disc0kitten

[disc0kitten]

INFECTED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader x Jason Todd

Plot: What was supposed to be a simple mission to stop Ivy takes an unexpected turn when her latest scheme leaves you, Jason, and Dick trapped, and at the mercy of some very potent pollen. With your minds hazy and bodies burning, boundaries blur, and well... things escalate fast.

A/N: I don't know if this is what y'all had in mind with this spicy pollen fic, but as you might've noticed, I'm a yapper. I don't do 'let's get it and leave' type of shit. No, we're diving deep into the filth and the feelings. So yeah... this turned out way longer than expected, but your girl loves details 😭

The warehouse stinks of damp wood and fertilizer, the air thick with the scent of Ivy's latest eco terrorist bullshit. You, Jason, and Dick move quickly through the dimly lit space, scanning for the so called "pollen bombs" that intel suggested she was planting all over Gotham.

"God, it reeks in here," Jason grumbles, wrinkling his nose behind his helmet. "What the hell is she even tryin' to do? Make the city smell like a goddamn greenhouse?"

"Could be worse," Dick muses, flipping acrobatically over a crate before kneeling beside a sleek metal canister. "Could smell like Killer Croc's lair."

Jason makes a gagging noise, and you fight back a laugh as you crouch beside them, eyeing the canister. It looks pretty standard—small, about the size of a fire extinguisher, a simple pressurized trigger system on top.

"Think this is one of them?" you ask.

"Either that or the world's most industrial lookin' Febreze bottle," Jason mutters.

Dick scoffs, running his gloved fingers along the side of the canister. "Ivy's getting sloppy. This is—"

PFFT.

The release is instant. The three of you barely have time to react before a thick, pale green vapor hisses from the canister, spreading out around you in a slow, curling cloud.

"Shit," Jason curses, jerking back, but it's already too late.

Instinctively, he pulls you with him, yanking you closer to his chest as if that could shield you from whatever the hell is happening. His arm wraps tight around you, his body stiffening as the vapor swirls around all three of you.

The gas spreads, clinging to your clothes, sneaking past your masks. You inhale before you can stop yourself, and—

"Wait," you murmur. "Why does it... smell good?"

Jason and Dick freeze, both of them taking tentative sniffs. The air is thick with something warm and sweet—notes of honey and spice, deep and rich like fresh blooms in the summer sun. It's nice. So nice, in fact, that for a second, the three of you just... stare at each other, confused.

Jason exhales sharply, waving a hand in front of his face. "Okay. What the fuck?"

Dick coughs, looking around at the dissipating mist. "Maybe it's, uh... a trap? Some kind of knockout gas?"

"We'd be on the floor by now, Grayson," you point out.

There's a beat of silence. The three of you just stand there, letting the last wisps of the pollen drift away, waiting for some kind of reaction—dizziness, nausea, anything.

But nothing happens.

Jason huffs. "So lemme get this straight. Ivy had all these bombs set up, and instead of droppin' us where we stand, it just..." he gestures vaguely, "Makes Gotham smell better?"

The absurdity of it hits you all at once. A soft giggle bubbles up in your throat, and then another, until you're actually laughing, shaking your head.

"Damn," you say, breathless. "Deadliest eco terrorist in Gotham, and she really just gave us a perfume sample."

Jason snorts. "The horror."

Dick rolls his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. "Okay, well, if this was supposed to be some big master plan, I think we can call it a bust. Let's get back to the cave and let Bats know."

Jason claps a hand on your back, steering you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, before Ivy shows up and actually does somethin' dangerous."

None of you notice it yet. The subtle heat creeping into your limbs, the faint buzz just beneath your skin. By the time you're in the Batmobile, it's in you.

The car hums beneath you, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the space as Gotham blurs past the tinted windows. Jason's driving, one hand gripping the gear shift, the other draped lazily over the wheel. Dick's in the passenger seat, his mask still on, head tilted slightly like he's lost in thought.

And you? You're burning up, but not in a sick way. Not in an oh God, something's wrong way. It's just... heat. Low and thick, curling beneath your skin, settling deep between your thighs in a way that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You tug at your collar, brows furrowing, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.

It's all there, wrong but right at the same time, pooling in the pit of your stomach, thrumming between your legs. Your thighs press together, the friction sending a sharp little spark up your spine.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare out the window, pretending like you're not embarrassingly close to squirming in the backseat of the goddamn Batmobile like some desperate, needy mess.

Maybe it's just—God, maybe it's just them. Jason and Dick, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling out their suits, muscles flexing with every shift of the steering wheel, every casual movement.

That's it, you tell yourself. That has to be it.

This is just because you've been down bad lately, right? Because let's be honest, you've spent way too many nights with your hand or your toys between your thighs, gasping their names into your pillow. It's ridiculous how often it happens, how they've completely hijacked your brain.

Jason, with his sharp mouth, broad chest, big hands. That stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip. His voice, rough and lazy when he calls you "doll" like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And then there's Dick. All smooth charm and soft lips, stupidly pretty even when he's bleeding, the kind of guy who can talk anyone into anything. That boyish grin, those ridiculous acrobat's hips. The way he looks at you sometimes, all teasing and playful but just sharp enough to make you wonder.

Truth be told, you're painfully under fucked. Gotham's dating scene is trash, and while you could technically take the edge off yourself, your current stash of sex toys is... underperforming. No matter what setting, what angle, it's just not enough. Not enough pressure, not enough stretch, not enough them.

Because the worst part? The part that keeps you up at night, panting into your pillow, legs shaking from overstimulation?

You don't think about some faceless, nameless fantasy. You think about them.

Jason, his big hands pinning your wrists down, his voice rough against your ear as he stretches you open. Dick, slick with sweat, his mouth everywhere, moaning into your skin as he fucks you deep.

Sometimes—fuck—sometimes, it's both. One of them eating you out while the other fucks your mouth, one stuffing you full while the other whispers the filthiest things in your ear.

Your fingers have been the next best thing, but they always leave you wanting. And now, sitting here, feeling hotter by the second, it's all rushing back—every desperate, aching thought.

No. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your cheek. Get a grip. You are not about to get horny in the goddamn Batmobile. Except... you already are. And you're not the only one.

Up front, Dick shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, his fingers curled into fists on his thighs. His suit is... well, not built for this. The material is thick, durable, but not forgiving. His cock is already half hard, twitching every time the car hits a bump in the road, the sensation sparking something hot and needy down his spine.

His jaw tightens. His thoughts have already turned against him, flashing back to every moment he's ever had to force himself not to look at you, not to stare too long at the way your suit hugs your curves, not to think about how sweet you probably sound when you moan.

But now? Now it's like those thoughts are pumping through his veins. He shifts again, pulling his hand over his lap, casually resting his elbow on the car door, tilting his head like he's just relaxing. But his fingers curl into his thigh, his cock throbbing against the fabric, and shit, he can't stop thinking about you.

He clenches his jaw. This is fine. He can just breathe through it, ignore it. Right?

Because it doesn't make sense. One second, he's fine, the next, his skin is tight, his pulse is loud, his body thrumming like it's been wired wrong. His mind flashes back to the warehouse, to the smoke. Shit. Okay. Okay, this is fine. Except it's not fine because he chances a glance in the rearview mirror.

And that is a mistake. Because there you are, brows furrowed, teeth sinking into your lip, looking so warm and soft and pretty.

He forces his gaze forward, but his dick throbs insistently against the fabric of his suit, demanding attention, aching in a way that has him pressing his thighs together and shifting in his seat, trying to be subtle about it.

But Jason notices, because of course he does. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers flexing as he watches Dick shift uncomfortably in his seat. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way he adjusts himself as subtly as he can.

Jason grits his teeth. Goddammit. This is already bad enough. He's used to getting hard, and that's not really news, considering he's around you.

It's embarrassing at this point. He's used to this constant, low level problem whenever you're near. The way his body responds to you like some fucking reflex. A glance, a laugh, a casual touch, and suddenly, he's half hard in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.

But this? This is different. This is fucking brutal. The heat is unbearable, his whole body buzzing with tension, his dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. And fine, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you right now, but his brain isn't listening.

It's giving him vivid fucking images—your lips wrapped around his cock, your pussy stretched around his fingers, the little gasps you'd make if he spread you open, if he fucked you just right. He exhales through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. Not now. Not fucking now.

And then there's Dick. Sitting there. Shifting around. Acting all innocent, but Jason knows. He sees the way Dick's jaw is clenched, the way he's hiding behind his fucking hands, the way his shoulders keep tensing like he's fighting something off.

And that's a whole other problem. Because Jason does not get hard around Dick. But now? Now, his cock is aching, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans, and it's fucking weird because Dick is right there.

No way in hell he's acknowledging this. He focuses on the road, breathing in through his nose, willing the heat to settle, willing the blood to go anywhere but his dick. It doesn't work. His suit is hot, the collar too tight, his whole body buzzing with restless, frustrated energy.

His fingers flex against the wheel. "Goddamn it," he mutters under his breath.

Neither of you hear him, and that is concerning. And then, Jason chances a glance in the rearview mirror, and you're squirming.

Not a lot, but enough. Shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together, lips parted ever so slightly, brows still drawn like you don't even realize you're doing it. He forces his eyes forward, gripping the wheel tight enough to hurt.

Oh, this is so fucked. And he knows—knows—it's about to get worse.

The second the Batmobile rolls into the cave, you're out.

"Okay—" you blurt, voice higher than usual. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

You don't even wait for their answers before you're practically sprinting toward the locker room.

Jason clears his throat. "I think there was somethin' in that fuckin' smoke bomb."

"Yep," Dick says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say more but physically cannot.

Jason glances away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Y'know what, maybe she's right. A shower wouldn't hurt. Maybe wash these clothes, too, given whatever the fuck was in that shit is on us."

"Yep," Dick repeats, and then, without another word, both of them hurry toward the showers.

The locker room is sleek—clean lines, dark tiles, recessed lighting that casts a soft glow instead of that harsh, clinical brightness most locker rooms have. It's modern but comfortable, not cold or uninviting, just functional.

The walls are lined with neatly organized gear, each section personalized to its owner, creating a sense of quiet efficiency. Even the air has a faint hint of something metallic, like fresh tech waiting to be put to use. It's a space that serves its purpose, but it also feels like it's built for those who belong, making it almost... homey in its own way.

The showers are set up in a row, each with tinted glass dividers that fog up easily with the heat—not fully clear, but not enough to hide everything, either. No doors, no curtains, just a spacious, open layout that suddenly feels like the worst possible decision Bruce could've made.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. You're focused on the water cascading over your skin, the steam curling around you, the way your body still burns in a way that has nothing to do with the hot spray.

And okay, fine. You might be a little slow on the uptake, but even you have to admit now that this? This is not normal. You've never felt this desperate before. Not even after a dry spell, not even after the nights you spent aching between your sheets, body wired with need that just wouldn't settle. This is different. Worse.

You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the cool tile as the water rushes down your back. Okay. Deep breaths. Just... get through this. It'll wear off.

But then you fucking hear it. Jason's low muttering as he steps under the spray, the deep groan he lets out when the hot water crashes over him. Dick exhaling hard, shifting around, the slap of water against skin as he pushes his hair back. And now, somehow, this is fucking worse.

Because your brain? Yeah, it's not helping.

It's giving you images. Images of Jason, big and broad and dripping, water sliding down his chest, over those stupidly defined abs, down to his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

And Dick, all lean muscle and smooth skin, his own cock probably flushed and aching, his face tipped back under the spray as he runs a hand over his body, slicking up every inch of himself.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No. Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.

But the heat between your legs is unbearable. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your clit throbbing, aching for relief, and fuck it, you slip your hand between your thighs.

Your breath stutters, thighs trembling as you press your fingers against your puffy, soaked clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. And God, you're so fucking wet. Soaked. You can feel it, slicker than you've ever been, dripping down your thighs, mixing with the hot water as you rub yourself with quick, jerky movements.

This should do. Probably. Hopefully.

You bite your lip, forcing your moans down, listening, but the water covers any sound, the steady rush of the showers masking the way you whimper when your fingers slide lower, teasing at your entrance, dipping inside just enough to send a shudder up your spine.

This is fine. They can't hear you. They don't know. Right?

Dick exhales sharply, bracing one hand against the tile as the hot water rushes over him. His body is wired, his skin flushed, his cock still painfully, achingly hard even after scrubbing himself down, after doing everything in his power to focus on literally anything else.

But it's not working. It's. Not. Fucking. Working.

His jaw clenches as he glances down, swallowing hard at the sight of his cock—thick and heavy, desperate, the tip drooling precum as it twitches in the air. Okay, he can fix this.

It's just... the pollen. That's what this is. Not him, not you.

It's just a chemical reaction, and the fastest way to get this out of his system is to handle it. Quickly. Before it gets worse.

So he wraps his fingers around himself and gives a slow, experimental stroke. The relief is instant.

A shudder rolls down his spine as his breath hitches, his hand tightening just slightly as he jerks himself once, twice, watching the way his cock twitches, the way another thick bead of precum leaks from the tip, slicking up his palm.

Fuck, this is bad. Because now, now that he's touching himself, now that he's letting himself feel it—you're there. Well, not right next to him. Not really.

But in his head? You're everywhere. Your mouth on his, warm and desperate, your hands roaming down his chest, slipping lower, wrapping around his cock, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes.

Your breath, hot against his ear as you whisper his name, your tits pressed against him, soft and warm, your nipples dragging over his wet skin as you shift in his lap, grinding against his cock, your pussy so wet he can feel it even through the heat of the shower. His pace stutters, his breath turning ragged as his hips rock forward, fucking into his fist like a desperate, needy idiot.

Because fuck, he is needy. And the worst part? You're. Right. There.

A few feet away, just behind that glass divider, water rushing over your body, slicking up every inch of your skin, dripping down your tits, your stomach, your thighs.

And he wants you. Has for a long time.

But now? Now, it's not just want. It's need, and it's fucking unbearable. His hand moves faster, breath catching as his muscles tense, his balls pulling tight, his whole body thrumming with the need to cum.

Because he just needs to cum, and then this will be over. Right?

Jason has the exact same fucking thought.

Because his dick? Yeah, it's not going down. Not even slightly. His head tips back against the tile, a slow, heavy breath hissing through his teeth as he fists his cock, thick fingers wrapping tight around the swollen length. He's had plenty of inconvenient boners before.

That's just part of the package when he's got you in his life—skintight suits, little smirks, the way you fight like you own the city, like no one can touch you.

Yeah, he's used to being hard when you're around. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.

His whole body feels wired, too hot, like there's an electric current running under his skin. His dick hurts, heavy and flushed, leaking against his knuckles as he starts to stroke himself, slow and firm, the pressure making his breath hitch. This should help. This has to help.

He forces himself to think about other things—literally anything else—but his brain? Yeah, his brain is not cooperating.

Because all he can see is you. Your body under the spray, your tits glistening with water, your ass round and perfect, your thighs slick and parted just enough for him to see the way your pussy clenches, desperate and aching.

And fuck, you're right there. Right. Fucking. There.

So close he could just step over, press himself against your back, run his hands down your body, feel the way your slick little pussy drips against his fingers.

Fuck. His strokes get faster, hips bucking up into his own grip, stomach tightening as he groans under his breath, low and rough, trying to chase that sharp, bright edge of relief.

Because yeah, if he just gets this out of his system, if he just cums, then maybe he won't be thinking about how he wants to bury his cock inside you so fucking bad he's starting to lose his mind.

You rub your clit in tight little circles, slick and needy, but it's not enough. The ache between your thighs burns hotter with every second, but you can't tip over the edge. Not like this.

Not with Jason and Dick right there, close enough that your mind keeps conjuring them instead of whatever weak fantasy you were trying to focus on. You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly as your fingers work faster, but it's no use, because all you can think about is how good their hands would feel instead.

Jason's fingers, thick and rough, stretching you open. Dick's tongue, wet and eager, lapping at you until you're a trembling mess. Fuck. You let out a shaky breath and force yourself to stop, frustrated beyond belief, body pulsing with need that refuses to be satisfied.

Meanwhile, Jason is in his own personal nightmare. Fisting his cock was supposed to help. He thought if he just got off, the unbearable need would settle. But no, he's still rock hard, twitching in his grip, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it's a miracle his jaw hasn't snapped.

It's worse because you're right there. He knows you're showering only a few feet away, completely naked, slick water running down that perfect fucking body of yours, and it's driving him insane. His strokes slow, and he tips his head back against the tiled wall, a groan tearing from his throat before he can stop it.

And that's when Dick stiffens. Not just in the obvious way, though yeah, he's still rock hard, still throbbing, and still aching for more, even after cumming. His skin is flushed, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and his cock hasn't softened at all. He's still leaking, still desperate, and it takes everything in him not to wrap his fingers around himself again and just keep going.

Then Jason groans again, and it clicks. Dick's movements still. His brows furrow slightly. And before he even thinks it through, his gaze shifts—just barely—toward Jason's stall.

Jason, who is definitely still jerking off. Heat rushes up Dick's spine, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous—curling deep in his gut. They're both fucked.

Jason must feel the stare, because his grip falters. He huffs a breath, tilting his head to the side just enough that their eyes meet through the fogged up glass, and... oh. Oh, fuck.

The realization is heavy between them, thick with unspoken tension. Dick's lips part slightly, his fingers twitching at his side, and Jason—still flushed, still panting—grits his teeth, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow his fault.

"This shit is fucked," Jason mutters, voice rough and strained.

Dick sways awkwardly, still pulsing with unbearable heat, and nods. Jason swallows hard, and when his gaze flicks to Dick, he finds the same wide eyed, panting, wrecked expression staring back at him. They're both so far gone it's pathetic. And if they're this fucked, then you must be even worse.

And then? You step out of the stall.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water dripping from your skin, steam curling around you like a fucking wet dream. And when you lift your gaze and see them, your breath catches.

Jason is still gripping his cock, hand frozen mid stroke, his whole body stiff. Dick is still hard, still flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he takes you in. The tension is suffocating.

You all know what's happening here at this point. You swallow hard, your body throbbing with heat, and realization slams into you: none of you are getting through this alone.

The silence is thick, the kind that clings, all steam and heat and unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. All three of you just stand there, dripping wet, but you're the only one still clinging to any semblance of modesty, wrapped in a towel that suddenly feels too tight, too hot against your skin.

Dick and Jason? They're just there. Naked.

And maybe you'd all just keep standing here, awkward and unbearably turned on, if Dick didn't clear his throat and break the silence.

"So, uhm..." His voice cracks a little, and he grimaces before trying again. "There was something in the—"

"I know," you cut him off, and your voice is not as steady as you'd like it to be.

Jason, ever the blunt one, just snorts. "Yeah, so jerkin' off isn't doing shit."

That gets a laugh out of you, sharp and a little breathless. "You don't say."

And you really shouldn't be looking. You shouldn't. But they're right there. And when you finally, really let yourself look, trailing your gaze over bare skin, all toned muscle and broad shoulders and glistening tattoos, your eyes flicker down to their laps.

Fuck.

Your eyes drop before you can stop yourself, trailing down to where they stand, cocks heavy and thick against their stomachs, hard and mouthwatering, flushed at the tip.

Jason's hands flex at his sides, itching to reach for you.

Dick sways forward slightly, like he's barely restraining himself, like he wants to drop to his knees right then and there. And you whimper. A soft, needy little sound you cannot take back, and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room.

Jason notices first—of course he does, always the one to pick up on the filthiest shit—and his eyes darken as his fingers twitch like he's about to grab you.

"So," he starts, voice thick, rough, the kind that settles low in your gut. "Maybe we should, uh... try and help each other out?"

You snap your gaze up to his face so fast your neck nearly cracks, and when you glance at Dick, he's already looking at you.

There's no denying it. There never has been. The attraction between you three has always been there, simmering under the surface, never acted on, never spoken out loud. You've thought about it. Of course you have. Working alongside them, running into them on patrol, spending late nights at the manor or in Jason's safe house—how couldn't you?

You know they like you. They know you like them. But friendship has always come first.

You know you're all good; you get tested regularly, a necessity when you're constantly fighting Gotham's worst, and besides, you're on birth control. You could walk away, end this right here, but they're right there. Naked, wet, needy, dicks that have no business being that fucking big, let alone rock solid.

And you want them so bad. So you do the only thing that makes sense: you let the towel slip from your fingers and drop to the floor.

The second it hits the tiles, their eyes devour you. It starts at your face, flicking down over the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your tits, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs, until finally, finally, both of them are staring straight at your bare, aching pussy, slick already glistening between your thighs.

And they look wrecked just from seeing you. Jason's jaw clenches, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Dick sways slightly on his feet, but neither of them speak, too caught up in the sight of you until Jason finally breaks the silence.

"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough and thick. "You're fuckin' gorgeous."

Your face burns hotter, if that's even possible, heat rushing to your cheeks as they reach out almost in sync, hands gripping the knobs on their respective showers, twisting the water off in one smooth motion before stepping out.

And shit, they're even bigger up close.

Not just big, but big. Tall, broad, all muscle, sleek and strong, shoulders wide, thighs thick, every part of them defined—from the solid lines of their chests to the way their abs flex as they move, glistening wet, drops of water trailing down their skin in slow, teasing paths.

But it's their dicks that have you aching, twitching hard, flushed, heavy, and when Dick's cock gives a sharp throb, you bite back a moan so desperate it nearly chokes you.

Jason steps in first, heat radiating off him as he cups your cheek with one big, calloused hand, tilting your head up, eyes dark and hungry as he leans in.

And then he's kissing you. Hard, deep, hungry. His lips move against yours, hot and insistent, tongue sliding into your mouth like he's been waiting for this, starving for it, and fuck, he kisses like he fights—possessive, dominant, all consuming.

His other hand doesn't hesitate, palms smoothing over your skin, rough fingers sliding straight down to your ass, grabbing a handful, squeezing tight, yanking you up flush against him until his cock presses firm against your belly.

You moan into his mouth, body shuddering as heat coils in your gut, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, every inch of him burning against you.

Behind you, Dick curses under his breath, and you can feel the heat of his stare, feel the way his breath comes out sharp, ragged, as he watches Jason kiss you like he owns you.

Dick steps up behind you, heat radiating off his body, slick skin pressing against your back, and you melt between them. Sandwiched, trapped, caught between two broad, solid bodies, both of them flushed and aching, cocks hard and hot against your skin. Jason groans when your tits press into his chest, and then Dick—fucking Dick—lets out the softest, neediest little exhale against your ear as his hands slide up your sides.

His fingers trace over your ribs, then higher, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing, stroking, making you gasp as Jason leans in and kisses you again.

It's not like before. This kiss is slower, deeper, Jason taking his time to drink you in. His tongue licks into your mouth, lazy, hungry, and his hands roam, one gripping the back of your neck while the other settles on your waist, fingers flexing like he can't decide whether he wants to pull you closer or just hold you there and enjoy every shaky breath you make.

Behind you, Dick's mouth is everywhere—pressing open mouthed kisses to your shoulder, up your throat, teasing your ear as his hand dips lower. Fingertips ghosting down, past your belly, until they finally find your puffy, swollen clit.

You twitch at the contact, a sharp little gasp escaping against Jason's lips, and Dick groans, louder this time, pressing a little firmer, rubbing teasing little circles as he mutters, "You're so fucking wet."

Jason pulls back just enough to watch your face, brushing his thumb over your kiss swollen lips.

His voice is strained, rough as he asks, "You okay with this? With whatever's about to happen?"

His eyes are dark, intense, filled with want but laced with concern, because they need this, need you, but not like this, not unless you want it just as badly. You nod quickly, already breathless, but Dick? Dick's not having it.

He dips his head lower, mouth brushing right against your ear as he whispers, "Use your words, love. We don't wanna push you into anything."

It's almost cruel, the way his fingers slow down, teasing, playing, rubbing lazy, barely there strokes over your clit when all you want is more.

"Yes," you gasp, pushing into his touch. "Please."

That's all it takes. Jason and Dick lock eyes, silent for a moment, and then? Dick nods once, sharp, decisive, and says, "Sauna. Now."

Jason groans. "Jesus fuck, Dickie-bird."

But he doesn't argue. He just watches as Dick takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the sauna with Jason trailing behind, adjusting the settings so it's warm, comfortable—not stifling, just enough to chase away the cold still clinging to your damp skin.

And the sauna? Yeah, of course it's luxurious as hell. Bruce built it, after all. The benches are smooth, made from high quality wood, wide enough to lie down comfortably, and the warm lighting overhead makes everything feel softer, deeper. It's the kind of place you usually use when you're sore and beaten up after patrols, when you need to relax and let the heat soothe your body.

But tonight? Yeah, you're about to use it for something very different.

Before you can even process what's happening, Jason spins you around, hands everywhere, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, legs spreading instinctively as he hooks his arms beneath your thighs, locking you open, exposing you, presenting you, and Dick fucking drops to his knees.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on your dripping pussy, hands already reaching, fingers brushing your inner thighs as his mouth parts in awe. "Look at you."

Jason groans behind you, rolling his hips up just enough to grind his cock against your ass, kissing the side of your head, whispering, "You should see what you do to him, baby. He's fuckin' mesmerized."

And Dick? He kind of is. His chest rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths as he stares, like he's starving, like he can't decide if he wants to taste you or just kneel there and worship.

Dick's hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing firm, grounding himself as he leans in, eyes fixed on your swollen, dripping pussy. His breath stutters out, warm against your slick skin, and he groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, this is so much better than he ever imagined.

And he has imagined it. More times than he'd ever admit. Nights spent fisting his cock to the thought of you, to the way your suit hugs your curves, to the way you smell when you're close, the teasing, flirty little smiles you send his way. He'd always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky.

With two fingers, he spreads you open, watching your slick drip, glistening in the dim heat of the sauna, and his tongue flicks out, hungry, catching a taste before he can stop himself.

And it wrecks him. His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue pushing deep, groaning as he devours you, hot and wet, lapping up every drop like he's been starving for it. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady as he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking, circling, pushing in deep before dragging back out, flicking against your clit in slow, teasing swipes.

And the sounds you make? Insane.

Breathless, needy, these little gasps and whimpers that make Jason groan behind you, arms flexing as he adjusts his grip, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Solid and so hot against your back, his cock pressing thick against your ass, twitching every time you moan.

"Fuck, Grayson," Jason mutters, voice strained. "She's gonna lose it."

And you are.

Because fuck, Dick knows how to eat pussy. He's skilled, dedicated, every lick and suck sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He moans into you, the vibrations making you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together, but Jason's grip doesn't let you move.

"Feels good, huh, baby?" Jason murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, his tone all smug and filthy, like he's enjoying this just as much as Dick is.

You can't even speak. Your fingers tangle in Dick's damp hair, clutching hard, back arching against Jason's chest as Dick flicks his tongue against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

Jason groans behind you, his arms tightening around your legs. When your head falls against his shoulder and your eyes meet his, he kisses you.

Hard, deep, like he's claiming you, like he needs you just as much as Dick does. His tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, bruising.

You whimper against his lips, and he groans, rolling his hips against your ass, grinding his cock against you, needing friction, needing something, because fuck, this is too much.

And Dick? He just moans against your pussy, tongue fucking into you, making you shudder so hard Jason has to tighten his grip just to keep you steady.

"So fucking good," Dick mutters, pulling back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making you sob his name. "So sweet. Fuck, I could eat you for hours."

Jason breaks the kiss just to groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Christ, Dickie, you're gonna kill her."

Dick grins against your skin, licking another slow, teasing stripe up your pussy, savoring the way you twitch, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way your little gasps turn into full whimpers, desperate and broken.

His fingers ghost over your entrance, teasing, barely there, making your pussy clench on nothing. You squirm in Jason's hold, breath hitching as anticipation coils tight in your stomach, but Dick takes his time. Watches the way you drip for him, spread open and helpless, Jason's arms locked under your thighs to keep you wide and vulnerable.

"Fuck," Dick rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his breath hot against your pussy. "You're soaked."

His thumbs part your folds, and he groans at the sight—slick, glistening, so fucking pretty. His tongue flicks over your clit again, and your whole body jerks, a whimper spilling from your lips.

Jason tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his cock twitching against you as he murmurs, "Easy, baby. Let him take care of you."

And fuck, Dick does take care of you. His mouth works you over, tongue lapping at your swollen clit, lips wrapping around it to suck, firm and slow, drawing needy little noises from your throat. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady, keeping you from writhing too much even though all you want to do is grind against his face, chase the pleasure that's building fast.

Then his fingers press at your entrance again, just the tips, teasing, and you moan, the need to be filled overwhelming. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat through your core before he finally pushes a finger inside.

It's so much thicker than yours, so much longer, stretching you just enough to make your walls flutter around it. He eases it in, lets you adjust, then curls it up, searching, until—

"Fuck—" you gasp, back arching as he finds that spot, rubbing against it before sliding another finger in beside the first.

The stretch burns just a little, but the way he moves them—God, the way they scissor inside you, slick and warm, thrusting deep—has your mind blanking.

"Feel good, sweetheart?" Jason murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, hands adjusting their grip on your thighs as he holds you steady.

You nod frantically, but it's not enough. Not when you feel like you're unraveling from just this. "More," you breathe. "Please."

Dick groans like the plea physically pains him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, stretching you open as his lips wrap around your clit again, sucking just right, tongue flicking against the swollen bud.

Your thighs tremble, pleasure tightening, the slick sounds of his fingers fucking into you obscene, messy, wet. You're dripping, leaking down his hand, onto his wrist, but he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, leaking against his stomach, but he doesn't fucking care.

All he wants is to make you cum on his tongue. And God, you're close. You can feel it winding tighter and tighter, pleasure curling deep, building fast. Your mind is spinning, flooded with heat and hunger, desperate to feel them everywhere. Their mouths, their hands, their dicks stretching you wide—

Fuck, you're gonna cum.

It hits you fast. A sharp, electric snap of pleasure, burning through every nerve, sending you spiraling. Your whole body locks up, and then, you're cumming, and it's so much. Your cunt tightens around Dick's fingers, pulsing, fluttering, sucking him deeper as wave after wave of heat crashes through you.

It's almost too much. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and a broken moan spills from your lips as your orgasm drags you under, pleasure rippling through every inch of you. You don't know if it's that fucking pollen messing with you or if Dick just knows how to make you come undone like this, but it feels insane. Shattering, like you're falling apart in Jason's arms, completely helpless to the pleasure tearing through you.

But Dick doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, rubbing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. His mouth stays locked around your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue over it, dragging you higher, stretching out your orgasm until it's too much, too intense.

All you can do is choke out a breathless, "D-Dick, wait—"

But he doesn't.

Your body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn't stop. His fingers work you open, deep and relentless, his tongue still lapping at your clit, pushing, pushing—

And then you gush. A sharp, full body shudder racks through you as hot, slick arousal pours from your cunt, drenching his fingers, his wrist, his fucking face.

It splashes against the sauna floor, and heat flares in your chest, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you gasp, "S-shit, I'm s-sorry—"

Jason lets out a rough groan, voice thick with arousal. "Fuck. A squirter, huh? That's so fuckin' hot, doll."

Dick doesn't care. He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on you, licking up every drop, his fingers fucking you slow, coaxing another trembling aftershock out of your spent, twitching cunt.

Your body is wrecked, boneless in Jason's grip, but Dick soothes you. Soft kisses pressed to your puffy clit, to your inner thighs, murmured praises against your overheated skin.

Jason groans against your ear, nipping at your jaw as he murmurs, "So pretty when you lose it, baby."

Dick finally pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy, and you whimper at the emptiness, body still twitching in the aftermath. He stands up, lifting his hand between you, watching the way your slick drips from his fingers before he licks them clean, moaning like he just tasted the best thing in the world.

And then he's kissing you.

It's not like Jason's kisses—Jason devours you, rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Dick? Dick takes his time. His lips move slow over yours, teasing, coaxing, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

His cock grinds against your swollen, soaked pussy, dragging thick and leaking between your folds, and you feel the heat of Jason against your back as he presses closer, lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.

Dick pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with need.

"You still with us, love?" he murmurs, voice low, sweet, but so thick with hunger.

And you are. But you need more. Jason slowly lowers you to the ground, careful, like he knows your legs won't hold you up yet. And he's right. The second your feet touch the sauna floor, your knees almost buckle, but they're right there.

Jason's strong hands steady your waist, while Dick's arms wrap around you, letting you melt against his chest, your cheek pressed to his flushed, sweat damp skin. His heartbeat is racing, just like yours.

They try to soothe you, even though they're still buzzing with need, cocks aching, pulsing, leaking against your skin. You can feel it, how hard they both are, how they're holding back, muscles tensed like they're barely keeping themselves together.

Dick's fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head up as he murmurs, "You okay?"

His voice is strained, rough with hunger he's barely keeping in check.

You nod, breathless. "I need more. I want you both, I want—"

Jason groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, his dick hurts, throbbing, hot, swollen with need. He's usually not like this—he's got control, he can push past anything, but this?

That fucking pollen? His logic is gone. The only thing left is the raw, aching need clawing at his gut, the sight of you, flushed and needy, still dripping from what Dick did to you.

"You sure?" Dick asks, voice tight, hesitant, because they care, because you're friends, because this is everything all at once.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, I can't—I need more."

They try to resist. Try to be good, to be the men who have held themselves back all these years, who have ignored the teasing, the tension, the way you've always looked at them.

But it's too much. You're naked, hot, trembling between them, still soaked with slick and sweat, so fucking desperate for them, just like they are for you.

They exchange a look, like they're about to actually say something, like they're going to make one last attempt at self control.

But you're having none of it.

You grab both their hands, lacing your fingers with theirs as you guide them toward one of the benches, the air thick with tension, steam, and the undeniable pull of something you've all been trying to ignore for too long.

You stop in front of Dick, looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes as you say, "Sit down."

And he does, because of course he does. Because he knows better than to fuck with you when you've made up your mind, and even though you're smaller than both of them, you've always had a way of getting what you want.

You grab a few towels, spreading them on the floor in front of him because, honestly? Your body is already gonna be wrecked when this is over—bruises, hickeys, everything—and you really don't need your knees all fucked up on top of it.

Then, slowly, you kneel between his legs.

Jason is still standing behind you, watching, stunned, because sure, you've always been bold. You've flirted, teased, laughed in their faces when they tried to resist you, but this? This is something else.

You turn your head, looking up at Jason through heavy lashes, and say, "I need you to fuck me while I suck Dick off."

They both go still. Like their brains just short circuited. Like they can't quite believe what the fuck just came out of your mouth.

And you can see it happening, the exact moment something inside them snaps, because they've both fantasized about this, both thought about it more times than they'd ever admit, and now? Now you're on your knees, looking up at them, demanding it.

Dick swallows hard, his cock twitching, leaking against his stomach. His hands clench at his sides like he's trying so fucking hard to keep control. Jason? Jason just lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head, because fuck, you're gonna kill him.

Your ass wiggles as you shift into position, and behind you, Jason groans, deep and rough. "Fuck, look at you."

His big hands settle on your hips, hot and firm, fingers flexing like he's trying so hard to keep himself in check. And he can't help it, so he slaps your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

"Oh—"

You gasp, thighs twitching, and Jason smirks, rubbing the mark he left behind, soothing the heat with his palm. "You like that shit, huh?"

You nod, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, glassy eyes, and his grip tightens.

"Got it, baby."

Then you turn back to Dick, gaze dropping to his cock. And God, he's just as long as Jason, maybe a little thinner, but just as pretty, thick and flushed, the veins along his shaft standing out against the hot, velvety skin. Precum beads at the tip, glistening, and when you lick your lips, Dick shudders, his breath hitching in his throat.

Behind you, Jason's hands slide lower, thumbs dragging over the curve of your ass before he spreads you open, groaning when he gets a good look at you.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, almost dazed, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

You're so wet, swollen, your slick dripping down your thighs, smearing against the inside of his fingers. And your pussy? Fuck, it's the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—hot, flushed, clenching around nothing, like you're begging for something to fill you up.

His head tips back for a second, like he needs to pull himself together, but when he looks down again, when he sees your cunt flutter around nothing, aching to be fucked?

He's fucking gone.

Because he knows you're gonna squeeze his dick like a glove, knows you're gonna be so fucking tight, so hot and wet around him that he might actually lose his mind. You're perfect. And this? This can't be real.

But oh, it is.

You shift your weight onto your knees, looking up at Dick, and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind too. Especially when you wrap your fingers around his cock. He sucks in a breath, head falling back against the bench as your grip tightens, your palm gliding over his length, slow and teasing.

Then you lean in, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh, and Dick whimpers. The sound makes your cunt throb, pleasure sparking up your spine, because he looks so good like this—so flushed, so desperate, so pretty.

His cock pulses in your hand, leaking all over your fingers, and you purr, "Poor Grayson," before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap up his precum, tasting the salt and heat of him.

Behind you, Jason curses under his breath, and then you feel the hot, thick weight of his cock press against your dripping cunt.

You gasp, back arching as he rubs the wet head of his dick over your slit, dragging it up and down, teasing your swollen, puffy folds, mixing his precum with your slick until you're soaked in it.

And you? You're trembling. Because you need this. You need them. The second your lips part, taking Dick's cock into your mouth, his hand tangles in your hair. His fingers thread through the strands, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his other hand cradling your cheek.

You moan around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and he hisses, his head tipping back against the bench. "Fuck—"

You take him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretching to accommodate his length. He's thick, hot, the weight of him pressing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping when you bob your head slow, teasing, testing how much of him you can take.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips twitching—just barely—but you feel it, the way he wants to thrust, to fuck himself down your throat, but he waits, panting, letting you set the pace.

Behind you, Jason is shaking. Shaking.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his whole body tight, because fuck, your ass is wiggling, pushing back against him, grinding against his cock like you're trying to drive him insane.

And it's working. His dick throbs, thick and aching, leaking against your soaked, swollen cunt as you shift again, tilting your hips just right, and Jason snaps. He lines himself up and starts to push in, slow, deliberate, even though his whole body is telling him to fuck you, to take you, to split you open and wreck you.

But he waits. He has to wait. Because he knows he's big, and with how tight you are—so hot and wet, squeezing around just the tip—he can't move, not even if he wanted to.

His whole body trembles as he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, grounding himself as much as he's grounding you. His big hands smooth up and down your sides, soothing, steadying, feeling the way your breath shudders as you try to relax, try to take him deeper.

But he waits, even though every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, because even through the pollen haze, Jason cares. He needs you to feel good.

Your walls stretch around him, clutching at him, and he slides in so easily, your pussy welcoming him, pulling him in. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, splitting you open until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt, and you can't help but moan. The vibration makes Dick's hips jerk, a curse tumbling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair.

And Jason?Jason groans, burying himself inside you, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder.

"Breathe, baby," he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing slow, soft kisses along your shoulder, his body trembling as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, even though he wants to move so fucking bad.

He gives you time, even though his entire body is screaming at him to fuck you, to finally lose himself in the heat of your cunt.

"You're doin' so good," he rasps, voice strained, like the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock is driving him straight to the fucking edge.

You slide off Dick's cock with a gasp, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his flushed tip. Your fingers tighten around the base, stroking him as your head dips forward, and Jason groans behind you, eyes clenching shut, breathing through it, fighting against the way your pussy is milking his cock.

You can't breathe. You can't think. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep inside you, stretching you so wide you feel full. Too full, almost, but Jason soothes you through it, his lips trailing soft, slow kisses along your skin.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched, his whole body so tight he thinks he might snap in half.

And then, finally, you shift against him. A tiny moan leaves your lips, and Jason can't wait any longer. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock dragging against your sensitive, fluttering walls, making your whole body tremble. Then he pushes back in, just as slow, filling you up again, stretching you, claiming every inch of your cunt.

It burns. It aches, just a little. Your whimper is soft, almost inaudible, but Jason hears it.

And he shushes you, kissing your shoulder again, whispering, "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling you up again, making you moan.

It's too slow, too teasing. You need more.

So you refocus, letting yourself drown in the heat of Dick's body, the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and flushed and leaking all over your fingers. You slide your tongue over the tip, swirling around the slit, savoring the salty taste of his precum before taking him back into your mouth, sinking deeper this time.

The stretch is obscene, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw aching as you push further, inch by inch, your throat tightening as he hits the back of your mouth. You gag, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, but you don't care.

You love it. It's better than every fantasy you've ever had, better than every late night thought of them, better than you could've ever imagined. Because they feel so good, sound so good, and you know you're not coming back from this.

Dick is gone. His fingers tangle in your hair again, watching the way you take him, the way you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes, and fuck, you're so pretty like this, drooling all over his cock, taking him so fucking deep.

His whole body tenses, muscles tight, abs flexing, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tries to control himself, to hold back, but Jesus Christ, you're making it so fucking hard.

Jason is just as wrecked. His pace is still slow, but he's obsessed, his mind fuzzy with how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect your pussy is wrapped around his cock, gripping him like a vice.

He has to see it.

So he moves his hands from your waist, big palms spreading over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your cheeks apart, groaning when he gets a clear view of your soaked cunt stretched so tight around his dick.

His cock twitches, a groan slipping from his lips because fuck, you're swallowing him whole, your pussy gripping every inch of him, making a mess all over his cock, slick glistening along his length.

This is the best pussy he's ever had. But he knows it's you. It has nothing to do with that pollen. It's you.

And he's so fucking gone over you.

You whimper around Dick's cock, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching the way his chest rises and falls in quick, desperate pants. And then, slowly, you let him slip from your mouth again, gasping for air, your hand tightening around the base as you pant.

"Fuck my mouth."

Dick freezes, his breath hitching, his lips parting as his brows furrow, like he's not sure he heard you right.

"W-what?"

You lick your lips, eyes heavy lidded, spit glistening along your chin as you repeat, slow and clear. "Fuck. My. Mouth."

His whole body shudders, and he doesn't even think. Doesn't hesitate. He does it.

His grip tightens in your hair as he tilts your head back, and then he's pushing in, slow but firm, guiding his cock past your lips, groaning as the heat of your mouth wraps around him.

And behind you, Jason hisses, his fingers tightening on your ass before landing another sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

"Shit," he groans, his voice thick with arousal, dark with want. "You're freaky as fuck."

Dick's grip tightens in your hair as he starts to move, slow at first, thrusting shallowly, watching the way his cock glides over your slick tongue, the way your lips stretch around him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"God, baby," he groans, voice strained, wrecked, his abs flexing as he pushes deeper, testing your limits, his hips jerking when you moan around him. "You feel so good—fuck, you're perfect. So sweet for me, taking me so well."

His words make your pussy clench around Jason's cock, the praise making your head spin, making you drool more as you relax your throat, letting Dick push deeper, the head of his cock nudging the back of your mouth. Your eyes flutter, heat sparking in your core as he fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes.

His breath is ragged, his voice thick as he murmurs, "Just like that, pretty girl. You're doing so good. Such a perfect little thing."

Behind you, Jason groans, his grip bruising as he watches you take it, eyes dark, hungry.

"Fuck," he rasps, his voice rough, thick with need. "Look at you. So fuckin' nasty, baby. Goddamn, you're gonna make me lose my shit."

His hands slide over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around his cock, gripping him like a fucking vice, sucking him in, milking him.

"You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his jaw clenching. "So fuckin' wet. Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I've ever had."

The words make your walls flutter, make your body throb, and you can't help yourself. You push back against him, grinding your ass into his hips, moaning around Dick's cock as Jason curses, his fingers tightening on your ass.

And then he snaps. His patience shatters, his control slipping as he slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, yeah," Jason growls, dragging you back onto his cock, setting a relentless rhythm, fucking you deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steam filled air. "That's what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Shit, you're so fuckin' needy, baby."

Your moans vibrate around Dick's cock, making him groan, his hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his fingers tugging on your hair, his head tipping back as he watches you, his cock throbbing as you swallow around him. "You're so fucking good, baby."

Jason groans, his cock dragging against your walls, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice low, dark, wrecked. "Gettin' your mouth fucked, gettin' your pussy fucked—shit, baby, you're drippin' all over my dick."

His words send a sharp throb through your core, making your walls squeeze around him, making him curse.

"Yeah, you like that? You like bein' a messy little thing?"

His words mix with Dick's soft, sweet praise, the contrast making your head spin, making your body ache for more, more, more. You're soaked, you're gone, and you're about to cum so hard.

Dick's fingers clench tighter in your hair, his whole body shaking as you take him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock. His moans grow louder, ragged, his hips jerking forward, his self control slipping between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, shaking. "You're—shit, you're gonna make me—"

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him harder, and that's it. That's all it takes for him to lose it.

His cock twitches on your tongue, the thick veins pulsing against the heat of your mouth as his orgasm slams into him, ripping through him like a live wire.

"Oh, fuck—"

His breath catches, his whole body locking up as the first hot pulse of his cum spills onto your tongue, thick and heavy, coating your throat as he shudders, trembles, his head tipping back against the wall, his lips parting in a wrecked, shaking moan.

You swallow it all, every last drop, your throat working around him, and it's too much. His thighs tense, his abs flex, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his hips jerk, his cock throbbing, overstimulated, as you keep sucking, drawing out every last spurt of his release.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he whimpers, his grip tightening for a second before his hand slips from your hair, his body melting, shaking, spent.

You finally let him slide free with a soft, wet pop, licking the last traces of him from your lips, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed, blissed out expression, he groans.

"God," he breathes, still catching his breath, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip, cleaning up the mess he left behind. "You're so fucking good."

You only have a second to grin before Jason grabs you. His arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up, pulling you against his chest as he slams his cock back into your pussy, the force of it making you gasp, your body arching as he fills you up again, stretching you all over.

"Fuckin' shit," Jason growls, his voice low, desperate, his breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you, his cock hitting deep, slamming into that spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble.

His free hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles, his fingers slippery with your arousal.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he grits out, his voice dark, wrecked. "Gonna soak my fuckin' dick?"

You whimper, nodding desperately, your nails digging into his arms, your whole body coiling tight, every thrust, every press of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

Your head tilts back, your lips parting, and Jason takes it as an invitation. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss filthy, messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam thick air.

It's too much. The way he's pounding into you, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit, the way his mouth is devouring yours—it's all too much.

You shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body locking up as your walls clamp down around Jason's cock, your pussy spasming, milking him as you moan into his mouth, your whole body shaking from the force of it.

But he doesn't stop.

"Yeah," Jason groans, his pace relentless, his fingers still working your clit, pushing you higher, keeping you right there, shoving you into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes, and then you gush, hot, wet, soaking his cock, the mess dripping down your thighs, pooling on the towels beneath you as your mind goes blank. Jason groans, his grip bruising, his voice full of awe and lust and pure fucking greed.

"Shit, baby," he growls, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, squeezing, his hips still slamming into you. "You're so fuckin' hot—goddamn, look at this mess you're makin'."

You're gone, trembling in his arms, panting, whimpering, still coming, your body wrecked, and he loves it.

But even after you've soaked his dick, even after you've cum so hard your legs shake and your body trembles, he just keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing his own high, refusing to let you catch your breath.

Your thoughts are a mess, a haze of heat and pleasure and pure, desperate need. Every time he thrusts back inside, it knocks the air from your lungs, sending another sharp jolt of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

His dick is so big, so hot, so thick, stretching you to your limit, the swollen head hitting your cervix with every deep, brutal stroke, the impact sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure licking up your spine.

Jason groans, his breath hot against your ear, his big hands sliding from your waist to your tits, squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he moans, voice wrecked, breathless. "You feel so good—tight little pussy's so fuckin' wet, takin' my dick like a fuckin' dream."

His voice is a growl, his breath ragged, filthy, and it makes you clench around him, your body reacting to the sheer, raw hunger in his voice.

"Drippin' down my fuckin' balls, makin' a mess all over me," he mutters, his pace getting faster, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air. "Such a fuckin' good girl, lettin' me fuck you like this—shit—"

His moan is deep, gritty, his lips brushing against your neck, and it makes your brain melt.

You can feel Dick watching.

His heavy, ragged breathing, the way he groans softly under his breath every time your tits bounce from the sheer force of Jason's thrusts, the way he's still hard, his cock resting heavy against his abdomen as he watches Jason destroy you.

Jason buries his face in your shoulder, his pace stuttering, and then his voice turns urgent, desperate. "Shit," he pants. "Where do you want me to cum, doll?"

The words slip out before you even think.

"Inside," you whimper, the plea ragged, breathless. "Inside me, please."

Jason groans, his arms tightening around you, his body shaking. "Fuck."

He grabs your waist, slamming into you, fucking you like a man possessed, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep as possible, stretching you wide, filling you to the fucking brim.

And it's like something in Dick snaps. He drops to his knees, his big hands sliding up your thighs, and then his fingers find your clit.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes—Jason's cock splitting you open, fucking you deep and hard, pounding into your soaking cunt while Dick's fingers rub your puffy, far too sensitive clit, quick and precise, pushing you higher, driving you insane.

Then Dick leans in, his lips brushing against yours, swallowing your moans, devouring them, and God, this has to be the hottest fuck of your life.

His tongue, hot, wet, messy against yours, kissing you like he needs you, like he's starving for the taste of your pleasure.

And shit, these two men—hot as fuck, sweaty, desperate, ruining you. They are going to wreck you for anyone else for sure.

Jason groans, his pace brutal, his cock pounding into your swollen, soaked pussy, stretching you so wide, splitting you open, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

He's right there, right on the edge, voice rough, breath ragged as he mutters, "C'mon, baby, I'm so close. Fuck, gimme one more, let me feel you."

And then, Dick starts slapping your clit slightly. It's sharp, the sting mixing with the unbearable pleasure of Jason's cock fucking you stupid, and that's it, you snap.

Your whole body locks up, your pussy clenching down hard around Jason's cock, milking him, your legs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, drowning you in wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a wrecked, wordless moan, eyes rolling back, sweat dripping down your skin as you shake, your whole body on fire, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids, your clit throbbing, your walls spasming around Jason's thick cock.

And he loses it.

"Fuck—" His breath punches out of him, a deep, desperate groan rumbling through his chest, his grip on your hips turning bruising as your pussy chokes his cock, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back.

He buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep, grinding so fucking deep, and then, he cums. Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, painting your walls, filling you up so much you can feel it, dripping out around his cock, mixing with your slick as he lets out a deep, wrecked groan.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his dick throbs, even as he pulses inside you, he grits his teeth and fucks it deeper, slow, deep rolls of his hips, making sure every last drop stays buried inside you, making sure you feel it.

Dick's fingers never stop, still rubbing your aching clit, making you whimper, making your whole body jolt, your thighs quivering, your nipples aching, your pussy so full and sensitive that every little movement makes you twitch.

And then Dick finally lets you breathe.

He breaks the kiss, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with lust as he soothes you, his hands smoothing up your back, down your arms, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Your breath shudders out of you, your head dropping forward onto Dick's shoulder as Jason stills behind you, his chest rising and falling, sweat slicking his skin, his grip still tight on your waist, grounding you as you tremble in their hold.

Jason does the same, his big hands rubbing slow, warm circles into your waist, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath deep, calming, as he lets you come down.

But it's not enough. You still need more.

Your whole body buzzes with it, aching with it, and before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, the words tumble from your lips, breathless, desperate, "I need... I—w-want you both at the same time."

Jason freezes. "Fuckin' shit."

His arm tightens around your waist, his cock still buried inside you, twitching just at the thought of it.

And Dick? His breath catches, his fingers tightening against your skin, his lips parting as his brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face before he cups your cheek, pressing soft, sweet kisses all over your flushed skin.

"Love, maybe we should—"

"No," you shake your head, chest heaving. "I need it. I—fuck, I need more."

Dick hesitates. "But we'd need lube, and—"

"I have some," you gasp. "In—in my locker. In my bag."

They both freeze. Jason raises a brow, his lips twitching, while Dick blinks at you, head tilting slightly.

"...You what?"

Your face burns. "I just bought it—I was gonna take it home, but I kept forgetting—"

Jason smirks, shaking his head, while Dick huffs out a quiet laugh before turning on his heel.

"I'll get it."

Your thoughts swirl, still dazed, still high from pleasure. It's really just a coincidence, something you bought last week and forgot to leave at home, but now? Now, you're just grateful you have it.

The second Dick is gone, Jason leans in, his lips brushing against yours, slow, deep, his tongue dragging along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You moan softly, body pressing into his, heat still pooling low in your stomach.

When he pulls away, his smirk is sharp, eyes dark.

"You just bought it, huh?"

Your eyes dart away, face burning, and he chuckles. Then Dick is back, the bottle of lube in hand, and he's grinning, but there's something in his eyes, something darker, something hungrier.

He tosses the bottle onto the bench, his gaze flickering between you and Jason before he murmurs, "That's real convenient, sweetheart."

Jason's lips brush against your neck, hot and damp with sweat, his breath still ragged as he drags his mouth along your skin, pressing open mouthed kisses to the flushed heat of your throat. His hands slide down your waist, holding you, still keeping you close, as if he doesn't want to pull away just yet.

But then he does. His cock slips free, and the loss makes you whine, your walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty after being stretched and filled so deep.

Jason chuckles, low and rough, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder before he straightens, his hands steady on your waist as he helps you up, keeping you from collapsing completely. And then, his cum starts dripping out of you.

Thick, warm, messy, streaking down your thighs, slick and obscene, mixing with your own wetness, making your skin glisten under the dim lights.

Jason groans, watching it, his fingers squeezing at your hips before he turns you around, cupping your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

He kisses you, deep, messy, wet.

His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, curling against yours, dragging along the roof of your mouth, swallowing the small gasp you let out as he dominates the kiss.

It's all spit and heat, his grip firm, his fingers digging into your jaw as he devours you, groaning into your mouth, his own hips twitching forward instinctively, as if he's not done with you yet.

And maybe he's not. When he finally pulls away, your lips are slick with spit, swollen and tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

But Jason just smirks, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he murmurs, "Took me so fuckin' well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your belly, but you don't even have time to dwell on it because you're already turning to Dick, your whole body still thrumming with need.

"Lay on the bench."

His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but he doesn't question it. He grabs some towels first, spreading them out so he can sit more comfortably, before laying back, his cock still hard, standing thick and flushed against his stomach, twitching slightly as he watches you, pupils blown.

You barely give him time to think. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your soaked pussy presses against his cock, dragging along his length, he groans, his head falling back slightly.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up to cup your ass. "That pollen fucked us up badly."

You nod, whimpering, rubbing yourself against him, smearing Jason's cum and your own slick all over his cock, making it all slippery, all hot, and then, Dick grinds right back.

His hands tighten on your ass, his hips rolling up against yours, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your throbbing clit, making you moan, making your thighs tremble from the overstimulation.

But you need him inside. Now. Lifting yourself up, you barely hesitate before sinking down onto his cock, and it's so easy. You're soaked, dripping, stretched wide and ready from Jason, and Dick slides right in, filling you up in one smooth, wet motion, the thick length of him pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Dick gasps, his fingers flexing against your ass, his chest rising sharply as his brows furrow, his mouth falling open in a soft, breathless moan. His thoughts are a mess.

He's inside you. He's inside you, and you feel so fucking good. So tight, so warm, so fucking wet, and it's all for him.

Well, for him and Jason, all of you caught up in this fever, this unbearable need, and fuck, he never thought this would happen, never thought he'd get to feel you like this, but now... now he can't stop thinking about it.

Can't stop thinking about how you feel around him, how you're squeezing him, how your slick drips down his length, coating his cock, making it so easy to slide deeper, making it so fucking hot.

"Jesus," he groans, his head tipping back, his fingers gripping at you. "Baby, you feel... fuck, you feel so good."

Dick can't stop kissing you. It's like he's obsessed, like he needs his mouth on you just as much as he needs to fuck you.

Every time his hips drive up, his cock sinking deep inside your dripping cunt, he's pulling you down to meet him, his lips crashing against yours, groaning into your mouth like he's drunk on the heat of you, the taste of you, the way your walls grip him so tight every time he moves.

"God, baby," he pants against your lips, voice breathless, wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, his cock rubbing against every tender, sensitive spot inside you. "I can't stop, I can't—"

You moan, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him, feeling every shift of his muscles, every snap of his hips as he fucks into you with slow, deep, needy strokes.

And across from you, Jason watches. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising with each heavy breath, his eyes locked on the way Dick's cock sinks in and out of your soaked, used pussy, slick noises filling the sauna, making his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he mutters, his grip tightening around his cock, stroking himself slowly.

His breath catches as he watches the way your body takes it, how easy it is for Dick to slide into you after he already ruined you, stretching you out, leaving you so wet that it's effortless.

His free hand slides up your back, fingers tracing along the sweat slick curve of your spine, following it down to your ass, where he grips the flesh and spreads you slightly. The moment he does, he groans at the sight of Dick's cock fucking into your pussy, your hole clinging to him, soaked and messy, your juices dripping down to your thighs, making the whole thing so fucking filthy.

You hear the slick pop of a bottle being opened, and then, his fingers, cool and slick with lube, gliding over the rim of your other hole. A soft, teasing touch.

Your breath hitches, a shiver running through you even as you grind down onto Dick's cock, making him groan, his hands flexing against your hips. Jason smirks, rubbing slow circles around your rim, massaging the tight muscle, teasing it, not pushing in just yet.

"Gotta stretch you open first, doll," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the dip of your spine. "Don't wanna hurt you."

You nod, panting, pressing back into his hand as he finally, slowly, pushes in the tip of his finger. Your body twitches at the stretch, a sharp inhale escaping you as your walls flutter around Dick's cock at the same time, making him groan, his brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself from losing it.

Jason waits a moment, watching the way you react, his other hand rubbing slow circles along your waist, his voice softer this time when he asks, "You okay, baby?"

You exhale shakily, nodding, your body adjusting to the new sensation, the slight pressure of his finger stretching you open.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, teasingly, fucking you with the single finger, slipping it in and out in careful strokes, feeling the way your body responds, the way your walls tremble around him, your moans growing softer, more desperate as he adds another finger.

A low, drawn out out moan escapes you, your body twitching, your walls fluttering around Dick's cock again, making him groan, his fingers gripping your hips harder.

"You're so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he works his fingers in deeper, stretching you open, his cock twitching at the way you pulse around him.

His movements stay patient, calculated, letting you get used to every single sensation, letting you feel it, your body reacting to both him and Dick at the same time, your nerves lighting up from how much stimulation there is, how they're everywhere all at once.

By the time he slides in a third finger, you're trembling, panting, your nails digging into Dick's shoulders as he groans at the way you keep clenching around him.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jason murmurs against your back, pressing a slow kiss between your shoulder blades, fingers curling inside you, stretching you wider.

Dick keeps kissing you. He can't stop.

His lips keep finding yours between every breathless moan, every shaky exhale, every soft noise that leaves your lips as Jason's fingers work you open, stretching you wider, preparing you for his dick.

You can barely think. Your body is trembling, nerves buzzing, your mind foggy with want, with need, your hands gripping Dick's shoulders as he pants against your lips, "You feel so good, sweetheart, I—fuck, I need to feel you."

Jason growls against your skin, his fingers sinking deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he's knuckle deep, fucking them in and out in slow, filthy thrusts. He watches you shudder, listens to the way you gasp, the way your thighs tremble when he curls his fingers just right.

"Relax," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your neck, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. "You're already takin' me so fuckin' well, baby—bet you'll stretch around my dick like a dream."

He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, dragging them back just to push in again, deeper, rougher, wetter. The slick, obscene sounds of it make heat curl in your belly, make your whole body tighten, aching, desperate.

"Fuck, you feel this?" Jason grunts, his fingers twisting, pressing, stroking in slow, teasing circles. "So tight, so fuckin' perfect—gonna ruin you, baby."

Dick presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another, each one deeper, more desperate, more needy, because he has to. He has to taste you, has to feel you, has to lose himself in you while Jason kneels behind you, his cock hard and aching, the tip glistening as he slowly, carefully pulls his fingers out of your ass.

A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you slightly, watching the way your body twitches, the way your ass clenches, still slightly open from how deep his fingers had been.

"Relax, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your spine as he slicks himself up with lube, rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole, teasing, pressing just slightly to gauge your reaction.

Your whole body shudders, and Dick cradles your face, kisses you slow, deep, as he whispers against your lips, "Breathe, pretty girl. I got you."

Jason presses in. Slowly. The stretch is immediate, intense, your body clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, his jaw tight as he groans, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you shake as you adjust to the sheer size of him, to the way he's filling you.

Dick can feel it too. Your walls clenching around his cock, getting tighter just from how Jason is stretching you open, making him groan, his hands flexing against your waist.

"Fuck, baby," Jason grits out, his breath coming out shaky as he finally bottoms out, his forehead pressing against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. "You feel so fuckin' good."

You're a mess. Your breath is shaky, your pulse racing, your body overwhelmed in the best way possible, stuffed full, stretched wide, both of them inside you, filling you to the absolute brim.

Still, it's not enough. You need more. And the moment you shift, rolling your hips slightly, feeling the way it makes Jason's cock nudge deeper, Dick lets out a sharp, wrecked sound and tightens his grip on your hips.

"Hold still, love," he breathes, his voice low, strained, adjusting his grip on you, making sure you don't have to move, don't have to do anything except take it.

And you will. You'll take all of it. Because they need this just as much as you do, and neither of them can hold back much longer.

Jason exhales hard through his nose, his grip steady on your hips, his cock pulsing, buried deep inside your ass as he presses his chest flush against your back.

His lips graze your shoulder, his breath warm, voice low and gruff when he murmurs, "Good? Still with us?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your brain foggy, words barely forming as you pant, "M-Move, please..."

Dick is the first to obey. His fingers flex at your waist, his muscles tensing beneath you as he rolls his hips up, fucking into your soaked cunt slow and deep, dragging a moan from your throat as the thick length of him stretches you open all over again.

Jason groans at the sight, at the way your tight little hole clenches around Dick's cock, the way your body shudders when Dick fills you to the hilt, rubbing against the spots that make you gasp, make you shake.

And then, Jason moves. It's slow, deliberate, his hips grinding forward, easing himself out just to push back in, filling your ass just as Dick fills your pussy, the slow stretch making your breath catch, making your fingers curl against Dick's chest.

Your mind is blank. Absolutely fucking blank. You can barely register the words Dick is whispering, his voice soft, warm, each praise making you clench down tighter, "God, sweetheart, you feel so good—so tight, so perfect—taking both of us so well, baby, so fucking good—"

His words make your breath stutter, make your walls squeeze around him, make Jason groan, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses your back, your shoulders, your neck, his lips soft, reverent, even as he fucks you.

And you can barely breathe. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your body trembling as they thrust into you, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of pleasure you're drowning in.

Jason's hand slides around you. Finds your puffy little clit. Presses down. You wail.

Your whole body jerks, your breath shattering as Jason grins against your skin, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and cruel, all while his cock grinds deep into your ass, making your walls clench around both of them.

Dick chokes on a moan, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into your waist, his cock stuffing your pussy, pushing deeper, hitting that spot that makes you keen.

Jason groans at the reaction, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, muttering, "Fuck, baby, that's it—take it—"

And you do. You take everything. The stretch, the pressure, the fullness, the filthy praise whispered into your ear, the heat of their bodies against yours. The way their cocks move inside you, making your vision swim, making your mind blank, making your whole body tremble as they keep fucking you.

And there's nothing—nothing—you want more.

Jason's fingers keep working your clit, slow and teasing one moment, rough and insistent the next, rubbing tight little circles that have your thighs trembling, your body caught between the steady drag of his cock in your ass and the deep, devastating thrusts of Dick's cock inside your pussy.

Your breath shatters, your body taut, stretched wide, so full, their cocks filling you over and over, slick and hot, the filthy sound of it echoing off the walls, slick wet noises mixing with your gasping moans, their groans, their praises.

Dick slides a hand up your waist, warm and firm, fingers trailing the sweat slicked curves of your body, before moving higher, higher, until he cups your breast.

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as he palms you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive, desperate, his hips never slowing, cock driving deep, kissing your cervix with every thrust.

Jason groans behind you, his cock throbbing, pulsing inside your tight, hot ass, his grip almost bruising at your hip as he watches Dick squeeze your tits, watches how you whimper and twitch, body so fucking responsive.

"Fuckin' hell," Jason rasps, pressing his forehead against your back, panting, "You're so tight, baby—grippin' me so good—"

Dick is all needy and breathless as he mutters, "You're so perfect—so wet, so fucking soft—"

And fuck, fuck, it's too much.

Your whole body tenses, muscles coiling, pleasure spiking, your slick dripping down, coating Dick's cock, soaking his thighs, Jason's fingers still rubbing your clit, still teasing, still playing with you.

Your vision blurs, your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and then you snap. Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking supernova, a shuddering, gut wrenching explosion of white hot pleasure. Wave after wave crashes into you as your pussy clenches, gripping Dick's cock so tight he chokes on a groan, hips faltering, hands gripping your waist to hold you there, fuck you through it, hips rutting up in messy, desperate thrusts.

Jason curses loud and filthy, his free hand digging into your hip as your ass tightens around him, milking his cock, making him throb, his jaw clenched so tight it aches as he rubs your clit faster, dragging out your orgasm, making you whimper, tremble, shake.

"That's it, doll," Jason growls, voice rough, filled with lust, "Fuck—look at you, so fuckin' messy, so good—"

Dick is moaning beneath you, his grip on you tightening, his cock still buried deep inside your spasming cunt, still rutting up into you, and it's so much, too much, your whole body a trembling, sweaty, soaked mess.

"M-more—"

Your voice is a broken little whimper, barely a sound at all, your body hot between them, overstimulated and fucked senseless, but still, still, you beg for more.

"H-harder—fuck—p-please—"

And that's it. That's it. Jason curses under his breath, and Dick's fingers tighten on your hips as something inside them just snaps, and they ruin you.

Jason grips your waist, holding you steady as he slams into your ass, hips snapping forward with messy, needy thrusts, cock stretching you wide, stuffing you so full, his abs flexing, sweat dripping down his chest.

Dick isn't any better. He's never fucked like this before, never felt like this before, usually so careful, so sweet, because he likes making love, likes taking his time. He's usually all slow, sensual touches and soft whispers, but the pollen, the fucking pollen.

You're soaking his cock, clenching around him, your pussy hot and wet and so fucking tight, making these little whimpering sounds that make his brain short circuit, that make him lose every single ounce of restraint.

He pounds into you, moaning, hips driving up to meet yours again and again, his mind blank, wrecked, obsessed with how you feel around him, how good you take it, how you keep begging for it.

"Yes—yes—yes—more—fuck—"

You can't stop babbling, pleading, brain melting under the push and pull of their cocks inside you, their hands gripping you, keeping you in place, using you, fucking you.

"More—more—more—"

You're whimpering, gasping, trembling, bouncing between him and Jason like you belong to them.

"F-fuck—"

Jason feels like he's burning alive, the heat of your body, the way your ass grips his cock, the way you tremble every time he fucks you deeper, the sweat dripping down his back, his chest, his hips slapping your ass, his free hand sliding up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck, squeezing just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

"Shit, baby, you're so fuckin' tight—"

And then—

"Fuck—fuck— fuck—"

Dick breaks.

His whole body tenses, back arching, muscles coiling as his cock jerks inside you, and then he's cumming, gasping, groaning, fucking his seed deep into your cunt, pumping you full, stuffing you so full, hot and thick. His arms lock around your waist, holding you down as he ruts up into you, still moving, still fucking you through it because he can't stop, can't fucking stop.

And you—

You feel it, feel the hot rush of it inside you, feel it leak out around his cock, smearing on your swollen folds, on Jason's fingers still working your clit, on his balls, sticky and messy, so fucking filthy. You love it, love the way it drips out of you, love the way Dick whimpers as he fucks through his orgasm, love the way Jason grunts behind you, voice rough, guttural.

"Christ, look at that—fuckin' drippin'—"

And he's still fucking you, still grinding against you, his cock still hard, still deep, still pounding your ass, and you whimper, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive.

Jason's fingers are merciless.

They press against your swollen, throbbing clit, slick with a mess of cum, circling it, teasing, rubbing just right.

"F-fuck, Jay, I—"

Your words break, barely more than a whimper, and Dick shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips, his cock still stuffed deep in your wrecked pussy, and he feels it.

He feels the way your walls are fluttering, spasming, gripping him, the way your whole body is starting to shake.

"That's it, baby, let go—"

Jason's voice is low, gravelly, and then it hits you.

A wave of white hot pleasure, so intense, so overwhelming, your whole body tenses and breaks at the same time, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent, shattered sob as you clench around both of them, your pussy squeezing Dick so tight he groans, hips jerking, and your ass—

"Shit—fuck—"

Jason chokes on his own breath, the sudden tight, spasming grip around his cock making his rhythm stutter, making his fingers falter, making his whole body tense as heat coils low in his gut, hot and throbbing, his hips snapping forward in shallow, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck— baby—"

His hand locks onto your waist, fingers digging into your soft, sweat slicked skin, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling inside you, thick and hot. He can't stop moving, can't stop grinding into you, fucking it deeper, groaning, shuddering against your back as his orgasm wrecks him.

You sob.

Not just because it's too much, not just because your body is shaking, not just because your clit is pulsing under Jason's fingers, because your pussy is still leaking cum, because your ass is stuffed with it, because the pleasure is endless.

You sob because you've never been fucked this good, because it's Dick and Jason, because your body is spent. Because you're so tired and still trembling, still whimpering as Jason finally stills behind you, followed by Dick, both of them still inside you, both of them breathing hard.

"Baby—"

Dick's voice is so soft, and you barely register it before your body gives out, before you collapse against his chest. His arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight, his big, warm hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back as you keep sobbing, sniffling, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

"Shit—"

Jason's hands smooth down your back, his lips pressing against the curve of your spine, kissing your sweat-damp skin as he exchanges a look with Dick, something unspoken, something concerned.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Dick murmurs, tucking you closer, his lips pressing to your temple, your forehead, "You're okay. We got you."

Jason hums against your back, his hands gentle now, tracing slow, grounding touches down your waist, your sides, rubbing at your hips, pressing softer kisses against your skin.

"M'sorry—" you hiccup, voice hoarse, and Jason shakes his head, arms tightening around you.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, "Nothin' to be sorry for."

"We got you," Dick echoes, voice still so soft, lips still brushing against your skin, still pressing slow, tender kisses over your face, "We got you, love."

And the haze of the pollen is fading, just slightly, just enough to let the exhaustion creep in, just enough to let you sink into their warmth, just enough to let you breathe.

A little sniffle escapes you, barely more than a breath, and Jason exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist before he slowly, gently pulls out. You whimper, hips twitching at the loss, and he shushes you, hands smoothing down your sides, his voice low and gruff—

"Sorry, sweetheart."

It's only then, as his head starts to clear, that he sees you, like... really sees you.

The red marks scattered across your skin, the deep, dark hickeys, the little bruises blooming where fingers had gripped too tight, where mouths had been too hungry.

And normally, Jason wouldn't care. Wouldn't think about it, wouldn't dwell. But this wasn't some random fuck. This was you. And he cares about you.

He exchanges a look with Dick, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing, but before either of them can say anything, you lift your head slightly, voice soft, drowsy, still so blissed out.

"That was... that was so..." you pause as you take a slow, heavy breath. "That was the best fuck of my life."

For a second, they're stunned. Then Jason snorts, shaking his head as his hands squeeze your hips.

"You're somethin' else, pretty girl."

You hum, then shift, sitting up on Dick, your hands steadying yourself on his chest, his cock finally softening inside you.

Dick's hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, his gaze soft, fond, full of something warm and aching.

"You okay?"

You nod, but he tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. "You sure?"

"So fucking sure," you murmur, leaning into his palm, letting his touch ground you, soothe you.

Jason exhales, then reaches over, fingers brushing your damp, sweat sticky hair from your shoulder before he leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your skin.

They let you breathe, let you come down completely, their hands slow and gentle, smoothing over your back, your arms, grounding you with soft touches, murmured reassurances, little praises that make your stomach flip.

And then, you shift again, lifting yourself from Dick's lap, and—

Oh.

The mess is... everywhere. Your thighs are slick, cum dripping from your swollen pussy, smearing on Dick's softening cock, streaking down onto the bench beneath you, pooling on the towels.

And now that the pollen haze has lifted, now that your mind is clearer, the sight of it, the reality of it, makes your face go hot, embarrassment creeping up your spine.

They see it. They know you. Jason clicks his tongue, turns you to face him, and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, caging you against him.

"Don't do that shit," he murmurs, voice warm, rough, "It's fine. We'll clean up."

You bury your face in his chest, mumbling something unintelligible, and he huffs, hand smoothing down your back.

"Kinda late for that, doll."

You groan, lifting a weak arm to swat at his shoulder. "Shut up."

Dick chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches, standing from the bench, his legs shaky, his hands settling on his hips as he exhales.

"You two go ahead and clean up," he says, rolling his shoulders, "I'll handle things here."

And before you can argue, before you can say I can help or I should clean up too, he steps up behind you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

"Okay?"

You nod, still tucked against Jason's chest, and Dick hums, brushing his fingers down your arm before stepping away.

But before you can step away, Jason's arms tighten.

"Wait—"

Your words die in your throat as Jason lifts you, carrying you towards the showers like you weigh nothing, and normally, you'd protest.

Would roll your eyes, would shove at his shoulder, would grumble about carrying yourself. But right now, you're too fucked out to care. So you just sigh, letting your body go boneless against him, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as he carries you away.

Jason sets you down and turns on the water, the warm steam curling around you, soaking into your aching muscles. And the second your feet touch the tile, your knees buckle. But he's there, his hands steady on your waist, keeping you upright, and you let him.

His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady breath before he lifts one hand, cupping your face, his calloused fingers warm against your damp skin.

"You sure you're okay?"

His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, something almost hesitant underneath it.

You swallow, blinking up at him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your bones, every part of you. "Yeah." Your voice is soft, barely above a breath. "I just... 'm tired."

He nods. "I know."

You pout, and God, it's that little pout that always made him wanna kiss you, that always made his chest tight, even when he'd told himself not to care, even when he swore he wouldn't let it get to him.

"I wanna go home," you murmur, voice small, pleading.

His fingers tighten just slightly on your waist. "We'll take you home in a bit."

He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to brush his lips over yours—hesitant, almost unsure, because apparently, the pollen's not fucking with your heads anymore, and maybe this is where it ends, maybe this is where it stops, where everything just goes back to the way it was.

But you kiss him back. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate, frantic kisses from before, and his breath catches against your lips.

You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper, "Will you stay tonight?"

His brows pull together, his fingers brushing along your cheek. "Yeah, baby."

Your stomach flutters at the rasp of his voice, and you swallow, biting your lip before murmuring, "Both of you?"

He exhales, tilting his head down, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, "Yeah. Both of us."

You nod, barely there, barely anything at all, and Jason watches you for a second, something warm, something almost uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

And then, you kiss him again. Soft, sweet, exhausted. And something about the way his lips press to yours, about the way his hand cradles your face, about the way his body relaxes against yours, even now... it feels right.

Like it was always meant to be this way.

Like something shifts inside you, deep in your chest, something small and fragile and terrifying.

Because you've had only fucked up men in your life before. Men who hurt. Men who took. Men who left nothing but bruises and scars in their wake. And now you have them—Jason, Dick—and you're scared.

Scared of losing them, scared of ruining this, scared of the ache in your chest that tells you you want them, not just like this, not just like what happened tonight, but something tells you they feel the same. Something tells you Dick feels the same. Something about the way Jason holds you now, the way he kisses you like it's not just about the fuck, like it matters, like you matter.

After cleaning up and making sure there's no evidence of what went down in the Batcave, the three of you made your way back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, but something warmer, something unchanged lingering between you all.

You're sprawled across your couch, tucked between two very warm, very big bodies, soaking up their heat as you all demolish a large pepperoni pizza. Because after that? After the hours of fucking, the overstimulation, the pollen that had you all wrapped up in a desperate, needy haze?

You're starving. And for once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. No 'so... what now?' kind of moment.

Just pizza. Just warmth. Just them.

Dick sits to your right, long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing over your shoulder as he chews, completely at ease.

And Jason's on your left, reclined, socked feet propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place, one arm resting over your thighs while the other holds his slice, chewing with that half lidded, relaxed expression that means he's content.

And the thing is, it's not weird. It should be, right?

You just got wrecked by both of them in the Batcave of all places, and now you're here, cuddled up between them like it's nothing, like this was normal, like this was just another night of the three of you hanging out.

Except, it wasn't just another night. It was the first time you'd crossed that boundary. The first time you let yourselves give in to the tension that had always been there, just beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for something—anything—to push you all over the edge.

And it should've changed everything. But it didn't. If anything, it felt like it enhanced it.

Like something had clicked into place. Like this was always meant to happen. Dick swallows his bite, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb as he watches you from the corner of his eye. And he knows you.

He knows that little crease between your brows means you're overthinking. That the way you press your lips together means you're trying to make sense of something, trying to name whatever the hell this is, trying to define it.

And for once, you don't have to. Because he gets it. He feels it.

He'd spent years wanting you, wanting this, but never acting on it, because you were one of his closest friends, because you were one of Jason's closest friend, because the idea of losing you over some reckless decision was too much, too dangerous.

Jason snorts as you grab another slice of pizza, shoving it into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days, and he bumps his knee against yours, mumbling, "Jesus, slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."

You roll your eyes, mouth full, and mumble back, "Whose fault is that?"

Dick laughs—a soft, breathy chuckle as he leans back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind you. "She's got a point."

Jason clicks his tongue, tearing off a bite of his own pizza. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

And it's so normal. So easy. Dick can't stop thinking about it. Because this should feel different. He thought it would feel different.

That maybe things would be awkward, that maybe you'd pull away, that maybe Jason would crack some joke that would make it feel less than what it was, like it was just another fuck, another good time.

But it wasn't.

And this—this easy, quiet warmth, the way you're curled up against them like you've always belonged there, the way Jason hasn't made a single move to leave, the way he hasn't wanted to leave... it feels like something that was always meant to happen.

Because as he glances at Jason, sees the way he's watching you, the way his fingers absently trace circles into your thigh, the way he looks so calm, so sated—he knows Jason feels the same.

Jason, who for the first time in years, isn't holding himself back. Jason, who had spent the last two hours running through every memory of you in his head, trying to figure out how he went so fucking long without having you like that, how he ever convinced himself to not want you. Because he did.

And he won't fucking say it, won't admit it, won't even let the thought settle too deep in his chest, but yeah. Yeah, he feels it, too.

He watches as you swipe a thumb across your lips, catching a stray bit of sauce, your lashes fluttering with exhaustion as you sink deeper into Dick's side, and something inside him tightens.

Because this isn't just some random hookup. This isn't just some heat of the moment bullshit he can brush off and forget. This is you. And fuck, if that doesn't scare the shit out of him.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another slice, and Dick glances at him, something knowing flickering behind those bright blue eyes.

But neither of them say anything. Because there's nothing to say. Nothing needs to be said. This was the first time the three of you crossed the boundaries of your friendship.

But not the last.

[disc0kitten]

LITTLE TROUBLE GIRL ✩ || dbf!bucky barnes x f!reader || part one

(PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE) unfinished...

summary: You’re starting college in New York, and Bucky, your dad's best friend, has offered you a place to stay—just until you find your footing. It’s temporary; you're staying with him until you're able to settle down. But living with him is nothing like you expected, considering you've always had an innocent crush on him, even when you were little. The late nights, the easy laughter, the way his eyes linger just a little too long—it all starts to blur the lines. Just like that, your innocent crush on Bucky turns into something more crude.

author's note: this is an au where the winter soldier never happened, he's just good ol' buck, your dad's best friend :D

word count: 9.6k

warnings: age gap (reader is twenty and bucky is in his late thirties), alcohol consumption, tiny bit of angst towards the end, cursing, implied sexual themes, bucky is a little jealous and possesive.

You’re supposed to be packing. You really are.

But instead, you’re sitting on your bedroom floor, staring at the pile of clothes in front of you like they’re suddenly alien to you. Jeans. T-shirts. Sweaters you’ve had since the ninth grade. You think about how many of these things you haven’t worn in months, maybe even years, but now that you're moving, you swear you have to bring them. It’s like they’re your security blanket, like you can’t just let go. You’re leaving your hometown for good. Going to New York for college. The city. Your future. The dream.

But right now, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

Instead, it feels like the more you try to pack, the more everything around you gets heavier.

You shove a pile of clothes into the suitcase with less grace than you care to admit. You don’t know what to expect in New York, but part of you kind of just wants to stay here where everything’s familiar—even if everything about here kind of sucks sometimes. The awfully familiar cloudy days, the stubbornly old-fashioned people, the same neighbours you've known all your life… It's difficult to let go, but things like these make leaving your hometown all the easier.

Just as you were staring off into a wall, probably purposefully wasting time, your dad’s voice breaks into your thoughts.

"You all set?" He leans against your doorframe with a grin. At least someone was sure about all of this—even when you weren’t. Honestly, you’d bet he was more excited about the move than you were. New York had always been his dream for you. A chance to give you everything he never had growing up. All the opportunities he never got. Obviously when you took a sabbatical year after highschool he was pissed, so know that he's sure your heading to college he couldn't be happier. So, there you were, freshly twenty and off to college.

You stop. You freeze, one sneaker in midair as if it’s suddenly the heaviest thing in the world. Obviously, he knew this wasn't easy for you. He watched your expression drop the second he walked in. Everything slowly seeming more real to you than ever.

"Come on, everything’s going to be fine. Besides—hey, you’re staying with Buck for a while!" He lifts a hand in the air like that alone should fix everything. "He promised he’d make things easier for you. He’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart."

And for a second, it actually helps. That soft spot in your chest loosens just a little.

Because no, you’re not leaving everything behind. Staying with James—Buck—meant keeping at least one thread tied to home. A glimpse of your dad, your family, the place you grew up in. Something familiar to hold onto while everything else was changing. James Buchanan Barnes. The guy you’ve known forever. Your dad’s best friend. The guy who visits your house every holiday, makes a big deal about how grown-up you’re getting, who’s always laughing, always joking, and always just... there. He's the guy. But still, the fact that you were staying with him out of all people is absolutely daunting.

You haven’t seen him in a while—two, maybe three years? He used to visit a few times a year without fail—once for your dad's birthday and the rest again for the holidays and summer. He doesn’t come around as much anymore. Not because something’s wrong. If anything, it’s the opposite. Work’s just gotten more demanding for him. More cases. More clients. More responsibility. So technically, things are going great for him. Better than ever, really. Still, it doesn’t stop that tiny flicker of disappointment you feel whenever he misses a visit. Like some little piece of your old routine just… fades out. 

When you were younger, you didn’t really notice how much he stood out. He was just a figure at family gatherings—he always had something funny to say, and you’d laugh at his dry sarcasm and the way his eyes always seemed to light up when he caught your attention. He was a permanent fixture in your life, like a distant relative you didn’t see enough of but still had a special place for.

But then, you turned fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. And suddenly, it was impossible not to notice.

The way he stood—relaxed, confident, like he owned the space around him without even trying. Broad shoulders that stretched the sleeves of his dress shirts just right, one hand always tucked into his pocket and the other one always holding on to a beer — which also, always seemed to be a Heineken—  like he had all the time in the world. His jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. And he somehow made wearing a stupidly expensive leather jacket look like the most casual thing in the world—like he didn’t know how good he looked in it. Except, deep down, you were pretty sure he did.

He always smelled like something expensive—cologne and clean laundry, with just a little bit of city air clinging to him. Something which always made you so curious. To your 12-year-old self, Buck was your glimpse into the city. His hair was always neat but not overly styled, like he’d run a hand through it once and called it a day. And his smile was the real problem. Easy, charming, lopsided in a way that made it feel like it was just for you, even though you knew it wasn’t, it was always for one of those little girlfriends he brought every year and decided to invite on his trip. 

It wasn’t like you were in love with him or anything. It was just… you noticed. You noticed everything.

As the years went by, something shifted. The way he looked at you sometimes. The way his eyes lingered just a second longer than you were comfortable with. The way he called you kid like he was trying to remind himself that’s what you were—and that’s all you were—whenever your thoughts seemed to go somewhere they shouldn’t.

But you’ve always pushed that aside. He’s your dad’s best friend. He’s… untouchable. Not that you would ever do anything about it.

But now? Now you’re moving in with him, and you have no idea how to feel about it or how to carry yourself around him.

Your dad is still standing there, waiting for a response. He’s in that spot where he’s practically bouncing.

"You’re sure about this, right?"

You force a smile, trying to make it seem like the fact that you're moving in with him doesn’t bother you at all. At this point, you didn’t know how it made you feel, it had its ups and downs… It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Right?

“Yeah, Dad. Totally fine,” you say, and you really hope you sound convincing. The truth is, you’re not sure what you’re even supposed to be feeling. Is this supposed to be an adventure? Because you don’t feel like it. You feel like maybe you’ve made a huge mistake and that there’s no way you’ll be able to look Bucky in the eye without turning into a human tomato.

Your dad beams at you, oblivious to the small storm brewing in your stomach. “Good. You know Bucky. He’s a great guy. He’ll look after you. It’ll be fine.”

Yeah, Bucky’s a “great guy.” Everyone says that—and it’s true. He’s always been there for your dad, always quick with advice or a sarcastic joke to pull him out of a bad mood. He’s steady, dependable, the kind of guy people trust without thinking twice. You’ve always known that.

But living with him? That’s a whole different ballgame.

You’re not your dad. You don’t have that effortless bond with Bucky—the one built on decades of inside jokes and shared mistakes. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time you had a real conversation with him. Outside of the usual “how’s school?” or the occasional “got a boyfriend yet?” And now you're about to move into his home like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

The thing is, Bucky’s always been this constant in your life—this person you’ve admired from a distance, someone you’ve always thought of as off-limits. You’ve never let yourself go too deep into it, but now it's a little different. You'll be living with him every day for god knows how long.

The airport felt colder than usual. Not because of the air conditioning, but because of everything else—the goodbye hugs that lingered too long, your mom pretending she wasn’t crying, your dad cracking one too many nervous jokes, his teary eyes catching the lights. You smiled through it, made it look easy. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you weren’t terrified.

But as you walked away from them and toward the gate, something settled heavily in your chest. That weird, aching feeling of moving on.

You didn’t cry. Not really. That would probably come later. You just stared out the window of the plane, watching the ground peel away beneath you, smaller and smaller until it was just a blur. That was home down there. Your whole life, packed into backyards and gas stations and little streets you could navigate blindfolded. Gone now—just like that.

You tried not to overthink it. Tried not to spiral about living in a city you didn’t know, in an apartment that wasn’t yours, with a man who barely knew the version of you that wasn’t still seventeen.

The name alone made your thoughts twist up a little. Bucky. Just Bucky, really. Your dad’s best friend. The guy who used to toss you in the pool when you were a kid, chase you around the yard with the grill fork, and ruffle your hair like you were one of the boys.

You thought about that for a while—until the all-familiar town beneath you started to disappear under the clouds. Fields of green came into view, sharp and endless. You pressed your forehead to the window and tried to imagine your life away from that skyline somehow. The sun had started to set, and the sky had started to fluctuate between hues of oranges and yellows.

Everyone on the plane looked like some version of home. Guys in faded baseball caps talking too loud, moms with bleached-blonde hair and dark roots flipping through gossip magazines, teenagers glued to their phones with chipped acrylics and chewed-up straws poking out of Styrofoam cups. You’d grown up surrounded by people like this—faces that blurred together in the same familiar way.

You sank into your window seat, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as the plane rumbled up into the clouds. The turbulence didn’t bother you much—what unsettled you was everything else. So you did what you could to tune it out.

You flagged down the flight attendant and ordered a drink— something fruity, a Coke, whatever... As she walked away, you pressed your forehead against the cool window and watched the sky melt into pale blue.

As you stepped out of your plane and walked through the boarding bridge, you felt a chilly breeze, a bit cooler than you were expecting. He was already leaning against the car when you finally reached the terminal, scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere to be—which, of course, made him look even more annoyingly cool.

Black jeans, dark coat, sunglasses hooked onto the front of his shirt like some effortless accessory. He looked older than you remembered—sharper, broader—but not in a tired way. More like someone who’d grown into himself. Owned it. He had a few specks of gray on his beard now, more than you remembered him having, even though, honestly, that was the only indicator of him having gotten older.

He glanced up and did a double-take, almost like he didn't recognize you. His brows lifted, and his mouth quirked into that crooked half-smile you vaguely remembered from years ago. You began walking to him, dragging your carry-on right behind you.

“Damn,” he said, pushing off the car, “you’re taller than I thought you’d be. These three years have obviously been long. When did you turn into an actual person?”

You snorted. “Nice to see you too.”

“I’m serious,” he said, even though his tone was anything but. “Last time I saw you, you had braces and were crying over one of the One Direction guys.”

“Okay—first of all, rude. And second, it was Harry, I had taste”

That earned you a soft laugh as he reached for your suitcase. “Alright, alright. Still dramatic, I see. Guess some things don’t change.”

He tossed the bag into the trunk like it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door for you with a mockingly formal gesture.

“Your ride awaits." He opened both of his arms, palms out, signaling to the car door he was opening for you.

You rolled your eyes and slid into the car. The inside was just as nice as it looked from the outside—clean, sleek, and smelling like leather and whatever cologne he used, clearly the same one he's always used.

He got in, started the engine, and glanced over at you. “Seatbelt. Not tryna get sued your first week in the city.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, the silence in the car wasn’t awkward. Just... charged. Like the air between you hadn’t settled yet.

“So,” he said after a beat, “you nervous, or just pretending to be too cool for this?”

You shrugged, feeling taken aback that he had deciphered you so quickly. “Little of both.”

“Hm. Classic.” He smirked, eyes still on the road. “You know, I offered to let your dad send you to a nunnery, but he insisted college was the move.”

You burst out laughing. “Right, because that would’ve been way less awkward.”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “You and a bunch of nuns in New York? That’s a sitcom waiting to happen.”

The city rose around you in glowing towers, stretching high and endless into the night sky. Streetlights flickered over glossy pavement, casting everything in a wash of warm gold and cool silver. Neon signs buzzed quietly outside corner bodegas and late-night diners, while car headlights weaved in and out like fireflies in motion. The air itself seemed to hum—thick with life, noise, energy. It was all so alive. And you were right in the middle of it.

As Bucky’s car slipped deeper into the city, you pressed your hand against the window, eyes following the blur of strangers rushing past. A woman in heels and a power suit shouting into her phone. A group of teens laughing way too loudly on a corner. A man on a bike with a pizza box. Every single person looked like they belonged here—like they had somewhere to be, something to do. And they all moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing how this city worked.

You sat there quietly, just watching, feeling the shift happen inside you. This wasn’t just a trip. It wasn’t summer vacation. This was real.

You were here. For good.

And in exactly 13 hours, at 10:00 AM sharp, you’d be sitting in your first college class.

You weren’t sure if the tight feeling in your chest was nerves or excitement. Maybe both. Everything felt huge—too big to grasp all at once. You wanted to slow it down, bottle it up, make sense of it all. But the city didn’t wait for you to catch up. It just kept moving.

“You’re quiet,” Bucky said, looking at you from the corner of his eye, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine and the soft, distant sounds of the city.

You blinked, pulling your gaze away from the window. He didn’t look at you—his eyes were fixed on the road, fingers tapping idly against the wheel. Casual, but not careless. Like he knew exactly what was going on in your head without needing to ask.

“I’m just… taking it all in,” you said.

He let out a low, amused breath. “Yeah? You’ve got the same look you used to get on the diving board—right before chickening out.”

You turned your head, incredulous. “I didn’t chicken out. I was calculating. And I'm not planning to chicken out now either...”

“That’s what you called it?” He smirked. “Standing there for fifteen minutes while every kid behind you prayed for patience?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

The light changed, and the car moved forward again, gliding through quieter streets now. The city still sparkled outside the window—still alive, still moving—but it didn’t feel as loud in this pocket of calm. Just you and Bucky, in his leather-scented car that felt safer than you expected it to.

After a moment, he spoke again—quieter this time.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

You looked over at him.

He wasn't looking at you anymore, but his jaw ticked slightly, like he was thinking through every word before he said it. “You’re smart. Capable. You’ve got guts—Hell, you're a pretty girl too. You've got the whole world at the palm of your hand.”

You let out a soft laugh, but he kept going.

“And you’re not alone in this. I’m here,” he said simply. “I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm. Solid. Like something you could lean into.

You watched him for a second longer, the way the passing streetlights painted soft lines across his face, the way he looked so sure when you didn’t.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

The car pulled up to a sleek building tucked between a coffee shop and a high-end florist, all steel and glass and glowing lobby lights. It didn’t scream wealth, not in a flashy way—but everything about it whispered money. Subtle.

Bucky cut the engine and turned to you, one hand still on the wheel. “Alright, city girl. Welcome home.”

You blinked up at the building. “This place is… nice.”

He smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt. “That’s the least convincing ‘nice’ I’ve ever heard.”

“No, I mean it,” you said, stepping out. “It’s just... fancy. I didn’t think lawyers lived like this.”

He popped the trunk. “We don’t. But when you start working eighty-hour weeks and don’t have time for a life, you gotta spend your money somewhere. Might as well be rent.”

You followed him into the building, your suitcase rolling behind you on polished tile. The lobby smelled like eucalyptus and something vaguely citrusy. You tried not to stare at the concierge desk—or the massive chandelier above your head—but you caught Bucky glancing sideways at you anyway.

“Try to look like you’ve been somewhere before,” he muttered, grinning.

You elbowed him. “Says the guy who wore aviators at night.”

“Touché.”

The elevator ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Bucky leaned back against the wall with his hands in his coat pockets, glancing at you now and then like he was still trying to believe you were the same kid who used to sneak cookies off the grill during backyard cookouts.

The doors opened on the twelfth floor. His place was at the end of the hall—tall black door, a single matte number, no unnecessary frills.

When he let you in, the first thing you noticed was how him it felt. Everything in the apartment was clean and dark and structured—deep grays, worn leathers, low lighting—but there were warm things too. Books stacked unevenly on the coffee table. A vinyl player with an open sleeve beside it. A pair of reading glasses he’d never admit to needing resting near the counter.

“Home sweet home,” he said, tossing his keys into a bowl by the door. “Shoes off if you don’t wanna catch a lecture. Kitchen’s there, bathroom’s down the hall, you’re in the guest room.”

You stood there a moment, just taking it all in.

He gave you a look. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah. Yup!”

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry,” he added, that lopsided smirk creeping in again, “you’ve got me. You’ll be fine.”

The guest room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the city slipping through the window. You didn’t bother turning on the overhead light—just opened your suitcase and started putting things away, slowly, like moving too fast would make it all feel too real.

Everything in the room felt untouched. Neutral. Like it had been prepped for someone who might never show up. The dresser drawers slid open without a sound, the bedding was crisp, and the closet smelled faintly of cedar. It was strange. Not cold, just unfamiliar. Like you were living in a showroom version of someone else's life.

You folded clothes into neat stacks and arranged your things on the nightstand—lip balm, your headphones, a paperback with a cracked spine. You paused at a photo of you and your parents, half-smiling at the way your mom’s hand was always in your dad’s back pocket. They’d driven you to the airport earlier today, pretending not to cry when you hugged them goodbye.

Now you were here.

You caught your reflection in the mirror for a second too long, pulled your hair up into a lazy bun, and put on some pajamas you had packed back at home with cats and dogs printed all over the fabric. As soon as you finished you you left your room and slipped into the living room quietly.

From the kitchen came the soft clink of silverware and the low simmer of something on the stove. Music played faintly from a speaker tucked somewhere, something very 80s sounding. Warm light pooled from under the cabinets, and Bucky stood over the stove, his back to you, sleeves pushed up and brow slightly furrowed as he stirred a pan.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. “There she is.” He cooed excitedly.

You offered a half-smile. “There I am.”

He turned down the heat, grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet, and poured a deep red into each without asking. He handed you one as you leaned against the counter beside him.

“You cook now?” you asked, taking the glass.

He shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s either this or takeout again, and I figured you deserve a proper meal on your first night.”

You took a sip, and the wine was smooth, expensive. Of course.

“Thanks,” you said.

He just nodded, lips tugging into something close to a smile before he walked toward the living room and sank into the corner of the couch with his own glass. You followed after a moment, curling into the opposite side, your legs folded under you.

The room was quiet, but not awkwardly so. You watched the steam rise from the kitchen, heard the occasional sizzle from the stove. The city lights flickered in through the windows behind him.

“You good? I feel like I've asked this 50 times just today,” he asked eventually with a soft laugh, not looking directly at you.

You paused, then nodded. “Getting there.”

“Good, that's a start. ‘Cause I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to figure everything out in one night. Y'know, I haven't always lived here, when I got here it was also terrifying for me,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’ve got time. You’ve got space. And I’m here. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”

You glanced at him, heart tightening at how casual he made it sound, like it was no big deal. But it was. No one had ever said something like that to you without needing anything in return.

“Thanks,” you said again, softer this time.

He smirked slightly. “You already said that.”

You gasp in feigned offense, clutching a hand to your chest, "Alright, well- You don't see me saying you've repeated your inspirational speech 30 times already, do you?"

He only squinted his eyes and tilted his glass towards you as if to point at you, "You've got a mouth on you, don't you? Calm down before I leave you to starve," He laughs, and just after that, he stands up to turn off the fire.

He moves with ease, like he’s done this a hundred times—turning knobs, checking the sauce, grabbing plates from a cabinet you wouldn’t have guessed held anything. You stay curled up on the couch, glass of wine resting on your thigh, watching him in the kitchen like you’re still not used to seeing him like this—domestic, relaxed, a little smug in the way he smirks to himself after a joke.

“You wouldn’t actually let me starve,” you call out as an attempt to not remain quiet.

“Wouldn’t I?” he shoots back over his shoulder, then opens the fridge with his hip. “I don’t know. You’re in my house now. Could be survival of the fittest.”

You snort into your wine. “Please. I’d eat half your pantry before you even noticed.”

He grins at that, setting a pan on a trivet and dishing out pasta onto two plates. “God, you sound like your dad.”

“That’s rude.”

“Hm, wouldn't say so. It's accurate.” His back was still turned to you as you watched the muscles in his back move after every scoop he set down onto both of the plates.

He walks over and sets one plate down in front of you on the coffee table, then hands you a fork. The pasta smells incredible—creamy, garlicky, with grilled chicken cut into perfect slices like he’s trying to impress someone. Maybe he is.

He drops down beside you with his own plate, elbows brushing for a second as he settles in. The couch dips beneath his weight, the apartment humming with soft music and the faint sounds of the city outside. It’s warm. Not just physically—though, yeah, the wine helps—but in a way that creeps in slow and stays there.

“Okay,” you murmur after a few bites. “This is actually good.”

He raises a brow. “You sound surprised.”

“I’ve only ever seen you drink black coffee, beer and eat beef jerky.”

He stabs a piece of pasta and shrugs. “People contain multitudes. Can't imagine you know much about that,” He laughs, aware that he's egging you on.

You look over at him, and he catches your eye just as he takes a bite. There’s something playful in his expression, but underneath it, something softer. Steady. You chew slowly, then ask, quieter this time, “Why are you being so nice to me?” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just sets his fork down and leans back slightly.

“Because I care about you,” he says simply. “You’re not just your dad’s kid. You’re... you. And I’ve known you your whole life. You think I’m gonna let you land here and not look after you?” You blink once, then again, unsure what to say.

So instead, you say, “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

He laughs—a real, warm, low laugh—and shakes his head. “You wish.”

Time had slipped away somewhere between the second glass and the lazy way Bucky laughed at his own stories. Now, with plates cleared and nothing but the low hum of the city beyond the windows, the two of you sat across from each other on the couch, your legs tucked under you, a little warmer than before. The wine had softened your limbs and whatever awkwardness that might’ve once existed between you had faded into something more… comfortable. Charged, maybe. But quiet.

It was easy like this. Easier than you’d expected. He asked questions. Real ones. Not just “how’s school” or “what’s your major,” but actual questions.

“What do you want from it all?” he’d asked earlier. “Like, when it’s all said and done—what’s the picture?”

You’d stared at him like he’d just unlocked a hidden door in your head. You didn’t answer that one. Not fully. It wasn't like you really knew how to answer it either. You said something about self-fulfilment, and he seemed happy enough with that answer.

Now, he was grinning behind the rim of his glass, eyes just a little more hooded than usual, and much more loose than the mysterious guy who picked you up from the airport earlier. “So,” he said, drawing out the word. “Boys.”

You groaned immediately, leaning your head back into the cushion. “God, no.”

“What?” he asked, all mock innocence. “You don’t want to talk about your tragic love life with good ol' Buck over overpriced wine and homemade pasta?”

“No,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You’re being nosy.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth but never quite reached both sides. “Guilty as charged,” he replied, his eyes warm as he looked at you. “But seriously, I’m curious. You’re smart, funny, sharp as hell—don’t tell me none of those boys ever tried anything.”

You shifted on the couch, feeling the heat in your cheeks, but you tried to play it off. “The problem is that they have. But, where is this coming from?”

Bucky shrugged, swirling his wine in his glass, but his gaze never left you. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice lowering a fraction. “I guess I’m just noticing... you’ve grown up. That’s all.”

His words and the way he enunciated the word 'grown' hit you more than you expected. You shook your head, trying to mask the way your chest tightened. “You make it sound like I used to be a troll.”

Bucky gave a low laugh, leaning back into the couch, but his eyes were still watching you closely, studying you. “Oh, but you were,” he teased, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You used to throw rocks at me.”

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “That was once.”

“That was three summers in a row,” he corrected, his tone playful, like he was remembering a version of you that had changed in ways he hadn’t expected.

For a second, everything felt easy again. Familiar. The laughter felt like it bridged the gap between who you were now and who you used to be, and you let it fill the space between you. But then the conversation took a shift, and the air between you seemed to thicken with something else.

“So, no serious boyfriends?” he asked again, like he was trying to make sense of it.

You glanced down at your glass, your fingers tracing the rim absently. “Not really. Nothing that stuck.”

Bucky leaned forward a bit, his tone softening, like he was really trying to understand. “Let me guess—emotionally unavailable, talks in memes, and thinks texting you ‘wyd’ at 2 a.m. is romantic?”

You laughed, the sound catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up. “Don't forget the unsolicited Snapchat dickpics,” you sighed, remembering all the times you've had to endure opening Snapchat to see pubescent dicks on your screen.

Bucky’s lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyebrows raising just slightly. “Seriously?” he teased, leaning in a bit closer, the playful glint in his eyes growing sharper. “Do they think that’s supposed to impress you? What—suddenly, you're gonna be swept off your feet by a 20-year-old’s bad lighting picture of their dick?”

You scoffed, taking a sip of your wine. "Apparently... Either way, I'm not looking for a guy who decides to do that sort of thing for attention. It's so pathetic."

He smirked, taking another sip of his wine, but his gaze was more intense now, steady on you. “So what is it, then?” he asked, the words slow and deliberate. “What are you looking for?”

The question caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected it, and for a moment, you wondered if you even had an answer. But the wine made you brave enough to be honest, even if you didn’t want to be. You set your glass down, thinking carefully. “I don’t know. I guess... someone who makes me feel like I don’t have to try so hard all the time. Who doesn’t make me feel like I’m too much. Something that clearly guys my age are not willing to supply.” You didn't mean the last sentence like that, you didn't have some sort of underhanded motive.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, amused, and he took a slow sip of his wine. He set the glass down with a soft clink. “Guys your age, huh? Yeah, I get it. You’ve got that ‘too much’ vibe—guess it’s just a lot for them to handle.”

You raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback but not enough to let him off the hook. “You say guys my age can’t handle me? So, guys your age can?”

The smirk that spread across Bucky’s face made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand. He leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass with casual confidence, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh, sweetheart,” he started, his voice dropping an octave, sincere, “I’ve handled a lot worse. And I think, personally, I would be able to keep up just fine.”

There was a long pause. You could feel the weight of his stare, but you couldn’t look away, not now. Bucky held your gaze without blinking, his expression softer now. As if he had just now noticed what he said, he quickly changed the topic. “Anyway...That thing you said about being too much. You're not, don't let anybody tell you that," he said, his voice quiet but sure. “You just haven’t been around the right people.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it, and for a moment, it felt like everything shifted again, like something unspoken was hanging in the air. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond, but the warmth in your chest was a clear indication that maybe you didn’t need to say anything at all.

You laughed weakly, trying to regain some composure. “You always talk like that?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Only after two glasses.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle and leaned back against the couch, his arm brushing lightly against yours. He didn't pull away. The air between you felt like it was thickening, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as if everything that had been left unsaid before had finally come to the surface, and there was no turning back.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for it to feel like a secret shared only between the two of you. “You know, if I were your age, I’d be in real trouble.”

Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. “What do you mean?”

Bucky smirked, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. “Just saying,” he added, leaning back again, like he hadn’t just said something that made your heart race. “I’d be in real trouble.”

The quiet between you felt heavier now, more charged. You could feel the pull between you, the way he was still looking at you, waiting for you to say something. But then he cleared his throat, stood up with a stretch, and changed the subject like he hadn’t just set something off between you.

“Well, I better get dessert before I say something else I shouldn’t,” he said, his voice light but the way his eyes lingered on you made it hard to shake the feeling that the conversation wasn’t quite over. Not yet.

You watched him head toward the kitchen, your chest tight and your mind spinning. It wasn’t just the wine. It wasn’t just the long drive to New York. Something had shifted. Something was different now.

You stayed frozen for a moment, your fingers curled loosely around your glass as you tried to piece together what had just happened. His voice still echoed in your head—I’d be in real trouble. The way he said it, soft and low, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. Like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You bit your lip and set the glass down, glancing toward the kitchen. You could hear him rustling through cabinets, the clink of plates, the hum of the fridge door opening. Just regular, domestic sounds. But they didn’t match the pace of your heartbeat.

You stood and walked over, slower than usual, like your legs had to catch up with your thoughts. He had a carton of ice cream out and was pretending like everything was normal. Too normal. His back was turned, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight stiffness in the way he moved. Like he was aware of your presence—too aware.

“You always do this?” you asked, leaning against the counter, trying to sound casual. “Fluster college girls with red wine and chocolate chip?”

He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Fluster you?” he asked with a smirk, placing two bowls on the counter. “I’m just offering dessert, sweetheart. If that’s flustering you, I’m not sure you’re ready for this city.”

You gave him a look, but couldn’t stop your smile from forming. “Right. Of course. Just dessert.”

He turned fully then, slid one of the bowls toward you, the metal spoon clinking against the porcelain. “Eat before I say something worse than earlier.”

You took a bite, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel heavy again. Then, more quietly, you asked, “What would be worse, though?”

He paused with his own spoon halfway to his mouth. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set the spoon down, leaned on the cushions with his arms crossed, and looked at you—really looked at you.

“Depends,” he said slowly. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

You shook your head, a little too fast. “No. Just… caught me off guard.”

“Good,” he said, but the word came out softer than his usual snark. “Because I’d never want to make you uncomfortable. You being here—this whole thing—it matters to me.”

And there it was again. That shift. That soft, honest side of him was slipping through the cracks in his usual cool exterior. You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded, eyes meeting his for a second longer than they probably should’ve. And you let him, even if your thoughts kept drifting right back to that quiet little thing he said earlier.

If I were your age, I’d be in real trouble.

It had been two weeks since that first night, and the quiet tension between you and Bucky hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten harder to ignore.

You’d settled into the apartment like you'd always belonged there. Your stuff was neatly unpacked, your laundry now mixed with his in the hamper, and his coffee order was memorized without him needing to say it out loud. There were toothbrushes side by side in the bathroom, your shoes by the front door, and the casual rhythm of living together had grown… intimate, in a way you couldn’t explain.

But you hadn’t touched it—the conversation, the weight of his stare that night, the words that left your heart skipping. Neither of you had. Instead, you danced around it, letting your comfort grow while pretending everything was still casual.

In the meantime, life had started to take on shape. You’d started to find a routine between classes, wandering the city, and spending way too much time with Sophia—your new friend who had quickly become your lifeline. You met during orientation and clicked almost instantly, like fate had decided you both needed each other. Now, you talked every day. She knew your class schedule better than you did, reminded you to eat, sent you Tiktoks at midnight, and picked up on your mood from just a single text. You told her everything.

You hadn’t planned on spilling it so quickly, but it all came out one night over FaceTime—his apartment, the wine, the flirting, the tension. You’d half-expected her to freak out, to say it was insane or inappropriate. But she didn’t. She’d just blinked at you, then grinned and said, “Girl, you’re living in a slow-burn, how the fuck are you managing?"

Now, she asked about Bucky daily. She teased you when he picked you up from class, rolled her eyes when you claimed things were “normal,” and insisted you start taking notes so she could read the novel version later.

Apart from Sophia, there was this other guy who had randomly started getting closer to you, Luke.

Luke was in one of your classes, and you'd started working on group projects together since the first week. He was a bit awkward but sweet, and his humor grew on you over time. You didn’t think much of it at first, but over the past couple of weeks, he had started texting you almost every day. At first, the texts were nothing special—"Hey, can you send me those notes?" or "How’s your day going?"—but they quickly became more frequent. He would text you random things during the day, asking how you were, what you were doing, and even what your weekend plans were.

It was innocent enough, but you had the feeling it wasn’t entirely platonic on his part. Sophia had certainly noticed it. "Girl, he’s into you. Stop being blind," she'd said one day when Luke had texted you again. “You two have been texting more than I’ve seen anyone text their boyfriend.” Something which made you feel a little weird about the whole situation, given that you never thought about it like that. If anything, you saw him as a little brother; he was too skittish, too sheepish, not really your type.

Today, though, you’d come home late from class, bag slung low on your shoulder, exhaustion in your limbs. Your makeup was worn off, your hair in a messy bun, and you hadn’t even had the energy to fake a smile when you stepped through the door.

Bucky was on the couch, already out of his button-down and in a gray t-shirt and sweats, reading something on his tablet with glasses on—glasses you hated how much you liked. He looked up the second you entered.

“Jesus,” he muttered, setting the tablet down. “You look like you just fought a war.”

“I am in college,” you grumbled, kicking your shoes off by the door. “Same thing.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Rough day?”

You sighed, dragging yourself toward the kitchen. “Group project. Too much homework, I'm sweaty, I'm hungry... ”

He stood up. “Okay. Nope. We’re not doing this today.” He walked over and took your bag off your shoulder before you could argue. “Shoes off. Bag down. You’re officially off duty.”

“I wasn’t aware you were my manager,” you said with a small eye roll.

“I’m everything in this house,” he replied, guiding you gently toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll handle food. You like pad thai, right?”

You blinked at him. “Since when do you remember that?”

He smirked. “Since you ordered it three times last week, and I’m not blind.”

You laughed, melting a little as you collapsed into the cushions. “You’re dangerously close to being my favorite person.”

“I was hoping I’d at least make top three,” you saw him placing bowls and spices in the counter, with the concentration of a man on a mission.

You sank deeper into the couch, letting your eyes flutter closed. Ten minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine, handing you one before sliding in beside you. He’d queued up a movie—something black and white, with dramatic jazz and smoky bars.

The movie flickered on in the background, casting black-and-white shadows across the apartment walls while you lounged on the couch, wine glass resting on your thigh. The soft sounds of rustling in the kitchen reminded you that he had stood up at some point and quietly made his way to the kitchen to check on the food—he was plating the pad thai.

Your phone buzzed.

Sophia: Still no kiss? Babe. What do I have to do? Fly up and knock your heads together?

You huffed a laugh and texted back quickly.

You: I am currently being forced to watch black-and-white murder mysteries. He remembered I like pad thai and also brought me wine. I hate him.

Sophia: Bitch he’s flirting. That’s flirting. That’s “I want to ruin you” flirting.

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“What?” Bucky asked, glancing over at you.

“Nothing,” you said too fast, shaking your head.

He gave you a suspicious look. “Uh huh. That’s the ‘I’m talking shit about you’ face.”

“I would never,” you said, putting a hand to your heart in mock offense.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Is it Sophia?”

You froze. “...Maybe.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “She’s the one that calls me Hot Lawyer, isn’t she?”

Your jaw dropped. “How did you—”

“You leave your phone around the apartment a lot. And well- she also texts you a whole lot, so it's been difficult to miss her messages," He said with an all-knowing grin, so proud that he's caught you.

Your face went red hot. “Okay, that’s—please shut up.”

At some point, he decided to stop and free you from the awkwardness of the whole situation and shut up. Bucky returned with the plates, carefully balancing two steaming bowls of homemade pad thai and a tray of carefully prepped sides. He set them down between you both, the aroma of toasted peanuts and lime cutting through the cold air of the apartment.

“Dinner’s served,” he said, quiet but composed, as if trying too hard to keep things light.

You dug in, grateful for the distraction. The food was, as always, perfect—just the right amount of heat, your noodles cooked to perfection, with bits of tofu and crushed peanuts that somehow made you feel cared for in ways he never outright said.

A buzz from your phone interrupted the moment. You glanced down. Luke.

Luke: You free to meet up later this week? I was thinking we could grab coffee or something.

You answered with a quick, noncommittal reply and set the phone aside, but not before Bucky’s eyes flicked toward the screen. The name must’ve registered. His jaw ticked, subtle but there. He didn’t say anything right away, but you felt it—the way his energy shifted.

“Luke? You've told me about him before...” he asked eventually, his voice mild. Too mild.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Group project guy. We’ve been working together a lot lately.”

Bucky nodded slowly, twirling his fork in his noodles. “Right. He’s the one who texts you every morning like he’s clocking in?”

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Just noticed he keeps showing up on your phone. Seems… consistent.”

There was no heat in his voice—no raised tone or sarcasm. But there was weight. Careful. Deliberate. Measured.

You tilted your head. “You seem jealous,” you joke for a second, thinking that's what that was.

Bucky let out a breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a laugh, then leaned back on the couch, resting his arm along the top. “Not jealous. Just observant.”

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook that easily. “That’s not an answer.”

He looked at you then, fully—no grin, no playful smirk, just Bucky, guarded but honest. “I’ve seen how guys look at girls, okay? I know the difference between a group project text and a ‘hope she likes me’ one.” At that moment, you realized he really meant this and it was something that clearly, and very irrationally, bothered him.

You stared at him, heart stumbling in your chest. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to,” he said calmly. “He’s a guy. I’ve been that guy. And I know what it looks like when someone’s trying to edge into something that already feels full.”

You swallowed, not sure how to feel about what he just said. “And what does this feel full of, exactly?”

That question seemed to catch him off guard. His gaze dropped for a second, then he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s something. Isn’t it?”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The silence between you stretched, taut as wire. Then he muttered, almost too low for you to catch.

“I just don’t like seeing him try to take—” He cut himself off.

You blinked. “Take what?”

Bucky’s lips parted, but he shook his head quickly, eyes flicking away. “Nothing. Forget it.”

You stared at him, heart tightening. “No. Say it.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The silence said enough. You stared at your plate, chewing slower now. The food was still good—of course it was—but something about the air between you had shifted. Bucky hadn’t looked at you since the text, but you could feel the weight of his silence pressing in.

“I don’t like how you’re talking about this,” you said quietly, setting your wine glass down. “You’re acting like you get a say in who I see.”

Bucky glanced up, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you implied it.” You leaned back, crossing your arms. “You’re making it sound like there's something wrong with someone texting me.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said, voice calm but tight. “I’m saying I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him.” You shook your head, still not fully understanding what was happening. The words didn’t feel right, and the weight of his reaction hung in the air like an uncomfortable cloud. You could feel your heart beat a little faster, a mix of confusion and frustration welling up inside you.

Bucky was usually so easygoing, always the one to laugh and make light of things. But this—this tension, this defensiveness—was something completely different. It felt out of character, and you couldn’t make sense of it.

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you, and you wondered if you were overthinking it. Was this about more than just Luke? Was something else bothering him?

It hit you then—maybe it wasn’t just about Luke at all. Maybe it was about you.

For a second, a ridiculous thought crept into your mind—maybe your dad had warned him. Maybe, in some secret father-to-friend conversation, he'd told Bucky to keep an eye out, scare off any guy who got too close. It sounded absurd, but this wasn’t the Bucky you knew. It felt like he was trying to draw a line around you, to fence off a space he didn’t even have the right to claim.

“I don’t need to,” he replied, and now his voice carried more weight. “I know what it looks like when a guy’s circling someone he likes. I’ve been that guy. And if you don’t see it, fine. But don’t act like I’m crazy for pointing it out.”

You hesitated, letting the words settle. Then: “You’re not pointing it out. You’re warning me. That’s different.”

His jaw flexed, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, irritated. “I just don’t want you getting blindsided.”

“And what if I’m not?” you shot back. “What if I know what’s going on and I’m choosing to deal with it the way I want to?”

That made him go still.

You pressed on, voice softer now but more honest. “You say you’re not trying to control me, but you’ve got opinions about who I talk to, who I text, who I spend time with-" You stopped yourself, biting down on the words before they escaped.

Bucky’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He let you finish.

“I moved into your space,” you said. “Your apartment, your routines, your everything. And I like being here, I do. But right now it’s like I’m getting smaller to fit.”

That hit something in him. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked down at his hands, then back up at you, more careful now.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he said finally. “I just—when I see someone getting close to you, it’s hard to stay neutral.”

“But you’re not supposed to be neutral, or territorial,” you replied, eyes searching his. “You’re supposed to be my friend, right?”

A beat of silence passed. His answer didn’t come. And that silence said more than anything else.

You’re supposed to be my friend

Bucky stood too, but slower, more cautious. “I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

You sighed, now aware of how regretful Bucky looked, and you believed it. You didn't doubt for a second that he had already come to his senses, but still, the conversation nestled deep within you. You begin again, voice steady and quiet. “Maybe I let you for a while because I liked being in your world. But I need to be in mine, too, Buck. With my own choices.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tight, but his eyes softer. “You’re right.”

You stood in the silence, feeling the heaviness of the moment, but the anger had faded, leaving something more fragile in its place. You were no longer upset, but you weren’t sure what to make of everything. You couldn’t stay in the living room with him right now—too many conflicting emotions swirling inside you.

“I’m going to head to bed,” you said softly, the words barely above a whisper. Your voice felt small, almost apologetic, but you needed this space. Bucky didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you carefully. “Okay,” he said, his voice quieter than before, though there was still an edge of concern in it.

You made your way toward the hallway, not looking back, needing to keep moving to escape the weight of the tension in the room. You didn’t slam the door when you entered your room, but you closed it quietly, the soft click of it echoing in the quiet of the apartment.

For a moment, you just stood there, the silence in your room enveloping you like a heavy blanket. You leaned against the door, closing your eyes and letting out a slow breath. Your heart was still racing, the aftermath of the conversation hitting you in waves. You didn’t feel mad anymore—just… tired. Tired of trying to make sense of things that didn’t feel like they made sense. You felt so conflicted about your feelings on Bucky. You didn't know if they actually did exist or if they were some conjuring of your imagination. You also didn't know what to do or whether to act upon them if they did truly exist.

You weren’t mad at him. If anything, the whole thing left you conflicted. Because the way he’d looked at you tonight, the way he’d spoken—it was raw, and messy, and real. And that meant something.

Sitting on your bed, you changed into more comfortable clothes and stared out the window for a while. The city lights outside twinkled like a million tiny stars. You could still hear Bucky moving around in the living room, but it didn’t feel like he was there with you anymore—not in the way he had been before.

The sound of Bucky moving around in the kitchen filtered through the walls, soft clinks of dishes being washed. You weren’t sure why it hit you so hard, but hearing him out there, alone, made you sad. You could’ve helped him, gone out and cleaned up together like you always did, but tonight, you didn't. You couldn’t shake off the distance, couldn’t pretend like things were normal when everything you felt right now was so confusing

The sound of water running in the kitchen stopped, followed by the quiet clink of a dish being set down. The last sound you heard was Bucky closing his own bedroom door—soft, almost like a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. The thud of the door closing made the space between you both feel even wider, and a knot tightened in your stomach. You knew he wasn’t angry, not like that. But the quiet felt like it was pulling you both into different corners of the apartment, away from each other. You sat there, listening to the silence after that. Even the space between you and Bucky seemed filled with things you couldn’t yet understand.

When you think about it, the situation is not that complicated. But there's something about it, the edge to his words, the tinge of jealousy that he tried to cover, the squint of his eyes every time he mentioned Luke's name… The argument never was about defending him. It wasn’t about whether Luke was a threat or whether he was trying to get too close—it wasn’t even really about the coffee or the texts or any of the small things that had set Bucky off. The fight had been about something deeper, something neither of you had the courage to fully voice.

It was about a fear that neither of you had fully understood or acknowledged. It was about Bucky’s fear of losing something—maybe losing you, or the closeness you shared—and in his own way, trying to hold on to you, to make sure he was still one of the most important people in your life. But in doing so, he crossed a line.

It felt strange to lie in the dark, the quiet of the apartment now overwhelming. You couldn’t hear him anymore, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of you were in the same space, yet so far apart.

[disc0kitten]

bad for my health

pairing: dbf!bucky barnes x walker’s daughter!reader

summary: you loved to tease your dad, john walker, about his new avengers team, but that was before he introduced you to bucky barnes. he makes you weak in the knees, so when he accidentally sees one of your nudes, you know it’s all over.

word count: 5k (i think this is the longest fic i’ve ever written whoops)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, age gap, oral sex (m & f recieving), nudes, dirty talk, bucky’s fingers, absolute filth

“What time is everyone getting here?” You yelled across the house to your dad.

“Just a couple minutes,” he responded. You finished tidying around the living room. Today, you were finally meeting his infamous New Avengers teammates.

You’d heard the stories from every mission, but since you’d been away at college, you hadn’t met any of them yet. So, you were helping your dad host a barbecue party. All the neighbors and friends of your dad had been invited, including his teammates.

As if perfectly timed, there was a knock at the door. You followed behind your dad towards the door— feeling more nervous than you expected.

Your dad opened the door to four familiar faces— Yelena, Alexei, Bob, and Ava. Meeting them all was a whirlwind. Ava had complimented your outfit, while Alexei patted you on the head and said you looked like your dad.

“All that’s left is Bucky. He should be here soon.” Your dad told you, patting your shoulders.

Yelena stayed glued to your side. “So, you’re really Walker’s daughter? He talks about you all the time— and even though he told us you just graduated, I was still picturing a little kid.” She told you.

You weren’t shocked. It was a pretty common reaction— given the small age gap between you and your dad.

“He met my mom in high school. They were 16 when they found out she was pregnant. She raised me while he was in the military, and then cheated on him while he was overseas. It’s been me and him ever since.” You explained.

“Relationships with dads are always complicated.” She told you, relating all to well.

You both were about to walk in the living room when your dad jogged over. “One second, honey. Bucky just got here. I want to introduce you.” He said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” Yelena said, smiling at you.

“They all love you so far. I knew they would.” Your dad encouraged you as he reached for the door.

The next thirty seconds went by in slow motion.

You couldn’t see Bucky at first, as he shook your dad’s hand. Then he stepped into view— with a glow around his whole body from the sun behind him.

Your eyes tried to take in every detail. The soft waves in his hair. The way his metal arm seemed to sparkle in the sun. The way his white tshirt hugged his torso— perfectly showing off every muscle.

Bucky nearly choked on the air when he spotted you. Like Yelena, he’d also expected someone a bit more kid-ish. He didn’t expect you to take his breath away.

“Barnes, this is my daughter.” Your dad introduced you, oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes were roaming down your body.

Bucky stepped towards you— it was like your skin was on fire. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Bucky.” He said, with a charming smile as he shook your hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You responded.

His hand felt massive in yours. Your brain couldn’t help but wander to thoughts of what else his hands could do.

“Walker, Bob wants to walk tv. Where’s the remote?” Yelena yelled from the living room. Your dad walked away towards the rest of the team. Effectively, leaving you alone with Bucky— not that either of you were complaining.

“So, you’re the infamous daughter Walker is always talking about.” Bucky said, his eyes raking down your body. He didn’t have to be as subtle now that John was in the other room. But he still felt a twinge of guilt as he admired you.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been told I always surpass expectations.” You tested the waters, seeing how much flirting you could get away with.

Bucky did a double take. Did you mean what he thought you meant? Was he making it up or were you actually checking him out?

“I don’t doubt that.” Bucky chuckled. He was screwed— colossally screwed. A whole night with you was sure to kill him.

“You want a beer?” You asked, gesturing towards the kitchen. He quickly nodded his head. His nerves were fried around you.

He walked behind you into the kitchen. He mentally cursed himself for noticing how well your denim shorts cupped your ass. It was official— you were his Kryptonite, and he’d only met you five minutes ago.

You grabbed two beers out of the fridge and turned around to find Bucky standing closer than you’d expected.

You met his gaze, watching as his pupils grew— the blue of his eyes barely visible. Suddenly, you were having flashbacks to high school anatomy and learning that your pupils dilated when you were attracted to someone.

“Let me get it, doll.” He said, effortlessly twisting both caps off with his metal hand.

You gulped— taken aback by his strength. You knew the Bucky Barnes story, and you knew he was old enough to be your great grandfather, but that wasn’t stopping you.

Having Bucky’s eyes on you made you feel good. You felt confident and sexy when you left him speechless.

“I can think of some better uses for that arm besides opening beer bottles.” You hinted, looking at him over the rim of the bottle as you took a sip.

He choked on his beer, trying not to spit it out. A smirk grew on your face— pleased with your effect on him. “You better be careful, doll. I’m old enough to be your dad. I don’t think Walker would exactly approve.” He tried to put some distance between the two of you.

He needed to do something to keep himself away from you— or he’d continue to be putty in your hands.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” You said, batting your eyelashes and stepping towards him.

Bucky’s eyes were glued on your chest— the dress you were wearing perfectly displayed your tits. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t why you wore the dress, but it was a nice added bonus.

Bucky’s lips drew you in. Like a magnet. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch— a hunger. All you wanted was to have his hands on you. You needed it.

“Doesn’t make it any less wrong,” he told you. He tried to keep himself away from you. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself once he got his hands on you.

“Maybe— but I see it in your eyes,” you told him, brushing his hair out of his face. His breathing stuttered under your touch. “See what?” He asked, breathlessly.

You smirked up at him. “That you want this just as badly as I do.” You said, winking before leaving the kitchen.

Bucky had to take a couple minutes to breathe after you left. He has wrapped right around your finger. He took another swig of his beer and headed towards the living room, where everyone was hanging out.

He swore under his breath, realizing the only empty seat was next to you on the couch.

You gave him a soft innocent smile as he sat beside you— like you hadn’t been flirting with him just out of earshot of your dad.

“So, you just graduated from college? That’s so cool. Do you have a boyfriend?” Yelena asked you. Bucky perked up as he heard the question. Why did he care? What was it about you that pulled him in so strongly?

“No, no boyfriend. Having a little break from boys,” you replied, simply. Bucky had to remind himself to not seem too excited by that.

“I thought I was gonna have to kill her last boyfriend. Leo— that piece of shit.” Your dad groaned, remembering the guy that cheated on you with your best friend.

“Yeah, Leo was a dick. But, there’s a guy I’ve had my eye on, if I was going to end this break from guys. I’ll have to find out if he’s interested though.” You said, fighting back a smirk as Bucky squirmed in his seat.

“Well, I’m sure he is. Maybe he’s just scared because he knows who your dad is.” Bucky responded, coyly.

His eyes had noticeably darkened. You both knew it was going to be a long night of this game— this cat and mouse game.

A timer beeped in the distance, pulling you both out of your staring contest.

“Dinner is ready, everybody.” Your dad said, racing to the kitchen.

Bucky wasn’t shocked when the only empty seat at the table, ended up being next to you— just his luck, right?

He felt a jolt run through as you teasingly rubbed your foot against his leg. The look on his face was clear— trying not to react in anyway.

“Alright there, Buck?” Your dad questioned, noticing the strained expression on his face. Bucky quickly nodded, not trying to draw any more attention.

Bucky saw you smirk out of the corner of your eye, and he knew he was screwed. Under the tablecloth, you reached your hand towards him and placed your hand on his upper thigh.

The rib Bucky was eating fell straight out of his hand onto the table, splattering barbecue sauce all over his white tshirt. His free hand clasped overs yours tightly— stopping your hand from exploring any higher up his leg.

Everybody’s eyes were on Bucky. His skin was on fire. Your dad was staring at him, completely unaware of what was happening below the table.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky mumbled, noticing the stain on his shirt. This was the most he’d ever wanted to self-combust. The entire table was just silently staring as he fumbled for a napkin.

“You can borrow one of my shirts, if you want. You want to show him, sweetheart?” Your dad suggested looking towards you.

You quickly nodded and stood up from the table. “Thanks, Walker.” Bucky muttered as he followed you up the stairs.

Bucky was completely silent behind you— keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He couldn’t risk embarrassing himself any more.

After walking into your dad’s room, you pulled a black tshirt out of his dresser.

Bucky tried to grab it from your hand, but you moved it out of his reach. “Do I make you nervous?” You asked him, softly. You didn’t think it would be so easy to make the Winter Soldier nervous.

“When Walker is sitting two feet away from me and his daughter is sneaking her hand up my leg under the table— then, yeah, I get a little nervous.” He told him, in a hushed tone. He’d never be able to show his face again if Walker overheard him.

“He’d never know.” You tried to convince him. He chuckled at the thought. “If his friend was sleeping with his daughter? He’d figure it out pretty quickly.” He told you.

You were visibly disappointed by his answer. He reached, grabbing your hand in his. “Trust me, sweetheart. This isn’t about you or me not wanting you. I promise, I want this just as much as you do. But I don’t see a way we pull this off without everything going to shit.” He said.

You knew he was probably right, but that didn’t quench that feeling in between your legs. “But, you are attracted to me?” You teased, raising your eyebrow at him.

Understatement of the century.

He chuckled, stepping closer to you. “Very much so. And this little dress isn’t helping.” He said, letting his hands attach themselves to your waist. Every part of his brain was telling him to stop, but he’d touched you now— and he didn’t know how to stop.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to pull it over his head. He felt like he was going to collapse with the way that you were looking at him.

You didn’t hide the fact that you were admiring him— lightly running your fingers over his chest. “That little smirk is dangerous, doll.” He warned you. It didn’t discourage you.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You replied. His grip on your hips tightened, you wouldn’t be surprised if you woke up with bruises. He was holding onto you like he needed you to live.

“This one might be a little snug on you, with your broad shoulders and these fucking arms.” You said, handing him the tshirt as your lips ghosted over his biceps.

He quickly pulled the shirt over his head. Finally, his eyes met yours. “Fuck it,” he grunted.

He grabbed your hips, effortlessly placing you on top of the dresser. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, and then wrapped them around his hips.

In a matter of seconds, his hands were in your hair and his lips were all over yours. The fluttery feeling in your stomach rose up and flooded your entire body.

The kiss was frantic— like, if Bucky didn’t touch every inch of your skin in the next five seconds, he’d explode.

You slipped your hands into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling his body closer to you. “You’re an angel— straight from heaven, doll,” he mumbled against your lips.

Bucky felt like his head was spinning— drunk on your touch. His metal hand slipped under your dress, holding a firm grip on your thigh. The cold metal stung against your skin— a direct contrast to how warm the rest of your body felt.

“Payback,” he groaned, sinking his fingers deeper into your thigh. You jutted your hips towards him, hoping to move his hand closer to where you needed him.

Then— heavy steps coming up the stairs.

“You finding it alright, sweetheart?” Your dad yelled down the hallway.

Bucky tugged you down off the dresser, smoothing out your dress and hair. You both turned to face the door as soon as your dad emerged.

“Just found it. Your organization system is a mess.” You teased, patting your dad’s shoulder as you walked past him.

Bucky was left standing there speechless. Because what the fuck had just happened. Did he make that up or did he really just get a taste of you? “You coming downstairs?” Walker asked, gesturing towards the stairs.

Bucky quickly nodded and followed after

You all finished the rest of dinner. The only thing on your mind was getting Bucky alone again. He was thinking the same thing.

“You gonna make those brownies you were talking about?” Your dad asked you, as you helped him clear the table, “I can get somebody to help you, if you want.”

You tried to insist that you didn’t need help and didn’t want to bother anyone, but before you could get a word out, Yelena spoke. “If you want someone’s help baking, you want Bucky. The rest of us are a danger in the kitchen.” She told you.

Well, well, well. Now that worked in your favor.

“If you don’t mind, of course,” your eyes found Bucky’s. He eagerly nodded and practically raced to follow behind you to the kitchen.

The only downfall to your plan was that everyone was actually expecting brownies and you couldn’t just waste twenty minutes getting distracted with Bucky.

“Doll, we gotta be more careful. That was too fucking close with your dad.” He whispered as he helped you gather ingredients.

“Oh but doesn’t that spoil all the fun?” You teased him, raking your fingers down his chest. He shivered under your touch, but tried to maintain a poker face. He wasn’t very successful.

“So, you’re a little adrenaline junkie then? Live for the thrill? I got a motorcycle back at home. I’ll have to take you for a ride sometime.” He suggested. You both hadn’t realized how close you were until you bumped into his chest. Bucky swore he could hear his heart beating. “You mean a ride on the bike…or a different kind of ride? I mean, I’m down for either, but I definitely have a preference.” You whispered, batting your eyes at him.

This was hell for Bucky— an exciting, exhilarating hell, but still hell. Being forced to listen to your constant flirting, while your dad was in the other room and Bucky couldn’t do anything about the way he was feeling.

“You’re bad for my health, sweetheart. Gonna give me a heart attack if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” He said, trying to bring his focus back to the brownies that you were mixing.

“I think you’re just jealous that I’m better at flirting than you. I mean, go ahead, if you want to try.” You said, challenging him. You didn’t expect much of a reaction.

With a new confidence, Bucky swiped two of his fingers through the batter and held them up to you. “Go ahead, gotta have a taste test,” he encouraged— the metal digits hanging expectantly in front of your mouth.

It was your turn to be speechless. Bucky’s cocky smile made your knees weak. Obliging, you stepped forward, taking both his fingers in your mouth.

Bucky could feel his jeans start to tighten. It took everything in his self control to not replace his fingers with his cock. Just the thought of your pretty lips wrapped around him was enough to make him growl.

You swirled your tongue around his fingers, getting every bit of the batter. “Fuck, doll,” he held back a moan.

Pulling your mouth away with a soft popping sound. “You believe I can flirt now?” He teased you.

“We will definitely be doing that again, when my dad isn’t within earshot.” You told him. Excitement bubbled up in Bucky’s stomach.

You started to pour the batter into the baking pan. “Can you go look at my phone over there and tell me how long these have to bake? I have a recipe saved in my photos.” You asked Bucky as you slid the pan into the oven.

Bucky grabbed your phone, noticing your wallpaper was a picture of you on the beach with some friends. You were wearing a black bikini that left very little to the imagination. He shuddered. Maybe he’d have to bring you on a motorcycle ride to the beach, so he’d get to see that little ensemble.

He moved to your photos app, searching for the recipe. Quickly swiping through your most recent photos, he felt his heart stop when he stumbled across a nude.

A chill ran down his spine. The most perfect picture he’d ever seen— staring back at him. It was you sitting in front of a mirror, your knees bent and legs wide open. He could see every inch of you.

His eyes raked over the photo, trying to commit it to memory. He noticed several hickeys on your neck. He imagined you’d taken this photo for your ex-boyfriend, but that didn’t stop his imagination.

He willed himself to pretend he’d given you those hickeys and you were sending this picture to him. Maybe when he was on a long mission.

He bit his tongue to hold back a moan. He was completely hard in his jeans. He knew in a matter of seconds, you’d ask what he was looking at, or worse, Walker would walk in and see his friend’s very obvious hard on.

“I have to go to the store.” Bucky grunted, tossing down your phone and heading for the door.

By the time you turned to face him, he was already gone. Hopping in his car and speeding away.

He drove to the closest gas station, where he parked in a shadowy parking spot near the dumpster.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He just needed to clear his head and get out of there. His mind wandered back to that picture— the picture that would be engrained in his mind forever.

He quickly unzipped his jeans just enough to stuff his hand into his boxers. He let his eyes flutter closed and thought of that picture as he tugged on his cock.

Standing, dumbfounded in the kitchen, you glanced down at your phone to see what had upset Bucky.

That familiar photo was staring back at you. Oh shit. Whoops.

You were all happily eating brownies when Bucky returned. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. He felt so ashamed. He was worried if anyone looked into his eyes, they’d know what he’d done.

It was a quiet rest of the night. Your dad set up air mattresses downstairs for the team— Alexei claiming the couch before anyone else could. Then, you and your dad told them all goodnight before going up to your separate rooms.

You couldn’t sleep.

You tossed and turned for hours. What was up with Bucky? He seemed so different when he came back— so distant.

You knew it was because of that photo. You’d blown it. How were you supposed to know he’d swipe back that far?

You slipped out of your bed and headed downstairs for a glass of water. As you walked by the living room, you saw everyone peacefully asleep— well almost everyone.

Bucky was lying there, wide awake. Staring up at the ceiling.

You grabbed your glass of water and quickly drank it before heading into the living room.

Alexei’s loud snores covered the sound of your footsteps. Luckily, Bucky was on the mattress closest to you.

You knelt beside him. His gaze snapped over to you, startling by your sudden appearance.

“Can we talk?” You whispered. He took a deep breath. You could almost see him thinking it over. Not being able to think of any excuse, he nodded and stood up.

You led him upstairs to your room, softly closing the door behind the two of you.

Bucky froze when he realized he was alone in your room with you. There was a fire lit in his belly again. But he couldn’t lose his sense of judgement this time— not again.

You sat on the edge of your bed, patting the seat next to you. Bucky seemed hesitant, but obliged.

He couldn’t even look at you. Every time he did, he was reminded of that photo.

This was wrong. He knew it.

“I didn’t mean to snoop, I promise. I just stumbled across it.” He told you, genuinely.

“I know,” you assured him.

Neither of you knew what to say.

The air in the room felt deathly still.

You caught a glimpse of the rising tent in Bucky’s sweatpants. He was thinking about the picture again.

You knew what you wanted, and you weren’t going to let anyone take it away from you now.

You sunk to your knees in front of Bucky. His breathing started to speed up— he was almost gasping for air. “Sweetheart, what’re you doing?” He asked, too scared for the answer. You gave him a mischievous smile and a shrug.

“Nothing,” you lied.

You pulled his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees. You watched as his eyes darkened. The sight of you on your knees was too much. You were ready. Ready for him.

“We can’t,” he let out a choked groan as you wrapped your hand around his cock. You slowly moved your hand up and down his length. “Why? Does it not feel good?” You teased, knowing the answer.

He didn’t answer. Too caught up in his own bliss. “No, fuck, feels so good,” he moaned.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock. His hand flew down to grab the bed frame— his knuckles turning white.

His eyes were clenched shut, sweat starting to appear on his brow. “Ahh shit, sweetheart. It’s wrong— so fucking wrong.” He moaned, bucking his hips into your hand.

You replaced your hand with your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. His eyes shot open. He wanted to watch you. Half the fun was watching you take more and more of him.

His cock brushed against the back of your throat. Your eyes never left his. It wouldn’t take much more before he was cumming down your throat. Bucky knew that.

He grabbed your hair, pulling you away from him. “Sweetheart, we gotta stop.” He said, his voice coming out shaky.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this right.” He said, tugging you up into his lap.

Your arousal was pooling between your legs, excited by the implication. “What did you have in mind?” You teasingly asked him.

“The first time you make me cum, it’s gonna be in this sweet cunt. Not your mouth, sweetheart.” He said. He rubbed his thumb against the crotch of your sweatpants.

Even with two layers separating you, the friction still made you whine. “Wanna know a perk of this super soldier serum? I can smell you from here.” He told you.

His calloused fingers grazed the hem of your tshirt, slowly pulling it over your head. His eyes widened when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

He started slow. Pressing sloppy kisses down your chest. Even your skin tasted sweet. He softly pinched your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. You bit down on your lip to stop from moaning.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, doll. Can you do that?” He asked you. You quickly nodded your head.

He picked you up off his lap and laid you down on the bed. Your imagination soared— having no idea what was in store for the night.

“Do you know how fucking beautiful you look?” He was in awe of you. Your hair sprawled out across the sheets, looking up at him with hungry eyes— he was surprised he didn’t melt under your gaze.

He ripped his tshirt over his head, letting it fall to the ground with yours. You reached for your own sweatpants, but he swatted your hand away.

“Let me take care of you, gonna show what it’s like with an older man.” He winked down at you as he slowly slid your sweatpants down your legs. The wetness in between your thighs was only growing.

There was something about Bucky that looked restrained. Like he could devour you on the spot, but was instead taking his time. It made it hard to keep your hands off him.

Bucky’s boxers and sweatpants soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“Let’s see how wet you are, baby girl. You’re practically leaking through your panties.” He said, pulling them down teasingly slow.

He watched as your breathing changed— your chest rising and falling much faster. “This all for me?” He asked, running a cool metal finger through your folds. “Yes, yes, all for you, Buck,” you moaned. He collected your arousal on his finger.

He didn’t say a word— just held his finger in front of your mouth expectantly. You eagerly took his finger in your mouth. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell? Guess I’ll have to find out,” he retracted his hand and buried his face in between your legs.

You clasped your hand over your mouth before you had the chance to moan. His large arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping them open as he licked a stripe through your folds. His nose brushed up against your clit, making you squirm against his face.

It only encouraged him to go deeper. He was like a starved man. Your fingers found their way to Bucky’s hair, tugging every time his tongue ran over your clit.

“Bucky…Bucky,” you tried to grab his attention, pulling his shoulders towards you.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asked, looking up at you.

“I need you to fuck me, please. God— waited long enough,” you begged him. His smirk only grew.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he joked, kissing you and climbing on top of you.

His hands grabbed your thighs roughly. He didn’t waste any time as he pushed his entire length through your folds. You gasped into the kiss as he bottomed out. “So fucking big,” you mumbled.

“You love the way I fill you up, huh?” He asked. He pulled his hips back and slammed his cock back into you. You called out his name, louder than you meant to.

He held his finger up to his lips, shushing you, as he continued to ram his hips into yours. He tried his best to not make the bed creak but it would’ve killed him to go any slower.

“Gotta stay quiet. If we get caught, we’ll have to stop. And you don’t want that, right? Stay quiet for me, and I’ll make you cum.” He coaxed you. The dirty talk turned you on more than you thought it would— going straight to the warmth in your belly.

He clasped his metal hand over your mouth. Then, he used the other to wrap your legs around his waist and hold onto your hips.

You could feel the coil building and building. The sloppy sounds that came with every thrust were enough to make your legs turn to jelly. You’d assumed Bucky would be good in bed, but he was like a feral animal.

“So close, Buck. Need to— need to cum,” you begged him. Deep grunts left his lips as he rolled deeper into you. “Almost there, baby,” his voice came out husky.

You started to squeeze around him, making Bucky go crazy. He kissed you, trying to muffle both your moans. He quickened his pace— his thrusts were rushed and messy. He kept chasing that high.

That feeling in your stomach exploded. Your back arched against the blankets. “Fuck, Bucky. So fucking good,” you groaned in his ear. That was enough to shoot him over the edge.

He swore under his breath, hips bucking into yours as he came. You could feel his cock twitch as he came down from his high. He caught your lips in a kiss, trying to bring you both back to earth.

He slowly pulled out and flopped onto the bed beside you.

“I don’t know what to say except I hope we get to do that again sometime.” You mumbled, kissing his bare shoulder.

“I absolutely agree. You were lovely, doll,” he kissed you gently, “I should get back downstairs before anyone notices I’m gone.”

He slipped back into his pajamas. Before he left, you walked over to him. “Just one more,” you said, going on your tiptoes to kiss him again. He kissed you back, smirking down at you and giving your ass a playful slap before he left.

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[disc0kitten]

as a reader myself i can't imagine complaining about fanfiction.

heads up:: complaining about what you can't find under the x reader tags won't make it any easier to find. and also as someone who used to write...do you know why most writers started writing? because they couldn't find the content they wanted to read

so for the love of GOD PLEASE shut up about the lack or overload of smut or fluff or whateverthefuck.

writers aren't your fucking genies and all your fanfictions wishes aren't obligated to come true because you whined under 100+ x reader tags.

[disc0kitten]

bucky’s new uniform got you feeling all types of way. warning: 18+ content! ps.: (thunderbolts* spoilers… kind of. idk marvel spoiled everything already)

The low hum of the coffee machine and the scent of strong roast filled the apartment, but neither of those things held your attention.

Bucky Barnes—your boyfriend, your weakness, your absolute problem—was standing in the hallway, zipping up the sleek new suit that hugged every inch of him like a secret weapon.

You’d seen him in a lot of things: bloodied fatigues, loose cotton shirts, towels (God bless towels). But this?

This New Avengers suit?

It was practically rude.

“You’re doing it again,” Bucky called over his shoulder without looking. “That thing where you stare like I’m the last slice of cake.”

You didn’t even try to deny it this time.

“Cake doesn’t make my thighs clench,” you muttered, not quite quietly enough.

That got his attention.

Bucky turned, his vibranium arm glinting faintly in the morning light, and smirked. “Clench, huh?”

You sipped your coffee, legs curled under you on the couch. You were in one of his shirts—big, soft, still smelling like him—and not much else.

“You look good,” you said, voice calm even though your heart was picking up pace. “Like… absurdly good. That suit should come with a warning label.”

He chuckled, walking toward you with lazy confidence. “You think the New Avengers want a guy who’s late on his first day?”

You leaned back slightly, resting your coffee on the table as he stopped in front of you.

“I think,” you said, tugging on the front of his suit, “they’d understand if you had to deal with… an emergency at home.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his voice had dropped a note lower. “What kind of emergency are we talking about, doll?”

You grinned, fingers sliding down his chest, tracing the grooves of his suit. “The kind that involves a very, very turned-on girlfriend… who woke up extra needy today and really wants to make out with her super-soldier boyfriend before he goes off to play hero.”

His breath hitched, subtle but noticeable. “Make out, huh?”

You were already pulling him down by the collar before he could tease you further.

The kiss started deep—hot, urgent, greedy. The kind that made your toes curl and your mind go blank. He tasted like peppermint and coffee and the kind of safety that still managed to get your heart racing.

His gloved hands found your waist, gripping tight even through the thick fabric of his suit, and you arched into him with a soft moan.

“I just finished getting dressed,” he murmured against your lips.

“You can get dressed again,” you whispered, already fumbling with the belt at his waist.

“Babe…” he warned, half-hearted at best.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” you smirked, slipping a hand between his armor and the waistband of his pants. “Use them wisely.”

His lips crashed back into yours.

In a blur, he had you laid out on the couch, his armored body hovering over yours like he was afraid to crush you—but desperate to be close. You could feel the heat of him through his suit, the tension in every controlled movement. It was sexy. Too sexy.

He kissed down your jaw, across your throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin just beneath your ear as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You really like the suit that much?” he murmured against your skin, voice gravelly with want.

“I like you in anything,” you gasped. “But this? This is some next-level roleplay fantasy come to life.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Remind me to wear it next time we’re actually alone for more than five minutes.”

You arched your back, pressing your body against his. “You’ve got five left.”

He groaned, rocking against you, clearly debating whether to keep his pants on or risk it.

You didn’t give him a chance to decide.

Your hand slid down, confidently, tugging at the waistband of his suit pants with enough urgency that it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” he rasped, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch beside your head, his body taut with restraint. “You really want to do this right now?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown wide, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“I need you,” you said simply. “Like this. In the suit. Right now.”

That was all it took.

With a muffled curse, he pulled back just enough to shove his pants down, his cock already hard and leaking at the tip. You reached for him, wrapping your fingers around him in a slow, practiced stroke that made him curse again, louder this time.

“Shit—doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ll make it quick,” you teased, pulling him back down for a kiss, deep and hot, while you hooked your legs around his waist and guided him right where you wanted.

“Wait—” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye, breath ragged. “Are you—?”

You nodded, voice thick with need. “I’m good. I want you. Please, Bucky.”

He groaned again, and then he was pressing forward, sliding into you in one smooth, perfect thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my God—” you gasped, arching under him.

He filled you so completely it was dizzying, and for a moment, neither of you moved—just breathing, tangled, shaking with restraint.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first, deep and steady, each thrust sending sparks shooting through your veins. The cool metal of his vibranium hand gripped your thigh tightly while his flesh hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could mouth at your throat.

You raked your nails down the back of his suit, helpless to stay quiet as your hips rocked up to meet his.

“Faster,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Don’t hold back, Buck. I can take it.”

Something in him snapped at that.

He growled low in his throat and obeyed—his pace increasing, his thrusts rougher now, deeper, desperate. The couch creaked under the rhythm of your bodies, and the sound of skin against skin, broken only by breathy gasps and whispered curses, filled the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “So warm. So perfect.”

You tightened around him at the praise, a high whimper escaping your lips as your body started to tremble.

“Bucky— I’m close—”

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, angling his hips just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out.

Your orgasm crashed over you with a blinding intensity, your back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure tore through you in waves. You clenched around him so tightly he nearly lost control right then.

“Fuck—gonna come—” he choked out, slamming into you once, twice more before he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like your name.

He collapsed against you, panting, both of you sweaty and shaking and completely wrecked.

For a long moment, you just lay there—tangled, trembling, hearts racing.

Eventually, he shifted enough to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back with the softest touch.

“Well,” he murmured with a grin, “guess I’m really gonna be late now.”

You laughed breathlessly, cupping his face. “Totally worth it.”

He kissed you again, slow this time, tender.

Then he glanced at the clock and winced. “They are never gonna let me live this down.”

“Tell them your girlfriend has needs,” you said with a smirk.

He stood reluctantly, tugging his pants back up, adjusting his suit—and shooting you a look that was part exasperated, part adoring, and entirely his.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered.

You winked. “Only for you, Sergeant.”

[disc0kitten]

honestly i need bucky to bend me over a couch after a tough mission and fuck the everloving shit out of me until he's no longer angry and frustrated (but then give me soft kisses afterwards)

bucky is usually good at regulating his emotions. god knows he's worked on it enough in therapy. he rarely lets the stresses of work follow him home, but today everyone seemed out to piss him off as much as possible.

the mission was run by a team of newbies who fucked up at every turn and left it up to him to fix their messes. then back at the office, he had a mountain of paperwork to get through which took him twice as long because he was interrupted every ten minutes.

when he got home, all he wanted was to take a hot shower and cuddle up with his girl, but then he saw you lounging on the couch in a tank top those little shorts that always drive him fucking insane.

he walks around the back of the couch, threads his fingers through your hair and tugs your head back. he takes advantage of your surprised gasp and invades your mouth with his tongue, claiming you with a bruising kiss.

"bucky!" you exclaim when he finally lets you up for air. "what's going on?"

"need you," he growls as he steps over the back of the couch. his heavy body covers yours, pinning you down on the cushions. he doesn't waste any time with the usual foreplay. he's far too impatient for that right now.

he'll mourn the loss of his favorite pair of shorts later. he tears them to shreds, exposing your already soaking pussy to him. he eats you like a man starved, drowning in your juices, uncaring about the mess he's making of both of you.

your fingers are wound tightly in his hair but no matter how hard you pull, he doesn't let up. he's going to take and take until he's gotten his fill of you.

eventually he does. he gets too needy to stay between your legs and neglect his cock, so he grabs you and repositions you over the arm of the couch. he works you open quickly with two fingers, and once he deems you ready, slides into you.

"needed you all fucking day," he says. "swear to god, i was gonna kill someone." it does something funny to your heart to hear that bucky thinks about you, craves you, when you're not around.

he positions his arm under your waist to tilt your hips up, allowing him to get even deeper inside you. you love when he stuffs you full like this, you feel impossibly close to him.

"this pussy feels like heaven, baby. such a good girl for me."

when he cums, he buries himself deep inside you. he's claiming you for himself, not like you'd get any ideas about belonging to someone else. it's a deep, primal urge within bucky to mark you. it acts as a reminder that no matter how shitty his day is, he'll always have his own piece of heaven to come home to.

[disc0kitten]

˗ˏˋ ★ bathed in moonlight ★ ˎˊ˗

lumberjack!bucky x housewife!reader

word count: 2k

18+ men + minors dni! — SOMNO; please do not read if that makes you uncomfortable. this is cnc — consensual non consent. pre established relationship and consent. NOT non-con. bucky eats it while r is sleeping. erm. cockwarming. breeding kink if you squint. bucky is insatiable and misses you.

bucky hated coming home late at night. the lights off in the house, dinner off the stove and packaged in the fridge for him. you always made sure to leave a little note on the tupperware so he knew what it was, just before. you were always looking out and caring for him. the two of you agreed no matter what either of you were doing, you were allowed to take whatever you wanted from each other. no questions asked.

but tonight he wasn’t too hungry for the food that you made. frustrations at the lumberyard made him huff as he was leaving, knowing that he had you to come home to, made it a little better as he was driving home.

however, as he entered the bedroom, shoving his boots off and tossing them to the corner of the room, he saw you on your side facing away from him, the silk sheet draped precariously over your sleeping figure on your side of the bed.

and you were wearing one of his favorite silk slips. it was lavender, lace cups on your breasts, and oh so see through to the point where he could see you weren’t wearing anything underneath. your legs were slightly parted, your ass up just a little and exposing your pussy to him. he could see how wet it was just from standing on the other side of the bed.

bucky was a big man, literally. he worked for the lumberyard for several years, building muscle carrying logs bigger than you and almost him but he carried it like it was nothing. compared to you though, you were small, tiny, nothing compared to bucky. but the way he touched you was as if you were the most fragile thing he ever had the opportunity to touch, and he didn’t wanna break you.

he tossed his shirt off, removing his khakis and undressed, climbing into bed next to you. his large frame took over you, his hands gliding over your barely covered ass, his hand taking up the entirety of your ass cheek. he squeezed the flesh softly, groaning as he saw your cunt expose itself a little more and he could practically smell you. as he massaged your ass, his hands traveled further down to your cunt, letting his finger swipe through your folds and practically came at the feeling of your soaked cunt over his fingers.

“fuck, sweet girl.. soaking arent you?” he knew you couldn’t respond, hear you even. but he knew something was going on in your dream as you clenched at his words, making him bite his lip. you were a heavy sleeper, which meant he was able to do what he was about to do right now without you stirring. he shuffled down the bed, his face inches from your cunt as he leaned in and licked softly on your folds, moaning at the taste.

this wasn’t the first time he tasted you while you were asleep, and it wouldn’t be the last. but it was always a treat to wake up and see bucky’s face in between your legs with your slick covering his beard and up to his nose. he always looked perfect as he dove back in.

his tongue parted your folds gently, lapping up the slick you had in your cunt as he prodded your entrance with the tip of his tongue, the feeling of your soft walls on his tongue made him moan against your cunt, causing you to sleepily moan out.

“i know, baby, i know.” he murmured against your cunt as he kept licking, his hips rutting against the silk sheets, and he felt a small damp spot against his skin from his pre cum. you moved your hips closer against his face as he ate you out from behind, your fingers digging into the sheets and soft moans and whines slipping from your lips, dreaming of getting head from your partner.

he pulled away before your could cum, and he heard you whine his name sleepily, his cock twitching against him. your breathing was fast, your hard nipple rubbing against the lace, making him curse under his breath as he hovered over your body, pumping his cock a few times as he spread your ass cheeks again, pressing the tip of his cock against your dripping hole.

“bucky..” your eyes were still shut, not even responding to him as he teased your entrance with his cock. he propped himself on his left hand, as his other went to push your hair from your face to watch as you furrowed your eyebrows together as he pushed in, his forehead leaning on your shoulder.

“fuck, this pretty pussy feels so fucking good..” he nipped your skin softly as he lost himself completely in your warmth wrapped around his cock. you were always so tight around him, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. he never would, anyways.

“buck..” you were moaning softly, pushing your ass closer against his hips, eyes screwed shut as he pulled out, whining when you felt him leave your cunt just for him to push back in and stretch you out again.

“youre so fuckin’ wet, dove. could just..” he slipped out, moaning softly at how soaked his cock was from just a few strokes. “slip right back in..” he slipped back into your cunt, pressing his hips flush against your ass. his large hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, the fabric from your lingerie rubbing against his nipples making him moan softly against your neck his face was buried in.

he set a slow pace, listening to your soft breath, little moans and how wet your cunt was each time he pushed back in. he lost himself completely in your cunt, not even registering when you woke up, softly moaning his name.

“buck..?” you turned your head to look at him, before he pushed back into you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your cunt and a sharp whine coming from you.

“sorry to wake you princess.. pussy was jus’ so wet' when i came home.. had to feel it ‘round my cock.” your hands rested over his that were wrapped around your waist, as he pressed down on your lower stomach and you could feel his cock as he pressed all the way into you. “you don’ mind, right?” you couldn’t think of even answering when he rolled over and had you on your stomach, your cheek against the pillow case and he sat back, spreading your ass cheeks all the way and watched his cock disappear into your cunt and moaned as he watched you clench around him.

“m-more.. daddy.. please..” he watched your eyes meet his as you pressed your ass further into his hands, a harsh smack coming down on your ass and making you moan in response. he loved watching your sleepy state fall deeper into sub space as he had his cock buried in your cunt.

“you wan’ more, sweet girl?” you whined as you nodded, moaning as his pace became faster, his large hands holding up your hips and he pushed the lingerie out of the way, watching your back arch to his touch.

“ill give ya’ more. since ya wanna put this pretty pussy on display for me when i get home like a lil slut.” he pushed your legs together and straddle your legs, making your pussy a little tighter and closed so his cock would just sink into your tight cunt. he opened his mouth and spit down onto his shaft as he slid back into you, a moan coming from your lips as you felt how wet it got as he pushed in and hit a new spot as your hips were angled up.

you couldn't help but look back at him, this 6’4 beefy man hovering over you and his lips parted as he watched his cock rut into you, a guttural moan as you clenched around him teasingly. he smelled like wood, musk, the lumberyard he worked away at. you let out a moan as you relaxed against his touch, just letting yourself feel the way his cock slid into you and how you so desperately didn’t want him to leave. you loved feeling him fill you up with his fat cock, his cum. the way you always felt so full of him made your pussy throb. the least you could do was let him lose himself in your cunt. you loved when your man was vocal, you loved making him fall apart in your cunt as you sucked him back in and you knew he loved it just as much.

his hands let go of your ass, trailing slowly up the curve of your back, moving so he separated your legs and wrapped his hands around your neck, pulling you up and squeezing just a little making you clench around him at the action.

his large fram was covering your, his hips thrusting in and out of you at a brutal place, your pussy making the sweetest noises for him, almost as pretty as the ones tumbling from your lips that were slick with spit as you kept licking them. he watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, a hand going from propping yourself up to play with your clit before he pulled it away, pinning it against your back. he squeezed your neck softly with his metal hand, his flesh hand keeping your hand from playing with yourself.

“bucky.. please..”

“you think you get to cum, huh? oh sweet girl.. shouldn’t have woken up..shoulda let me play with my pretty pussy.. but ya had to be greedy didn't ya?” you whined under him, frustrated you weren’t allowed to cum. he could tell with the way you were trying to push harder up against him as he was fucking you, gripping his cock like a vice so he wouldnt leave and you could cum.

he let go of your neck, just to grab your other hand with his flesh hand and pin them against your back, pushing your face into the pillows with his metal hand and gripping your hair gently.

“here’s whats gonna happen, sweet girl,” he grunted as your ass was up in the air, soft moans filling the room of each other mixed with skin slapping on skin. “im gonna fill this greedy lil cunt up so deep with my cum you'll be leakin til mornin. keep my hard cock stuffed in your cunt all night so we don’t lose any, got it?” you nodded as you whined, feeling his cock push back into you like you could feel it up in your chest.

bucky was a big dude, he knew his size in girth and length for his cock and how wide his shoulders were, how strong his arms were and he definitely used it to his advantage. not that you minded anyways, it turned you on even more knowing how strong he could get with you.

“good fuckin’ girl. listenin’ to your daddy just like you should.” his thrusts got sloppier each time he pushed into you, tears dampening the pillows as your orgasm was approaching, making him clamp down around you and you tried your hardest not to cum as the tip of his cock kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, even when he pressed himself so hard against you as he shot his load deep into your pussy.

“thas it, dove. takin’ it so fuckin’ good for me.” he fucked his cum deeper into you, his cock not sofetning as he felt how wet your pussy was filled with his cum. he couldnt help himself as he kept coming, watching your cunt take all of his cock and cum.

as he slowed down, he let go of your hands, keeping his cock in you as he brought your wrists to his lips and kissed them tenderly, rubbing them with his thumb. you moved your neck to look behind you, but you couldn’t catch a glimpse of him as he rolled onto the bed with himself still in you and pulled you flush with his chest, peppering soft kisses against your shoulders.

“you're so good for me, princess. sleep tight.” he pushed his cock further into you, your pussy clamping down around him to keep him from leaving, not that he wanted to anyways. here’s to another night of cockwarming bucky filled with his cum.

[disc0kitten]

I'm a 100% sure that this is what you'll see before he fucks the shit out of you. You can't convince me otherwise.

[disc0kitten]

3 am

(18+ mdni)

it was 3 in the morning and bucky couldn't sleep. nights have always been like this for him. the terrors always kept him up, and tonight was no different. he looked at the clock on his bedside table and growled. he was not going down tonight.

he threw the covers off, swinging his legs off the bed to fully sit up. he craned his neck to the side, needing to pop that one ache that has been bothering him. no luck. he grumbled a string of curses before standing up and making his way out the door.

he knew no one else would be up so didn't bother throwing his shirt on. he only, and i mean only, wore his sweatpants. he walked down the hall, thankful his room was closest to the kitchen. he grabs a glass of water and before it registers in his head he sensed someone in the corner. he grabbed onto the knife nearby and flung it straight at them, or so he thought.

"thought you'd have better aim." bucky breathes a sigh of relief, noticing his knife has hit the cabinet next to y/n's face.

"you could've given me a warning," he grumbled before resuming with his water.

"why? where's the fun in that?" she was swinging her legs lightly as she sat upon the counter, a mischievous look on her face. bucky shook his head lightly, tsking at her remark.

"why are you up?"

"why do you think?" she fell silent, knowing that he struggled with nightmares too. when she looked away bucky took her in. she wasn't wearing any real pants just an oversized shirt that rode up her thigh. if there was anything underneath he couldn't see it, and god he didn't want there to be.

no.

scratch that.

he shouldn't be hoping from that. she was a teammate of his. someone he respected.

but her slender legs could be wrapped around his waist and he wouldn't complain...

stop it.

you're venturing into dangerous territories considering you have only sweatpants on.

bucky cleared his throat, looking away. he downed the rest of the glass before putting it into the sink.

"hope you have a better night," he says to her before shuffling out of the kitchen. it took everything in him not to pop a tent right in front of her. once he was out of sight it was an immediate reaction. at least he'll have something to occupy himself with.

~

he'd been at it for ten minutes now. hand slowly working up and down his cock as he watched video after video. same fake girl with blonde hair and big tits. each one moaning like their paycheck depended on it. he stared at the screen, eyes focused on the way her fingers jammed into her soaked pussy before she "came" once more.

and yet bucky hadn't even once.

he tossed the phone aside, taking a deep breath before it popped into his mind. those long tanned legs of her. the way her hair fell perfectly onto her shoulders and framed her face. it made her seem angelic. especially with how the moon lit through the kitchen to only highlight her body. he has seen her body many times but never in the way he wanted. even her uniform was able to hug her curves and accent her bust.

bucky started to work himself again, to another thought. the mission where she had to be an exotic dancer. sure, he was a bouncer surveying said club to find the arms dealer but he also couldn't help himself to watching you take the stage. how your body moved around like the music was calling you. how you had your back against the floor, stared directly at him, and arched yourself up before resuming your routine.

he laid there, eyes wired shut as he pumped himself. he couldn't help it. he knew he should think of literally anything else but nothing else came to mind. only thoughts of you flashed in his mind. like the pool party they hosted three days ago. your tits almost spilling out of your bikini top and that fabric between your legs barely covering your ass. every time bucky stared for even a second you were already locked in on him. like you knew.

"fuck..." he growled to himself as he grew closer. his hand was pumping harshly, beads of sweat forming at his forehead. he knew he was getting there and felt awful it was to you. but not so awful that he would stop. before he could even finish he heard his door slowly swing open. his movement jolted to a stop. his eyes were trying to fixate who that was in the dark and to his surprise it was the last person he expected.

"need any help, barnes?" y/n came into the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. "i was trying, and failing, to take care of myself next door when a wicked thought popped into my mind. you're here. you're up. why don't you do it." she stripped off her shirt, proving bucky's previous thoughts right. there was absolutely nothing underneath.

"w-what are you doing?" he asked, still holding his painfully erect cock in his hand.

"what does it look like?" she swayed her hips as she walked over to the bed, kneeling on it to get a better look at him. her hand came out, replacing his to stroke it lightly. "you help me... and i help you." he clenched his jaw, eyes fixated on her as she started to pump him. slowly she bent down, extending her tongue to slowly swirl at his tip, gathering what ever pre-cum was there. he shivered at that, still trying to piece together how this even happened.

"we can't do this," he said.

"then why aren't you stopping me?" she said before licking up the side of his cock. he grit his teeth once more, eyes becoming fixated on her. he was doing everything he could to not lose it but that tipped him right over. his metal arm reached out to grab onto her hair, pulling her up. she had an evil smirk on her face, staring right back into his eyes.

"do you know what i am capable of?"

"what do you think i'm trying to find out?" it was his turn to smirk back, shaking his head before shoving her right back down to where she belonged.

"open your fucking mouth." she obeyed, instantly. bucky wasn't gentle when it came to sex. he liked to be in control. he needed the other person to worship him. as he slid into her warm mouth he groaned louder than he intended. slowly he bucked his hips into her mouth, seeing how far she could take him. he was almost there before she gagged. she didn't push him off or slap his thigh. only breathed through her nose to see if she could fit more.

"look at this pretty fucking whore take my cock. you're so desperate to fit it all, aren't ya?" once it was all in her mouth is when the real fun started. keeping that tight grip on her hair, bucky started to move his hips. his cock went in and out of her mouth, making the sloppiest noises known to man. all the gargling and spitting caused drool to run down her chin but she was continuing to take his abuse like a champ. bucky noticed her eyes watering at the harsh fucking her throat was receiving and did not let up. she was a big girl so if she wanted it to stop all she had to do was say it.

"you like having your throat used? fuck, if i would've known i would've done this a long time ago..."

once he grew closer to the edge he slammed his cock right into her mouth once more before emptying his load into her throat. she swallowed each drop, not wanting to waste what he had given her. his grip loosened on her hair and slowly she pulled herself off his cock, letting her tongue glide underneath. once more, her tongue explored his tip, not wanting to leave anything behind.

"holy fuck..." he groaned. she adjusted her hair before looking at the time.

"glad you enjoyed yourself, barnes. i expect you to return the favor when i come back."

"w-when you come back?" he said breathless.

"i have a mission with walker and yelena in two hours. i need to prepare."

"shit i'm sorry to have kept you awake."

"don't be. i wanted it."

[disc0kitten]

Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Professor!Bucky X Omega!Reader X Professor!Steve

Summary: The perfect omega doesn’t exist, right? Well, Steve and Bucky think they might’ve just found her in the form of one of their students. And they’re not gonna stop until they have her begging beneath them.

Warnings: Smut, DubCon, Knotting, ABO Dynamics, Marking, Drugging, Language, Fluff (kind of?) Dark!Fic, Dark Themes

Word Count: 4.5K

A/n: Is it good smut if you don’t cum while writing it? I don’t know. All I know is I had to take a… break… halfway through the smut scene cause…. yeah… Anyway…..

It’s my blog birthday today!! And the first day of Ficmas!!! I hope you guys enjoy!!

!THIS HAS DARK THEMES SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

~*~

“Here Professor! I finished my essay.” You set it down on Professor Rogers’ desk and he smiles up at you.

“Perfect. Thank you so much (Y/n).” You smile proudly at him and he sighs. “Can you come to my office later today? Professor Barnes and I wanted to talk to you.” You’re immediately nervous, bringing your thumb up to your mouth to nibble on your nail.

“Am I in trouble?” You ask softly, looking at the few other students still in the classroom. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong. We just have a few things we wanna discuss with you.” You put your hand down and nod, pigtails bobbing up and down.

“Okie dokie! I can come by around six pm today.” He nods, “Six is perfect. I’ll see you then.” You bid him goodbye then hurry to collect your things and get to your next class. Right as you’re leaving the room, the door swings open and you crash into a hard chest.

“Oof!” You almost tumble to the floor, but two strong hands grab you by the waist and keep you upright. “Careful there, sweetheart,” The deep voice of Professor Barnes says. Taking a deep breath, you almost moan. He smells so yummy! The omega buried deep within you whines, attempting to break free from the bonds of suppressants.

You smile shyly up at him and whisper an apology, then scurry around him to your next class.

Bucky walks over to Steve’s desk, reading the essay over Steve’s shoulder.

“She’s good,” he muses, eyes quickly scanning the document for any errors.

“Very good. She’s stopping by my office at six.” Bucky knows what the blond is implying and has to fight off his growing erection. “Fuck. I’ll be there.” The blond chuckles and watches his friend struggle to adjust his pants inconspicuously.

~*~

You knock on the office door, nervous beyond belief. You’ve got no idea what your professors want to talk to you about.

The door opens and Steve stands in the doorway, smiling brightly at you.

Keep reading

[disc0kitten]

‪@MarvelStudios: "This has makings of a team that can raise to glory" ⚡️‬ Marvel Studios’ T̶h̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶b̶o̶l̶t̶s̶* #TheNewAvengers is now playing in theaters. ‬

[disc0kitten]

Pleasant Interference

Summary: Bucky needs you and you cant think of a single reason why you would tell him no.

Pairing: TFAWS Bucky x Reader

Word count: under 750

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, cockwarming

A/N: Fake fic title game, drabble #1. Kink: Cockwarming. Setting: Office (second room is a private office)

Do not copy, translate, repost, re write or use any parts of my work even if you credit me. Likes, comments and reblogs are cherished.

“I need you.” 

A simple phrase that flashes across your screen before it fades away. 

Glancing up from your position between two agents, a never-ending stream of papers and files in front of you. All important, essential, and forgotten the moment you recall the last time he said those words to you. 

Three simple words set off a visceral reaction, your body seeking him out, moving around the others in the crowded space. Ignoring the questions from your team, you go to the adjacent room. 

The clamor from the meeting becoming a low hum when you shut the door behind you. The lock sliding into place with a flick of your wrist. 

He’s on the couch where you left him hours ago with a promise to be right back and this won’t take long.

You told him to go home, get some rest, but Bucky doesn’t like to sleep without you. Not after a three-week-long mission kept him away from you. I’ll wait breathed in your neck, hands lingering on your back before you left him to finish your debriefing.

You study him with each slow step towards him. His head thrown back, eyes glazed over, unfocused on the ceiling. His hand curled into a fist, the other tapping a rhythmless beat on his thigh. 

You stop directly in front of him, nudging his black boots apart with the toe of your shoe and you lean over him, one knee slots between his thighs, your hands land on the cushions beside his head. Forehead resting on his, waiting for his blue eyes to drift down. And when they do, oh you'll never get used to the way he looks at you.

“I need you, doll.” Breathy with a tinge of frantic that sets you on edge. Whispered against your lips, warm and coffee-scented. 

You press your lips into his, moving just a little to the side, feeling his chapped lips melt into yours, the faint taste of your strawberry chapstick lingering on his pink mouth. Need you too, Bucky. 

He deepens the kiss, his wet soft tongue teasing its way into your mouth, your hands digging into his shoulders as you lift yourself to straddle his thighs. His lips move down your jaw and find his favorite spot on your neck and he sucks a bruise right below your ear. Oh, Buc-. 

That tinge of frantic blooms into full-blown need when you grab his belt, the slow clink of his zipper has him biting your collarbone, his tongue sweeping over the indents left as you find him, hot and hard and ready for you, so thick in your hand. A stroke up his shaft has him chanting your name between gritted teeth, the sinful sounds rumbling against your chest. 

“Missed you so fucking much. Sam almost smothered me in my sleep because I wouldn’t shut up about you.” A mirthless laugh followed by a groan when you smooth your finger over his vein.

Bucky’s hands chase your skirt up to your thighs, past your waist until he can reach under your panties, twisting them to the side, his fingers grazing your silken folds, a light touch that sets you on fire. 

You ease his swollen head through your folds, coating him with your slick, both of you gasping with each glide across your aching bud. “You tell Samuel if he lays a hand on you-” You roll your hips over him and sink down, inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you, “-he’ll have to deal with me. Fuck” 

You’re so full, you can feel him in your stomach, the burn subsiding as your walls flutter around him, clamping down around him, not wanting to let him go. 

“S’good, doll, you have no idea how good you feel.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, his breathing slowing as he relaxes, finally content after spending too much time away from you. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” 

 He asks you mundane questions just to hear your voice. His hands roaming over your body, reacquainting himself he tells you when he cradles your face in his hands, gazing at you while you talk. Stealing kisses when your lips become irresistible, apologizing without a hint of remorse when he interrupts you for the fifth time. 

“How much time do I have?” Bucky asks softly after a few minutes of silence.  

Twirling his short locks between your finger, you roll your hips and take him even deeper inside you. “As much as you need.” You reply. 

“I’ll need forever.” He says with such conviction, your heart thuds in your chest. You want forever. 

You smile into his neck. “All yours.”

[disc0kitten]

Teach Me: Bucky Barnes-Mini Series

You're a little inexperienced when it comes to sex, so Bucky offers to help give you a few pointers. It was supposed to be strictly professional, no feelings attached.

Yeah, right.

a/n: this mini series will have a bunch of blurbs about Bucky teaching you sexual things. it will be heavily filled with 18+ smut so MDNI.

Lesson One: Bucky makes for a great teacher

Lesson Two: Fingering

Lesson Three: Hand jobs

Lesson Four: Cum shots

Lesson Five: Oral-Bucky needs a meal.-starting soon.

more lessons will be assigned soon.

[disc0kitten]

Gimme gimme

(this is just a glimpse of my new series.)

Masterlist

Warning: dom Bucky, sub reader, bratty reader, chubby Bucky. Chubby Bucky. Absolute filth. Bucky's Rules Riding Bucky. Baker reader. Not proofread.

Summary: future congressman Bucky being an absolute hottie and dominating man in bed.

A/N : I just found out about Bucky being a congressman, and it made me an absolute whore. Also idk all of this congressman shit it detail so ignore all the plotholes .18+Minors DNI.

You were currently laying in bed with Bucky after your passionate love making session, Bucky was on his back, you were cuddled next to him wrapping an arm around his torse, over his chubby belly that you loved so much. "Hmm Bucky?"

"yeah babygirl" he said , still recovering from his release.

"so you're really gonna be a congressman?" You ask rubbing his belly, hands slowly trailing towards his cock, stroking it teasingly. Bucky tried to ignore your actions, as he was clearly used to your shenanigans at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if you got down on your knees while he was delivering a public speech,just to show your bratiness.

"yes doll, given everything i think i really wanna do it -" he stopped mid sentence due to your very unholy actions, but continued "i think it my help get my mind off things and focus on...making amends" he continued.

"hmm i think you'd make one hot congressman baby." You say stroking him faster ,you knew he was about to cum. Just then he stopped you, looking at you sternly, "come on doll you know the rules don't be a brat" he said as he neared his release.

"hmm"

"go on say it, you know the rules".

"rule number 1, you can't do anything illegal." You said cheekily

"not that...those are my rules what are the rules for you?" He said groaning, on the edge of his release you knew he wanted to cum so badly but he still wasn't willing to let go of his power.

"hmm...never let your cum go to waste Sargent " you said pouting.

"right ,I'm not gonna fucking cum over the sheets and waste it, where do you want it?" He asked ,trying to sound calm about it .

"in my pussy sarge obviously." You said as a matter of fact.

He smirked at your response," hmm good girl, now come on ride me." You get on top of him and sink your still wet cunt, that already had three rounds of his load onto his cock, you had certainly gotten better at taking him from this angle, which had been a struggle for you in the beginning of the relationship, but Bucky trained you well, "good girl " he said as you started bouncing on his cock, soon after he came filling you up again with his hot spurts of cum, Bucky was hazy from the release but that hadn't stopped you from riding him , you Rode him through his high until he came again, and so did you this time.

"good girl" he said patting your thigh.

"mmph you're gonna look so hot giving commands like this at the Congress baby, i'd get myself off watching you on tv." You said still on top of him , cock deep in your pussy.

"you say the filthiest things sweet girl..." he said pulling you in for a kiss.

"Never would have expected this from the sweet baker i met in Brooklyn." He said clearly admiring your view on top of him.

"hmm well if clearly didn't expect this from the sweet boy i met at my bakery,either the one who was scared to even ask my name., you're quite horny for an old man." I joked.

"hmm maybe the first thing i'd do as a congressman would be to pass a bill to stop your bratiness sweetheart." He said, tracing a finger down your thigh.

"mmph you love it." Bucky can't deny that , he clearly loved how bratty and shameless you are when you're around him.

"or maybe pass a bill that would make it illegal for you to wear any panties around the house ." He said with a smirk.

"hmm I can always find a loophole sarge ." I challenged him

"hmm loophole? Sounds like a creative way to get punished again bratty girl." He said.

"hmm maybe I'll get out of my punishment by getting on my knees sarge, how does that sound." I said biting his lower lip.

"hmm no way, bad girls always get punished." He added before he flipped you both, while he was still in you, and put you on your back, placing your legs over his shoulder, with a grin on his face, "ready for round four doll?"

[disc0kitten]

a man after midnight

Part 2 of the fic Gimme Gimme

Check out my masterlist.

Summary : you show Bucky exactly what he should be afraid of, when he leaves you to your imagination.

Warning: filthy smut. Belly riding? Ab riding ( idk I had just watched thunderbolts and still am so horny) this is just a fic to quench my horny thoughts, somewhere to put them. Breeding kink. 18+ MINORS DNI.

"when do we go home baby?" You asked as you stood next to Bucky in the middle of another "charity" event he had to attend, and being his loving wife you had to be there too. "It's good for his image" his PR team told.

But only Bucky knew how dangerous it was bringing you with him to events like this, whispering filthy things in his ear , brushing your fingers on his clothed cock, playfully patting his ass, sending him absolute filthy texts and photos of your pussy or his "pretty pussy" as he liked to call it. "You say it's your pussy one more time angel, you're getting spanked till your ass is red, it's mine , my pretty pussy" Bucky would say.

Bucky really hoped you wouldn't pull a stunt when the cameras are watching, no it would daint everybody's image of you, a doe eyed innocent baker, who fell for the former winter soldier. If only they knew how corrupted you are , but Bucky doesn't want anyone else but him to know that, that's a part of you only reserved for him and likewise for himself too. They didn't need to know the former winter Soldier liked to fuck you with his metal fingers till you passed out, or make you ride his belly till you were begging to him to let you come. "Please, please daddy let me cum, please" you'd beg ."tell me how much you love this sweetheart,tell me how much you love riding my belly , and then I'll think about letting you come." He'd tease you, holding you in palce tightly, to stop your little movements. "I love it , I love riding your chubby belly , please i love it so much , can i come now?"

"go on sweets, come all over your husband',s belly ." You moaned as you had your release, Bucky was just relishing the sight of you getting off of the part of his body he thought he hated the most. Bucky wasn't the most happy about the pounds he put on since he started dating you, he was insecure if anything. He thought you wouldn't be as attracted to him as you were, who would trade a set of perfect washboard abs for a dad bod, he thought. You always told him how much you loved his abs, you'd kiss it every night, even tried to ride it once or twice , in one of your wild nights, but couldn't find enough friction or the right position, so you'd give up halfway. But ever since his body became what it is now, a little softer round the edges, thighs even thicker than they used to be, his tactical pants he'd had for years didn't fit him anymore, he was so mad at himself for letting him go.

That was until you made him see how amazing it felt, the first night you attempted to ride his belly you came sooner than he thought, it changed everything for him, seeing you get off of his belly, it was a sight to behold. "You're gonna be the death of me baby" he said as he flipped you over and started fucking into you gently, cock pushing in and out of your wet hole, your hands found his love handles, holding onto them roughly, he'd never felt closer to you , fucking into you getting even closer. "Fuck i love this chubby Little belly baby, it's so soft and good to hold on to, and feels so good for my pussy too" you were a blabbering mess at this point.

"you're so fucked up doll, so filthy, can't get enough of me" Bucky was on his edge , you could tell, he was still holding it in just to torture you, fucking you slower , making your toes curl.

"daddy please..." that word drove him crazy and you used it to your advantage.

"go on babygirl tell daddy what you want."

"want your cum, daddy need your cum, wanna be filled up by you, be so full of you" filthy words kept pouring into Bucky's ears.

"I'll give to ya pretty girl, don't worry, daddy's all yours , and no better place to dump my cum in than your filthy hole-" you didn't even let him finish

"gimme your babies , gimme all of them " that did it, he could never hold it together after you told him things like that, he knew it was just the heat of the moment and you were definitely on brith control, but the thought of breeding you drove him crazy, he spilled his cum in you immediately. "Yes daddy ,thank you, thank you for your seed" Bucky chuckled , he knew you were saying these things on purpose, you knew the power you had over him, he just pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling out of you.

And back to the present, you were looking for your handsome husband at the gala, he got lost again, or was it you? Anyway there he was, talking to ....who was that bitch, you remember seeing her with Ross, isn't she Ross's security or something, why was she looking at Bucky like that? You walked faster towards them.

" you're taller in person, cute, a little old for my taste but i could work with that " she said eyeing him up and down.

Just then you reached out to wrap your arm around his waist," we'll he's also taken , why don't you go wipe Ross's ass or whatever it is that you do" . She looked always in embarrassment, and leaves before muttering an excuse.

Bucky chuckled, "so fiesty my pretty wife." He pressed a kiss to your cheek. "I love it when you get jealous"

You looked at him in annoyance, "I'm not jealous ,just don't want anyone else looking at what's mine" you say firmly.

"oh really" his arms found your waist, pulling you closer." But what is yours sweetheart? You need to be more specific, " he knew what he was doing.

"this ." You grabbed his cock through his pants, "all of this congressman Barnes" he had to pry your hands away from his dick before anyone saw , oh how he enjoyed your little games.

"just that?" He whispered in your ears.

"this too" you ran your hands over his belly, making him laugh again. "All of this , and this" you ran your fingers through his hair.

"not sure about that sweets, why don't you show me more clearly, there's an empty office in the third floor, maybe you could come by ." He moved smoothly , after he said that, greeting everyone else like nothing happened. Which was unusual, usually he was a mess, by this time in a gala, almost having a boner, cheeks flushed , was he growing immune to your tactics? That can't happen , No .

So you left to the place he said immediately, it was empty as he said. There you plotted your next move.

Ten minutes later he received a picture of you on your knees, your pretty pussy spread open with your fingers, along with a text

" haven't been taking my birth control lately daddy, why don't you come fill me up for real this time, no pretending, breed me like you've always wanted to ;) "

Oh he was in for a hell of a night.

[disc0kitten]

Claim

Summary: Bucky's not the boss of you. But what is he?

Word count: 2.2 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts*! Definitely on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm, but can be read alone!

This should have no spoilers of consequence.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Protective Bucky, feral Bucky, dom Bucky, Bucky with the dirty mouth, reader tries to be a brat, but well, Bucky, kitchen sex, wall sex, allusion to nipple play, f receiving oral, and anal, raw p in v, praise kink, SIZE KINK, after care, the "what are we" discussion, tiny bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, also Boss, kinda. Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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Bucky flew in because you weren’t taking care of yourself. 

There were too many late nights grading papers, too many skipped lunches to tutor your students, and too many weekends you couldn’t make it up DC because you were giving time to everyone but yourself. You were overtired, cranky, and out of groceries.

When Bucky called, you told him you were going to bed early and would shop after the pancake fundraiser in the morning. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reminded him he wasn’t your boss.

Hell, he wasn’t even your boyfriend.

That was the problem.

You and Bucky met, fell in lust, flirted on the phone, and hooked up once (several times) during a whirlwind weekend in DC. You hesitated just as hard as he did to put a label on things, but tonight, your feelings were in the way. You hung up on Bucky with a lump in your throat, curled up on the couch, and passed out at 5:16 PM.

At 9:06 PM, you woke to the sound of your front door opening.

And there he was, Bucky Barnes in a Brooklyn hoodie, grey sweats and a scowl on his too-handsome face. His hair flopped into those gorgeous eyes chaotically and your heart beat double time when you saw him.

He had bags of food, a backpack, wine, and righteous indignation.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Sam gave me a lift,” he muttered as he pushed past you to the kitchen.

You stood by your open door, frozen, blinking as reality caught up.  

Winter Soldier. Congressman Barnes. Besties with Captain America.

Oh, right. That guy.

You closed the door and shook your head as you followed him inside the apartment that he’d never been in before, but was now taking over.

He complained about you running yourself down as he unboxed the food and watched you eat like a hawk, then ran you a bath.

“Yes, Boss,” you replied to his back as he retreated into your bathroom. 

How did he know the layout of your place? You shook your head again, laughing, because of course he did. When you stood to clear your plate, Bucky took the dishes from your hands.

The standoff began. You glared. He glared harder.

You, because he wasn’t the boss of you, him, because you’d sassed him for caring. The problem was that his glare was sexy as hell and now you were wet.

Bucky read you and chuckled, then his eyes dropped to your body in your zip up hoodie, tank top, and short shots, then back to glaring at the saucy look on your face. 

“Oh, I’ll boss you, Charm. Don’t even get me started.” 

You felt the heat rise to your face but…you couldn’t help it. You wanted to push him, because you knew why he was so grumpy. He was concerned about you.

And very, very horny. 

It had been a month since you’d seen him in DC. 

On anyone else this possessiveness would be annoying, on Bucky, it was so damn cute. But why? 

What claim did he have on you?

The bulge inside his sweats was so enormous it looked like someone stuffed a giant sausage down there. Yikes. You’d almost forgotten how massive he was. You wanted to tease him because there was something empowering and fun about having him entirely at your mercy. 

“How, Congressman? How exactly will you boss me?” 

Bucky cocked his head, challenging you with his devil-blue eyes. 

“You want to know how?” 

His jaw was clenched and he looked almost dangerous, staring at you in a way that probably intimidated most people. It just got you wet. You were not scared of James Buchanan Barnes. 

He was your Bucky.

So you just shrugged and cocked your eyebrow at him as he set the dishes down and leaned against the counter, his t-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest; his grey sweats tented.

You crossed your arms against your hard, aching nipples and cocked your hip as you silently continued to sass him.

“Well, I’ll start with that smart mouth. Gonna kiss it until you’re hotter and wetter than you already are, Charm. Then I’ll peel off your clothes and suck those gorgeous nipples of yours until you’re squirming and maybe, possibly, I'll give you my thigh to grind on and get all wet with your slick if you’re a good girl.”

You shifted and Bucky smirked, but continued, his eyes on each body part as he reeled off filthy promises.

“I’m gonna hold you down, take my time playing with those sweet tits until you’re almost cuming, but not quite.”

Bucke remembered how responsive you were when he sucked your nipples, and in fact jacked off every day to a tit pic you sent him. He was making a mess in his pants because he knew you were making a mess in yours.

He was relentless in the mission of your ruin.

“Then, gonna take my time licking my way down that hot body to your sweet pussy and eat you out until you cum on my tongue. And my fingers.”

Then his eyes flicked to yours, those ethereal blue eyes making you gasp.

“M fucking starving, Charm.”

Poor baby, you thought, and then remembered you were trying to be a brat. Bucky smiled at you and then focused on your shorts again.

“And with every cute little tug that your pussy does to try and take my fingers deeper…Did you know your pussy does that, Charm? Pulls on my fingers and my cock so sweet, fuck, I need it.”

Bucky's voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. 

“For every spasm of that cute little cunt, I’ll play your clit to make the pleasure last longer, so you’ll come that much harder. And longer. Until you beg me to stop.”

You were trembling, knees weak, trying not to moan. He watched your thighs press together and grunted, but he kept going.

“I’ll get you nice and wet and ready for me to fuck you with this big cock that is aching for you.”

Bucky reached down and lewdly grabbed himself, your eyes riveted. 

“Gonna fuck you in every position, until there’s no part of you I haven’t tasted and possessed as much as I fucking want. You’re gonna feel it in your soul, Charm."

God he was so damn smug.

"And then, Baby, you’ll sleep. All. Damn. Day. Fuck the fundraiser. I’ll buy the pancakes.”

Bucky met your shock with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I’ll work on my policy briefs and packets while you rest, tomorrow, and Sunday, we’ll go grocery shopping and stock the place before I get on the train back to DC.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, thinking of a plausible argument against what he just said. Everything but the sex part.

You held your finger up for him to stop.

“Give me a minute.”

You tried to regain your composure. You were wet. Very wet. Your panties and your shorts were clinging to you and your heart was beating fast.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw how flustered you were, and he leaned closer, murmuring into your ear as he crowded you back against the island, caging you in with his strong forearms.

“You like my dirty mouth, don’t you, Charm?” 

He nipped your earlobe as you whined in response. 

“I see you. You love how hard I am for you. You want to grab my cock and feel it, I can see that. I know you’re already wet for me. I bet if I slid my fingers inside your panties right now, you’d be all soft and wet and juicy like the sweetest plum in the world, isn’t that right? You’re just aching for me to eat you real good and make you cum, aren’t you?” 

God.

Yes. 

You thought it, but didn’t say it. You just couldn’t articulate words at the moment.

“And I’m going do all of what I said, Charm, but I think that right now I need to fuck you on this counter top.”

Bucky stepped back and pulled down his sweats and you saw the dark allure of him, a good nine inches, thick and dripping pre-cum in time with it’s own heartbeat making it throb. Bucky’s hand took himself in his grasp, and the pulsing almost purple monster looked beautiful encased in the rare vibranium. 

You appreciated this small dark tower and the dusting of dark hair at it’s base and you don’t know why, but when Bucky pulled his shirt up and pinned it with his chin as he stared at you and stroked, but you got so much wetter.

That’s a lie. You knew exactly why. 

“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.”

You scrambled to comply as Bucky advanced on you and lifted you on the island with one hand while simultaneously lining up with the other. His eyes rolled when he actually felt how wet you were for him.

“Good Lord, Charm. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

He said it as he looked down and tortured you with the head of his cock teasing your clit and the slick on your pussy lips. He looked back up at you, those blue eyes almost feverish.

“I- I didn’t stretch you out with my fingers. But I need it, right now, Charm. Do you want it too?”

You pulled off your top and threw it somewhere behind you. You started pulling your nipples and speaking your filthy mind.

“Don’t need your fingers’ Sarge. Fuck me with that…. whooooooohhhh my goddddddd!”

Bucky slid inside you as you spoke and the stretch had your pussy pulsing when he wasn’t even halfway in. The feeling was indescribable and you couldn't believe that you were cuming almost instantly.

You both looked down at your cream almost immediately leaking out and frothing around his big, red, pulsing cock as he pistoned slowly inside you. You both moaned and closed your eyes.

Bucky grabbed your neck to bring your head back up from lolling back on your shoulders as your pussy pulled him in with your orgasm. He batted your hand away from your breast and started pinching and rolling it, elongating your pleasure.

“I think we’ve lost the plot here, Charm.”

He said it through gritted teeth as he slapped into you and sped up incrementally.

“I told you that I was yours. And I assumed that you were mine.”

You croaked, “You know what they say about assuming…”

You still had a little brat in you. But Bucky took it as a challenge. His hands moved to pick you up, separating your asscheeks as he fucked you against the wall now. Your eyes were rolling from the feeling of vibranium in your asshole.

“I get the ass.”

“Take it, Bucky!” you were gasping for breath.

“Thanks for the invitation, baby, but it’s already mine. Isn’t it?”

You were cuming again, or you’d never stopped as Bucky pounded you hard against your kitchen wall. Pots were rattling in the cabinet, and you were afraid glasses were going to break until Bucky hit that spot.

And then you didn’t care anymore. 

“Yes, Bucky! It’s yours. I’m all yours.” 

You were cuming all over him at this point.

“Fuck, yes! Mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were black now as he fucked you through it.

“Your sweet cunt is milking me… fuckkkkk.”

Bucky came, adding to the moisture levels between your legs, and he buried his head in the juncture of your neck and your clavicle as his climax hit with a guttural moan. You managed to grab his head and make him meet your eyes, both of you dazed.

“Let me see you Bucky.”

Bucky looked at you, pupils blown, lips parted in awe.

“You’re my guy,” you whispered. “Am I your girl?”

Bucky smiled at you, and then grimaced, another pulse of semen spurting out of him.

“You’re my Best Girl, Charm.”

He kissed you as both of you trembled with aftershocks. After he caught his breath, he walked you out of the kitchen into the en suite, where your bath was waiting. Your combined fluids were running down your legs. 

Once there, he let you down slowly and held you until you were steady on your feet, then, he helped you step into the bath.

You looked up at him, eyes heavy.

“You coming in?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, tempted, but he had a mission.

“No, relax, enjoy your bath. I’ll shower and then clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead as he placed your robe and a bottle of water where you could reach it. Then, he grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. You enjoyed the view of him taking a shower as you got clean, then dozed in the warm water. You felt yourself be lifted and placed in your bed, warm and wrapped in your robe. 

And Bucky Barnes. 

Around 3 am you stirred, and turned in his arms to see Bucky watching over you, never tired.

“Time to make good on your promises, Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled, but then he pouted a bit.

He was so freaking adorable.

“That’s not my name.”

You smiled at him.

“Bucky. Baby. Boyfriend.”

“That’s better,” Bucky grinned as he parted your robe, his gaze hot down your body. Then he looked back up at you. 

“So much better. And you’re the boss. Because it’s my job to take care of my girl.”

[disc0kitten]

Almost Caught

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You sneak out with Bucky for a secret date and almost get caught.

Word Count: 723

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lying to friends (for romance reasons!)

A/N: this is kind of a sequel to "you said what?" — it’s the same vibe, same chaotic energy, but it can totally be read on its own! just think of it as part of the same soft universe 💕 hope you enjoy this <3

You never thought your most romantic date would start with crawling out of a window and jumping two stories down into Bucky’s arms—right behind the dumpsters.

“I can’t believe this is how we have to go out,” you whisper, pulling your hoodie tighter.

Bucky grins at you, eyes sparkling. “Come on. You love the danger. Sneaking out like spies.”

You roll your eyes— but he’s right. You do kind of love it. Especially when he leans in and kisses you, right there in the alley, his hand cupping your jaw like you’re the best thing he’s ever held.

The two of you walk a few blocks, laughing quietly, until you reach the rooftop of an old bakery. It’s not fancy, but it’s cozy. Your spot. The stars are out tonight, the sky clear and dark, and it feels like something out of a dream.

Bucky opens a bag he brought with him. “Ta-da.”

You peek inside. Burgers. Fries. Milkshakes. From that place you both secretly love, Cheesy Billy’s Burgers, but refuse to tell the team about, because Tony called it culinary war crime once.

You sit side by side, your legs swinging over the edge of the roof. You eat, you talk, and you laugh so hard you almost choke on your soda. Bucky watches you with that soft look of his, like you’re the most important thing in the universe. Like the stars are nice, sure—but not better than you.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “if we didn’t have to sneak around like teenagers—”

“We’d still come here,” you say, nudging his foot with yours. “This is our spot.”

He smiles and leans closer. “Yeah. Our spot.”

And he kisses you. Soft, slow, perfect. The kind that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Then—

You hear voices below. Familiar ones.

“Wait—this is where they get the good fries?” Sam says. “Why have we never been here?”

You both freeze.

You slowly peek over the edge of the roof. Sam and Peter are standing below, staring at the bakery’s glowing sign.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “We’re gonna get caught. On our date night. While eating greasy fries.”

Bucky’s already stuffing fries in his mouth. “I’m not giving these up.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious right now?!”

“I have priorities,” he mumbles around a fry.

You both scramble to hide. Bucky throws his hoodie over your head like a blanket and pulls you into the shadows. You’re both giggling, trying to be quiet. Bucky looks like he’s having the time of his life.

Below, Sam looks up for a second, squinting. “…Did you hear something?”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe a raccoon?”

You whisper, “We are the raccoons.”

Somehow, you manage to escape without being seen.

Back at the compound, breathless and laughing in the hallway, Bucky presses you against the wall and kisses you again.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “I’m buying us disguises.”

“…Like wigs?”

He grins. “I was thinking matching mustaches.”

You snort-laugh so hard, someone passing by stares at you suspiciously.

In the next morning , you’re minding your business in the common room, nursing a coffee, when you hear “Yo, Bucky… since when do you eat at Cheesy Billy’s Burgers?”

Your stomach drops.

You turn just in time to see Sam waving a greasy, crumpled receipt like it’s evidence in a murder case.

“Found this in your jacket pocket, man. Thought you hated that place.”

Bucky blinks. Looks at you. Then back at Sam.

“I… don’t remember going there.”

Classic.

Natasha, from the couch “Wasn’t that the night you said you were doing recon?”

Tony walks in with a mug. “Wait, wait—Bucky Barnes ordered a Double Cheesezilla with extra onion rings and a milkshake. Who are you?”

You’re biting your lip so hard trying not to laugh, you might bleed. Bucky looks at you, then back at them, completely straight-faced.

“Maybe it was Steve’s jacket?” Bucky offers. “Old jacket. Probably Steve.”

Steve, walking by “What?”

“Nothing.” Bucky blurts.

Later, in the hallway, you tackle him into a storage closet and whisper, “You kept the receipt?!”

“You said it was the best burger you’d ever had. I panicked and wanted to remember the order.”

Your heart melts. “You’re unbelievable.”

He shrugs, grinning. “You love me.”

You kiss him, just once. “Unfortunately, yes.”

A/N: i wrote a part 3 about them. if you want to check it out here it is <3