn, you hear the sound of rocks for Saturn’s Rings.
“This is incredible,” you murmur.
Ahead, Eileen was bounding forward, keeping a close but far enough she could watch first.
“It is,” he agrees, squeezing your hand. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,”
“Would you like to visit an observatory?” He sounded nervous.
“With El?”
He shook his head. “She’d get bored of the talk. I— I have always wished to go.”
“Bucky,” you smile at him, flattered that he was willing to openly be himself with you. “Of course, I will.”
“You will?”
“Sure, sounds kind of romantic,” you shrug shyly. “Sat looking up at the stars.”
“Maybe,” he sounds unsure.
You squeeze his hand as you speak. “Bucky, you don’t need to give excuses. If you want to go to an observatory, we can go. All I want is to be with you.”
He stiffened a moment before keeping pace with you again, his eyes moving from your face to his daughter.
“You really want that?”
“Yeah,” your voice is quiet against the vast expanse of projected space. “I like spending time with you both.”
You feel a kiss against your hair. “Thank you.”
Your eyes flicker to glance at the lights crossing his features, then forward again. Your mind slowly began to list other date ideas, not just an observatory. Walks under the night sky, visits to climbing walls for El, maybe a motorcycle show or two.
A small smile remained on your face as you leaned into Bucky, feeling a sense of contentment amongst the stars.
One, two, three.
You count the knocks as you tap against the door.
Immediately you hear the sound of rushed footsteps, before the door flings open.
And there he is.
It takes a moment to process the sight in front of you. Bucky stood inside in a white tank top, with simple grey sweatpants and slips on his feet.
“Hey,” his voice is soft. “I’m glad you’re here.”
You feel heat creep up your cheeks, recalling the dazed rush you’d been in. Receiving his text asking you to come round, changing frantically from your loose shirt and leggings into a summer dress, checking yourself in the mirror, once, twice and then a third time before leaving.
“Did you need something?”
He gives you a simple nod and steps aside. “Come in.”
You step inside, taking care to remove your shoes as you hear the click of the door shutting.
“Here,” Bucky passes you, heading straight to the sofa. You glance around the room, it isn’t as messy as you anticipated. There were no signs of El or her toys. Just a glass of water on the coffee table, and a beer bottle on the side table.
He slumps onto the leather, one arm up perched on the back as he nods down next to him.
You pursue your lips as you sit down, curious.
“Breathe,” his voice is soft. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
You take a shaky breath. “I thought you might’ve—“
You blink to try and hide the tears in your eyes. “I thought you were breaking up with me.”
His lips parted for a moment before he allowed his head to fall back slightly, chuckling.
“It’s not funny,” you protest weakly.
He stills a moment, tongue moving visibly inside his mouth, leaving you slightly entranced. The things he could do with that tongue…
“I’m sorry I worried you,” his tone was gentle, the fingers of his metal hand tracing your collarbone over your shirt. “Eileen is having a sleepover with a friend.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
He gave a soft smile as he nodded. “She’s been begging me for months. I thought it might be time.”
“And you invited me?” You twitch, beginning to understand.
“I’ve missed you,” he admits. “The phone calls don’t feel like enough.”
A surge of warmth filled your heart softly running through your veins.
“I missed you,” you reach over to lay your hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you.”
His fingers begin to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “You’ve been busy, I understand.”
You lean into his hand, the cool metal cupping your cheek.
“So have you,” your voice cracks.
“Hm,” his face relaxes into its usual expression, slightly grumpy with the lines on his face plain. “Too busy.”
Almost of its own accord your hand most up, brushing against the cotton stretched across his chest before allowing the tops of your fingers to linger on the stubble on his jaw.
“I was going to cook you dinner,” he confesses. “Got too eager and invited you before I could decide what to cook.”
You begin to smile, thumb brushing his chin. “That’s okay, I’m just glad to be here.”
Bucky shakes his head. “You’ve dressed up, and I didn’t even cook you dinner.”
The leather of the sofa squeaked as you shuffled closer to him, legs brushing.
“We can order take out?” You suggest. “Order pizza, lounge around with bad TV on.”
He chuckled. “Now that is a good idea.”
He reached into his pocket for his phone, flicking his fingers across it.
The next few minutes were filled with the quiet chatter of debating which pizza to order. Unconsciously, you find yourself pulled closer to him, practically leaning on him as you look at the screen.
“Hm,” he grunted. “It’s going to be a while, sweetheart.”
You allow your head to fall into his shoulder, allowing your eyes to close. His metal arm tightens slightly around your waist.
“What a shame,” you murmur sarcastically.
“Did you have plans?” he teases back.
You tilt your head up as your eyes open. “I wasn’t sure how late you’d want me to stay.”
“Oh,” he breathed and shook his head. “Doll, I want you to stay all night.”
“All night?”
“You think I’d let my baby girl out of my sight for the night if I didn’t?” He points out.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “You wanted to—“
“I hoped,” his flesh hand was in your hair now, holding you in pace whilst his left kept you against him. “I can’t keep up this façade, pretending I don’t want more with you. Like you don’t brighten both our lives with your presence.”
“Bucky,” your breaths are shallow, fast, eyes fixed on his.
His face contorted, several emotions passing across his face whilst his eyes softened.
“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he pleads. “I couldn’t bear to go through it again.”
Your eyes water slightly, heart tightening in empathy. The past month he’d held back, only holding your hand, or pressing a kiss to your forehead. You’d feared the lack of intimacy indicated no interest, but now you knew otherwise.
He had avoided moving too fast out of fear of repeating the past.
“It’s not too fast,” you promise. “I did wonder why you held yourself back.”
“I’m sorry,” he frowns. “I— I didn’t want to lead you on. I like you, in fact, I adore you. You’ve worked past the steel I’ve forged around my heart to make your home there, and you’ll never leave.”
You swallow audibly.
“When I met you,” your voice is quiet. “All I wanted to do was try and put a smile on that face. You looked so shaken from El wandering off, and concerned about disturbing me. My heart went out to you. The more time we spent together, the more you showed me every facet of who you are. The more I found myself wanting to be around you. Ironically, you make me happy when all I wanted was to do that for you.”
“You make me happy,” he gives you a nod before licking his bottom lip. “Let me show you.”
His breath fans across your face, and you faintly smell beer on it. A slight movement and his lips are on yours, keeping you secure against him as you reciprocate feeling the softness of his lips but not pushing any further.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick as his forehead leans against yours.
“Have you been drinking?” You say quietly, your heart sinking at the thought of him being drunk.
“Oh,” he hand drops from your face, reaching behind him to pick something up and show you the brown bottle — mostly full. “I took a sip when I heard you knock, I needed some courage.”
You glance at the bottle, feeling your muscles loosen up and give a relieved laugh.
“Sorry,” you apologise.
“Don’t apologise,” he shakes his head. “Want one?”
“No, thanks,” you reach up to allow your fingers to tangle in the hair, flowing from above his ear to the base of his neck.
“Fair enough,” he takes a long sip before placing it back on the side table behind him. You quietly laugh again. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” you grin. “Needing a beer like you’ve never spoken to a woman. It’s cute.”
“I don’t need a beer to speak to a woman,” he pretends to be offended. “I need a beer to speak with you.”
You snort. “Corny.”
Unable to hold the serious expression, he laughs lightly.
“I am,” he agrees, then leans forward to press a quick peck to your mouth.
“Hey!” You complain with a laugh of your own. “Bucky!”
His left arm tightens around your waist a moment, and he continues to tease you. “Sweetheart.”
“You’re so—” you wave your arm in mock frustration.
“Devastating handsome?” He winks.
Your voice gets caught in your throat, making a choking noise. His eyes widen slightly his horror, hand moving up to rub your back.
“You okay?” His tone dips in concern.
“You made me choke on my own spit!” You accuse him.
A relieved look passes his face.
“Thank fuck,” he breathes, his hand still gently moving up and down your spine.
The sight of him suddenly felt too much. The fear in his eyes, the pink of his lips pressed together, the way his jawline twitched slightly as he strained.
“You are handsome,” you admit, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his mouth.
“Yeah?” His lips twitch up slightly.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “And kind, and funny.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re the most generous woman I have ever met. Beautiful, gentle and caring. You ask nothing of me, you accept my poor excuses for not being with you—”
“Taking care of your daughter isn’t a poor excuse,” you interrupt.
“Let me finish,” he presses a finger to your lips. “You don’t mind Eileen being on our dates. You ask after her, treat her as your own.”
His blue eyes soften. “She loves you, you know?”
Your lip trembles slightly. “I love her.”
Bucky’s lips pull up into a proper smile, a rare sight. “As do I.”
The doorbell then rang.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Coming!”
In a flurry of shuffling and cursing, Bucky got off the sofa and headed to the door. The sight of such him stumble around, almost tripping brought a giggle to your lips.
You hear him grumble at you down the corridor before enthusiastically greeting the delivery driver, exchanging pleasantries before re-emerging into the room, carrying several boxes under his arm.
“You remain wordless, amused as he lays out the boxes onto the coffee table.
“Ah,” he slumps back next to you, remote in hand to turn on the TV. The chatter and music seemed faint compared to the sound of Bucky shifting to grab his beer again and reach for a slice with the other.
“Happy now?” You tease.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Been a long time since I had an evening like this.”
“Should I leave you alone with—?” You nod to the food.
“No,” he answers quickly, placing his beer down, then swapping the pizza from one hand to the other before holding out his free arm. “Get over here.”
You shuffle over, half your body covering his, as he finishes off his slice.
“Here,” his left arm holds you as his right reaches over for another slice. “Open.”
You blink a second before opening your mouth to allow him to feed you. You chew slowly, taking in his relaxed expression.
“This is nice,” you admit. “Domestic, comfortable. Like… home.”
He freezes for a moment. “Like home?”
You nod softly. “Better, because you’re here.”
“Yeah?” He asks rhetorically. “We could make this more permanent, honey.”
“What do you mean?”
“You could stay over,” he suggests. “Spend the weekends with El and me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to cause Eileen any confusion?” You say quietly.
He snorts. “I’d cause her more by keeping you away.”
“And what if we sleep together?”
“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” he snags another piece, taking a big bite to avoid speaking further.
“Bucky,” you voice is almost a whine.
“Hush and eat your food,” his voice is gentle, no semblance of harshness in his tone.
“Yes sir,” you mutter, reaching over to join him in having pizza.
Slowly, as the take out boxes emptied, you ended up laid down, Bucky underneath, his back against the armrest, whilst your head was on his chest as your fingers brushed against his shirt.
Every so often, you’d move up and kiss him, softly. Taking your time to make the most of being alone with him. Then he’d occasionally move, tilting his head down to push his lips against the crown of your head, then tilting your head back to kiss you lazily, no force behind it, only a tempered heat that sparked the desire for more.
“Hey,” you hear him murmur. “You awake, sweetheart?”
“Barely,” your voice is a whisper, his body rumbles as he chuckles.
“Need me to carry you to bed?” His tone is teasing again.
“I— I don’t have any clothes,” you don’t move despite the comment.
“You can have some of mine,” he promises. “Come on, doll. Let’s get you in bed.”
As he moved, keeping you on his lap before turning and picking you up with surprising ease, it occurred to you that this is what he probably did with Eileen every night. Let her tire herself out before scooping her up and gently putting her under the covers.
It was a basic act of love. Something Bucky was used to, rather than the awkwardness of trying to force something on a date.
You barely notice where you are until he pops you onto what you assume is his bed. He goes to his drawers pulling out several pieces of clothing
“Here,” he gently tosses you a grey shirt. “I’m gonna change. Feel free to use the bathroom.”
He leaves through the open door, and you hear his footsteps as he heads down the corridor.
The room is dimly lit by the light filtering from the neighbouring bathroom, the bed sheets a simple navy blue, and upon the drawers were framed photos. Several were of Eileen, one was of Bucky, his arm around a man you didn’t recognise — Sam, you assumed. Then there was another, a new one, that you recognised. It was you, sat next to Bucky on the bench in the Space Museum. The photo was blurry, having been taken by Eileen herself, but even so you could see the happiness in Bucky’s eyes, the slight tilt in his lips.
You hadn’t realised you were standing until you reached to touch it, eyes watering slightly at his sentimentality.
“Hey,” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “You okay, doll?”
“You framed this?” Your voice is shaky.
“Of course,” he speaks casually. “It’s the only picture I have of you.”
“It’s only been two months,” you peek over at him from the corner of your eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” you feel him step behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “Whether you know it or not, you’ve brightened my life. You’re important to me.”
“Bucky,” tears begin to fall down your cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not worth your tears, baby.”
“Yes, you are,” you sniffle, placing your hands on his. “You’re worth it all.”
You feel his breath against your ear, lips brushing faintly against your hairline.
“Still sleepy?” He asks.
Your head twists to look behind you then up at him. “A little, but I want you more.”
His eyes widen slightly at your words. “You’re sure?”
You nod, turning in his arms, and wrap your own arms around his neck.
“Yes,” you agree. “Nice and slow. Like you said.”
“I can do that,” he pulls you forward, stepping back until he falls back onto the bed, bringing you with him.
“Buck!” You laugh as you land on his chest, the thin cotton of his pyjamas gave little protection when your hands brushed his hardness of his chest.
He chuckles. “Buck, eh?”
You feel heat rush to your cheeks. “It kind of slipped out.”
“It’s okay,” he pulls you up carefully until you are face to face. “It’s more than okay.”
“You don’t mind?”
He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “I only allow those closest to me to call me Buck.”
“Yeah?”
The smile turns into a smirk as he hums in approval, leaning up to kiss you.
The kiss is different again, slow like before but with clear intent. A hand reaches to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. His lips move with precision, taking care not to push too far.
“Slow,” he murmurs against your lips as if reminding himself. You lean down this time, pressing gentle kisses across his face, working down to his neck before giving it a nip with your teeth.
“Easy,” his fingers brush through your hair. “Gonna get me off before our clothes are off.”
You giggle quietly. “Sorry.”
“No apologies,” his hand moves from your head to tilt your chin up. “Don’t be sorry for any of this. This is perfect.”
You pull back, and catch the hurt in his eyes. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you manage a deep breath before reaching under your skirt — pulling the dress off in a single movement.
“Oh,” his hands fall to your hips, eyes locked on your bare chest only covered by a simple bra. “That’s not slow, sweetheart.”
“I want to feel you,” you admit as you reach down, hands roaming up his arms as you lower yourself back down onto him.
He doesn’t say a word, instead his right hand moves up your skin, leaving a soft tingle in its wake, before stopping just at the hem of your bra.
“May I?” His voice is low with desire, eyes on your chest.
You nod, feeling enraptured by the sensation of his hands on you. His hand slid under your bra cupping your breast, then brushing his thumb over your skin.
“They’re real soft,” he murmurs, concentrating on how his fingers seemed to disappear into them.
“Been a while?” You guess.
His eyes flicker to yours. “I never got to experience this — to just touch. To get to know someone so intimately.”
“Here,” you reach up and pull down the straps on your bra, then unhook from behind you and throw it on the floor. “I trust you.”
He pulls himself further up, keeping you seated on his lap whilst his hands hovered over you.
“Still okay?” He asks, and you nod.
The sensation of one hand cold and the other warm, sent your mind into overdrive with sensation. Your nipples perking up slightly in interest as his fingers squeezed.
You reach forward, humming quietly at the feel of him on you, and reach for the bottom of his top.
“May I?” You whisper.
“Please,” he removes his hands and allows you to pull it over his head. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment at the sight of him.
You had known he was well built, and big, but seeing him without a shirt felt altogether different. Large shoulders framing his chest. Curiosity breaks through, your hands drift onto his chest, brushing softly against his chest, downwards as you notice there is no six pack, only the feel of muscle with a healthy layer of fat. It felt soft, like somewhere you wished to lay your head on every night.
“You okay there, sweetheart?” He asks, eyes fixed on your every expression.
“It feels nice,” you admit.
“Don’t exactly look like I’d fit the cover on Men’s Health, do I?” His tone is joking, but you scowl at him regardless.
“Yet you probably could lift a small car with those muscles,” you say, fingers now pressing into the muscles of his arm, one hand exploring soft muscle the other tracing the plates of his arm.
“That’s what the metal arm is for,” he jokes and leans forward to press a kiss to your mouth again.
You laugh as you pull away from the peck. “Could you lift me?”
“Easily,” he admits casually.
“Very humble,” you tease him, as his fingers begin to trace your sides.
“You asked,” he smirks.
“I did,” you agree, brushing your nose against his. “I’m curious what else,” your hand roams over his metal arm. “This arm can do.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dirty.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. He laughs then, all tension removed from the moment.
”Bucky,” your voice is almost a whine.
“Breathe,” his voice turns soft. “It’s just us. You don’t have to hide anything.”
You give him a playful scowl, then shake your head.
“Are you asking me to talk dirty?” Your voice is slightly hesitant.
”Only if you want to,” his fingers made patterns on your bare sides. “Or I can…”
You feel his lips brush your cheek before speaking low in your ear. “You have no idea how hard it has been to keep our dates safe for El’s eyes. Trying to keep my eyes off you. When we first met—”
He pauses, shifting back to stare at you, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about that. I checked you out and spoke without thinking. I was as embarrassed as you were, it’s why I wished to escape, and why it took me so long to text you.”
Your arms tighten around his neck. “You’re only human.”
He lets out an awkward chuckle, licking his bottom lip anxiously. “Thanks”
You lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth, moving slowly as you press yourself against him. One hand presses against the small of your back as the other slides up to cradle the back of your neck.
You gasp as he turns, causing you to land on your back head against the pillows looking up at him.
“Had enough talking?” His voice breaks slightly.
You nod, still slightly wide eyed.
“Good,” he buries his head into your neck, inhaling through his nose as his hands moved down to your underwear.
Your own hands mirrored his, reaching to pull him free. The moment dragged, suddenly the urgency of made it feel like no matter how hard either of you tried the clothes were just not coming off.
“That was more difficult than when it was my first fucking time,” he grumbles, kicking his leg to ensure he was completely bare.
You laugh quietly and shake your head. “Come here.”
He leans down again to kiss you. Even as your lips moved with his your could feel him against you, the warmth of his skin against your chest, your hands feeling the muscles of his back.
With a groan, his hips roll over yours to allow you to feel how hard he was. Your legs lift instinctively to allow him easier access.
There were no words passed between you. Bucky only lifted himself slightly to look into your eyes as you give a tiny nod to confirm you were consenting to all of it.
A hand abruptly landed on your thigh, curling inwards before moving between your bodies reaching to grasp himself and line himself up.
“It’s been a while,” he admits. “If I do anything it hurts, or anything you don’t like. Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” your voice is breathy, almost silent from the tension of the moment.
His blue eyes stay fixed on you, reading your expression before you feel the tip of him press against you.
He moved slowly, as if he feared that moving too fast would break you in half. Yet somehow it made everything better. You gasped as you stretched around him, friction building despite your arousal and the an ache that had previously gone unnoticed seemed to soothe as he bottomed out.
You exhale slowly as he pressed his forehead against yours, the room silent other than the sound of heavy breathing.
“You okay?” His voice broke slightly at the intensity.
“Yeah,” you respond, reaching so your arms wrap around him, hands grasping his shoulders. From the corner of your eyes you see the showdown of his own arms bracing himself above you.
Bucky keeps his eyes on yours. “Keep yours eyes on me, please.”
His hips move and withdraw slightly before pushing forward gently. A moan gets caught in your throat as you feel the stretch again.
The look in his eyes is intense, focused and his jaw ticks slightly as he concentrates.
“You’re making it real hard to hold it together honey,” he voice come from between clenched teeth.
“Slower?” You suggest and he shakes his head sharply.
“That’ll kill me,” his lips twitch in amusement at the thought. “I need to move.”
You brace your feet against the softness of the bedsheet, allowing your thighs to wrap around his hips lightly.
“Then move, Bucky,” you whisper your encouragement. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
He remains still, his eyes still focusing on you.
“Trust me?”
The words seem to stir something in him, his face softens, jaw loosening and he lets out a sharp exhale as though he had been holding his breath.
In a single movement he pulls out, then in an instant he pushes back in, watching as you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
His body begins to move in rhythm, faster than the first few thrusts but enough you find yourself keeping up, attempting to sync up with him.
The room felt oddly quiet only than the soft slapping of skin and your breathy sighs of pleasure.
“Feels good,” he murmurs, and leans down brush his nose against yours. He begins to move faster, just enough that you see him groan, his mouth passing yours a moment before leaving a trail of saliva from the edge of your lips to jawline.
“Bucky,” you moan as you feel him give a hard thrust and hold it there.
“More?” He suggests, his lips at your ear.
“Please,” your eyes sting slightly as your chest tightens slightly, desperate.
He pulls himself up to hover over you. One hand grasping your thigh, pulling it up, swinging your calf over his shoulder and pressing down.
“Oh f—” you cry out as you feel him push deeper, brushing against a spot that sends a flood of warmth through you.
“There,” he inhales, taking a moment whilst his left hand brushed your side, the cool of the metal leaving tingles in its wake before slipping down between your legs. “I’ve got you.”
The headboard banged against the wall with his next thrust, your voice gets caught in your throat, lips still parted as he hits with such precision you begin to fear being overheard at the noises you suppress.
“Let it out,” he commands, tone gentle. “I wanna hear it.”
Your voice cracks slightly as a long moan escapes you. “Bucky, please—”
“Close?” He asks and you nod frantically.
It was then he leaned down to kiss you, your bodies still rocking in an attempt to sync up, your legs begin to tremble around him. The metal of his fingers brushed the swollen nub between you, forcing your apart just a moment as your back arches into him with a soft cry, before he presses himself down on you. His weight holding you in place, mouth suppressing your sounds. His fingers continue, rubbing hard against you as he snaps forward hard.
Your body clamps around him, your cries muffled by his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, as you feel him continue, the friction against your walls making your eyes roll.
Bucky kisses your deeper then, almost as through to push you further into the mattress as he presses hard against your walls before his large frame shudders, and you feel a rush of liquid alongside your own.
His forehead lays softly on top of yours, and you watch his entire face soften. His eyes are shut, lips slightly parted as he breathes deeply before letting out a quiet laugh.
“Bucky?” You whisper, his eyes flicker open. The blue piercing through you.
“That was reckless,” he chuckles, shifting his weight to prop himself on both arms. “No condom.”
“Oh,” heat rushes to your cheeks as you realise the slight faux pas. You lips part to apologise.
“Don’t apologise,” he cuts you off. “I haven’t felt like this in nearly a decade. Just doing something because it’s fun, consequences be damned.”
You swallow, fingers reaching up to brush against his cheek. “I like that.”
“Yeah, enough to do it again?” His voice is quiet, nervous.
“Now?” You suppress a smile.
“Maybe in an hour,” he shrugs. “Was thinking of a bath? Then we can sleep, get El and maybe brunch?”
“That sounds…” your eyes gaze over for a moment, consumed by domestic thoughts. Sitting in the living room, colouring with Eileen. Having Bucky laid on your lap, running your fingers through his hair. Maybe a day would pass when you’d surprise Eileen with a sibling.
“Sounds nice,” you agree.
His shifts instantly, scooping you into his arms to carry you into the bathroom. His arms tighten around you instinctively and you hear him murmur above you.
“As long you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”
author's note: thank you for reading. and thank you all again for nearly hitting 500! i am still a bit unsure on this fic, it felt like it jumps around a lot, but it was meant to be a snapshot of something more realistic.
𝒹𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸 ! 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓎 who smacks ur ass a little too hard while ur standing at the stove cooking a meal for the both of you, savoring that stunned, half annoyed half prudish expression on ur little face
domestic soldier boy who thanks you for starching his jeans “real nice and good” by bending you over the washer the next time ur loading the laundry in. his hands grip ur hips tight after lifting ur skirt, grinding his thick cock against ur ass as he groans in ur ear.
domestic soldier boy who buys u little sets of delicate lingerie for your birthday and holidays, just for him to shove the soft fabrics out of the way when he’s got his cock buried in u. ur folded in half beneath him on the bed, taking each thrust with little girlish uh, uh, uhs that makes him grin.
domestic soldier boy who occasionally makes you kneel under the desk in his study, his leaking dick in ur mouth as he signs off at monthly bills. because he refuses to have shit automated, much less digitally. you brush ur tongue flat against his cockhead, lazily stroking the untended inches. and when he’s about to cum, he grabs your hair in his fist and shoves you down until u gag, ur nose buried in his pubes as he shoots thick ropes of hot cum down ur throat- and u have no choice but to swallow.
domestic soldier boy who holds u flush against his chest, his boner pressed against your back. one hand grips ur tit, infrequently pinching your nipple through your shirt as his arm holds u in place with no escape. his fingers plunge inside your tight cunt, switching between quick little juts and slow, steady up and down thrusts that absolutely should not have happened before he’s obligated to head out.
and you already know what his face will twist into if u ask him about washing his hands after u cum, crying out, clenching ur fists and eyes shut: positively offended and confused. he’d let you go, smirking as your legs wobble, and he’d kiss your forehead before leaving, keeping the smell of u on his fingers all day as a sweet reminder.
a/n: genuinely why is it so much easier for me to write for homelander than soldier boy. and the gag is i want to write so much for him. idk. hope u enjoy i havent watched the finale yet i will the day this gets posted with my friends and i’ll definitely have stuff to say. love yall gn
✧･ﾟ:there are two versions of Ben. The one before you, and the one after. If you had just been another hookup, aftercare would’ve been nothing. Maybe an offer for a joint and a pat on the leg for a job well done, but then he’d be gone. After you, it’s different. Everything’s different. You wormed your way under his skin and made him feel things, good things, good, disgusting things like love, and he’s turned into something a little north of soft. He’s still Ben, but the sharper edges have dulled, and ice around his old heart has thawed, and his hands are learning how to do things that just for you. He won’t coddle you, but he cleans up between your thighs, gives you a rough assessment for anything dumb and soft—if you’re extra braindead, which happens a lot, he’ll carry you to the bathroom without a word—and lies at your side. The joint still gets smoked, but now you’re tucked against his chest. Safe and warm, and his.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
✧･ﾟ:his cock. He says it with smug triumph and not a second of hesitation. It’s his favorite part, your favorite part—if he’s the one in charge of deciding that—and overall just a gift to humanity all around. If you push him a little on it and demand something besides his cock, he’ll roll his eyes and say his balls. If you push a little deeper—which only you can do—you get the truth. He loves his chest. Yeah he’s got a bomb in there, but you love the warmth, and he loves covering you completely, just a sweet little ball beneath him. He’d keep you there all the time like a sex kangaroo if you let him. He tells you that, and you smack him, and he laughs. He’d say his favorite part of you is your pussy, but with a raised brow he’d admit it’s your mouth. It gets real sassy when you’re confident, and drools his name just right, when you’re stuffed up with his cock.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
✧･ﾟ:he gets possessive with it. He’ll never admit to it—he won’t admit to anything—but after he cums inside of you, he’s going to make sure it gets in there, nice and deep, and then he’ll smear it everywhere else he can. Over your thighs and on your tummy, up to your tits and down your ass, anywhere he can see himself shining on your pretty body. A lot of times he cums hard enough that he can fill you up until you’re moaning, and still have plenty left to shoot onto your back or breasts. Just how he likes.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Most of Ben’s dirty secrets aren’t exactly… secret. He’s tried to fuck you in front of the team multiple times, he always tells you to moan his name loud enough that they’ll hear, and if he can get away with it he’ll make you walk around with his cum dripping out of your cunt. He proudly declared that you gave him your panties to keep, and tell you like it’s romantic that he only jerks off to the thought of you now. If anything, the deepest secret he holds is that he does find it romantic. That he’s capable of that now, with you, and he wants nothing more than to just… be near you. Without sex. To love and touch you like some boring, normal pussy. Maybe a little sex. He’ll probably be able to talk you into it.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Body count rivaling Genghis Khan. He got around in his day, and it’s taught him to know every body almost like he knows his own. You have to give him a rule, that he’s not allowed to say that he did this position with Princess Diana, because you don’t really want to hear it. You just want to see him do the position. He rolls his eyes and calls you a brat, and you smile and say he loves it, and damn him, he does. He loves that he got all that experience, too. Real easy for you to benefit, from all that hard work.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Ben can brag about his past and throw around your panties all he wants, you always get to know the truth. That at the end of it, he’s just a romantic old man who wants to do missionary. He likes being fully wrapped around you, likes how easy it is to manhandle you, like how your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his bicep as you get the air fucked straight out of you. He likes that he can kiss you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and that he can push your knees to your chest and turn it into a mating press, giving him easy access to your swollen, sensitive clit. You only tease him about it a little. The sex is too good to do anything else.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He’s more serious with you, than he ever was with anyone else. Especially at the start, when this was something that mattered, and he’d never had that, and for the first time in a hundred years there was a fist in his gut that was trying to hold onto something. That clenched hard enough to make him sick, that made him paranoid and tense, because what if he lost you. He fucked you like it was a job. Like that would prove his dedication to this, to you, without him having to say it. Over time, he relaxed. Jokes get cracked, and the teasing gets insatiable, and you can’t go a day without something suggestive that makes you laugh, then moan as his hand presses between your thighs.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Ben didn’t bother grooming until you. His actions and face and body spoke for themselves. Whatever was going on down there was what you got, and you’d better be fucking happy with it. And you were. You are. But he saw you taking care of your bush and got curious what the fuck you were doing, and you explained that it was still hair, it needed to be washed, and now he does that for you, then makes you clean him. He gets cocky, his hand in your hair as you lean down, and doesn’t bother to stop himself from getting hard while you touch him. It usually ends with you pressed against shower tiles. You never complain about that either.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He’ll deny it to the ends of the earth and over God’s ballsack, but he’s more romantic than you would’ve ever guessed. Once he learns what that strange, warm feeling he got when he looked at you was, he’s committed to it. It’s annoying, but nice, and he really fucking loves nice things. Just like he loves you. And there’s nothing better than whispering that against your skin, or fucking you nice and slow and loving until you’re sobbing, then making you admit that you love him back.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
If it was a sport, he’d take gold. And silver, and bronze. If someone were to take a blacklight to his bedroom it would look like a crime scene, especially before you got together. He doesn’t deny himself, ever, and that meant stomping away at seemingly random points during the day, just to jerk himself off and moan your name to the walls. Once he did it in a Chili’s bathroom, just because you smiled at him. Not his best moment, but real far from his fucking worst. And you deserve to be worshipped like that, enough that he can’t even control himself. He counts it as romantic, and you never admit it, but you kind of think it is too.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Ben walks a fine line between an exhibitionist and overly possessive. He marks your neck up with hickies and parades you around like his most prized thing, but gets narrow eyed and rigid when people watch for too long. He wants you to scream his name loud enough for everyone to hear, but clenches his jaw at the idea of fucking where someone might actually walk in and see you naked. He records a video of you and puts it in a safe. Fucks you in a bathroom with the door locked, puts you in his shirt and nothing else, but barks at anyone who’s gaze lingers on your legs. You’re his to worship and adore, not some other nosy fucking pussy’s.
He’s only a fucking man. A man who wants things he won’t talk about, like kids and a simple fucking life. If he could he’d knock you up for the rest of your fucking lives, keep your tits swollen and belly round with his kid. Making them is the fun part, breeding you like you’re begging for it—and you are—and then a few times after to make sure it sticks. Then you get all glowy and gorgeous, beaming and fucking Ben’s. Everyone knows it, from that swell of your stomach, and you get so horny you give him a run for his damn money. Perfect.
Pet names are cute, but detached before you. Doll for most women, sweetheart if he’s trying to piss them off, and not much else. But you, you get kid and darling and babydoll and pretty girl falling from his lips without thought. And then there’s the shit you call him. Benjamin when he’s in trouble—which is fucking hot—and Benny when you’re extra fucking needy. If you’re desperate enough he gets sir, and if he fucks you just right, he can pull a daddy from your swollen lips. You flush and get embarrassed and deny it later, but he knows what he fucking heard. And he’s going to get you to say it again.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
As much as Ben loves the bed, or the shower, or the table or the counter or the floor or the dresser, there’s something about the wall and the couch that make him feral. If he’s got you against the wall, he can pin you with your hands over your head and his arm cradling you against him, and he gets to make your whole body bounce with every thrust. Maybe he can even drag you off the wall, and just fuck you standing in the center of the room, his arms the only thing keeping you up right. On the other side of that is the couch. Bending you over it and smacking your ass, pushing you down until you’re limp and dangling forward, stupid moans falling from your lips as he fucks you dumb and pretty. Completely at his mercy, and happy about it.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
It would be quicker to list the things that don’t get him going. Sometimes it’s the way you said a word, a look you gaze him, the way you squeezed his hands or glared at him all hot, and now he needs to be inside of you or he’s going to go fucking insane. Once you screamed about a spider, he killed it, and suddenly you were being fucked into the sofa. More times than you can count he just wants to. No foreplay or real motivation besides seeing you, and deciding you really needed a good fuck.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He makes the list clear, when you get together. He’s tried damn near everything, and he won’t be pissing, shitting, or getting cucked. You can get on top, but he’s in control. You can try and tie him up, but he’s just going to break out of it and fuck you like you deserve. Giving up control isn’t really something he knows how to do, let alone tolerate after Russia. He spent too long in a box, and he’s not fucking letting anyone get one over on him again. You tell him that’s shell-shock. He rolls his eyes and tells you to hire a shrink about it. You do, because you’re the only one who can get away with it. You might be able to get away with anything, around him. He likes finding out.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Of course he prefers fucking receiving, he told you once. Getting a girl with nice lips and a warm mouth around him, fucking her face until she’s choking and still begging for more, nothing fucking better. Of course, your mouth is another story. Almost brings him to his fucking knees, when you get going. He’s broken the kitchen counter three times, to the point that you just leave it wrecked and tell him to grab there. And then he gets between your legs, and works out how all those men he thought were pussies could get off on just this. Tastes like fucking Heaven, gets you gushing and screaming and squirming for him, opens you up like nothing fucking else. You get caught in his beard and he refuses to wash it out. You cum on his face and he rolls on his back, pinning you down until your body gives out and you fold over him like a toy, trembling with the pleasure he’s devoured out of you.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
There aren’t many ways Ben doesn’t like it, but slow and rough is always going to take the cake. Pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back in, watching your eyes roll back and hearing that perfect little whine. You milk his cock whenever he drives against your g-spot and beg him to go faster, but he holds the pace. Not like there’s much you can do about it, limp and mindless under him. Eventually he’ll take mercy and start to fuck you like you’ve earned, the brutal pace turning into micro thrusts when he falls over the edge with a groan.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
You have to limit him. There are too many times where he’s pulled you into a closet or dragged you off to bed with guests over, just to pull one more out of your greedy little pussy. And you know you’re always going to let him, even when he shouldn’t. Three a day, you tell him, but that quickly becomes four, then five, then six, and then you give up all together. It’s as if he gets energy fucking you. It’s almost scientifically amazing, and it feels like fucking heaven, so there are worse quirks for a boyfriend to have.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
There isn’t something Ben hasn’t done. If risks are being taken, it’s you, trusting him when he says he’s got some shit you’ll like. You believe him—he’s good at knowing about that, and it would scare you how good he was if it wasn’t deeply helpful—and trust him, because he’s your Ben. He’d never hurt you. One time, you do try to suggest something he might not have done, and he laughs in your face and calls you cute. He’s been slinging cock like a gun before your grandparents were alive. You tell him he’s never allowed to say slinging cock again.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Once, you made a bet with him that you could take it until he was out. It was one of the best and worst choices of your life. He came about thirty times, you came so much you stopped counting—and can’t even remember what number made you give up—and it only ended because Ben started to get worried that you would go into sex hibernation. You told him that wasn’t a thing, and tried to tease him that he was just out. He’d been rock hard when he stopped. You have a feeling that he could’ve done that all over again ten times and still be ready for round one thousand, but he let you have the win. It’s the only kind you have, in the sheets.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
At first, he’s offended by the idea that a fucking robot could get you off better than he could. He still is a little offended. If you use your vibrator, he also gets a shot at it, to remind you which is better at knowing you and your body. But then you show him remote control vibrators, and he turns into a monster. He shoves it into your hand and orders you to put it in, and when you laugh you end up pinned to the mattress and kissed everywhere while he slides it in himself. Ben becomes obsessed with it. Making you glare at him while your thighs shake, smelling your arousal, knowing that you’re probably going to climb him like a fucking tree the second you’re alone. Maybe before, if he does this shit right.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Ben has a talent. A gift, even, and it’s going to ruin your fucking life. He thinks of working you up like a sport, trying to you right up to the edge of screaming before he pulls you into his lap and makes you fall apart with a single, light touch. It’s even more fun then, because you’re sensitive after you cum. And that’s just how Ben fucking likes you. Wet and needy and sensitive, all his to ruin however he likes. You thank him after, and he feels about a million feet fucking tall.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He doesn’t see any point in trying to keep quiet. Sex is meant to be loud and raw. Skin slapping on skin, hands grabbing and moans being forced out of your throat for him to swallow. He dirty talks you loud enough for it to be heard through the walls, and groans you name loud enough to be heard from space. He’s proud of it. The way you get all turned on by his moaning, then adorably embarrassed when the team tells you they could hear .
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Ben really fucking loves cock warming. Sitting you on his lap for no reason at all, burying himself in your hot little cunt, and just keeping you there until he’s had his fill. You get so fucking whiny and gorgeous, calling him names when he won’t move and then pleading and sweet talking him when that shit doesn’t work. He gets drunk on it, how you flutter and pulse around his rock hard cock, looking at him with those glossy eyes and whimpering his name. Sometimes he shoves a book into your hands and makes you read it, because you’re always trying to get him to fucking read. When you’re gasping for air and leaking down his thighs, he’ll give in and fuck you. Then, the next week, he’ll do it all fucking over again.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Horsecock. World ending. Tree trunk thick and uncut. Next question.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Of Ben’s many experiments on your body, one of your favorite quickly grows to be somnophilia, simply because he’s a fucking dog. You know he has self control, and he’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to, but he gets twitchy when he’s been pent up too long. And for Ben, too long is about twelve hours. You could give him a whole night before you went on a work trip, and he’d spam call you until you landed and picked up, demanding that you come back now. He’d spend the rest of his life fucking you, if he was allowed. Sometimes he tries to talk you into that, and you flush, because you’d be more “up for it” than you want to admit.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Ben doesn’t sleep much, after Russia. Been asleep too fucking long, he grunts, and you don’t push. But you notice—like you always do—that the rule doesn’t really apply to you. You wake up in the middle of the night, still where you passed out. Held against his chest like a child’s blanket, cradled like a baby bird, both of you bare as the day you were born and completely at peace. His lips brushing your brow and breathing steady. It’s beautiful to see. Almost sacred. You brush the hair from his eyes and kiss his nose. His eyes flutter sometimes, and you just stare at each other in the dark. You press your chin to his chest, and his mouth twitches into something like a smile. You both fall back asleep, and don’t speak of it in the morning. But—just like always—it will happen again.
✦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on aO3✦
✦Author's Note: i need him in a way that's concerning to feminism✦
Working Out: Dex coming home horned up after a workout.
The Whetstone: Dex kills someone for you. You deal with it.
A Bet: A handsome stranger makes a bet with you, and you're the prize.
Wet Spots Guide: Pure smut with Dex.
Only A Touch From You Will Do: Dex always counts down the minutes until he’s home again. Until he can breathe again. Until he’s back in your arms again.
Are You Okay: Dex’s girl fails to text him and sends him into a spiralling mess. Turns out she’s just sick.
Intrusive Thoughts: A bit of Dex's sadism shows through despite his best efforts.
The Offer: Due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
Cry For Me: Edging Dex until he breaks LETS GOOOOO
Bad Idea: You wake up one night to a familiar knocking on your window.
I Can See You: You should’ve known Dex would have unusual ways of keeping an eye on you.
Just A Joke, Right: You ragebait Dex for fun.
Pretty Privilege: The start of your and Dex’s relationship.
Jealous Type: When you and your boyfriend went to the bar, he couldn’t help but notice someone staring at you causing him to be a little Jealous.
Stay: You’re about to head to an event when Dex physically blocks the doorway, leaning on the frame trying to coax you back into bed.
Times Dex whimpers: Pretty self- explanatory
Random One-shots
Dex is a munch
Benjamin Poindexter is big, needy, and pathetic
Benjamin Poindexter as your boyfriend
Dex who will absolutely perish if he doesn’t eat you out
Jealous FBI Dex
Dex can't get it up
Making up with Dex after an argument
Dex using his accuracy but for cute things
while everyone else mistakes your quietness for disinterest, dex catches the tiny things - the way you lower your eyes when someone compliments you, how you linger just outside conversations before slipping away, how your voice gets softer when you’re nervous.
he secretly loves being the only person who gets to hear your real laugh. around other people it’s quiet, always hidden behind your hand, but when you’re alone with him it slips out freely. every single time it happens, he pauses for just a second, watching you with the smallest, barely noticeable smile.
“…there it is,” he murmurs.
your shyness makes you hesitant to ask for affection, which means dex learns to read you instead. he’ll notice you hovering nearby while pretending to look at something else, the tiny glances you keep stealing at him, the way your fingers fidget with your sleeves. without a word, he’ll open one arm. you shuffle over almost immediately, resting against his side. “…better?” he asks. you nod into his shoulder. “mhm.”
he finds your tendency to hide behind him endearing. crowded streets, loud environments, unfamiliar people - you’ll unconsciously drift until you’re standing just behind his shoulder. after a while, he starts shifting slightly to make room without even thinking about it.
because you’re so reserved, every little sign of affection from you means everything to him. if you reach for his hand first, if you lean your head on his shoulder without being prompted, if you quietly mumble, “I missed you,” when he comes home - it stays with him for days. he doesn’t react in the moment, but later that night he’ll pull you just a little closer while the two of you lie in bed, silently replaying those moments in his mind.
your shyness means you’re constantly apologizing for taking up space. dex hates it. every time you murmur, “sorry,” for something insignificant, he gently interrupts. “don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” eventually he starts placing a finger beneath your chin whenever you apologize unnecessarily, making you look at him until you smile instead.
dex has spent most of his life hiding every genuine emotion he has. you wear yours all over your face without realizing it. he knows exactly when you’re excited because your eyes brighten before you even smile. he knows when you’re anxious because you start twisting your rings. he knows when you’re trying not to cry because your lips press together just a little tighter.
“I can hear you thinking.” he says.
“…how do you know?”
“because I know you.”
one of the first things dex notices is that you instinctively make yourself smaller. when a waiter accidentally gets your order wrong, you smile and say it’s fine. when someone interrupts you, you simply stop talking. it bothers him more than he’d ever admit. after watching it happen one too many times, he starts speaking before you can. “she ordered the tea, not coffee.” his voice is calm, almost detached.
you glance up at him, surprised. afterward, you mumble, "dex, you didn’t have to.”
he looks at you for a second. “I wanted to.”
he loves when you hide your face in his chest after he compliments you. at first he thinks you’re embarrassed. then he realizes you’re smiling too much to look at him. from then on, he starts whispering compliments just to feel you curl into him. “you’re beautiful.” you let out the tiniest groan, face disappearing into his jacket. he rests his chin on your head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
there are times when your quiet nature worries him. after everything he’s experienced, silence can make his thoughts spiral. if you spend too long lost in your own head, he’ll glance over more often than he’d like to admit. “you okay?” he’ll ask. every single time you smile softly and answer, “just thinking.” only then does the tension leave his shoulders.
he never tries to change your personality. if anything, he protects it. he knows the world constantly expects louder, bolder people, but he likes that you’re soft. likes that your words are carefully chosen instead of rushed. likes that your kindness isn’t performative. one night, when you apologize for “being too quiet,” he looks at you for a long moment before gently taking your hand. his fingers intertwine with yours. “it’s one of my favorite things about you.”
you’re soft in every way he isn’t. where his voice is blunt, yours is hesitant. where his gaze is intense, yours is quick to drop. when strangers make eye contact, you smile politely. dex studies them until they look away first. the funny part is that you balance each other perfectly. people approach you because you seem approachable. they leave you alone because they eventually notice who’s standing beside you.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦
It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.
But he’s everywhere.
There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.
Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.
That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.
“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”
You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”
“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“
“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”
Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not-“
“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.
“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.
“Congratulations.”
You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-
Get a fucking grip.
“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.
You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.
It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.
You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.
Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.
The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.
“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.
Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.
You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your job?”
“It’s not my job-“
“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
“Have you been carrying that around all day?”
“That doesn’t matter-“
“Yes, it really does-“
Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“
“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“
“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“
“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”
“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.
But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.
“Why’re you skipping.”
You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.
“I have a date.”
“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.
Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.
“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”
“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.
“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“
The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
“What’s-“
“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.
“No, he’s not-“
“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”
Then he’s gone.
And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.
You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.
“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.
You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.
At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.
“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”
He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.
The mission is over.
Two days early.
Your jaw tightens.
Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.
Something went wrong, and they have to come back.
You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But they’re back early.
And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all.
You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just… Finish early.
You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.
Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.
“You need to go, Buck-“
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“
“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
“Hi.” You whisper.
His throat bobs. “You’re back.”
“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“
“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.
He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.
“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“
“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”
Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.
“How was your date?” He grunts.
“Bucky-“
“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.
The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.
You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”
And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.
But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.
“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”
Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.
Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.
Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.
“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.
You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.
“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.
That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.
You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.
Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehow—just barely—fight it.
“Why can’t I access these files.”
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.
“Barnes-“
“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”
You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“
“Steve should change that.”
God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”
Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”
You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.
Instead, you find Bucky.
He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.
You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.
“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
“You want hot chocolate?”
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.
His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.
Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”
You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.
But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.
That he wants to be here.
Near you.
He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.
Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.
It’s almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.
But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.
You feel almost sick.
It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.
His fever is building again.
You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.
When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.
You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘
But it is Bucky.
And he’s never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.
“Hi.” You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“
“Bucky, are you-“
“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.
“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“
“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
“Bucky-“
“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”
You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.
But you do go right to Steve.
“What happened on the mission.”
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.
“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“
“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’
“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“
“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”
You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”
Steve sighs. “Is it you?”
“Yep.”
He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“
“I really don’t care.”
“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.
“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“
“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
“No, you just won’t tell me-“
“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“
“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“
“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”
“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.
“I know how it sounds-“
“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“
“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole.
“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Steve-“
“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”
Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“
You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.
And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”
You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”
You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.
But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.
“What are the symptoms?”
Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”
“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”
“But- Bucky-“
“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”
“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”
Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”
“Before or after the mating?”
Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“
“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”
“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
“What-“
“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
“Steve-“
“I didn’t say anything-“
“Yes, you did-“
“Nope.”
You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”
Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.
“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.
After you fix this for him.
If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.
Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesn’t turn you down…
You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
“Fuck off, Stevie-“
“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response.
Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.
He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.
His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.
You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
“You shouldn’t be here-“
“Steve said you need me.”
You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.
“I- I made him.”
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”
“I was worried about you-“
“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“
“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“
“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”
He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.
“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“
“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“
“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.
“Who says?”
“You’re an ass to me-“
“You’re an ass to me.”
“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.
“Me neither.”
You nod. “But…”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.
Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.
You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.
“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”
And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.
But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didn’t know you could want him more.
“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”
For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.
Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
“You- You got no idea, do you?”
Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“
“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.
“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.
“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”
“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.
“Didn’t you?”
You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Bet I imagined more.”
And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.
You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”
You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.
“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”
Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.
You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.
“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.
“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“
He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.
Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.
You can’t have that.
“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
“How?”
“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.
“You think this is funny?” He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”
He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.
“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“
“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“
Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.
There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.
A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.
Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.
“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.
You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.
“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.
“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”
You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.
Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.
“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.
You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.
“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”
And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.
So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.
Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.
“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”
You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.
“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.
Permission to go further.
His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.
“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.
A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“
“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“
His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.
Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.
“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.
“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.
He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.
Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.
You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.
“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“
“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“
He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.
And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.
“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.
Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.
He’s jerking off while he eats you out. He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.
Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.
“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“
Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.
You don’t want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.
“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles
“Good girl.” He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.
“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.
“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But you’re at an advantage.
Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.
You want him to give in.
So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.
Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.
“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”
You almost beam. Yes, please.
Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.
He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”
If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.
But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.
The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.
“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.
He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.
You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.
Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.
“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.
He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.
“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“
“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“
Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.
And he’s not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.
You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.
He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.
You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.
Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.
You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
They’re blue again.
“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
“I’m back.”
You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.
You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.
He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.
God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-
Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.
He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-
“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”
Oh.
Or that. That’s nice.
You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.
Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.
“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.
“Yeah. I’m staying.”
✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
Your lives have always moved in parallel: close enough to touch, yet separated by an irreconcilable distance. Bucky is a prince and you are his sister's lady-in-waiting. But love ignores rank, and so does the kingdom's newest desire-inducing substance.
▸ PAIRING: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, dubcon because of sex pollen, so much yearning, slight hurt/comfort, public sex, porn with too much plot tbh, possessive!bucky, degradation, filthy talk that border on dubcon but know that she wants to be there as much as him, breeding kink, insecurities, both virgins, bucky is nasty and a lil mean under the influence, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies
▸ WORD COUNT: 16.1K
▸ A/N: "this will be a short pwp," i say, famous last words. thank you so much to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for organizing this collab. dedicated to @artficlly in honor of pursuit of jade episode 37 iykyk — i'm gifting you the sex pollen by the stream that we never got <3 hope you enjoy this baby of mine. if you do, please let me know your thoughts (even if they are incoherent) through reblogs, comments, and likes!!
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Princes James Buchanan Barnes has everything he could ever want. A palace fit for the king that he will eventually become. Mountains of jewels that shine brighter than the sun and all the stars combined. Bespoke dress uniforms made from the finest fabrics, adorned with elegant aiguillettes and medals of his valor in battles fought and won. Countless women and men alike throwing themselves at his feet for the opportunity of him even sparing them the briefest of glances.
But the only one he truly wants, the only person he truly wishes to hold, is the one thing he cannot have — and it’s you.
You’ve been destined to become Princess Becca’s helper since you were born. Your mother had served the family for two generations; you were born in the palace, raised in the hustle and bustle of the castle with all the live-in staff. You spent years refining your cooking skills in the kitchen that seemed to function twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, decades toiling away in the garden with the landscaper to take care of the queen’s prized roses, and occasionally sneaking into the palace library for a quick novel or two when your mother took her eyes off you.
It was a natural pathway for someone who wasn’t born to nobility yet was constantly surrounded by it.
Fortunately, growing up in this kingdom that is governed with kindness and compassion means that there are paths to advancement that you never anticipated, mainly becoming Becca’s lady-in-waiting. The two of you had been raised together, joint at the hip, to the point where you may not even distinguish which of you is the real princess. The king and queen had welcomed you as if you were one of their own.
Of course, you know that it’s far from the truth. Despite their accommodations and generosity, you’ve always known your place in society. There is a reason why Becca is the one covered in silver and gold, while you’re handstitching the holes in your clothes. She’s seated at a table for twelve with a wide array of dishes and pastries all created to her liking, while you join your fellow staff members for a family meal, cramped together in a table meant for half of you.
You’ve always drawn that line, regardless of how many times Becca tries to cross it.
“Come now, you must come with me to Viscountess Romanoff’s ball!” She huffs, stomping her feet as she always does when she does not get what she wants.
You let out a sigh and Becca’s face falls as she prepares herself for your disappointing response. “Princess—” she glares and you bite your tongue, “Becca, that is not my place.”
“Of course, it is! Many ladies-in-waiting go to these balls.”
“Ladies-in-waiting that were born into nobility,” you correct her with a look.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re my lady-in-waiting and I need you there to— to— fix my dress!”
You know it isn’t true — well, it is only true to the extent that Becca may become ridiculously inebriated and has to be stowed away before she can go as far as risk the royal family’s reputation, and you somehow have become the most reliable person for those circumstances.
However, there are many there that will surely keep her on her toes — literally, including her brother.
“Did you hear that? She needs you to fix her dress. You simply have to attend now.”
The interruption brings both of your attention to the door where Bucky is leaning against the doorway, a smirk curled on his lips. His eyes skip past Becca and land on you and — heaven almighty.
He drinks you in, you in your simple gown, yet his sapphire eyes warm all the same. They darken like the evening has arrived far too early and the moon is nowhere in sight. His smile dims slightly, if only for him to clamp down on the inappropriate sound that climbs up his throat.
Bucky has never been good at subtlety.
You drag your eyes away and back to the lady that you’re supposed to be waiting on. The lady who is currently huffing and puffing as she plops down on the sofa with a scowl. “Will you please convince her to come, Buck?”
He steps further into the room. The air is a little heavier, like his presence has sucked all the oxygen out of the space — but only for you. Your fingers twist quietly together in front of you as you force yourself to stand upright, force yourself to keep looking ahead when his arm brushes yours — an inappropriate proximity for a prince and a member of the staff.
Discreetly, you take one step to the side, just enough to put distance that allows you room to breathe, lest you risk Becca suspecting something transpiring between the two of you.
“You should come,” Bucky murmurs. His gaze is warm on your cheek. His blue eyes no doubt soft as they take you in.
You resist and instead address Becca. “That would be unacceptable, Pr— Becca. Please. The crown prince will be in attendance and the viscountess’ staff are more than capable. I’ve met many of them and you will be in good hands.”
“Well, the crown prince would appreciate his ability to drink the viscountess’ liquor supply for the night without worrying about whether his dear sister can control her alcohol,” Bucky chimes in, which earns a roll of the eyes from Becca.
“I can control my drinking, Bucky. Can you control your deviant desires in the presence of all the other women in the ton?”
Your heart skips a beat. A little nick in your chest to draw blood. You can practically hear the smile wipe off Bucky’s face, his face red as he grits his teeth. “You know that’s not true, sister dear. I’ve never once laid a hand on them.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t try,” Becca shoots right back.
Another scratch, enough to peel back another layer to your bleeding heart.
It shouldn’t — doesn’t — matter. There has never been anything between you and Bucky. He is the crown prince and you were born to be a lady’s maid at best; it was only the queen’s philanthropy and Becca’s friendship that you were granted this promotion.
Bucky is meant to marry a princess from another kingdom, or at the least someone born to a proper, respectable family with titles.
Neither of which is you.
“Rebecca Marie Barnes.” Bucky’s voice is sharp; it slices through the air and straight towards Becca whose face goes cold the moment it lands.
Becca’s lips purse in annoyance. “I’m going to look for a dress for tonight.” Then she’s lifting her dress and stomping away.
You make a move to follow, only for Bucky to swiftly take your hand. You don’t turn. Bucky forces you to when he tugs you towards him, spinning you around so you land against his chest. You’re quick to flatten your palm on it to push yourself away, but instead, he catches your hand and presses it over his heart.
“It’s not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve never once shown any of them any interest.”
Don’t cry. You’d be a fool to cry over a prince. You steel your gaze as you look up at him. “It would be in your right to do so. A crown prince is meant to take a wife.”
Irritation flickers across his eyes. “There’s only one woman I wish to take as a wife but she seems to deny me that right at every turn. What say you to that?”
“A crown prince is meant to take a proper wife. One fit for the ton.”
“I don’t give a damn about the ton.”
“Bucky!” The chiding comes out on instinct, his name sliding on your tongue like water. Habit — one that you should’ve curbed a long time ago if it weren’t for the two of them always insisting that you call them by their names.
Bucky’s face thaws, mouth curving into a delighted smile. You try to extract yourself from his grasp again but fail to do so when he ducks his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shiver snakes up your spine as he drags you closer to him. “I love when you say my name. I’d love it even more if you called me your husband.”
Your traitorous heart slams against your ribs. Foolish desires plague your very being. It’s been decades since you were first introduced to Bucky, ten years since you first defended Becca against Bucky’s teasing, and far too long since you first fell for the crown prince.
It’s not as if your feelings are not reciprocated; Bucky has made it clear from the start that he adores you dearly. Adores you in a way that is far from acceptable for a prince. But your mother has reminded you time and time again that, no matter how intimately acquainted you are with them, you will never be one of them.
And Bucky deserves a partner — an equal. Someone who can stand tall and proud beside him without the risk of gossip and mockery. You would only give him grief and he would certainly bore of you in the future once the thrill of the chase is done.
So you exert more effort this time to push him away. “Prince Barnes, I must ask you to maintain some semblance of decorum. If you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to the princess.” You do a small curtsy, ignoring the flash of pain in his eyes as you walk away.
This is how it’s supposed to be. This has always been your fate.
“You have to try this on. Please? For me?”
It begins as an innocent enough request. Becca was in the midst of selecting her gown for the evening and that meant that you were right by her side, providing her with the necessary words of affirmation for her to make a decision.
These are the most challenging questions that royalty have to deal with. Sometimes you dream of living such a comfortable life, pampered daily with the sweetest of treats and lavishing yourself with the praise of society. However, you know that things aren’t so simple. There are restrictions that come with being part of this family.
You saw firsthand how many classes Becca had to take as part of her education — in addition to the typical academic courses, she had to spend hours learning proper etiquette, how to sew, how to play a musical instrument, how to entertain and host a gathering. They had to prepare her for her future as a wife. While options are limited for women in society, they are practically a straight-line path for a princess who is not in line for the throne.
Her career, her future, her partner — everything is almost pre-destined.
One day, Becca will marry someone. While she dreams of a happily ever after, she also understands the political nature of matrimony. To maintain power, you have to seek power. She may not be here a few years from now when she’s officially married off to extend her father’s reign. Her parents have insisted that they would never force her to marry, but Becca has always had a strong sense of responsibility.
You both admire and hold sympathy for her.
Unfortunately, in this very moment, you would like to push her out of the carriage so you too could make your escape. Somehow, she has managed to rope you into going to the ball — in one of her dresses.
“This is completely inappropriate,” you hiss. “I should not be here.”
“I want you here.”
“Becca,” you exhale deeply, “if your parents knew about this.”
“It’s a masquerade ball! Nobody will know.”
“I’m coming with you! I fear that makes it quite obvious.”
“I’ll tell them you’re one of our very distant cousins — one from a land far, far away.”
You pinch your nose as the carriage rattles, the silk of your glove glides along your skin. Pulling your hand away, you can’t help but look at the delicate fabric on your skin.
When you first tried the clothes on, you could hardly believe your eyes. You didn’t even look like… you. Gone were your well-worn gowns. The tightness of the corset has you a little breathless, but the dress adorned with intricate sequins and embroidery sliding over your body like water. The silver shimmers underneath the moonlight that spills past the curtains of the carriage, white camellias sewn in a river down your shoulder to your waist.
You reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear, only for your fingers to brush over the diamond necklace that Becca has so thoughtfully loaned you. The gems catch light, winking at you as if they’re letting you in on a secret. Then your fingers catch on your mask, a combination of beads and lace trimming, the same flowers framing the corners of your eyes.
In all your life, you could never have even dared to dream of wearing such things. You never imagined that you would be swimming in such luxury.
If your mother could see you now, she would absolutely murder you. She would bury you six feet under before the royal guards could even get to you.
You know that neither the queen nor king would mind, but what would the rest of them think if they knew? What if they found out that you were no more than a girl born into somewhat fortunate circumstances? That your blood was redder than most of them. Common.
A hand lands atop yours. Becca peeks at you with a nervous smile. “Hey, it’ll be fun. You’ve never been to one of these. Please try to enjoy yourself. I promise that nobody will say a thing.”
“What if I stand out? What if they know that I don’t fit in with the rest of them?” You whisper.
Becca squeezes your hand. “If you stand out, it’s because you look far more beautiful than the rest of them. If you stand out, it’s because they are looking at you with envy. You could’ve easily been the diamond of the season.”
Warmth creeps up your neck as the carriage pulls to a stop. You can already hear the music filtering through the entrance; the sound mingles with the fast rhythm of your heartbeat in a symphony that echoes through your mind.
“Showtime,” she beams.
Now, as someone who has been directly involved in the planning, decorating, and organizing of the extravaganzas, you’ve seen your fair share of ridiculously opulent displays. The palace is, after all, renowned for hosting the grandest of balls, bringing together only the who’s who of society. The guest list is selective, both for security and exclusivity reasons. It is the most sought-after invitation of the season. So when you walk into the viscountess’ home, you didn’t think you would be impressed.
However, you have never been happier to be proven wrong. Every inch of this place has been meticulously swathed in a color scheme perfect for the summer. Florals in every shade of the sunset draped across banisters, hanging over the staircase leading down to the dance floor, and standing tall in structures that do not look humanly possible.
Butlers and maids dressed head to toe in fine fabrics float around the room carrying hors d'oeuvres that look more like miniature works of art. Macarons that match the colors of the flower arrangements, tarts with crusts that crumble perfectly on your tongue, bonbons in perfect spheres dusted in cocoa, and fruits plucked from the vines at their ripest, sweetest point.
The stars twinkle above you to complement the tiny candles that string across the railings to illuminate the room, only outshone by the chandeliers with flickering flames hanging above you. Guests in their Sunday bests drift around the room in excited chatter, spreading the newest gossip that will surely make the papers by morning.
Heads turn as you and Becca enter the room and, before you can duck behind her, she’s linking her arm through yours and pulling you forward into the crowd.
“Becca—”
“Breathe, this will be fun. Enjoy the treats and the wine. The viscountess has exceptional taste, she has gathered the best chefs in the kingdom in her kitchen. Mother simply adores visiting her for tea for the food alone.”
Becca walks through the room with the confidence of someone who owns it. Everyone knows her as the princess even hidden behind the mask, murmurs of awe rippling across the crowd. The men pay particularly close attention, eager to get hers. The women speak of her in resentful admiration.
Becca — the belle of the ball. You, her companion.
“They’re looking at you,” she giggles quietly in your ear.
“No, they’re looking at you, Princess.”
“I’ve been in enough of these rooms to know when people are looking at me. While some are focused on me, most of them are keeping a close eye on you.”
“Likely to see when they would have the opportunity to speak to you alone no doubt,” you mutter under your breath.
Becca frowns at you. “Must you be so cynical? You look absolutely stunning. If you gave the room a chance, you’d know how many of them are keen on dancing with you. In fact, why don’t we put it to a test?”
Right as you’re about to ask her what she means, Becca moves away from you, pretending to be drawn by the dessert that appears to be running away from her. Her name leaves your mouth but you don’t get very far when three men approach you. All of them impeccably dressed, all of them handsome — at least, from what you can see with the mask.
“My lady, would you grant me the honor of joining me for a dance?”
Your lips part in surprise, eyes darting around the room to search for the princess. Becca stands off in a corner, grinning proudly to herself as she nibbles on a cream puff. You bite down the urge to curse before politely turning to the men. “My apologies, I should be getting back to my companion. I can’t leave her for far too long.”
You take a step and one of them moves directly in your path. “I’m sure she’ll find the company of others just as pleasant. Please, you must grant each of us a dance. It would be a privilege for us.”
Although you’ve danced before, it’s mostly to help Becca with her training. You have no idea how these dances work during the balls — the coordination, the etiquette. Your heart begins to race as your throat closes in a panic.
“I can’t—”
“One. One song is all I ask.”
“Then mine next.”
“And then me.”
Your chest flares as you search around the room for Becca again but she is nowhere to be found. Your skin begins to burn as your survival instincts kick in. The last thing you need is for these men to notice and question how they’ve never seen you before at such events, and you would have to craft a convoluted fib that you would be forced to maintain.
Just as you are about to deny them again, a hand presses against the low of your back.
“My lady.”
The voice grounds you in a familiar presence. You look up to find Bucky — even through the mask, you’d know it was him. His favorite cologne clings to the threads of his jacket and his hair, thick and styled, is one you can practically feel on your fingertips. Those days spent by the riverbend, his head on your lap as you read him sonnets—
No. This is not the time to be sentimental.
“Your royal highness.” The men stumble over each other to greet him, their energy shifting to nervous jitters as they look amongst each other.
“I believe the point of the masks is anonymity,” he says smoothly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to invite this lovely lady to a dance.”
He doesn’t wait for your answer, he simply takes your hand and whisks you into the crowd. You don’t have time to think about the consequences of this, more relieved that you’ve escaped that sticky situation.
“Thank you,” you breathe out.
“I believe I should be thanking you for this dance,” he grins.
“How did you find me?”
“I could find you even if you were across the world, mon cher.” You roll your eyes and Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t think you’re supposed to respond that way to the crown prince.”
“Perhaps if the crown prince didn’t use such predictably embarrassing lines.”
His lips curl again. “I noticed you the moment you walked into the room. Most beautiful woman tonight. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in fact.”
“Haven’t you been taught that dishonesty is unbecoming on a man?” You snip back.
“You wound me,” he gives a little shake of his head, “Out of everyone, you know that you would be the last person I would attempt to bathe in false affirmations. I know you can see through those pretenses.”
“Then why try?”
“Oh ye of little faith. If you wanted praise from me, you could just say so—”
You balk, snapping back in surprise. “That was not my intention!”
Bucky squeezes your hand as he shifts you around the room. It is then that you realize he’s been guiding your movements all along, every one of your steps falling in line with the others around you. He’s always been a good dancer, far better than Becca who had resisted these lessons for the longest time.
“You look absolutely ravishing tonight,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear. The smell of him infiltrates your senses, his warmth, the brush of his hair against your cheek. “Of course, you could’ve worn nothing at all and you would undoubtedly still be the most fetching person in this room.”
“If I wore nothing at all, then I’m sure I would fetch the eyes of everyone in this room,” you tease with a small quirk of your lips.
Bucky goes momentarily taut, stiff as he spins you and then pulls you in even closer. His hands tighten around you, like he’s fearful you would slip away at any moment. “Thank the heavens you opted for clothing today. I would rather not imagine anyone else seeing you in such a state. I’d have to dramatically increase this kingdom’s beheading rate. If I do that, what kingdom would I have left to rule?”
“Because you’d have to eliminate the witnesses to my humiliation of the royal family?”
“Because I have limited self-restraint when it comes to you.” You cock an eyebrow in question. “I would have to eliminate anyone who has ever seen you in such an intimate state. I’m a tad possessive you see, I’d rather be the only person alive who’s ever seen you in all of your raw beauty.”
Heat flushes along your skin, a sudden rise in temperature that rarely occurs at this time in the evening. “You’ve never seen me in such a state.”
“I would be the first and the last, my dear. I’ve never been very good at sharing.”
“I am not an object to own, your royal highness,” you bite out with a sour curl of your lips.
“You’re not,” Bucky murmurs softly, “but my heart belongs to you and I was hoping that yours to me — and your affection is the one thing I refuse to ration.”
You look up to meet his eyes. Earnest blue eyes that are far too honest for your liking. That gaze that’s dripping with the kind of affection he cannot counterfeit. Your movements nearly falter, your knees suddenly weak, but Bucky holds onto you even tighter.
“Bucky, I—”
Your gaze snags on the view behind him — a line of women watching the two of you, glowering green seeing your frame tucked against Bucky’s. Women who undoubtedly come from near and far in search of a notable husband to match or increase their standing in society. What better catch than a prince?
Instead of investing his time looking for a proper candidate for a wife, he is instead wasting these minutes with you. It’s been three songs, far from appropriate for two acquaintances, suspicious enough that you can hear the whispers of speculation begin to circulate the room. As the song comes to an end, you’re quick to curtsy in front of him.
“Thank you for the dance.”
You whirl around before he can say another word and disappear into the throng, leaving Bucky to be swarmed by women who are far better suited for him.
Becca stands by a corner, having watched all of this transpire. She’s barely paying any mind to the gentlemen suitors around her. When you come around to her, she’s immediately distancing herself and rushing towards you. Her gaze is eager, far too eager.
She’s had at least two drinks then.
“How was it? I saw you out there.”
“It was fine,” you mutter.
“You’ve only had one dance and it was with my brother. Methinks it’s time to expand your registry. How about the Duke? I hear he gets a little bit handsy and a little fun can do no harm.”
After your conversation with Bucky, you seriously doubt that. You would rather avoid this ball turning into a beheading festival tonight — or Bucky ruining his pristine reputation with society when he decides to do an execution in the middle of the dance floor.
Bucky is many things but he is not a liar. Whether he exaggerates is up for debate but that is not a theory you want to test tonight.
“Or shall we have a few more to drink in the meantime? Their champagne is quite lovely. I heard the viscountess had sourced all of the vintages from her favorite year.”
“Ladies.”
Speak of the devil. The two of you find yourselves in front of the viscountess. Even beneath the mask, her vibrant ruby hair is an easy identifier. She is cloaked in a glimmering black fabric with touches of red, breasts pushed up with the tight wrap aroung her waist. Spiders are stitched into her mask, crawling up the sides.
“Lady Romanoff,” Becca cheers, “what a lovely ball you’ve thrown. This is stunning, our chefs simply must learn from yours, otherwise I’d be tempted to sneak a few of those macarons up my sleeve before I leave.”
The viscountess laughs. “Princess, if you desire the macarons, I shall ensure that they are delivered to the palace by the morning. I believe your queen mother is also rather fond of the bonbons I source from France, I’ve already arranged for it to be sent tomorrow and I’ll make sure we include your macarons with that delivery.”
“You are most kind and gracious.”
Then she turns her eyes to you and you freeze. “And I do not believe we’ve met. Your name, dear?”
Your eyes flick to Becca momentarily before returning to her. You should lie. You should give her another name, but the viscountess has been known to be shrewdly intelligent. If you were caught in a fib, you would likely have your tongue cut out. There have been rumors of what she has done outside this kingdom, things that are far from proper; still, nobody has been brave enough to validate any of that gossip.
So you tell her your name.
“And I presume you are the princess’…” she trails off for a second and you go rigid once more, her gaze sharpens a fraction. “…cousin from far, far away?”
“Um, yes! She has decided to do an impromptu visit because she missed me so. I hope you don’t mind my bringing her, my lady.”
Lady Romanoff smiles like she knows — and you have a feeling she does. She simply doesn’t care. After all, she has always danced to her own tune, including how she’s wearing all black tonight that would be typically reserved for funerals.
“Not at all. I hope you enjoy your visit and my ball tonight. I would avoid Lord Smith, he’s in desperate search of a wife and may latch on to the one new face who appears unaware of the reputation of his temper.” Then she laughs.
“Fair advice, Lady Romanoff, thank you,” you murmur.
With one last squeeze of your arm, she brisks away from the two of you. As you follow her movements, you also spot Bucky as he makes his own escape with a few of the gentlemen you’ve seen come around the palace. He turns in time to catch your eye, his mouth curling into a smile as he winks at you from the distance, right as he disappears out the door.
“Now, shall we indulge in more treats?”
You’ve always been a quick study and there are three things that you now understand about the nature of these functions.
The first is to eat your fill — between the champagne and the specially mulled wines, intoxication is a friendly foe that rears its head far too fast. You have to learn to balance properly.
The second is that the marriage market appears dreary. None of the ladies are interested in the gentlemen, no matter how desperately they try. It appears that the women in the room aren’t too afraid of waiting a tad bit longer if it means they could find the one. This means that the gentlemen are far too preoccupied with harassing the help to keep themselves entertained, not that Lady Romanoff tolerates that behavior; she’s kicked out a number of them already.
Last but not least is that Becca is a social butterfly. While you’ve always been familiar with her friendly nature, seeing her out and about like this, crafting budding friendships with every single person in the room, you’re once again reminded of why the two of you were fast friends. Becca has always been more welcoming, conquering all five love languages on top of the three spoken and written ones that she’s already studying. However, following her around, you are also reminded that you are, in fact, not like her and these interactions are beginning to wear you down.
There are only so many ways you can talk about your dress before the discussions start to sound inane.
There are also so many times you can tolerate the way these women look you up and down. What happened to camaraderie? The catty looks are one thing you don’t expect. In your eyes, you’re a nobody who just happened to be playing dress-up thanks to a good friend. However, you can see how you seem from their perspective — close enough to the princess to attend this ball, apparently attractive enough for the crown prince to steal you for more than a handful of minutes.
You swallow the urge to scream, “I’m nothing more than the help!”
“The prince does have peculiar taste, doesn’t he?” One of them comments and you have to resist rolling your eyes, lest you offend her publicly.
“What do you mean?” Becca asks as she nibbles on her third tart of the night.
Expectedly, the girl’s eyes flick to you for a brief second before her lips stretch into smirk. “I assumed he would take a wife by now. Have an heir to continue the lineage. However, it doesn’t seem that anyone in this room suits his preferences. He hasn’t asked anyone to dance yet — and not for a lack of trying from our part.”
“He did have one dance—”
You clear your throat to interrupt Becca. She looks at you quizzically.
God bless her heart. Becca means well but sometimes she misses some of these cues; she’s too trusting, which is why you have to be the exact opposite.
“Apologies, I meant a dance that would count—” she smiles saccharine sweet. “—that would matter. You’re a visiting relative, right?” This question she directs towards you.
All eyes turn to you. The attention has your cheeks burning. “Correct.”
“She’s actually a very dear friend, but she’s practically family. She knows Bucky very well.”
“Is that so?” You don’t appreciate the way the woman’s gaze flashes with something akin to amusement. “Practically a sister then. I don’t believe I recall where you’re from. I haven’t heard anyone speak of you either.”
“I didn’t say.” Your lips twist up in an irritated smile.
Awkward tension falls upon the conversation. Becca looks nervously between the two of you; this cue is far too hard to miss. “That doesn’t matter! What matters is that we are here now. How about we get some lemonade? It’s quite warm here, isn’t it?”
As Becca busies herself with resolving the tension, which is the last thing a princess should be doing, you take this opportunity to slip away from the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
Perhaps the garden can be healing this time of night.
Bucky would rather be anywhere else but here. Let him correct himself — there is exactly one place he would rather be than here and it would be to be back inside. With you. Dancing. Fetching you drinks. Keeping those overly-excited, unworthy vultures away from you.
The moment you stepped through those doors, he knew he was in for a long night of suffering. Time and time again, you’ve rejected his advances. He knows you feel the same way, has felt you leaning into his touch before you would pull yourself away. Your stubbornness has always been endearing, but Bucky yearns for the day when he finally breaks through those walls.
It’s not an if, it’s a when.
Because Bucky has always achieved everything he’s dreamed of and you are his most important one.
However, for now, he is instead subjected to the debauchery of his peers. Dukes, viscounts, and fellow noblemen who have far too much time on their hands to be exploring substances that shouldn’t be explored. Sam is in the midst of lecturing their tight-knit group about this vial he procured while out in the countryside, some fermented liquid that supposedly produces the most vivid, imaginative visions that have you questioning reality.
The others ooh and aah in fascination but Bucky’s eyes continue to stray towards those double-doors where you stand on the other side.
“Your royal highness, I have something that may be of interest to you.”
To that, he does turn with a raised brow.
“I specifically obtained this one for you. I am sympathetic to your cause—” Sam teases and Bucky responds with a withering glare that does nothing to deter his friend. “—and when the time comes and you hope to last, this will be immensely beneficial.”
“His cause is hopeless if he doesn’t do anything about it,” Steve laughs.
“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Rogers. Believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying,” Bucky mutters as he leans back against the stone pillar.
Sam grabs his hand, slips it into his palm and closes his hand around a small tin. “Very potent. I wouldn’t recommend more than a pinchful at a time. A pinchful should last you through an hour, but what a delicious hour it will be.”
He doesn’t know how to tell him that Bucky doesn’t need this sort of chemistry to make him last. Every time he’s near you, his pants tighten like a schoolboy again. Thirteen and realizing that this desire to kiss you isn’t a result of friendship. As he got older, he realized that these urges aren’t those that should be held against his sister’s lady-in-waiting.
Urges that blossomed into far more when he feels his chest constrict, breath stolen from his lungs, whenever he catches a whiff of that perfume. Or how he can’t resist peeking at you from around the corner whenever you sneak into the library, wondering what book has absorbed you this time, how quickly he could read it to spark conversation with you. Or how desperately he tries to make you laugh just to hear that tinkling melody that loops like the nation’s best symphony in his mind.
There are days that Bucky wishes he wasn’t born into this family, that he could be normal, so he wouldn’t be forced upon societal standards that he has no desire to follow. He could pursue you and you wouldn’t constantly put this chasm between you.
But then if he hadn’t been born into this life, then he would’ve never met you. He would have never known what it means for love to consume his very soul, how one person could mean the world to him, to a point where he would give it all up — the riches, the rule — to be with you.
Fate is a funny thing.
“I don’t need this, Wilson,” Bucky grunts as he tries to push it back into Sam’s hands.
Sam raises them. “No, sir. Think of it as an early coronation gift. Perhaps once you can change the rules of the kingdom, you would be inclined to follow them too.”
“Think he’s a jester,” he mutters to Steve with a roll of his eyes.
“In another life, my prince, perhaps in another life,” Sam grins cheekily. “You simply have to breathe it in. Like the usual stuff. Again, very powerful so be careful. Otherwise, you’d be trapped in that state for hours on end and your only relief would be to…”
Bucky’s eyes rise to meet his. Sam only wiggles his eyebrows in response. He makes a face of repulsion. “That’s how you rid yourself of the effects?”
“The more you finish, the lighter the effects will be. However, if you don’t find any form of… relief, then it could last for hours and you’d be hurting everywhere — and I do mean everywhere. It’s the strongest form of desire that can be relieved if you fulfill it.”
Bucky looks down at the tin again. Unassuming. Small. How powerful could this little thing be? He tucks it inside his coat, if only to appease his friend, and lets them resume with the conversation.
By the time they adjourn, Bucky is sufficiently exhausted. All he wants is to go search for you. It’s only been an hour and he already misses you. What a fool he is — if only the kingdom knew that the crown prince’s only weakness is a woman who doesn’t even want him.
As the other men filter back indoors, Bucky moves to follow. That is, until your perfume tickles his senses. You’re outside. He whips around to try and find you but you’re nowhere in sight.
Perhaps this is his chance. The two of you would be in Lady Romanoff’s prized garden, far away from the prying eyes of the palace or the rest of the ton. He looks at Steve and Sam, waves them away. “Go on. I’ll enjoy the fresh air a little bit more.”
“Alright, don’t look too thrilled that all those women inside are waiting for their prince to return.”
Bucky winces. Of course, he’s felt their hungry gazes all night. All of them practically vibrating where they’re standing, fanning themselves a little faster, batting their eyelashes a little more rapidly. He has zero inclination to humor any of them because the one person he wants to dance with is the one who won’t even look at him.
With one final gesture, he begins to prowl further into the grounds, further away from the mansion, to find you.
Little does he know that the tiny tin rattles like a cry against his chest, lid loose as he walks at a pace that’s far from careful.
After exploring the gardens for a bit, you almost wish that Lady Romanoff would adopt you under her wing to understand her excellent taste in design and decoration. The architecture is as old as time. Each brick feels intentionally placed like it’s meant to be part of history. The stream that sits quietly further away from the palace brings a touch of natural life to the otherwise manmade masterpiece.
A boat sits swaying in the gentle evening breeze and you’re half tempted to paddle yourself out to the middle to find some form of peace. However, given how deep it is into nightfall, you assume you’d have to eventually make your way back to find Becca. She’s promised not to touch another drop of champagne for the evening so you trust her to make good decisions.
Just as you turn to begin your journey back to the mansion, the last person you expect is standing before you.
“Bucky, what are you doing here?”
In the darkness, he stumbles towards you, mumbling incoherently. You strain your ears to decipher him but it’s near impossible when his words blur together. He’s clearly intoxicated. You wonder how much liquor Steve and Sam have fed him and lord knows what else.
When he finally stands where the moonlight shines across the concrete, you see the flush that sprawls like an illness across his skin. His breathing is labored and his fingers continue to tug at the collar of his shirt, clawing almost desperately. With his mask long gone, you can see how his pupils are blown wide as they drink in the sight of you, a mix of relief and desire in the constantly shifting shades of his ocean eyes.
He breathes out your name like a prayer when he sees you. “Gods, you look…” he trails off again as he moves towards you, walking side to side as if his legs can’t bear the weight of him.
You catch him before he can topple over, his entire body draped over yours. You thank the heavens that you’ve done enough manual labor in your life that you’re able to prop him up, pushing him up against the wall. Your hands on his shoulders as you frown at him.
He doesn’t smell too heavily of liquor but there are strange particles on his coat that you suspect are the reason why he’s behaving like this. You bite back the urge to scold the crown prince of all people to be more responsible. When you look up at him, he’s looking down at you with a lazy smirk.
“Bucky, what did you take?”
“Y’smell…” he leans forward again, nearly tipping over but his nose ends up buried in your neck. You feel him inhale, deep, before a long, extremely indecorous moan rumbles against your skin. Heat slithers up your spine, pushing your blood south between your legs. “Fuck, you smell so good.”
Biting your tongue, you try to push him back against the wall but he’s faster. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his chest as his mouth trails warm against your skin. He whispers your name again — like a promise. “Bucky, please, I can’t help you like this.”
“Need—” he chokes then, whimpering.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“You.”
You stroke his hair gently as he continues to mumble words you cannot hear against the pulse in your neck. “I know, I’m here. Tell me what you need.” Worry torments your heart as you press the back of your hand against his forehead. “Heavens, you’re burning up.”
“So hot,” he whines, “so, so warm.”
Without removing himself from you, he begins to shed off his tailcoat first, casting it aside. Then his fingers reach for the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers seemingly too uncoordinated to undo them.
“Please. Help,” he pleads.
How can you say no when he asks so sweetly? But at the same time, you really shouldn’t be doing this. “Bucky, this isn’t a good idea. I don’t think you should—”
“Help me.”
Gods, you’ve never been good at saying no to this man, not when he sounds like he’s in pain. Your gloved hands reach towards him as you begin to unbutton him slowly, revealing more and more of the linen underneath. Then Bucky pushes it off his shoulders.
“My shirt next.”
“Bucky!” you gasp, “That’s completely out of the question. I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s so warm, mon couer. Please.”
He’s never played a fair game, but particularly when he addresses you so charmingly in French. You remember when he first started calling you those terms, practicing the foreign language on his tongue in a way that had you leaning in to listen for more. You asked him what they meant, and he said, “Only the truth.”
My love. My heart. Your heart feels like it’s been lit on fire when you read the translations.
You never questioned it further. Becca always took it as teasing, like Bucky’s being his usual charismatic, mischievous self. But every time he calls you that, you know that it is the truth. A truth you keep contesting for the sanctity of your mind.
Because if you accept that you are his love and that you are his heart, you don’t know how much of your resolve would be left.
And Bucky deserves more than that. He deserves the world, which he already has. You can’t be the reason that he loses all of it.
“We should head back. Becca’s going to be wondering where we are.”
“Becca can be patient,” he murmurs as he finally finds the strength to rip his shirt open, the buttons flying off as the fabric is torn off his body, leaving him bare in front of you. His abdomen ripples with the kind of muscles that come from the hours spent training, the hours you spent watching him practice.
Saliva pools on your tongue and you feel like a dog taught to drool at the sight of its master. You’ve seen him shirtless before, of course — god knows the man loves to be fully exposed to the sun in seasons like this. However, something about him is different this time. He’s practically soaked through his shirt, his body glows with a sheen layer of sweat.
“You have a fever, Bucky. You need help.”
“Need you,” he repeats, clearer this time. His brows then meet in the middle as he looks down at you. He tugs the mask off your face, letting it drop to the floor as he searches your eyes. Deep blue, bluer than the summer sky. “There you are,” he says softly.
Your heart stutters as you shy away from his gaze, his fingers catching your chin to tilt you to face him again. His eyes fall to your lips, your lips separate, sticky with whatever Becca had swiped onto you earlier.
Then he slants his lips over yours and you feel the fireworks explode inside your chest. Bucky’s moan spills down your throat as he kisses you deeper, harder. Ravenous is the only way you can describe it. He’s chasing after your lips like you’re the last drop of water for a parched man. He breathes the air from your lungs, an intimate exchange that has noises you’ve only made in the quiet of your room — alone — rising from your stomach.
It’s everything you’ve ever imagined, and so much more. You spent nights picturing what this could feel like in painstaking detail, hoping that it may happen one day — in the slightest of chances.
But then that anxiety seeps back in, creeping under your skin enough to wake you from this dream.
“Bucky—” He kisses you again, quashing whatever rational thought you’ve only just begun to formulate.
“Tastes so sweet, even better than I thought,” he murmurs. “So sweet, my love. Gods, I could kiss you for days and I’d never tire of it.”
“We shouldn’t—” Your protest once again dies in your throat as Bucky begins to kiss along your jaw, placing a wet trail of fire as he mouths down your neck, counting your racing heartbeat. Your palms flatten against his chest, damp and humid. He’s sweating bullets but you don’t get the chance to interrupt again.
“I need you,” he groans, “lord, I need you.” His fingers catch your hand and press it against his chest. Your heart pushes against your ribs. “You smell so good. I can’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about what it would be like to kneel at your feet, your leg over my shoulder, and bury my face in that pretty pussy of yours.”
A gasp wrenches from your throat as you jerk back. “Bucky, that is— oh my god, that is unacceptable!”
“It’s the truth,” he growls, “I can practically smell you between your legs, your sweetness on my tongue. I want you to press your hips against my face and let me feast like a king. Slip my fingers in there and feel how you resist me, how you act like you don’t want this but you’re dripping all over my fingers.”
The moan that climbs out your chest is involuntary and it’s all Bucky needs before he’s flipping you around and he’s pressing your back against the pillar. A gust of wind blows, providing some semblance of reprieve to the sudden sweltering heat that blankets you. It does nothing to soothe Bucky who looks at you like you’re the perfect prey, skin exposed to him with your hair twisted up like the forbidden fruit.
Bucky isn't a godless man, but in that moment he swears there isn't a higher power who could stop him from having you.
He silently asks the heavens to turn their gaze away from the sin he's about to commit. Because whatever happens next, he won't be seeking forgiveness.
He will only offer his thanks.
He kisses you again, tongue slipping past your lips just as he swallows your surprised sound. His tongue strokes against yours, licking up and pressing against it until you’re trembling against him.
You no longer have authority over your body, how every ounce of energy dissolves into thin air against him, knees nearly sending you crumbling to the ground if it weren’t for his own strength holding you up. One of his hands is ont he back of your neck, keeping you close, and the other on your hip. His mouth continues to move against you as if he’s savoring every inch of you.
Distracted by the taste of him and his seemingly contagious fever, you barely realize when Bucky peels back layer upon layer of your eveningwear. The weight of the fabric pools around your feet with a soft thump. His fingers are frantic as he pushes each piece off your shoulders, leaving you only in your shift and your stay. The corset is tight around your body and Bucky snarls to himself when he can’t seem to untangle the loops.
Then you hear it, the sound similar to clicking tongues as Bucky tears it off your body. When the haze clears just enough for you to realize what’s been done, you shove him away from you, but your power doesn’t throw him very far.
“Bucky, this is indecent. I can’t be—”
“We’re too far past decency, my love.” He stalks back towards you, capturing your lips in a languid kiss that eviscerates your objections into ash. “Beautiful. You had the eyes of everyone in that room tonight. I loathed seeing you surrounded by all those men earlier. Undeserving creatures who think that they have an opportunity with you.”
“I—I wasn’t interested in any of them,” you whine as he works his way down your neck, teeth and lips marking slow, deliberate claims against your skin. Ones that spell out mine.
“I know,” he murmurs against your pulse, smiling as if the answer was never in doubt. “You don’t need to fret. You’re mine. I wouldn’t let them near you. I wouldn’t even allow you to look their way.”
His mouth drags lightly over your skin again. Unhurried, certain.
“Only me. Always me.”
It’s not a question, nor an order. He’s stating a fact. For as long as you can remember, regardless of how many handsome bachelors walk through the palace doors — or even through the staff entrance, you haven’t spared any of them a second glance. Your heart and eyes have always belonged to him.
Bucky takes your hand and gently removes your gloves. He brings your hand up to his lips, placing one gentle kiss after another. First on your wrist, then up your forearm, to your bicep, until he’s on your shoulder. He moves this final layer to the side just enough for him to press wet kisses on your collarbones.
However, despite his attempts to divert your attention away from the actual matter at hand, you can’t help but worry. His temperature is a far cry from normal, you fear what would happen if he weren’t observed and provided the necessary remedies.
“You’re sick, Bucky. Please let me take you back to the palace. Let me fetch your carriage so we can at least summon the royal physician to assess you.”
“No, won’t help,” he grunts, “need to— need to—” and the next word that slips from his lips has your heart slamming against your ribcage— “fuck.”
Your mouth dries and your own desires begin to overwhelm you. This isn’t right. He’s not himself. He’s not in his right mind. What he needs is a doctor and a bed and—
“Sam said,” he exhales harshly, “I need to get it out. To stop this.”
“Get what out?”
“Need to finish.”
Finish. Fuck. Your throat suddenly feels like sandpaper.
He needs to climax.
“Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with finishing once,” he huffs honestly as his hands reach up to cup your breasts. He lets out a little pleased noise as he feels up your soft flesh, the shape of your breasts molding to his hand as he massages them. With only one barrier left between the two of you, it feels as if there’s nothing at all there. “My gorgeous girl with her gorgeous tits. I always knew you’d fit so perfectly in my hands. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of this, putting my hands on them, pinching these lovely pert nipples—” he moans as he tugs on your nipple, electricity coursing through you in a zing straight down to your core. “How it would feel to have my cock tucked in between your tits.”
You don’t have the voice to argue, nor the mind. All you can think about is how delicious it feels for Bucky to be touching you. Your head leans back as your eyes slide shut, your mind lost in the sensations of his touch.
“Please, let me have you, my love. I need— I need you.”
His hand doesn’t wait for an answer, they begin to bunch up your skirt, pinning them against your hip with his wrist as his fingers trail up your inner thigh. You fight against your shudder and he lifts his mouth back to your lips to kiss you, just as his fingertips make contact with your core.
You’re sticky down there already, a mess from the proximity and his scent and his feverish warmth. This is still Bucky — your Bucky — but he’s also different, like all of the chains that have held him back, that have granted him the patience all these years, have been shattered. This is the result of all the times you’ve rejected him again and again and again. All of the times that you have rejected these feelings within yourself.
Now the dam has been destroyed and all those times you’ve swallowed your pride and your wants, they’re finally being released and they completely drown you.
The moon reflects off the water, illuminating Bucky’s face in a shifting series of ethereal colors. Even with the glimmer, his eyes are dark. A fog clouding his judgment. His desire is unwavering. The more you touch him, the more you let him touch you, the stronger the effects of his fever.
If possible, he grows even warmer. His skin practically searing against yours but nothing burns more than his fingers between your legs, the delicate stroke of your lips, moist with the evidence of your lust.
“You’re drenched down here, my sweet girl,” Bucky moans, “is this all for me? Were you thinking of me the same way I was thinking of you?”
“Bucky, please,” you jolt, hips rising when he dips a tentative finger inside you.
It’s almost embarrassing how easily he slips himself in there, aided by the slick between your legs. He pushes a finger in as he gulps down your pleasured sound, a desperate little cry as his fingers stretch out your insides.
You’ve never had anyone else touch you like this. You’ve barely even touched yourself like this; even when left to your own devices with nothing more than your imagination and the lingering scent of Bucky’s cologne on your threads, shame still restricts how much pleasure you allow yourself.
However, out there, with Bucky in control, you relinquish that power to him. You let him determine how much pleasure you experience, how much gratification you can get under his ministrations.
Bucky’s fingers are skilled as they work you open, scissoring you open until your teeth sink into his shoulder. “My pretty girl, look at you. I want to hear you cry for me, want to know how good I make you feel.”
Obediently, your lips split open in a wail that shakes the air.
“Let me have a taste of you,” he murmurs and draws his hand away from you. The loss is almost instantaneous, a sudden chill where his touch had been, but it’s replaced by the fire that burns bright in your gut the moment he drags his wet fingers along his lips. He breathes it in like he’s memorizing the scent of you before he slides his fingers over his tongue. “God, you’re perfect. Sweet, as I expected.”
Then Bucky sinks to the ground and there’s something about the crown prince on his knees before you that has you faltering. Someone whose blood is bluer than the ocean shouldn’t risk scraping his knees for a mere maid — and yet here he is.
“Hold your skirt up for me, sweet girl.”
You want to protest. You want to say no. You want to remind him again that this isn’t a good idea but there’s determination in his eyes that have you whimpering, fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt to reveal yourself to him.
Bucky drags a finger along your slit again, collecting the moisture and wiping it on his tongue with another moan. He leans forward and your eyes slide shut, heart thrumming in anticipation with the steady pulse in your veins. He kisses you slowly at first, making his way up your thigh but his patience is thin and soon enough he’s burying his face between your legs.
His tongue strokes up your pussy, legs still clamped shut in your apprehension. Bucky looks a little irritated when he can’t seem to properly taste you so, with one hand, he holds one of your legs up by the thigh and opens up your leaking cunt to him. He curses under his breath when he sees you glisten in the flickering night.
The stars in the sky blend in with the ones behind your eyes when he finally lays his lips on you. He mouths at you hungrily, like he’s wolfing down his last meal. His tongue presses eager strokes along your walls that have your legs closing in around him again — only for his hand to pry them open once more to grant him access to the nectar between your thighs.
“So sweet, so soft,” Bucky groans against your pussy. His lips suckle eagerly, the lewd slurps ricocheting off the surfaces in this quiet night. In the distance, the music continues quietly, but here — you’re accompanied by the sound of your quickening heartbeat and Bucky’s delighted grunts.
Each time he licks you, he buries himself deeper and deeper, until his nose bumps against your clit and his face glistens with your arousal. Your fingers tangle in his thick hair, damp with the sweat from his fever. When you tug on it slightly, Bucky sticks his face in even deeper, moans even louder.
You can see how his erection only grows underneath his trousers, needy for attention, and yet satisfied all the same by your own pleasure. He tilts his face to reach new angles, his fingers pushing inside of you to keep you full while his tongue flicks that sensitive bundle of nerves.
It doesn’t take you long fall apart, walls closing in around his tongue and his fingers, spasming with your orgasm — the first of the evening.
For a moment, guilt enters your system and you’re forced to look down at Bucky remorsefully that he didn’t even achieve what he set out to do. However, you notice the shaking of his shoulders, a shudder wracking through him as his hips twitch upwards. A pulse down there.
“Y-you finished?”
Bucky nods, unabashed as he comes to a stand. “Do you see what you do to me? Cumming untouched in my trousers like a prepubescent boy who can’t even control himself.”
“I didn’t— I mean, you didn’t even touch it.”
“The mere thought of you finishing around my mouth like I’ve always dreamed is enough for me, my love.” He tucks a loose strand of your hair, one that have fallen loose from your updo, behind your ear. “However, I’m far from done. This fever — I can’t break it without you. I have to have you.”
Again, he doesn’t wait for your permission as he steals the air from your lungs with a passionate kiss. This time, you can taste the sweetness of champagne on his tongue along with something a little more unique. Something that belongs solely to you and now also belongs to him.
“I’ve been leaking for you all night, sweet girl,” Bucky mumbles, “I couldn’t stop thinking what you look like underneath this dress. How soft and supple your body would be. Apparently, everyone else had the same thought. I could see how they looked at you. I should have them all stripped of their titles and banished from the land.”
“Bucky,” you chide, warmth flaming your cheeks. “That would be incredibly rude. Nobody did anything.”
He rolls his eyes as he presses you back against the pillar, reaching down to his pants. You hear the fabric shifting as he holds you up and frees himself. You’ve never seen one in real life before, only those diagrams that Becca likes to tease you with.
And the real thing looks far more intimidating.
It stands upright, a thick vein running along the top as the head strains red. It looks almost as if that line pulses, encouraged by the purplish lines that sit underneath the surface. A new pearl sits at the tip of him, pearlescent as it rolls down the length of his cock, already sticky and stained creamy white from the mess in his trousers. It’s fat and it’s long and you can’t imagine that fitting inside you.
You must’ve voiced your fears aloud because Bucky is then saying, “Don’t worry, mon couer. We’ll make it fit.”
He lifts you up, drawing a squeal from your lips, as he wraps your legs around his waist. The head rests against your entrance, the sight of it already has your pussy drooling over the tip, like it’s preparing for his cock.
“She’s excited to have me,” he muses quietly, “she’s dripping. So eager to have me. You haven’t been filled before, have you? You’ve never had another man touch you?”
You must’ve taken a moment too long to respond, too preoccupied with the incredulity of the situation.
The low roar sounding from Bucky’s chest has you looking at him. Fury claws at his eyes, the usual bright blue shifting darker as he sneers. His hands tighten around your hips. “Has anyone else touched you? Who is it? Is it the stableboy? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve been meaning to replace him—”
“Bucky, god, no. Nobody!” You pant, “Where would I find the time?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? I know your good heart would want to protect them.”
Your lips curl. “No, I would have no reason to lie to you.
“Good, because I fear the dire action I would’ve had to take if you told me otherwise.”
“I’m not yours to own, Bucky,” you snap.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet girl. You’ve always belonged to me, whether you knew it or not. You’re mine and I’ll kill anyone who even dares to think about you.” Another surprised sound escapes your lips and Bucky only smirks. “This pussy especially. I’ll shape it to the size of me, you won’t ever know pleasure with anyone else. I’ll train her to only please me and only me.”
Before you can admonish him for acting so barbaric, Bucky notches the tip into you. You can already feel the stretch, your pussy resisting the entry of something so… large. So imposing. But he pays it no mind; instead, he uses your own juices to lubricate his entry as he pushes slowly into you, inch by inch.
He drives deep inside of you, swift and merciless the first time, to yank a gasp from your throat. Another expletive leaves his lips as his head rolls back, eyes slamming closed as he relishes in the feel of your cunt wrapping around him.
Your entire body is under a spell, experiencing something otherworldly that no language you know could describe. It burns like you’ve been placed on a stake to be set ablaze, like every atom in your body is being torn apart and rearranged. It’s divine deliverance in the pain, but one that provides you with the kind of relief you don’t expect.
“You feel so—” he chokes as he drags himself out before pushing back in, faster this time, the slide easier. The ache still screams between your legs but you let them fall apart anyway, allowing Bucky to take control over the situation.
His name falls from your lips — this time as a plea, but you can’t tell if you’re begging for him to stop or to go faster. You want to get past the hurt, want to feel the sort of pleasure that you’ve only heard whispers about. But at the same time, a small piece of you relishes in that pain — it reminds you that you’re human, that this is new, that this is real, and that Bucky is right here with you.
“So tight, so fucking wet. You’re completely soaking my cock, sweet girl. I always knew you were meant for me, this pussy was made for me. No one else can ever see you like this, do you understand me?”
Bucky jerks his hips forward, his arms under your knees, hands on your ass as he presses you against the wall. The surface is solid against your spine, holding you upright as he fucks up into you. His grunts are muffled into your neck as he breathes you in, like your scent fuels the fire in his veins.
When you don’t respond, too drunk off the sensations of Bucky driving into you at a pace that has you delirious, he punctuates one thrust particularly hard.
“I asked, do you understand me?”
A sob crawls out of your throat as you nod, tears leaking down your eyes. He doesn’t apologize for your cries, he knows you better than that. These tears are from the overwhelming waves of emotion, the heightened tension that grips your lungs until you can’t seem to find the capability to breathe.
“You feel like heaven, my love. I’ll fuck you to the shape of my cock, until you can’t take anyone else but me — until you won’t even consider taking anyone else. I’ll ensure everyone in this kingdom knows that I’ve defiled you, that you’ve taken my mark on your skin and inside of you. I’ll ensure that you will only be mine.”
The shame settles hard and fast in the pits of your stomach. If everyone could see you like this, pinned outside against a wall by the prince, fucked like a whore in heat with your pussy clamping down around him, you could never show your face again. A desecrated maid who couldn’t keep her legs shut for a prince.
Anyone would be lucky to have him, but no one in their right mind would let even the crown prince take them before marriage. They would rather die than be labeled a slut. A harlot. You would be the bane of your family, no one would speak of you again and you would be banished to the outerlands.
But this is Bucky and even the concept of him keeping you as his dirty little secret only sends thrills through your veins.
“Bucky, you can’t—”
He laughs, dark and sinister. Like the idea of him unable, unallowed to do anything is absurd. “I’m the crown prince, sweet girl. I am the future of this kingdom. What I say goes. If I say you are mine then it is true. No one will come within a foot of you. Not after I’m done with you. I’ll make sure everyone sees the marks of my affection for you. I’ll imprint them in places everyone can see and other places that nobody will ever see.”
His words have your heart clenching in mortification and a humiliating level of arousal. The debasement of your character, the degradation of your morality — apparently none of it means anything if it means you have Bucky between your legs and his cock buried deep inside your cunt.
“I’ve laid my claim on you. No one else will ever touch you. You—” thrust “—are—” thrust “—mine.”
Staying true to his promise, his fingers dig deep into your flesh. Deep enough that you’ll surely carry those bruises with you for some time. The litter of prints on your neck and above your breasts will have to be covered by your high necklines, gowns that would only raise suspicion in the summer.
But most of all — the taking of your virginity, your purity plucked from your hands and placed into Bucky’s — is the kind of mark you will never undo.
Bucky is too lost in his own pleasure, too focused on delivering you to your second peak of the night to recognize the telltale signs of your climax approaching. Your whines crescendoing, the stutter of your heartbeat as your fingers sink into his shoulders. His name spilling from your mouth in an uneven rhythm.
“I will cum in you, sweet girl. I’ll fill you up with so much cum, I’ll have you dripping all the way home, I’ll make sure you’re leaking all over the carriage before I take you again in my chambers. Gods, I’ll tie you to my bed, make sure that you’ll never deny me again.”
Your heart smashes into your chest, threatening to catapult out with his warning. For some godforsaken reason, the idea of being Bucky’s plaything — tied up with no other purpose than to serve his pleasure — has you gasping in desire, your legs closing in around him as you feel your senseless craving crescendo.
“You want that, don’t you? You just want to be my pussy. Keep your legs open, this pretty cunt dripping yours and my cum all over my sheets. My darling girl is nothing but a whore who wants cock to keep her plugged up at all times. You won’t have to worry about a thing ever again.”
“Bucky, please—”
“I’ll breed you until you carry my heir.”
That jars you awake and you’re scrambling, a conflicting concoction of pure, unadulterated want with the terrifying fear of the consequences to follow. “You can’t! Bucky, you have to stop. You can’t get me—” you hiccup, “—you can’t get me pregnant. Your heir has to come from a proper bloodline.”
“I no longer care about propriety and bloodlines. They have kept us apart long enough. I’m the crown prince and, what I want, I get. What I want is you and you alone. Why would I need some uptight, prissy noblewoman who doesn’t know how to cum around her husband’s cock?”
“Bucky!” You gasp as he fucks you hard and fast. His pace is unrelenting and every slide of his cock inside you scrambles every single sensible thought in your mind.
“And I have you — I can feel your pussy choking me. You — while you’re getting fucked outside with the risk of someone finding us. Yet, look at that, you’re squeezing me even tighter, my love. I always knew you were made for me. Every inch of my depravity, you take it even further. You complete me.”
Your stomach coils with something deep and tight, an unknown force set out to subject you to the strongest cut of humiliating pleasure. As a proper woman, you shouldn’t take such words, even from a prince. You shouldn’t stoop so low as to attain this form of high.
However, your mind and your body and your heart do not align. While your rational mind screams at you to put a stop to this, your adoration for Bucky — now forced to surface after years of stomping on it and swallowing it with guilt — and your pure primal need — what many consider to be your purpose — join and meld to push you to keep going.
To chase after this sought-after pleasure that few can even dream about. If the cost of is to reduce your dignity and pride, then so be it.
“And now, I will complete you,” Bucky murmurs sweetly before he shoves himself inside you over and over again until you’re a weeping mess, your legs quaking as your body slides up against the wall with every thrust. Tears leak down your face, destroying Becca’s efforts to make you look beyond yourself.
But all that physical destruction is worth it when your insides are being remade.
With one final thrust, Bucky spills inside you. Warmth coating every part of your walls, thick, clinging onto your skin like it’s marking you with a permanent mess. Your second climax twists inside your gut, rising up to your chest to constrict your lungs as your pussy curls tight around him. His need to complete you is complemented by your own need for the same. Your walls keep him in, trapped, until every single drop is milked from his cock and buried deep inside your cunt.
Bucky doesn’t let up, he fucks into you until he’s groaning sensitive against your neck. His breathing is even hotter than before, each exhale like a furnace in the middle of the desert.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
Those words no longer spark fear, but zealous anticipation.
Then Bucky takes you again — you on your feet, him behind you as he fucks you against the wall, your breasts in his hands to hold him steady as he cums into you again, the milky white seeping out from where you two are joined. But then he misses your face too much so he grabs your chin, turns you to face him, and devours you in a messy kiss that has your teeth clicking almost painfully.
Then he has you laid out over his clothes, your back on the floor, your knees and thighs against your torso, as he fucks deep inside you, promising you that it’ll take this time. That he’ll try as many times as he needs to until his seed takes.
Then you’re on your hands and knees as Bucky pounds into you from behind, his thighs slapping against yours, his fingers reaching around to your clit in intentional circles that have your body quivering underneath him, and he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming around his cock and he’s filling you up with another load.
Then you’re cleaning him up, the taste of his cum and your pussy a more potent substance than all the liquor in the nation combined. The thick liquid spurts down your throat like you’re being fed your dessert, a treat for having done so well.
And again and again and again.
For a while, you forget that Bucky is relentless only due to the poison in his veins, his depraved hunger only exacerbated by the delicious textures of your cunt around his cock. An addiction that he could never suppress.
When both your limbs finally give and enough of the toxins have been excreted — inside you, mind you, the two of you slump down on top of both your clothes. A mess of damp fabrics and fluids that even the best solvents in the kingdom could never remove.
Bucky turns over to you with a groan — the same sound that’s been rattling inside your mind, the same sound that will surely affix to every crevice inside your brain for weeks, if not months — and slumps an arm over your waist.
He nuzzles his face against your cheek, a small chuckle tickling your face. He hums, pleasantly exhausted. You’re a disarray of tangled limbs and gummy skin. You can’t help but laugh too.
“Why are you laughing?” He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss on your bare shoulder. Somewhere along the way, you’ve stripped yourself of your final layer too, leaving you completely nude.
The circumstances are far from believable. If you had told yourself that this was how your night would end, even your wildest imagination couldn’t have conjured up this conclusion. “I can’t believe we’re doing this in the middle of Lady Romanoff’s ball.”
“She would skin us alive if she knew,” he smirks.
“Yes, she would.”
The third, unexpected voice has the two of you jumping, your fingers immediately reach for more clothes to cover you up, at the same time Bucky also drapes his jacket over your body.
Lady Romanoff stands closer towards the land, where the water doesn’t extend. She then approaches, oil lamp in hand. You can’t unriddle whether her expression is contemptuous disgust or unpredicted amusement.
Meanwhile, the two of you are still clad in nearly nothing, only the moonlight to cast shadows that cloak you.
“Lady Romanoff, I apologize profusely. We didn’t mean any disrespect—”
Bucky’s quick to interject. “It was entirely my fault. I have been subjected to… urges that were outside my control. It was a substance, you see.”
His words have your heart palpitating in an uneven rhythm. The words land unexpected sharp, like a piercing wound straight through your beating organ.
Urges that were outside my control.
This was never meant to happen. You and Bucky. This night. All of it is a fever dream. A product of your desires catalyzed by a chemical compound. Bucky never would’ve done it otherwise; the two of you have always run in parallel lines, never meant to intersect.
All of his words — sweet nothings.
Just like this evening.
“I’m fully aware of the substance you speak of, I am frankly surprised that you would be so careless as to consume it at such a public place, your royal highness,” Lady Romanoff muses.
Bucky winces, scratching the back of his ear awkwardly. “I stumbled and the container had been loose. Unfortunately, I was forced to consume nearly all of it — at least, what didn’t end up on my clothing.”
Lady Romanoff only hums thoughtfully. “If I remember correctly, the aftermath to this substance would be a deep sleep. Rather fast, I’m afraid.” This time, she turns to look at you. “I shall set up a room for the two of you — you can enter through the back. Most of my regular staff is gone and I’ll arrange for my lady-in-waiting to prepare it. She is most discreet.”
“We can—” Bucky stops then, seeming caught off guard by the sudden dizzying spell. He sways slightly, words slurring together in a jumbled mess before he falls against you. His breathing even.
“It appears my memory serves me well,” she says, voice tinged with unexpected pride. “Come, my dear.”
As promised, most of the party has dwindled down to a few inebriated guests that Lady Romanoff organizes to be delivered home in their respective carriages. You and Bucky have been set up in a wing far from the prying eyes, this is where they’ve restricted most of Lady Romanoff’s staff, only the trusted are allowed.
Her lady-in-waiting and her most trusted butler had been sent to help carry Bucky back — of course, after you properly dress him. No explanation was provided beyond the crown prince getting “ill from the food”, but you assume that they suspect something else is at play, particularly when you yourself look like you’ve been mauled by a wild beast.
After Bucky has been settled into his room and you’ve been provided your own as a guest, which you insisted against, but Lady Romanoff insisted against your insistence, her staff is sent away. Bucky snores quietly on the bed, he’s been in and out. He was somewhat awake long enough to help the butler walk him back into the mansion, enough to plop himself down on the mattress.
Your heart is uneasy with worry but Lady Romanoff touches your shoulder. “He should be fine. He has most of it out of his system, I presume?” She cocks an eyebrow. Heat crawls up your neck as you nod. “Then he will recover by morning. He may be weary for a while but he’s in good hands.”
“Thank you for your generosity, Lady Romanoff,” you murmur, “I do apologize for the inconvenience and my… impudence.”
“No apologies needed. I spoke to Wilson and he’s received an earful from me about bringing untested substances — in unsealed containers, at that.” She pauses then turns to you, “You’ve been quite the kind… relative, for a distant one.”
She knows. You know that she knows. She knows that you know that she knows.
This is a mess.
“Yes, I’m rather used to caring for him,” you clear your throat, and then realize what you’ve just said. “In a way where he’s almost like my brother. We grew up together.” And that one isn’t a lie per se.
“I’m sure,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, take my words with a grain of salt, but I would like to ask you to proceed with caution. You seem to be a smart woman, I’ve seen you with Becca, how you manage to fit right in with society. While I am a romantic at heart, I am also a realist — and the truth is that the challenge will lie with you. As the crown prince, he will be untouched. Unharmed. The realm will protect him before it will protect a woman.”
“I understand that,” you nearly sigh, glancing back at Bucky.
It’s what you’ve always known — your position in society. It’s why you never accepted Bucky’s advances, nor your own feelings regarding him. It’s easier to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that you aren’t in love with the crown prince as a mere maid — even if it hurts.
“But his royal highness is also a good man. I’m sure he will choose wisely,” Lady Romanoff smiles. “Now, please rest. I will arrange for separate carriages to deliver you both home in the morning.”
“I should return now—”
“What you should do is rest,” she presses with a pointed look. “Furthermore, I believe he could use some tending to tonight — in case he wakes or has… remaining urges.”
She’s teasing you, and it’s working because your face feels like it’s been trapped in a heatwave all day. “I’ll make sure he gets through the night and will depart first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further.”
“No inconvenience. This has perhaps been the most entertaining occurrence this season.” Her eyes are practically twinkling in delight.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Lady Romanoff, please forgive me for overstepping, but if I could ask for your discretion regarding this matter—”
She waves you off with a reassuring smile. “You need not ask. I understand the position you are in and I would never trouble another woman more than necessary. I also would not enjoy making an enemy out of the palace and I doubt the crown prince would let things slide if anything were to happen to his precious lover.”
Your mouth opens to correct her, she gives you a look that tells you not to even attempt to lie to her. You technically wouldn’t be fibbing.
After all, it was only his urges that allowed him to do such things to you tonight. At the end of the day, you’re still nothing more than a maid — a member of the royal staff. A lover is what you are not.
“Have a good evening, dear.”
“You as well, Lady Romanoff.”
Once she leaves the room, you go to check on Bucky one last time before you move to your own room; it is an adjacent space, connected by a door should you need access to his room. That distance, while small, still feels much too large.
You pull the blanket up higher on his waist, brush the wet strands away from his face as you check his temperature again. His fever has come down plenty, he’s at least broken through it and now he’s simply sweating out the rest.
With that, you pull your hand away and ready yourself to move to your own room.
Except, you don’t get the chance, not when you feel those familiar fingers wrap around your hand before you could move. You whirl around to find Bucky drowsily looking up at you. His eyes glow in the moonlight spilling through the massive windows.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
“Your royal highness, I should return to the chambers Lady Romanoff has provided. If the staff were to return, I wouldn’t want to have to explain the circumstances.”
“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” He says, but there’s no bite to his words, only affection.
You swallow thickly, chancing another look at your door.
“Stay,” he insists again, “please.”
Who are you to deny the crown prince? Your frail heart can’t seem to do that, not when it could be your last evening with him.
So, you slide under the covers when he makes room with a giddy little smile. He tucks you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. “Sleep, sweet girl.”
And for once, you listen to him.
Come morning, the reality of the situation has carved itself deep into your bones. While you wake up in Bucky’s warmth, his arms around you and your legs on top of each other, you know that this is the last part of your dream. The epilogue. This will be nothing more than a memory, maybe even the figment of one.
You swiftly clean yourself up, ensuring that you are properly clothed and presentable before you make your way to where Lady Romanoff had directed you. She is nowhere to be found but a carriage has been arranged to take you back to the palace. The sun hasn’t even risen when you slipped out of bed.
With one last look at Bucky who’s still sleeping peacefully, you take your leave.
You’re back early enough that none of the staff are awake yet, but you also can’t bring yourself to sleep. The gown Becca had lent you hangs by your door quietly, a stark reminder of the evening you thought you had crafted in your mind. You turn over to ignore it.
However, slumber doesn’t find you and so you begin your duties early. The princess’ gown, the tea, everything a lady-in-waiting should do in the palace.
It’s expected that Becca has questions about where you went last night. She was frantic with worry at the thought of losing you somewhere, or if something had happened to you that she refused to leave.
“Lady Romanoff informed me that you and Bucky had returned earlier because he was ill,” she says, forehead creasing with lines, “I apologize that your night was ruined by my brother. I was hoping you would enjoy the remainder of the ball.”
“I enjoyed it plenty already, don’t worry,” you smile. “Thank you for giving me that opportunity.”
“Well,” she eagerly presses, “were there any handsome bachelors that caught your eye?”
Only one and he is the one you certainly cannot have.
“No, I believe we were out there to assess the men for your own relationship.”
Becca blushes, fanning her face. “No, no one of importance.” She’s never been a good liar. “Okay, there was one but Bucky would kill me if I tried. Have you ever noticed how attractive Lord Rogers is? He also has such a kind heart.”
If he had a kind heart, he would’ve stopped Bucky from taking that ridiculous substance, you think bitterly, unfairly.
“I’m sure he is,” you only say.
“How was your evening then? Did you really not see anyone to your liking?”
You smile softly at her. “Princess, even if there were, it would not be my place.”
“That’s rather unprogressive of you! I’m sure there are suitors who would care little about such trivial things.”
Naive, hopeful Becca. This is why you love her.
Before you can respond, Becca perks up and waves behind you. You turn and that’s when you see him — Bucky. He’s crossing the ground with long strides like a man possessed. He’s a man on a mission as he wastes no time at all in closing the distance.
He looks furious.
He also looks an outright mess — shirt unbuttoned, sleeves haphazardly folded, hair sticking up at odd angles. It looks as if he rolled right out of bed at the Romanoff house and came straight here. Here to this garden that you’re walking with Becca.
You have a feeling that that’s exactly what he did.
“Brother, you’re looking much better—”
“You left,” he instead speaks directly to you.
You grit your teeth, doing your best to avoid Becca’s look of utter confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, your royal highness.”
“I thought we’ve established that we’re past that level of formality,” he snaps, “I’m not letting you escape this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, sister dear, I need to have a little chat with this one.” His hand covers yours, none of the gentleness from last night, instead he squeezes it tight like he’s afraid of you slipping away again.
Becca doesn’t follow, she’s too busy gaping and slowly piecing things together.
All the while Bucky is dragging you stumbling and tripping over your own feet towards a more secluded part of the gardens, away from the curious eyes.
You’re trying to pry his fingers off you to make your escape. “Bucky, stop. Stop this.”
He does stop dead in his tracks but he immediately spins around to face you. “No, you stop,” he growls and the sound shoots straight for your chest. “After last night, after everything that’s happened, you simply – what — leave? I woke up and you were nowhere to be found. Lady Romanoff was the one who had to tell me that you departed earlier.”
“I had to return to my duties first,” you say brusquely, “I have responsibilities to tend to, your royal highness. It also would have been inappropriate and highly suspicious if we arrived at the same time.”
“Damn propriety,” he barks, eyes glowering, “I think you should cross that word off your vocabulary after last night.”
Said last night flashes before your eyes, like paintings that could force a priest to pray. You’re warm all over now, the ghost of his touch on your skin, his mouth mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing the dips and curves of your body. The feel of his cock, hot and wet, sliding inside you, spilling evidence that took you far too long to clean last night.
Even now, you can almost still feel it dripping down your legs.
“You left,” Bucky presses.
“You weren’t yourself last night. Like you said, they were urges as a consequence of the substance you accidentally took. It was nothing more than a fulfillment of the circumstances.”
He scoffs, “I said that to Lady Romanoff, not to you. I did not want her to hold you responsible for the state we were in. To me, last night was— last night was everything.”
The lump in your throat only grows, tears prick your eyes. He can’t do this. Not now. You’ve made your decision to let that dream go.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” you whisper.
“Shouldn’t have happened?” He echoes, aghast. “Is that regret I hear in your voice?”
“Bucky…”
“Because I don’t regret it. Not a single damn thing. I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve made it very clear that I love you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If I had to give it all up, I would — if that meant that I could finally hold you.”
“You can’t say such things!” You hiss, “You are the crown prince!”
“And sometimes I wish I wasn’t! Because it would make this easier, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have to restrain yourself every time you speak with me. You wouldn’t have to call me such ridiculous titles when all I want is for you to say my name. Because I know you love me, I know you do. You can’t look at me the way you do and expect me to believe that you don’t feel anything for me.”
Your heart splits down the middle, parts of it chipping away. “I— it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I want. You have a long line of noble ladies waiting for you to make your choice—”
“I’ve already made my choice and damn anyone else who gets in my way. I’ve already had a taste of you, my love. I’m never letting you slip through my fingers again. I’ll speak to my parents—”
“Don’t!” You interrupt. “Please don’t. It’s— it won’t be you who would suffer the consequences. If they know of what… we did, if they know that it goes far beyond the previous evening, it wouldn’t be you they punish. My mother and I…” Your sentence trails off as your voice cracks.
Bucky cups your face, presses his forehead against yours. “I wouldn’t dare let a thing happen to you.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“It is. If they want me to be their heir, this is my choice. They have to make theirs.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, that’s love.”
You swallow thickly as he leans back only slightly, pained like he can’t even bear this amount of distance between the two of you.
“I love you. I love you and that’s a fact truer than the sun that spills light onto this earth. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise to care for you, to cherish you. I promise to be a man fit for you. I won’t be perfect because god knows nobody in this world could deserve you, but I’ll always try my damndest to make you happy.”
“Bucky,” you breathe out..
“Say yes. Say you’ll be mine. You’ve made me wait all this time. All these years wasted. Don’t let us forego anymore.”
Could you really do this? It would be a risk — not only to you, but to your mother, to the staff. They would be questioned if they’ve ever encouraged your entanglement with the prince. Becca — oh god, what would Becca even think? It would be an incredibly selfish decision.
“Don’t do that,” Bucky murmurs as he tightens his fingers around your face, “don’t think about anyone else. Think about you and what you want.”
You want him. You do.
“You’re mine regardless, sweet girl. I’ll protect you no matter what you decide. My heart is yours.”
“Yes,” you whisper and the answer comes easier than you think, “yes. I’m yours.”
Bucky lets out a wet laugh, blue eyes glistening as he presses his lips against yours. “You’re mine. I’ll protect you, I swear it.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know,” he rasps, “I know. Thank you for trusting me. I promise to do right by you. No matter what happens, know that my entire life is yours. I’d burn the kingdom down before I let anyone lay a finger on you.”
“Becca might get to you first,” you choke out a laugh.
Bucky swipes the tears from your cheeks with the pads of this thumb. “Then maybe I will have to take your protection first.”
“Deal.”
+ sam: my google searches from this are so embarrassing but hey i tried. i havent written bucky in a hot second but this one took me by the throat so i hope you enjoyed it!!! i love hearing thoughts so please share them if you liked it <3
description: bucky's campaign is going smoothly, or as smoothly as it could go for someone who technically was a former assassin. but the real crime is bucky standing in front of you and looking so good, when you couldn't get your hands on him yet.
warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, sex in a limo, brat/brat tamer dynamics, multiple orgasms, cumming inside, bucky is a bit mean at times, squirting mentioned, aftercare, bucky calls reader doll and sweetheart a lot, pre established relationship, swearing
word count: 5.9k
a/n: it took me so long to post this that she released morning dew (donk) lmao, divder from @strangergraphics and pictures from pinterest. any spelling/grammar errors are unfortunately my own because i can't stop writing at 2 in the morning
When Bucky rolled over in bed one night and told you that he wanted to run for Congress, you'd laughed in his face; because there was no way that he was being serious. Where had he gotten such an idea as that one? The two of you weren't exactly favored by the government.
"That's exactly why I want to do it, doll. The government hasn't exactly been kind to people like me and you, and I think I could help future people in our positions. You know, from the inside." Bucky rambles, pulling you closer. He was rambling, and when he was rambling it meant he was nervous and doubting himself.
"Hey, if this is really want you want to do, then let's do it. You know that I'll support you through anything, right?" The words come out soft and reassuring as you lace your fingers together, smiling softly at the way that some of the tension seems to ease out of your husband's shoulders.
Bucky grins at that, relieved to know that you have faith in him no matter what. "I chose the perfect girl to marry, didn't I?"
"Hey, you said it, not me." You tease, squealing when he rolls you over so that he's on top of you.
It turns out that running for Congress isn't all sunshine and rainbows, especially when you have a past as colorful as Bucky's. And it seemed like you were the only person who knew that he never wanted to do those things, that he was forced into taking the lives of all those people. Or maybe all these people did know, and just enjoyed throwing it back in his face to get a reaction from him.
You couldn't even count on your hands the amount of times someone whispered the words "Winter Soldier" around the two of you, as if it was a failing on Bucky's part. He didn't ask to fall off a train, be kidnapped and tortured, and turned into a killing machine. And people knew this—he'd been cleared of his transgressions for years now. They just didn't have the common decency to keep their comments to themselves.
"Are you sure that you want to go to this banquet tonight? I'm pretty sure most of the people that are going to be there have all but submitted their ballot." It wasn't that you didn't think Bucky could manage to change their minds; you knew better than anyone how charming and persuasive he could be. In truth, you just didn't want to leave the house tonight. The Food Network was calling your name.
"It can't hurt to try." Bucky says, shooting you a knowing smile. He knew this was a very poor attempt at getting him to cuddle in bed with you, and as much as he wanted to give in, he had a job to do. "When we get home, I'll run you a nice bath, pour you a glass of wine, and we can relax for a bit. How does that sound, baby?"
"Let me get this straight; you're going to spend all night kissing the ass of everyone we come into contact with, but when we get home you want to spoil me?" You laugh as you adjust his tie, shaking your head in mock disappoint. "What happened to putting yourself first, Mr. Barnes? You know how important self care is to me."
"That'll be Congressman Barnes to you soon enough, Mrs. Barnes." He mutters as he stares down at you, his metal arm wrapping around you to bring you closer.
"Careful, Bucky. Don't start something that you know we can't finish; we have to be out the door and in the limo in like 5 minutes." You say, waving a teasing finger at him.
"Hm, and how do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you look this good?" Bucky's arm tightens ever so slightly around you, and if this were any other time, you would've taken the bait and tore his clothes off. But the two of you had business to attend to, and if you had to suffer, so did Bucky.
"Nice try. Come on, we need to get going." You say as you grab your clutch, ignoring the dramatic groan coming from behind you.
"I hope you know that you're going to pay for that later." Bucky calls as he watches you walk down the steps.
As much as you hated to admit it, you weren't having the worst time at this gala. The space was decorated beautifully, unlike some of the previous ones that you'd been to. You'd seen kindergarten classrooms that were less garish. And they were serving the good alcohol, so that was always a bonus.
You were standing off to the side while Bucky talked to one of the other candidates—one of the men who probably only ran to uphold his "family legacy" at the demand of his mother and father. The family legacy that has kept New Yorkers down and out of power for years, if you had to guess.
Usually, Bucky could handle your average pompous asshole. But you could tell that even this one was starting to get to him; his jaw was locked, he hadn't even opened his mouth in at least 3 minutes, and he was holding onto his glass of whiskey.
You could save him, theoretically. But being able to sit back and watch as he tried to keep control of the situation? Well, that was a much more fun option. So you stayed rooted in your spot, swirling an olive around in your half empty martini glass.
"Isn't he just so handsome?" Someone said as they came up to stand on your left. You look over to see an older woman, probably in her mid to late 50s, ogling your husband. As if she could ever have a shot at him.
"He is." You state simply, deciding to humor her a little. "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone in Congress that isn't covered in wrinkles and grey hairs?"
"Hey, greys and wrinkles aren't all that bad." She says with mock offense. "Although, I guess I wouldn't know. I froze my face before I hit 30, just to make sure of it."
Alright, maybe this lady isn't all bad. "So, is that handsome man over there the one you plan on voting for?" You ask as you gesture towards Bucky.
"I'm not entirely sure yet. His policies are solid, especially for a first time runner, and he seems hellbent on making sure that he makes a change." The old woman paused, tilting her head almost thoughtfully as she looked at Bucky. "But I'm just not sure. I mean, how can we trust someone who's been through all the things he's been through to not…fall into old habits? I mean, can brainwashing like that ever truly be undone?"
If this had been a couple years ago, those words would have gotten to you. Not because you believed them or you hadn't heard people say them to or around you a dozen times, but because Bucky had said them to you on multiple occasions. When he first came off the ice in Wakanda, he didn't believe that he could really be fixed.
"You shouldn't be thinking of it as something that needs to be fixed." You'd told him. "Think of it more so as you returning to your old self. The you who would step in between Steve and that week's bully without a moment of hesitation."
But it had worked. You knew it did, because Bucky would still make you test it sometimes. Just to make sure.
So when you responded to her, it came from the mouth of James Buchanan Barnes' biggest supporter, because you had seen all the work he had put into making sure he never turned into that person again. "I can assure you, he has everything under control. If something were going to happen, don't you think it would have happened by now? There is nothing for you to worry about; if Bucky is elected, there will be zero chance of him harming anyone. I can promise you that."
"My, that was quiet a response." The lady says with a chuckle. "What are you, his campaign manager or something?"
"Actually, she's my wife." Bucky says as he comes up to your other side. You'd been so focused on this lady and her unwanted commentary, you'd taken your eyes off of Bucky. "You wouldn't mind if I stole her for a quick dance, would you?"
"Of course not." She says, waving a dismissive hand. As if she hadn't spent the past few minutes implying that your husband would fly off the rails and start killing people in the middle of a congressional meeting. Bucky shoots her an appreciative smile, taking your glass and setting it on the tray of a waiter passing by before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the dance floor.
"You looked like you were about to pounce on that lady, doll. It's a good thing that I got there when I did, or that would've seriously hurt my chances of winning this thing." He jokes as the two of you step onto the dance floor. "What was that all about?"
"Just an old lady who had no idea what she was talking about." You shrug, letting Bucky take the lead in your dancing. "Nothing to worry about."
"Oh yeah? That's not what it looked like. At least, not from where I was standing." Bucky says with a smirk. "Come on, tell me what she said that's got you all so worked up."
"I am not worked up." You say defensively, not missing the way his eyebrow raises. "Okay, fine, maybe I am a little worked up. But I already didn't want to come to this stupid event tonight, and having to stand there listening to her act like the Winter Soldier was going to come out and strangle her to death made me a little angry. So what? I'd say that it's perfectly normal to get upset when someone calls the character of your husband into question."
Bucky shakes his head, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he too was upset by this news. But you did know better, so you could tell from the look on his face that he was trying his hardest to hold back his laughter. "I thought that you would be used to those stupid comments by now, baby. What happened to the girl that used to tell me to block all of that bullshit out?"
"She's on vacation." You grumble as Bucky spins you around. When you fall back into him, his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer.
"You just have to let this stuff go. Like water off a duck's back, you know?" At your unimpressed look, he looks at you and smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because that's something that only grandpa's say." You say with a snort. "I know that you're like, over a hundred years old, but you don't have to sound like it too."
"Careful, young lady. You're already on thin ice because of earlier, remember?" He says as the two of you sway to the rhythm of the slow song.
"Oh no, I'm shaking in my boots." You say sarcastically as you roll your eyes.
Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at you with thinly veiled desire. "Yeah, you're going to regret all of this sass later on tonight."
"Are you sure that you're going to make it to later tonight? I'm pretty sure that we're a couple hours past your bedtime, Mr. Barnes. You might fall asleep during the car ride home before you can even make good on your promise."
You were well aware that you were digging your own grave this at this point, but you didn't really care. After all, that was what made nights like these fun for you.
After the night comes to a close and you and Bucky say your goodbyes, you practically shove him into the limo, ignoring the smug look on his face. "Jesus, doll. I'm not completely indestructible, you know that, right?" He says with a laugh as you climb on top of him.
"Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to have to stand there all night, watching you talk to all those people? I don't know if you know this, but you're really fucking hot, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself at these events." You ramble, your fingers struggling to undo his tie.
Bucky scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches up to put a stop to your hands, placing your arms around his neck instead. "Wow, I appreciate the nice words, doll. It's so great to be looked at like a piece of meat."
Your eyes roll involuntarily at that, and you attempt to get back to what you were doing when Bucky pinches your thigh. A noise of pain comes out of you, and you're about to voice such pain when Bucky gestures his head to the open partition that's meant to be separating the two of you and your driver.
"Excuse me, sir, could you roll up the partition, please? My husband and I need to have a private conversation." The saccharine tone of voice you'd been using the whole night comes back pretty easily, despite how desperate you are to be doing something much more fun.
"No problem, ma'am." The driver replies curtly, his hand rushing to push the button that would put some separation between him and whatever you and Bucky were getting up to in the back of his limo.
You wait until the divider is fully closed before turning your attention back to Bucky, smiling down at him like a kid in a candy store. "Now, where were we?"
"You were looking at me like I'm a piece of meat." Bucky quips, laughing softly at the way you glare at him.
"I am not looking at you like you're a piece of meat," You say as an almost manic sort of grin tugs at your lips. "I'm looking at you like you're my very handsome husband. Which you are."
"You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" Bucky asks sarcastically as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why don't we slow down for a bit, okay? We are not having sex in a limo right now."
"And why the hell not? It's not like we haven't done it before, you know." You remind him as you trace your finger down his jaw. "There was that one time, on that mission in France a few years back. And then there was that time we had a quickie while Sam was in that meeting dealing with something. Don't tell me that you've gotten boring in your old age, James."
"I am far from boring, and you know that, sweetheart." Bucky had that look in his eye—the one that said that he was still holding back, but the strings of the rope keeping him there were slowly starting to snap. After all, he wasn't always the most patient man on the planet, especially when it came to you and your body. And you knew exactly what buttons to let that part of him loose.
"Well you're not being any fun right now." You grumble as you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's late and there's traffic outside, which means that there is more than enough time for us to do something, James."
"Don't call me that, that's not fair." Bucky says as if the name physically pains him.
"Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" You tease. You knew more than anyone how much he hated being called by that name. He said that it made you sound like his mother, back when she would scold him—and Steve, because where Bucky went, Steve went—for tracking water in the house or for spending their last dime on something frivolous.
"Don't get smart with me. You're already in enough hot water as it is, so I wouldn't push your luck if I were you." Bucky warns as he trails his hands along your sides.
Any other time you might have finally taken the hint and backed off, but not tonight. You just knew that if you pushed a little harder, maybe even begged a bit, you could get what you wanted from your husband. It was just important that you played your cards right.
"Fine." You sigh, slumping against Bucky's body and resting your head on his shoulder. "Just wanted to have a bit of fun, you know? It was a long night tonight."
Bucky looks you up and down, his eyes narrowing as he assesses you. If he saw through this whole act of yours, he didn't comment on it. Bucky was a lot of things, and he could usually hold out for longer. But when you had a pout on your lips and those pretty little lashes of yours fluttered? There wasn't much he could do to deny you what you wanted, no matter how hard he tried.
"God, you're killing me here, doll." Bucky groans as he flips the two of you around so that you're sitting on the seat. You yelp in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as he lowers himself down between your thighs. "This will not become an every time thing, you understand me? No matter how much you beg and plead."
"Yes sir." You say, hiding your triumphant grin by biting down on your lip. Bucky glares at your teasing, but chooses not to comment on it. Instead he hikes up your dress, humming in approval when you lift your hips so he can remove your underwear. You watch as he kisses up your left thigh, nearly getting to your core before switching to your right leg and repeating the process, slower this time. He always loved to take his time when it came to eating you out; said that there was no need to rush when he had something so precious right there in front of him.
"Are you always so wet for me?" He murmurs as he nips at your thigh. It was a useless question; one that you both knew the answer to. How could you not be constantly aroused when you were around him?
"I meant what I said earlier about you being really fucking hot." Your giggle is cut off by a low moan as Bucky finally presses a kiss to your lips, the feeling of his warm breath already overwhelming you.
"Pleasure to be of service." Bucky hums before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. Your legs twitch in response, pressing against his head as he dives deeper.
A whine falls from you, your hips canting upward in a silent plea for more. More touch? More pressure? More what, you're not really sure. But you're feeling needy at the moment, and Bucky is the only person who can satisfy your desperate needs at the moment. His name gets caught on your lips as he sucks on your clit, your head resting on the back of the seat as he does it again and again. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum."
"That's the goal, sweetheart." Bucky says with a smirk as he flicks his tongue just right, watching in thinly veiled satisfaction as your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Come on, doll, I know you can. Why don't you give me a little taste?"
There's a fuck you sitting right on the tip of your tongue, but you know that being a brat won't get you what you want right now. And right now, that coil in the pit of your stomach is painfully tight, but it's close to snapping. You just need a little bit more from your husband to set it free. Your hand reaches down and tangles itself in Bucky's hair, pressing him hard into your cunt.
"More." You beg—or would plead be the better word? It doesn't really matter, because Bucky seems to know exactly what you mean. He always knows what you need to be thrown off that ledge.
A combination of licking, sucking, and nipping comes next. It could all happen in minutes, or it could have all happened in a mere matter of seconds, but it doesn't matter. When you cum you have to remind yourself that you and Bucky aren't in the comfort of your own home, because if not for the way you were biting your lip, you'd know for a fact that the driver would have heard the moan that clawed it's way out of your throat.
"God, you always looks so beautiful when you come undone for me." Bucky says, giving you one last lick before getting up and sitting beside you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you try and catch your breath, Bucky's arm wrapping around you.
There's a few moments of silence as the two of you collect yourselves. "Thank you." You whisper, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek.
"I hope you know that we're continuing this when we get home." He says as the fingers of his metal arm trail up and down your arm.
"Yeah, I'm counting on it. You look like you could use some release." You tease as your hand brushes against the very obvious bulge that is threatening to rip his pants in half.
Bucky groans, the hand on his knee tightening slightly. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You always have to push your limits."
You shrug, an unrepentant smile on your face as you grab his hand and lace your fingers together. "It is a hobby of mine, yes."
As soon as you and Bucky stumble into your apartment, his jacket comes off and your dress is ripped off your body. A soft laugh floats between the two of you as your back is pressed against the wall. "Careful, careful. We don't need anymore noise complaints from Mrs. Lovett."
"She'll be fine." Bucky dismisses as he taps your thigh, signaling for you to jump into his arms. Once he has you properly settled in his grip, he starts trailing kisses across your collarbone, pausing to suck on your skin every so often. "Besides, there are more pressing matters that we need to attend to at the moment, Mrs. Barnes."
"Oh yeah? And what might those matters be?" You ask with a giggle as you tilt your head back. Rather than answering with his words, Bucky pressed himself against you so that you could feel just how much he craved you.
"Is that enough of an answer for you, doll?" He questions as he starts carrying you towards the bedroom. The door barely has time to shut behind you before he's throwing you on the bed and climbing on top of you, his arms pinning you in on either side of your head.
You don't even give him the chance to say something else, pulling him down by his shoulders and smashing your lips together. This isn't a soft kiss—it is one of need, want, passion, devotion and everything that comes in between. The two of you kiss like you could very well die tomorrow, and you want this to be the last thing you remember about the other.
"It's not fair that you're still so clothed, and I'm laying here naked." You point out when the two of you finally break the intense kiss. "Why don't you get naked too?"
"Would that make you happy, doll?" Bucky asks with a smirk as he pulls back slightly. "Because you know that I'd do anything you wanted if it made you happy."
"It would make me very happy, Bucky." You whisper, watching as Bucky slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt and slips it off his shoulder. A soft sigh comes out as his chest comes into view, and you have to fight every bone in your body to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him. Before he can undo the buckle of his belt, you reach out and place your hand over his. "Let me help you with that."
Bucky's gaze intensifies as he watches your hands undo his belt, a hum of approval coming out when you also undo the button of his pants. "So helpful for me, sweetheart." He murmurs, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another kiss. This one is much softer and slower, like he just remembered that there was no need to rush through any of this; you had the whole night ahead of you.
He pushed you back down again, keeping a hand on your stomach so that you would stay still while he removed his pants and his boxers in one motion. Most people wouldn't see a dick and have the first thought that came to their mind be about how pretty it looked, but you would. Especially when it was Bucky's—it was almost as if it was handcrafted by the gods to be everything you could ever want and need in a husband. The way it curved slightly upwards and to the right, the way it twitched whenever you so much as breathed near it, the tiny bead of precum that traveled from his tip and down his shaft.
It was nothing short of perfect, and it was all yours. Forever.
"Never seen anything prettier than when you're all laid out in front of me like this." He whispers into your ear as his hand travels up your legs, the cold metal of his fingers settling on your clit and drawing small circles. He swallows the gasp that comes from your lips with his mouth, his body pressing against yours.
"Oh, fuck." You whine against his lips, raising your hips up in hopes of getting some more pressure. "Bucky—"
"Shh, I know, baby. I know. I just need to work you open a bit more, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." His words are meant to be reassuring, but all they do is make you whine even louder.
"Don't care, just want you." You grumble, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping the two of you over. Bucky lets out a noise of surprise, his hands shooting out to your hips to make sure you don't topple over.
"You can't just be patient for two minutes, can you?" Bucky asks with a scoff, but it's clear from the smile that sits on his lips that he's not particularly upset about you taking control.
"I've been patient all night long, I think I've earned some kind of reward." You say with a huff as you wrap your hands around Bucky's shaft and give it a few pumps, biting your lip at the way Bucky's breath catches in his throat.
"Alright, yeah. That seems fair—fuck, doll. You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that." He groans as his eyes screw shut. You giggle, rubbing your thumb along his tip as your other hand joins the first one on his shaft.
"What was it you said earlier? Something about working me open?" You pretend to think about it, tilting your head slightly before speaking again. "Think of this as my version of doing that."
"You're going to pay for this later, and I won't be as kind as I was earlier." Bucky warns as his grip on your hips tightens.
"Oh, honey. I'm holding you to that." You say as you line him up with your entrance before sliding down. The two of you moan as you become one, Bucky's head falling back into the pillows while you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself. You take a moment to adjust to his size—had he somehow gotten bigger?—before starting to rock your hips, your mouth falling open as quiet sighs and curses escaped you.
"Fuck, doll, you feel like heaven." Bucky grits out as he aids you in rocking yourself back and forth. You were definitely going to have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow morning, but it would all be worth it if it meant you could be reminded of this moment. "No place I'd rather be right now."
"Me either." You manage to choke out as your start moving faster, your clit rubbing against the hair at the base of Bucky's dick. Everything just felt so good; it was all too much, but not enough at the same time. You wanted more, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to get what you needed without more of Bucky's help. "Can you…?"
"Can I what, doll?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what it was you were asking for. But you'd been so insistent on taking what you wanted, and he was going to make you do some begging before giving into what you wanted. "I thought that you could handle all of this by yourself?"
On a different night, at a different time, you would have fought back. You would've given him some lip, and showed him just how much you could handle on your own. But this wasn't any other night, and you'd been so worked up all night long, and he was right there, looking like sin incarnate with that stupid grin and his perfect hair. Swallowing your pride just this one time wouldn't kill you.
"Please? Feels good, feels so good, but not enough." You whine as your hips momentarily halt their motions. Bucky tsks, using his hold on your hips to make you start moving again.
"Did I tell you that you could stop?" He says scoldingly, removing his hands once you return to your previous pace. "You wanted this so bad, no way you're stopping now. In fact, I'll just lay here until you can make yourself cum."
You knew from past experience that that wasn't just an empty threat; Bucky could restrain himself all night if that's what it took. Stupid fucking super soldier serum. You couldn't pout and plead your way into getting what you wanted tonight, unfortunately.
With a whine that you would almost certainly deny later, you readjusted your position on Bucky's lap so that you could get more comfortable, focusing on getting him deeper inside of you so that he'd hit that spot inside of you that desperately craved attention. This new stance and new focus put more attention on your clit, the feeling of Bucky all around you creating a sense of pleasure that you knew like the back of your hand.
"There you go, good girl." Bucky whispers mockingly as he trails a hand up your thigh. He chuckles at your almost pained noise as his hand makes contact with your skin. "I can feel you tightening around me, you know? It can't possibly feel that good, can it, doll?"
Tomorrow morning, you were going to make him pay for that smug look in his eyes right now. But currently, you were too preoccupied by the fact that he was so deep inside you there was a chance he would never come out. "Bucky, please. I promise, I'll be good—I'll be so fucking good, just help me cum!" You plead as your fingers scratch down his chest.
Bucky finally seems to take pity on you, rolling his eyes as if this was the biggest inconvenience before flipping the two of you over once more so he was hovering over you. "How can I deny you when you beg so prettily when you need something from me, hm?"
There's barely any time for you to form a response before Bucky hooks one of your legs up and over his shoulder with one hand, the other one finding it's place against your neck. His hips snap against yours, the pace almost punishing.
"Fuck!" You shout as you throw your head back, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he speeds up. He knew just what to do to send you over the edge, and you were forever grateful for that.
Moans, whimpers, sighs, and curses all fell from your lips, but you couldn't make out exactly what was being said. The scent of sex mixed with Bucky's cologne and your perfume was simply too much for you to handle all at once, and that familiar swirl in the pit of your stomach was building up once more.
"So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart." Bucky grunts as he tightens his hold on your neck, watching the way your eyelids flutter shut and your mouth falls open once more. "No other way to describe it, other than utterly fucking perfect. And all mine."
"All yours, Bucky." You repeat once he removes his hand from around your throat. Your own hands scratch down his back as that feeling that you've been chasing comes back, your words almost stuck inside you. "Gonna cum."
"It's okay, you can cum. Cum for me, doll, come on." Bucky whispers as he trails his kisses from your forehead, to the tip of your nose, to your cheeks and your jaw, and finally to your lips. The hand that slides between of you to give your clit a little extra attention is the straw that breaks the camel's back, an orgasm so powerful that the corners of your eyes fill with white spots. You can distantly feel Bucky's load spilling out of him and into you before everything fades away.
When you come to a few minutes later, Bucky is slowly lowering the two of you into the tub in your en suite bathroom. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as you slowly blink away the fuzziness clinging to your vision.
"Well, well. Look who's back." Bucky says with a soft smile, his arm wrapped around your midsection. "You passed out on me there for a bit, had me all worried."
"I'd say that I was sorry, but we both know that that would be a lie." You say with a cheeky grin, earning a snort from the man behind me. "You should be proud of yourself, honestly. The sex is so good it made me pass out for a couple minutes."
"And squirt." Bucky adds casually as he reaches for your favorite soap. You whirl around, sending warm water splashing out of the sides of the tub.
"I what?" You shriek, jaw dropped as you stare down your husband. He just shrugs, as if he was sharing the morning's weather report with you. "But we just changed the sheets." You whine as you turn and lean against Bucky's chest.
"We just had mind blowing sex, and you're worried about the fact that we have to change the sheets again?" Bucky asks incredulously before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "And you have the nerve to call me old."
"Well, that's different. You're like, over a hundred years old." You counter with a small smile. "I just don't like changing the sheets or doing laundry."
"If it bothers you so much, I'll change the damn sheets." Bucky says with a scoff as he puts some soap on the towel and begins washing your back.
"Such a perfect husband. What would I do without you?" You tease, adjusting so that Bucky can clean your back properly. Although, it wasn't a joke. Bucky really was the perfect husband to you, and you wouldn't trade him out for anything or anyone else.
Because when it came down to it, you loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else.
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