#/ a lot of muses were dropped

[letmeinnnnn]

 I feel the plot with Muse progressed far too quickly. I HOPE this is not the end and is them starting to lean into his more inhuman elements? IDK. Perhaps wishful thinking... The show seems to have taken on a more cliche, standard serial-killer type role for Muse, as opposed to what I have seen of his personality and such in the comics.

I thought we were getting a long buildup to a really good villain/hero relationship, but they just.... did a really kind of in-your-face information/backstory dump, then that was the end of that and he got killed off.

Very, very disappointing.

[blood-starved-beast]

Something occurred to me about how the Research Patients hero-worshipping Lady Maria and just. Do you think she went around the place offering solace to the patients (when they could still see her) in her Hunter's garb ala those actors who dress up like their characters to visit sick patients in hospitals irl?

Cause out of the all the Hunters, Maria's fit is among the most fancy and she is really selling the "Girl Prince"/"Knight in Shining Armor" aesthetic with it so I can see her being really popular amongst the townspeople back in the heyday of the Hunters. So even after quitting the Hunt her Look probably inspired a lot of comfort for the patients who feel like they're drowning.

[styxxsyringe]

zeno's ultimate pokemiku tierlist ⁉️(it's all his opinion and he loves them all regardless⁉️)

[darabeatha]

/ I'm very passionate about this whole thing M.octezuma has going on

[fagtainsparklez]

👀

jack time :D huge shoutout to this fic bc i have based like 90% of my jack inspiration from it it's so fucking good.

jack is like. the Oldest of the mansion's permanent residents for a long while, if not in general. i'm still unsure what i want to do with tim/brian, but jane at least only visits due to having a family on the outside, so a lot of the time the care taking is left to jack. (slender's fully there, he just doesn't give a fuck to keep the kids from killing each other/cooking meals for them.) incidentally, jack has developed a horrible case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome because. obviously. him being the mansion's kind of sole doctor does not help at all, because not only is everyone else's well-being down to him, if someone gets hurt (which happens often), he's the only one that can help, and if he fails, their death will be on him.

tim and brian and jane try to help as much as they can, but they don't get it. jack can never fully let himself rely on them, because they'll eventually leave. jane has her own family to take care of and god only knows what tim and brian do when they're not around. jack will Always have to maintain independence. he can't let his guard down. if he gets reliant on the other "adults", something could happen when they're not around, and he won't be sharp enough anymore to deal with it.

and i've spoken about this already but. jack is also just a kid! everyone thinks he's older because of his maturity/unnatural height, but he's just 16! the same age as natalie! it takes a very long time for them to realize that, even himself, bc he doesn't actually remember his age due to the ritual. it's only when brian eventually raises his suspicions that they try to do some digging and find out. oh. that's a kid

[send me a "👀" and i'll ramble about an au]

[white-weasel]

Do…. Do people actually have an issue with stuff being written in present tense?

[thursdaygrl]

feeling a little :///

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of the most memorable speeches I've ever heard was given at my beloved's graduation. They attended a pretty crunchy school natural medicine. They went for acupuncture but they also had many degrees including nutrition, naturopathic medicine, and most importantly to this story: midwifery.

The common consensus across campus was that the midwives operated on their own frequency which is a nice way to say they were usually really weird, even by the standards of a pretty alternative crowd of people. Not weird in a bad way. But weird nonetheless. They straddled the boundary between life and death and it changed them.

I had never experienced a midwife before the ceremony which is why I didn't think anything of the fact that a midwife stepped up to give the graduation speech. My friends nearby had a stir of repressed amusement and elbowing each other which did puzzle me slightly.

The speech began as a story, which I heartily approved of. The midwife related an experience in which a woman told her that during her first birth she had screamed too much and used up her energy in that instead of pushing and the midwife, to the collective masses assembled to watch a solemn ceremony, said, "I told her this time she would need to scream with her vagina."

The audience was slightly stunned by this, myself included. I scanned the crowd to see dropped jaws and wide eyes. It was such a bold statement to make in an academic setting and no one quite knew what to make of it.

The midwife continued unperturbed.

She related that many dads didn't know what to do during the birthing process and that this particular dad chose to chant over and over, "You're gonna be huge, you're gonna be huge," as his wife screamed with her vagina to birth their child. The midwife mused that she didn't know if he was talking to their child or his wife or if he even registered what he was saying in that moment.

Then the subject strayed toward how the student body had strained and striven toward this goal, this endgame that was the result of sleepless nights, hard work, and camaraderie. The speech seemed to have moved onto more solid ground and traditional graduation reminiscences. The crowd settled, thinking the worst had passed.

But as the midwife wrapped up she said, "As you go forth into the world, pushed out by this noble institution to help the masses, just remember one thing," she paused and the audience held their breath while the beat drew out before she finally whispered:

"You're gonna be huge."

There was a roar of astonished laughter as her speech neatly tied their graduation into a metaphor for being birthed unto the world and we finally understood the point of her anecdote.

The speech lives in infamy in all our collective memories. Years later my beloved's dad will still be like, "Remember that bizarre graduation speech?"

And it was. It was bizarre. But I'll say this. I've attended a lot of graduations, and I don't remember any of the speeches half so well as I do that one.

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop��trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[mingapace]

May I request the reader being just as pathetic as Remmick? Like, both of them crying during sex because they love each other a lot and they're so overwhelmed by their feelings, and being equally obsessed with him as he's with her? I apologize if you do not write for readers who are also pathetic little meow meows but since you didn't mention anything about that in your rules I thought it was worth a try.

Ye! It takes me a lot cause I'm not good with sub!reader but I found it very fun to write. Since you didn't specify any other kinks, I took the liberty of handling the matter myself. I hope you like it.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱᴜʙ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ, ᴇᴅɢɪɴɢ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 1,4ᴋ

You lost track of how long you’d been like this — impaled on him, your thighs shaking faintly, the burn of held-in need spreading like a fever through your bloodstream.

Remmick hadn’t moved in what felt like hours.

No thrust. No grinding. No friction.

Just the unbearable fullness of him inside you, hot and still, while his lips lazily traced the curve of your shoulder, the edge of your throat, the delicate shell of your ear.

His hands weren’t idle.

One rested low on your back, fingers splayed, pressing you down against him like he owned every inch of you — which, right now, he did.

The other was crueler in its patience. Gliding up your side, teasing your ribs, stroking the underside of your breast with just the edge of a long sharp nail. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to torment.

You couldn’t help it.

You whimpered, softly — a sound he had undoubtedly been waiting for.

His laugh was low and dark against your neck. “There y'are now,” he murmured, teeth grazing skin. “Was startin' to think you’d gone and passed out, sittin' so bloody still like that.”

You shift your hips — just slightly. Barely enough to qualify as a movement. But even that is a mistake.

His fingers tighten on your hip instantly, bruising in their precision. His voice drops, honeyed and mocking.

“Ah ah ah,” he purrs. “Not so fast now, darlin'.” He tilts his head back to look at you, fangs catching the light. “You told me you could take it. Said you were well able to sit pretty for me. Hours, you said. Remember that, do ya?”

You glare at him, but it’s weak, trembly — a lost cause.

“Remmick,” you breathe, “please. It’s— I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupts smoothly, voice like silk dragged over stone. “You just don’t want to anymore. There’s a difference.”

His thumb slides up to brush the corner of your mouth, tracing your lips. “You were bold as brass earlier,” he muses. “So sure of yourself. Where’s all that arrogance now, hm?” He tilts your chin up. “Melted away just because I made you wait? How fragile your pride is.”

You whimper again — not from pain, not even from the pressure building low in your belly like a storm about to break — but from the unbearable need. The intimacy. The weight of his gaze, the deliberate control in every motion.

“Remmick,” you whisper. “I’m begging you.”

His expression softens — just slightly. A cruel softness.

“Y'think I don’t want to fuck you 'til you forget your own name?” he growls low, voice suddenly darker. “You think I’m not burnin' to ruin you right now, love?”

You gasp softly at the change in tone. There’s hunger in his eyes — real, dangerous. The kind only a vampire can carry: ageless, starved, barely restrained.

“But this?” He shifts — just a little, enough to make you keen. “This is more intimate than fucking. This is ownin' you, body and soul.”

He licks a slow stripe up your neck.

You want to cry from how turned on you are.

He leans back just enough to look at you fully now. His white shirt is undone halfway, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

His pale hands are elegant and cruel. His nails, long and sharp, trace slow paths down your back. Every motion is precise, patient, like a man who has lived too long to rush anything.

“Drippin' for me, look at you” he murmurs, glancing down between your bodies. “Feel that?” He flexes his hips just slightly — again, barely — and the sensation makes you choke on a moan. “And I've not even fucked ya yet.”

You’re shaking now, trembling from restraint. Your walls flutter around him, desperate for movement, for release, for anything.

He notices. Of course, he does.

He leans close again, whispering against your lips, “Say it.”

You breathe, “Please.”

“Nah, c'mon. Say it proper.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

A long silence. His red eyes gleam. Then—

“No.”

It lands like a slap.

Your breath catches on a sob you can’t stop in time. It trembles up from your chest, raw and helpless, and before you can turn your face away — ashamed of it — he’s already there, watching.

Remmick freezes.

Then his expression shifts. The slow unraveling of something old and cold inside him, cracking apart under the weight of your tears.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathes, and it’s not sarcastic this time. Not mocking. Just wrecked.

He cups your face so gently it shatters you all over again. His thumbs brush your cheeks, catching the tears. He kisses you — soft, desperate, trembling with restraint — like he wants to take the hurt into his own mouth and swallow it whole.

“Oh, my poor sweet thing,” he whispers into your lips. “You’ve been so good for me. So fucking good. I didn’t mean to break you.”

You gasp when he finally moves — hips rolling up into you in one slow, thick stroke, and you sob again, this time from the flood of overwhelming relief.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it. I’ve got you.”

The pace is steady at first — deep, controlled thrusts, his hands anchoring you in place. One at your hip. One tangled in your hair.

He kisses your neck again, open-mouthed, letting a fang scrape gently along your pulse. His breath is ragged now, hot and reverent.

“You’re perfect like this,” he groans. “All warm 'n' wet, takin' me so deep like your cunt was built for it.”

You moan brokenly into his shoulder, clutching at his shirt, nails digging into the fabric as he finally, finally gives you what you need.

“I couldn’t—” he chokes. “I couldn’t move, dear. You were so bloody gorgeous sittin' there, patient as a saint. I just wanted to see how long you'd last for me. I didn’t think it’d hurt you.”

You shake your head — no, no, it’s not pain, not like that. It’s the want, the hunger, the way he fills every part of you, body and mind, until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

And now that he’s moving, now that he’s inside you, with you — it’s everything.

His mouth finds your ear again.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Y'hear? Mine to touch. Mine to fill. Mine to keep.”

“Yes,” you sob, clenching around him. “Yours, Remmick. Yours.”

He moans — a sound low and guttural, his control fraying.

“I’d set the fucking world on fire for you,” he whine. “Drain kingdoms if you asked. I’d kill for your pleasure. And you’re crying just because I made you wait. Fuckin' hell, I love you.”

Your whole body jolts at the words.

He doesn’t stop.

“I love you when you’re proud. I love you when you’re begging. I love you like it’s eating me alive.”

You cry harder, and he kisses the tears away as he drives into you now — harder, deeper, not holding back.

His hips snap up into you with filthy sounds, slick and desperate. His hands are everywhere — gripping your waist, fisting your hair, cradling your jaw.

“I’ve got you, darlin',” he murmurs over and over. “I’ve got you. Let go, baby. Come for me now.”

You do — with a scream muffled against his throat, every nerve ending detonating into light. You convulse around him, clutching him like salvation as he fucks you through it, murmuring praise into your skin:

“That’s it, gorgeous. So good.”

His pace falters — a sudden sharp thrust, then a shudder — and he follows you over the edge with a snarl of your name, sinking his fangs into your shoulder as he comes, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves.

The bite is sharp — pleasure laced with pain — and your body clenches again, aftershocks wracking through you.

You collapse against him, breath hitching, heart pounding wildly against his cold chest.

He licks the wound gently. Kisses it. Wraps his arms around you like a coffin.

“You’re everythin' to me,” he whispers into your hair. “Don’t you ever doubt that, not for a second.”

You’re too spent to answer, but your arms tighten around his shoulders, and he feels it — your answer in the way you hold him, not like a lover but like a lifeline.

And for once, Remmick doesn’t tease. Doesn’t gloat.

He just holds you, and trembles.

[be4chywritez]

neck kisses | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You love kissing up on Oscar, and this time it lands him in trouble.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: use of y/n and like allusions to smut, but no real smut

It starts with a perfect day.

The kind that makes your heart feel full, your skin warm, your cheeks sore from smiling too much.

Oscar had insisted on a proper date—something that didn’t involve race strategy meetings, travel schedules, or rushed dinners between flights. So, you ended up at the beach, just the two of you. The sun had been high, the waves had been gentle, and Oscar had been… well, Oscar—smiling at you like you were his entire world.

You spent hours there, playing in the water, sharing an ice cream that melted too fast, and walking along the shore, fingers laced together like you’d done it a million times before.

Oscar's hand rests lazily on your thigh as he drives, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing through the car speakers. It’s comfortable—easy.

Until you get an idea.

A very reckless, stupid, undeniably tempting idea.

The two of you had stopped at some random fast food place on the way back to his apartment, and now you’re parked in some empty lot, eating fries out of the same carton. The dim glow of the streetlights outside barely illuminates the car, making the space between you feel even smaller.

Oscar is mid-sentence—something about the race next weekend, about tire strategies, about things you should probably be paying attention to. But you aren’t. Not really.

“You know,” you mused, shifting slightly so you could turn toward him, “I never actually thanked you for today.”

Oscar’s eyes flicked toward you, suspicious. “For what?”

“For taking me to the beach,” you said smoothly, tilting your head as you let your fingers trail lightly up his forearm. “For driving me around. For looking—” you paused, letting your gaze drop to his exposed throat, “—really, really good in that hoodie.”

His lips parted slightly, his hand tightening on your thigh just a fraction. “Uh—”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck.

The effect was immediate.

Oscar inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing beneath you. His grip on your leg tightened as his free hand instinctively shot to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “Y/N—”

“Mhm?” You hummed against his skin, letting your lips trail lower, feeling the way his pulse quickened beneath your mouth.

His breath hitched. “We are in a parking lot.”

You let your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse point before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “And?”

Oscar groaned, his fingers digging into your waist as if that would stop you. “And—you—fuck—” His head tilted slightly, giving you more access even as he tried to resist.

You grinned. “You were saying?”

His response was cut off by a sharp inhale as you sucked lightly at his throat, your tongue flicking over the warm skin before biting down just enough to make him jolt. His other hand abandoned the wheel entirely, wrapping around your thigh as he instinctively pulled you closer.

“Jesus—” he muttered, voice strained. His grip was firm now, his hands no longer hesitant as they roamed over your waist, your thighs, like he needed something to hold onto.

You pressed a final, lingering kiss just below his jaw, grinning against his skin. “I love how easy you are to mess with.”

Oscar exhaled shakily, his grip on you tightening. “I hate you.”

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before—

Thud.

The car jolted forward.

The two of you froze.

Oscar’s hands flew to the wheel, his eyes going wide as his head snapped up. “Oh—oh my god—”

Your stomach dropped as you turned your head just in time to see a very unfortunate tree now very much in front of the car.

Silence.

Your jaw dropped. Then you looked at Oscar, whose face was rapidly shifting from panic to pure, unfiltered mortification.

And then—

You lost it.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying and failing to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god—” you gasped, shaking with laughter as you leaned back against your seat. “Did you—did you just—” You could barely breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Did you just get so flustered you hit the gas?”

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I—I wasn’t flustered—”

You threw your head back, cackling. “Babe, you just ran into a tree because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar groaned louder, slumping against the seat. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you corrected smugly, wiping at your eyes. Then, just to be cruel, you leaned in again, brushing your lips over the still-warm mark you’d left on his neck.

Oscar snapped.

His hands flew to your waist as he abruptly yanked you into his lap, your knees hitting either side of his thighs. “No. Absolutely not.”

You grinned, settling comfortably against him. “Aw, baby, are you scared I’ll make you crash again?”

His hands tightened on your hips, his expression a mix of exasperation and something darker, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. His fingers dug into your sides, his lips parting slightly as he met your gaze.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, but his hands were saying something entirely different as they trailed up your sides, over your ribs, pressing into your back like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to push you away or pull you closer.

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair before whispering against his lips—

“And yet, you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Oscar groaned again, but this time, he didn’t argue.

Oscar’s hands were everywhere. His grip on your waist was firm, grounding, but his fingers weren’t still—they kneaded at your sides, then trailed up your back, pressing into your spine before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, just enough to make you shiver.

His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You had him exactly where you wanted him, and he knew it.

You tilted your head, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “You okay, baby?”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on you tightening. “You almost killed me and my car, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

You grinned, shifting slightly in his lap just to see him react. His hands flew to your hips again, holding you still as his jaw clenched. “I didn’t do anything,” you teased, your breath ghosting over his lips. “You were the one who hit the gas.”

Oscar groaned, his head falling back against the seat for a moment before he looked at you again, eyes flickering between your lips and the smug expression on your face. “I swear you do this on purpose.”

You pretended to think for a second. “Do what?”

His fingers flexed on your hips before suddenly dragging you forward, closing the small space between you. His nose brushed against yours, his voice lower, rougher. “Drive me insane.”

Your breath caught for half a second before you recovered, pressing your palms against his chest, feeling the way his heart hammered beneath your fingertips. “You love it,” you whispered.

Oscar exhaled shakily, his hands sliding up your back again, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I hate how much I do.”

Your heart flipped, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you let your fingers trail lower, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

For a second, you thought he might break, that he might actually kiss you, that he might completely lose himself in you the way you wanted him to. But then—

A loud knock on the driver’s side window made both of you jump.

Oscar jerked so hard that his knee hit the steering wheel, his hands flying off your waist as he nearly knocked you off his lap in sheer panic.

Your head snapped toward the window, your heart hammering. A cop.

Well. Shit.

Oscar scrambled to roll down the window, his voice cracking. “Uh—hi, officer.”

The cop—a tired-looking man with a badge and a very unimpressed expression—peered into the car. Then, at the tree. Then, back at you two.

Oscar swallowed.

The cop raised an eyebrow. “You good, son?”

Oscar let out a nervous laugh. “Uh. Yeah. Just. Um. Just a little parking mishap.”

The officer looked at you, then at Oscar’s still-flushed face, then at your position half in his lap. His expression didn’t change. “Right.”

You bit back a laugh, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it.

The officer sighed. “Try not to run over any more trees, alright?”

Oscar nodded so fast that you had to hide your face against his shoulder to keep from wheezing. “Yes, sir. Definitely. No more trees.”

The cop gave you one last knowing look before turning and walking back toward his car.

The second he was gone, you lost it.

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I am never recovering from this.”

You gasped for air between giggles. “Oscar. You crashed your car because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath before tilting his head back to glare at you. “I swear, if you bring this up to anyone—”

You grinned, leaning in again, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “What? You gonna lose control again?”

Oscar groaned. “I hate you.”

You smirked against his skin. “Liar.”

[em1i2a3]

My Desire

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Fem!Reader(Ex-HYDRA)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI!, Mentions of Past Violence/Blood, Mentions of Stabbing (the reader has a scar from an incident involving Bucky/The Winter Soldier), Swearing, PTSD, Bucky kind of goes through some guilt in this, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Relationship Trope, BDSM Club Mission, Unintended Voyeurism, Mentions/References to Exhibitionism, Smut; fingering, oral sex (fem! Receiving), spitting, some nipple play, handjob, a bit of a praise kink if you squint, a little bit of a pain kink if you squint, P in V sex (unprotected, you know the drill though…Wrap it before going heels to Jesus), Shower Sex . Beefy Bucky is the current squeeeeeeeze if y’all know what I mean.

Author's Note: Wheew, I decided to take the trope of Enemies to Lovers and Fake Relationships to the next level. Ah, I love tropes, especially when you can throw everything and the kitchen sink at it. I did change some contextual stuff up a little bit just to suit the needs of the story. Hope y’all enjoy :) Sorry it took so long to get a new piece out btw, I’ve been studying for a licensing thing and that’s been literally consuming my time!

Word Count: 23,866

Next Part: Girls Like You

The air in the debriefing room was thick and suffocating when you walked in that morning. The night before you had received an urgent call from Maria Hill asking if you could attend a meeting for the next day, you were caught off guard by the request, but you were also curious as to what she was going to assign you, so you had taken the opportunity and agreed.

Maria stood at the front of the room, face flat, unreadable. You could sense there was someone else in the room, noticing one of the chairs was turned away from you, but out of the corner of your eye you could see the slight shine of the all-too-familiar metal arm, only now it was black, shiny, a new model. Your stomach dropped almost in an instant, a deep-seated regret immediately hitting you in the face. The chair turned, and you were met with the cold, desolate blue eyes, and scowl that you had seen on CCTV and up close. He was the shell of someone you once thought you knew.

Bucky Barnes.

He leaned back in his seat with his broad arms crossed over his chest, looking almost as irritated as you. He looked like he had gained a lot more muscle since the last time you saw him, and it was evident just by the way his biceps strained against the fabric of his t-shirt, and how he shifted uncomfortably in the chair he was in, his thighs spreading slightly to try and find a position he felt good in. He had trimmed his hair, it was not instantly noticeable, but when you replayed your last interaction in your head daily, it was easy to recognize the changes he physically made to himself.

“Just the person I wanted to see at 8 am.” He muttered, the words edging with sarcasm, casting a pointed look at Maria. You let out a slow, exaggerated exhale.

”Can’t believe you’re still fucking breathing.” You commented, watching him glance over his shoulder, tilting his head.

”Disappointed?” He asked mockingly.

”Absolutely devastated.” Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

”Yeah, guess we can’t all get what we want.” Your fingers twitched at your sides.

”Oh, I don’t know,” You mused, “Last time I checked, you got exactly what you wanted. A knife through my fucking chest, if I’m remembering correctly of course.” He groaned.

”Can’t believe you’re still going on about that. It’s been two years, sweetheart. Get over it.” You could feel your blood curdling beneath your skin, as you balled your hands into tight fists.

”Get over it? I was hospitalized for almost seven months.” He spun around on his chair to face you, one eyebrow raised.

”And? You’re still here are you not? You scoffed at him.

“Yeah, walking proof that you failed your fucking mission.” `He rolled his eyes.

”Not like I didn’t try to finish the job, remember?” Your jaw clenched at his comment, a phantom pain itching in the middle of your chest, radiating down to the center of your sternum, the exact spot his knife had pierced through, where he had twisted.

“Oh, I remember. Evidently, you do too. You must get off to it.” You spat back, watching as Bucky’s smirk vanished from his face. You could’ve sworn you heard the metal of his hand squeaking when he balled it up in a fist. You should’ve stopped there, but you couldn’t let this one go.

”You must really love replaying it,” You sneered, “The way I was pinned under you, screaming at you to let me go, the begging, and the way you took such fucking pleasure in driving that knife in slow-.” Bucky moved so fast you barely saw it coming. He was in your space in a split second, towering over you, his eyes burning holes through yours.

”You going to keep talking?” His voice was low and threatening, his eyes studying you, looking at the way you didn’t back down and recoil. He could see the fire in your eyes, the rage shaking behind them.

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” You said, feigning shock, poking the bear even more, watching his jaw clench.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He growled, stepping closer, his hot breath now fanning over your face, once again you didn’t move back.

“You may have everyone else fooled with your ‘I was brainwashed by HYDRA, I had no control’ schtick, but you and I both know that’s just bullshit.” Bucky’s metal hand immediately launched out at you, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt, yet you remained still, your breath hitching in your throat. Maria jumped into action quickly, making her way over to the scene.

“HEY!” She yelled, putting herself between the both of you, one hand pressing against Bucky’s chest, while the other pushed against your shoulder, attempting to separate the impending fight before it started. Neither of you broke eye contact, as Maria continued to try to make additional space, “Let go of her Bucky.” She commanded, he didn’t flinch, his grip only tightened more, his ice-cold gaze staring at you.

“You want to start something?” Maria added, “Because I promise you, you will not like how it fucking ends. Now let. Go.” She demanded through clenched teeth. There is a beat of silence that comes up between the three of you, as he slowly unclenches his hand, releasing your shirt from his grasp. You shake yourself out a bit, adjusting your top which had now been stretched from how hard he pulled you, the neckline now hanging loosely on your chest. Maria spun around on her heel, looking at you.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” She snapped.

“You’re the one that brought him here, what did you expect me to do? Give him a warm welcome?” She let out a frustrated sigh.

“No. I expect you to act like a professional.” She replied, taking a step closer, “But instead you’re playing chicken with someone who can snap your neck like a twig if he wanted to.” You felt your jaw clench at her words, seething at the tone she was taking.

“And what about him?! He’s the one that got physical first.” She shook her head.

“Yeah because you baited him for a reaction.” She shot back, “We have invested a lot of time and effort undoing what HYDRA did to him. But you can’t be surprised when he has a very human reaction when reminded of the things he’s done in the past.” You could practically feel your blood boiling at this point, hearing the condescending tone she was taking.

“Sure. Let’s just keep making excuses for poor little Bucky who’s trying to figure out how to be a person again.” He stiffened at your words, it wasn’t obvious, but you could see the slight shift.

“Well. At least HYDRA made me useful for something. What’s your excuse?” The second the words left his mouth you saw red.

“Okay. That’s enough!” Maria yelled before you could say anything back, before you could retaliate. Bucky watched you carefully, knowing he won that round. Maria dragged a hand down her face, already exhausted from this encounter, realizing it was only going to get worse once she gave a debrief on the mission she needed to assign them.

“Can we all just please…Sit the fuck down now so we can get on with this meeting?” She asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. You squinted at Bucky, seeing a smirk come up on his face, as he turned around and returned to his seat, the chair creaking under his weight. You huffed, biting into your cheek while you walked to the other side of the conference table, taking a seat opposite of him, avoiding his eyes which were now watching you.

“Alright…” Maria sighed, grabbing two manilla folders from the front cart near the television, sliding one toward you, and the other toward Bucky. You flipped open the file without hesitation, scanning the contents inside, glancing across from you to see that Bucky mirrored your actions, though you could sense he was not paying attention fully.

Timothy Orkolov was the target's name, aged 48, nationality Russian, known aliases; ‘Red Fang’. A high-resolution CCTV image of him was stapled to the corner of the first page. He was midstride, dressed in a long, navy blue, double-breasted overcoat, and black dress pants, with sunglasses pushed against his face, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His salt and pepper beard was trimmed with precision, and his dark brown hair was slicked back and shiny. He looked like a businessman, that was for sure.

"Orkolov has been on our radar for over two years," Maria began, tapping her fingers against the table, her gaze flickering from you to Bucky, "He isn’t just an arms dealer, he’s a facilitator. A broker of power. He’s connected to corrupt officials, private militias, and underground trade networks spanning across Europe. He doesn’t just sell weapons, he sells wars." You glance up at Bucky, watching his jaw tighten slightly at Maria's brief description.

“Great…So he’s a criminal. Why haven’t you guys sent out agents from your team, why do you need us?” You ask, pushing the file away and sitting back in your chair.

“Because we have already sent in our regular agents. Three times actually. They all ended up dead. Does that answer your question?” You glance over at Bucky, who is still flipping through the file, ignoring the conversation.

“So instead of sending one of your own, you decided it was a good idea to throw us at the problem instead? What are we? Expendables?”You questioned, Maria tapped her fingers against the table, feeling an argument beginning.

“No. You’re necessary. We were able to get both of you on his guest list at his club ‘The Velvet Fang’. That’s one step further than the other times we’ve attempted to get someone in.” There is a hint of familiarity that flashes in Bucky’s eyes, as he pushes the file away as well, you can see behind his stoic expression that the cogs in his head are turning.

“Did you use our real names?” He asked, his voice stern, almost like he knew the answer already.

“Yes…Yes, we gave them your real names.” Maria responded quietly, knowing that she had made a mistake. Bucky scoffs.

“No wonder we got on the list…” He ran his hand over his face, glancing over at you, seeing the confusion in your eyes.

“We needed to establish credibility,” Maria said, her voice choking up, a little on edge, not knowing what Bucky was going to do next.

“You needed credibility,” He repeated, the sharp tone of rage boiling beneath his words, “So you decided to hand our names to him on a silver platter? How could you think that was a good idea?” He questioned.

“We had no other ch-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Maria!” He snapped, turning his anger towards you now, “And how could you not be freaking out about this?!” You looked at him now, shrugging.

“Hey, it’s not a life-or-death situation for me. Unlike you, my name isn’t attached to war crimes, assassinations, and a century-long kill list.” He breathed in slowly, trying to compose himself, attempting to lower his anger.

“Just because you couldn’t stomach your orders and defected from HYDRA doesn’t mean anything. How do you think I tracked you down?” He shot back.

“That has no connection to this. Orkolov wouldn’t want anything to do with me because I’m not a fucking animal, an ex-HYDRA member with no hits is not a hot commodity for people like him.” Bucky sat back, his hands rubbing along his pants.

“Being a passive participant doesn’t stop an arms dealer from using you. It’ll be very easy to get you back into your old programming.” Maria looked over at you, watching as you dug your nails into your palm, your jaw clenching at his words.

“There is no old programming to go back to,” You bit out, “I never completed their training and I didn’t get the chair to try to erase who I was either, so you can stop fucking speaking.” You snapped.

“Okay guys, please…Before I start bleeding out of my ears, can we just get this meeting done?” Maria begged, with exhaustion lacing her voice, digging her fingers into her temples, massaging them slowly, “There’s one more thing I need to tell you.” You leaned on the table, letting out a humourless laugh.

“How much worse could it possibly get? Please. Enlighten us.” Bucky looked over at you out of the corner of his eye, then brought his gaze back to Maria’s, watching her shift nervously.

“You guys are going as a couple.” Silence. Dead, thick, suffocating silence. That’s all that hung in the room for the next couple of minutes. “It’s all in the file.” She added, looking down at her hands. The both of you immediately pulled your folders back to each other and flipped to the very last page, seeing the complete narrative that was devised for the both of you. Former HYDRA operatives. Defected together. Fell off the radar together. And now, resurfacing together.

“So that’s why you couldn’t send me with anyone else but him? You’re using our past as your little fucking token?” You questioned.

“I used it as an in. Orkolov doesn’t deal with outsiders. He doesn’t trust new faces. But a couple; one with a history, one with shared scars, one that understands the same darkness he does—that’s a story he’ll believe.” Bucky let out a sharp breath, the kind that sounded like he was seconds away from either punching a hole through the table or walking out of the room entirely. His jaw was tight, his fingers curling into a fist on his knee before he got up to start pacing.

“Your timelines together added up just right for this plan to even work, we couldn’t risk missing the opportunity.” She continued, as Bucky let out a laugh, shaking his head while he paced back and forth with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked onto the floor.

“Our timelines added up?” You repeated, incredulously, pushing the open file away from you once again, “You mean the years I spent trying to escape HYDRA? The fucking manhunt that followed me? The fact that he spent months trying to track me down and brought me to the edge of my fucking life?” You pointed at Bucky, who stopped pacing at the mention of the past, his body coiled tight, “That was just a nice little convenience for your little story huh?” Maria exhaled slowly.

”I know this is a lot-.”

“No,” Bucky cut her off, “A lot is being sent into a hostile situation. A lot is having our real names handed over to a man who probably wants us to reinstate our old HYDRA roles again.” He motioned between you and himself, his glare was all-encompassing, fury-filled, “But this? This is fucking insanity.” Maria nodded.

“I understand it is, and I’m sorry I didn’t run it by the both of you, but we are in a tight time crunch that you don’t seem to be seeing. A war is brewing, and we need intel to save lives, Bucky. You of all people should know what war does to someone.” The words came out of her without time to process what she was just about to say. You could see Bucky’s body go rigid, his breathing slowing down as if he were trying to calm himself. Maria had just thrown gasoline onto a blazing fire, and she knew it right away. You looked over at her, hoping, and waiting for her to backpedal, to apologize, but she held firm, staring at Bucky.

“You don’t get to use that against me.” Maria held his gaze.

“I won’t do it again…I just needed you to understand the direness of the situation.” He reached for the chair he had been sitting in, gripping the top of it, glancing over at you, trying to gauge what you were thinking, but at this point, you were unreadable, you were spaced out, looking at the table. You already realized there was no choice, and Maria wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

---—————-

“So let me get this straight. You and Bucky, the guy who literally almost gutted you like a fish, are going to fly to Vienna, so that you can attend a party and meet a guy who will probably end up either killing the both of you or recruiting you into his little ring of friends?” Natasha asked, her voice edging with something between amusement and disbelief. She lay sprawled out across your bed, watching you rummage through your closet, throwing shirts, jackets, and pants onto the ground as you attempted to find something that would make you blend into The Velvet Fang.

“That about sums it up.” You muttered, tossing another article of clothing to the side. Natasha let out a low whistle, flipping onto her stomach so she could rest her chin on her palm, a smirk plastered on her face. You looked over your shoulder, seeing her ice-blue eyes studying you.

“So…When’s the wedding?” She asked jokingly, trying to lighten the conversation. You rolled your eyes, stepping over the pile of clothes that surrounded you, and throwing yourself down on the bed with a loud thump.

“Please I am in no mood for your jokes.” You groaned, opening your eyes to stare up at the ceiling, your hands lying flat on your stomach. Natasha hummed.

“No jokes? Damn…This must really be killing you.” You shook your head.

“If it was anyone else I would be completely fine with it, but I can see he’s still unstable. You saw me when I defected from HYDRA, I was an absolute mess, it took me months to undo what they did, and I was only there for a year tops. Bucky had been their fucking plaything for decades, there’s no possible way he’s somehow reformed and completely fine.” You explained.

“So you’re scared he’s gonna snap and try and kill you again?” She asked softly, letting the question linger in the air, watching the way you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress.

“I’m not scared of him.” She arched her brow.

“Let’s not try to deflect the real question I just asked you Y/N.” You broke eye contact with her, not wanting to stare at her observant gaze. She knew you too well. She already had her answers. She just wanted to hear it from you.

“It’s not about him trying to kill me, Nat. We are coming face to face with someone who knows about our past with HYDRA. Who knows how long he has had to try and plan something against us. He knows we’re coming, we are on his list. What happens if Orkolov pushes the wrong buttons, and Bucky just loses it? Who do you think he’ll take out first? Hmm?” You asked, feeling the mattress shift, noticing Natasha getting up and walking over to the pile of clothes, shuffling through it to see if she could find something for you herself.

“If he wanted to, if he still had it in him…He would’ve done it when he saw you this morning. Even after you pushed his buttons he didn’t try to put in the kill shot. If it was Winter Soldier Bucky…You would’ve been a bloodstain on that conference room floor.” Natasha’s words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, shifting on the bed, your fingers idly tracing the seam of your sleeve. You wanted to argue, to push back against her calm logic, but you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew she was right. You sat up on your elbows, looking over at her pulling out a short black dress from the pile that you had overlooked, holding it up to herself for a brief moment before tossing it at you.

“This’ll work.” You eyed it skeptically.

“That thing barely has enough fabric to cover my ass…” She smirked.

“I’m pretty sure people at The Velvet Fang will appreciate it.” You ran your hand over the silky material, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

“I can’t believe I’m putting myself out on display like this.” You muttered, lying down on the mattress again, a wave of nausea pouring up your stomach.

“You’re not. You’re just going to be a little bit of eye candy. Nobody is going to be hitting on you, especially if you’re with Bucky.” She pointed out. Her words were meant to be reassuring but they only made your stomach churn even more.

“Great…So now instead of kicking him out a window, I need to hide behind him to ignore any advances.” Natasha laughed, crossing her arms as she leaned against your dresser.

“I wish I could be there to see you play the doting little girlfriend, all wrapped up in her dangerous bad boy boyfriend. You’re gonna have to play nice.” You closed your eyes tightly.

“I’m going to throw myself out of the fucking plane while we’re in the air…That’s the only way I could get out of this.”

“C’mon. Now you’re just being dramatic. You should be taking this as an opportunity to let loose a little bit.” You groaned.

“If letting loose is code for committing manslaughter, I will happily let loose.” Natasha sighed.

“No manslaughter. Just try and have fun. You need to be convincing, if you’re looking miserable with someone who you’re supposed to love, Orkolov will immediately know. You’ll have to practice at least a bit so you two can loosen up and look natural.”

--—————————

Natasha’s words were running through your head the entire time you sat across from Bucky in the jet. The cabin was quiet, apart from the low hum of the engines and the occasional crackle of the intercom. You sat stiffly in your seat, looking at the glass of water on the table in front of you, watching the way it vibrated gently. You could hear him picking at the stitches of the leather seat, trying to distract himself, not wanting to say anything to you, but you could feel his presence, like an itch beneath your skin.

Without Maria, the both of you made an unspoken agreement to avoid having a conversation altogether. But now, halfway into the flight, the silence was starting to wear on you. You had avoided his eyes for the entire time, but when you leaned forward to reach for the glass you had been staring at you could hear the noise of his picking halt and his breath hitch. You looked up at him, seeing the way his jaw was clenched, and how he wasn’t staring at your face, but lower.

“What? What did I-” You looked down at yourself and paused, realizing that in the moment you had moved forward you loose zip up sweater did as well, exposing the top of his handy work. The top part was jagged, where he had twisted and applied pressure, almost like he wanted to break your chest open. You swallowed loudly, remembering the taste of blood that flooded your mouth in those moments before quickly straightening the fabric, bringing the zipper up all the way to your neck. The silence between the both of you stretched with fragility, you were expecting him to look away, but he couldn’t. He cleared his throat, and when he finally spoke he was quieter, his tone almost hollow.

”I didn’t…I didn’t realize it looked like that.” His words were uneven, shaky, and it made you pause. He wasn’t just shocked, he was horrified. You could see the way his fingers twitched, the way they dug into the fabric of his pants like he was trying to ground himself. It felt like someone had split his ribcage open and had begun to squeeze his lungs, wringing out all the air.

”Well…I don’t really go out showing it off to people.” You muttered, bringing your feet up to rest on the seat, so your knees were against your chest.

“I don’t remember…” He exhaled sharply, dragging his dark metal fingers through his hair, shaking his head, “I can’t remember doing it…” You hugged your knees closer to your chest, the weight of his words settling between you like a stone at the bottom of a lake. Bucky shook his head again as if he was trying to jog his memory so that he could rearrange the gaps.

”I remember tracking you.” You looked up at him, noticing the hint of frustration that glimmered in the dim lighting of the cabin. “I remember the order. I remember the fight, the way you used everything in your power to get me. You were…Trying to reach for your gun or a pager…Something, I don’t know.” You could feel your throat tighten, as you leaned forward to grab the glass of water, trying to wash down the lump that was forming, “Then I slammed you on the floor…But the moment it happened…It’s blank like someone ripped it out of my head. It’s a black hole.” You traced the rim of the glass. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he had done it or the fact that they wiped it from his memory.

“Lucky you I guess.” You whispered under your breath, taking another swig of water, feeling it cool your chest. His eyes narrowed.

”Can’t believe you would say something like that.” His voice was quiet.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You replied, settling the glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary, “You don’t carry it the way I have to.”

“I may not remember what I did to you, but do you really think I don’t wake up every fucking day knowing that there are pieces of me…Of the things that I’ve done…That I can’t even remember or be sorry for? I’d rather remember all of it than have these fucking gaps, where I have no idea who I was, what I did, or who I hurt.” His words sat on your chest. There was a part of you that wanted to lash out at him, to shove all the pain back at him with full force, to remind him that no matter how much he suffered you would never forgive him for what he did, that was just the honest truth. But then there was something under the surface, the haunting look in his eyes, the way he seemed like he wanted to crawl into himself and die…It tugged at the person you once were. That person would’ve seen the man in front of them for what he was now, not for what he had been then, but she was buried beneath the layers of anger, beneath everything HYDRA had done to you both. You ran a hand down your face.

”Look…Bucky.” He lifted his head slightly at you, brows knitting together, “I don’t know what you want me to say. That it’s fine? That I don’t think about it? I can’t lie to you about that.” He swallowed hard, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, his hands clasping together.

”All I want is for you to know…That I’d take it back if I could, and that…I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice unsettled you. It was easier when he was cold, when he was just the Winter Soldier and not the man left in the aftermath. You wanted to hold onto your anger, to clutch it tight like it was your armour, but it was slipping through your fingers like sand. You exhaled slowly, staring down at your hands.

”I know…”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” He said, voice low, “I don’t even know if I’d want you to.” You looked at him, the both of you holding each other’s eyes.

”I don’t know if I can…But I know you mean it.” Bucky held your gaze for a moment longer, like he was searching for something in your face, something you weren’t sure you could give him. Then he nodded, a small, barely-there movement, and looked down at the table between you. You sighed, shifting in your seat.

”We still need to come up with a story that we are going to tell Orkolov if he asks us about our past.” Bucky rubbed the sweat off his palm.

”Yeah…Forgot about that.” He sat back in his seat, tilting his head against the headrest, eyes flicking toward the light above the both of you, “So, where do we start?” You shoved your hands into your sweater pocket.

”We can’t make it too perfect. If it’s too clean, he will know we rehearsed it, and that we’re lying.” He nodded, rolling his shoulders.

”Alright. So, we need just enough truth to give it that believability.” You nodded. He drummed his fingers against his knee.

”We start with HYDRA. Orkolov knows that we both left the place. I don’t know if he knows how much involvement you had in the place but we can keep it vague.”

”We can say I was assigned to intelligence. Data collection, infiltration? Something that didn’t leave much of a paper trail.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’ll also explain why my name doesn’t come up as often as yours, and I won’t have to explain why I really left.” Bucky hummed in agreement, rubbing his jaw as he thought it over.

”That works. They trained you but it was separate from the rest of us. They won’t suspect anything.” You gulped, pushing away the memories before they had a chance to settle into you.

”So how did we end up meeting then?” You questioned.

”When you defected, they sent me after you.” He responded simply, “It’ll explain the scar, and the reason why you’re not dead.” You shifted in your seat.

”Right…Because you hesitated.” A lie, but it was believable. Bucky nodded once.

”Something about you made me stop. I didn’t understand why, and I let you go.” You inhaled deeply.

”And HYDRA dragged you back in and wiped you again, tried to erase whatever it was that made you hesitate to finish the job.” He looked at you.

”But it didn’t stick, and then I found you again.” You swallowed, slowly nodding, glancing down at your hands as you traced the storyline in your mind, fitting the pieces together intricately, patching up whatever holes would be in the story.

”How?” Bucky shrugged.

”I don’t know, maybe I just started remembering things I wasn’t supposed to. Then I knew I needed to find you.” You took a steady breath.

”So you found me…And we made a pact to stick together, then somewhere along the way we got close. We had no one else, relied on each other, and just…Fell into it.” This was all just a cover, a fabrication designed to protect you both. But as you studied Bucky’s face, the way his fingers twitched slightly on the table, the way his throat bobbed with an unspoken thought, you realized just how convincing it sounded, even to yourselves. He cleared his throat, letting out a small cough.

”Yeah, I think that story is easy to sell.” You ran through it together once again, ironing out the little details, and making sure there were no weaknesses. Once you were finished there was only an hour left before you landed in Vienna, and thankfully things had cooled down a bit.

”Alright. So we stick to that story, no hesitations, no second guessing.” He nodded, his fingers tapping against the table.

”And what about the physical stuff?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You looked at him, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against the table like he was trying to find a rhythm to keep himself grounded. He didn’t like the idea any more than you did, but you both knew it was necessary.

”It has to look and be natural.” You responded, “If we’re stiff or uncomfortable Orkolov will immediately see it. We don’t have to overdo it, but we can’t act like we are business partners either.” You added, taking another sip of your water.

”So, what’s the expectation here? Hand on your back? Arm around your waist? Holding hands? K-Kissing?” He stuttered on the last word, covering it up with a forced cough, his eyes flicking away from you. You could feel the nausea building in your stomach again, as you gulped down the rest of the water, trying to buy yourself time to cool yourself down.

“Touching needs to look natural, with no flinching or discomfort. We can’t force it. We take the opportunities when it feels like the right time.” You paused momentarily, “And kissing will happen only if necessary.” You clarified.

“Right,” He muttered, “Only if necessary.” You shifted again, absentmindedly scratching at the scar on your chest.

”If we don’t think about it so much, we will be fine.” Bucky nodded, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting in his seat before looking at you again.

“Maybe we should practice.” He suggested, his voice low. Your eyebrows raised at him, and he realized what he had said, “Not…not everything, obviously, it’s just to get used to it. If we go in cold, it’ll be obvious we don’t know how to act around each other.” You hated that he had a point, it would be obvious if the both of you were looking like you were being held at gunpoint by one another every time you touched, practice was a necessary evil unfortunately.

“Alright. What do you want to start with?” Bucky hesitated.

”Hand holding would be good I guess.” He exhaled, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants before bringing his right hand onto the table, facing it palm up. You shook your head.

”What?” He asked, looking at his hand, then back at you.

“I want the metal one.” He looked down at it.

“It’s vibranium.” He corrected quietly. You rolled your eyes.

”Okay. I want the vibranium one. Better?” He sighed, lifting his left hand up and placing it on the table between you. The dark material shined beneath the light, the small slivers of gold contrasting against the harsh black that lined the entire appendage. You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his. You expected the cool metal against your skin but got something different.

”Do you have a heater in this thing or something? Why is it so warm?” You asked, earning a small laugh from him, your thumb running over the palm of his hand, watching the slivers of gold pulsing when he moved his fingers slightly.

”I had it under my thigh when we were going over our little cover-up story.” He admitted. You raised a brow at him, your lips twitching upward.

”So what? You were preheating it for me?” He shook his head.

”Didn’t expect you to ask for the vibranium hand, so I guess it was just luck.” You hummed at his comment, trailing your fingers up his forearm, feeling the smooth, almost seamless transition between the plates. It was strange how human it felt, despite what it was.

“Can I ask what happened to the other one?” You could feel his fingertips twitch against your skin at the question, and for a moment he didn’t say anything, then he looked up at you.

“Stark blew it off…Back at a HYDRA facility in Siberia.” He responded, his voice flat, unaffected. You were surprised by this anecdote, and you were even more caught off guard that Steve never told you this, not that you ever asked about Bucky, he knew that subject was off limits.

“I didn’t know that.” He nodded.

“Yeah…I did attack him technically so it wasn’t unprovoked.” He admitted, breaking eye contact, “I’m pretty sure it also happened when you were in the hospital so that’s why you weren’t privy to what was going on.” You hadn’t considered that before, how much had happened in the world while you were recovering, piecing yourself back together in a sterile hospital room, drowning in silence while everything kept moving without you. He watched your fingers tracing the small patterns on his arm until you reached his hand again, hesitating for a moment before you laced your fingers between his. Neither of you spoke, you just sat, watching the way your hands fit together, squeezing slightly when adjusting your grips. His fingers closed around yours with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“This is…A little weird.” Bucky admitted.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Neither of you let go, though.

“You don’t have to keep holding it if it makes you uncomfortable.” He muttered, his eyes flickering up to yours.

“It’s not uncomfortable.” You responded, shaking your head. He went to say something, but before he could the pilot got on the intercom.

“We’re approaching Vienna,” The pilot announced, causing the both of you to look up, “Please fasten your seatbelts.” You looked back at him, and with slight reluctance, let his hand go. As the jet began its descent, the hum of the engines shifted, and the subtle change in angle caused your stomach to drop. You adjusted your seatbelt tightly against your stomach, glancing over at Bucky, who was relaxing in his spot, looking totally unbothered.

“Are you always this relaxed when the plane is landing?” You asked, a wave of nausea bubbling in your stomach as you adjusted your grip on the armrest.

“Yeah pretty much. Been on enough planes to know when to start panicking.” A groan escaped your throat, trying to ease the sickness.

“That’s really not helping right now.” Bucky smirked, adjusting himself in his seat.

“What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you we’re perfectly safe?” He mocked, as you groaned again at the turbulence.

“Yes,” You gritted your teeth, “A lie would be great.”

“Alright, alright.” He said, leaning forward slightly, “This is the smoothest landing I’ve ever been on. There’s nothing to worry about. The pilot is probably doing this with his eyes closed.” He whispered, holding back his laughter. You squinted at him.

“That didn’t help either.” You said, squeezing the armrest again. He sighed, reaching his vibranium hand out, and tapping his fingers against the table to get your attention.

“Instead of taking your anger out on the leather…And for practice, since I can tell you’re uncomfortable and a boyfriend would offer some form of comfort.” You let out a small laugh, “And considering you looked less miserable when you were holding it earlier…Thought it would be worth a shot.” Once again the jet moved and your stomach lurched.

“Okay okay!” You exclaimed, grabbing onto his hand, feeling his fingers wrap around yours instantly.

“Are you going to be sick?” You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly. Bucky’s grip was firm but not constricting, the warmth from his vibranium fingers grounding you as you exhaled through your nose.

"Are you sure?" He asked again, quieter this time. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the small motion doing more to settle you than anything else had so far.

"Yeah, just-" You inhaled sharply as the wheels made contact with the runway, the force of the landing pressing you back against your seat. You squeezed his hand a little harder than you probably needed to, but he didn’t say anything, he just let you hold on as long as you needed to.

When the plane finally came to a halt, the pressure in your stomach eased. You opened your eyes, releasing a slow breath before blinking up at him, seeing his eyebrows were raised.

“You good now?” He asked, his thumb still absentmindedly brushing against your knuckles.

”Mhm…” You exhaled, loosening your grip from his, though you hesitated before fully letting go, “I think I can walk out of this thing without embarrassing myself too much.” He retracted his hand, unbuckling his seatbelt.

”Would’ve been great if you puked all over the runway though.” You shot him a glare.

”Real supportive there Bucky.” You replied, unbuckling your seatbelt as well, standing up from your spot.

”Hey, I held your hand.” He shrugged, a small laugh escaping his mouth.

”I’m going to put that on your fake boyfriend record…Decent under pressure, but D minus for aftercare.” He smirked.

”Duly noted, I’ll be sure to add something to your fake girlfriend record too.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your duffle bag from under your seat, throwing it over your shoulder.

“Hey hey. No. Hand me the bag.” He protested, causing your gaze to snap to his.

”What?” You questioned, your eyebrows knitting together.

”We have no idea if they’re already watching, I might as well be seen as a gentleman, not a douchebag that lets his partner carry her alarmingly large bag on her own.” You sighed, rolling your eyes but handing over the duffle bag anyways.

”If you start complaining about how heavy it is, I’m taking it back.” Bucky scoffed, effortlessly slinging the bag over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I’ve carried bodies heavier than this.” He responded.

”Wow. How romantic.” You shot back sarcastically, while walking towards the exit of the jet.

”It’s just part of the charm, sweetheart.” You could feel your cheeks heat up slightly at the nickname, as the cold Vienna air washed over your face. The tarmac was quiet, save for the faint buzzing of the airport staff moving around in the distance. Once you had walked down the steps you waited for Bucky before proceeding to the sleek black car that idled at the curb, it’s glossy surface reflecting the warm glow of the nearby streetlights. A man leaned casually against the trunk, arms crossed over his chest. His attire is meticulous; a well-fitted suit, dark leather gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat casting a subtle shadow over his sharp features. He looked extremely professional, though his posture had an air of indifference, like he’d been standing there too long and was ready to be anywhere else. When he had seen the both of you approaching he immediately straightened out, a small smile coming up on his face.

”Mr. Barnes.” He greeted, giving him a nod, “Welcome to Vienna.”

”Thank you.” The driver’s gaze then flickered toward you, as he gave you a nod as well.

”It’s a pleasure to have you as well Mrs…?” Bucky didn’t hesitate.

”Hopefully Mrs. Barnes one day,” He said smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, fingers resting very lightly at your hip. You were caught off guard by how effortlessly he delivered the line, but you held a casual smile. The driver’s eyebrows lifted slightly, smirking, clearly entertained by Bucky’s response.

”A man with a plan. I respect that.” You forced a laugh, leaning into the act as much as possible.

“Always so charming.” You commented, resting your hand on his rigid abdomen. The driver smiled.

”Well, let’s get you two lovebirds to the hotel then!” He exclaimed, clasping his hands together as he walked towards the drivers side of the car. Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened just enough to remind you of the role you were playing, as he let go, moving to the trunk to put your duffle bags into it. You slid into the backseat, with Bucky following close behind. The leather interior was soft against your back as the both of you settled in, relaxing on your respective sides.

The car eased away from the airport, quickly merging onto the quiet streets of Vienna. The city was bathed in the golden glow of streetlights, the architecture looked regal and timeless against the dark sky, if you weren’t here for a mission you would’ve loved to explore more. The hum of the engine filling the space between you and Bucky. The driver adjusted his rearview mirror so he could look at the both of you.

”So, are you guys celebrating something special?” He asked, his voice casual as he maneuvered the car through the empty city streets.

“Our one year anniversary actually.” Bucky answered without hesitation. The driver let out a whistle.

”Wow, one year huh? That’s always a big one. First anniversaries are always special.” The driver’s enthusiasm was palpable, his grin wide and toothy. “First year of a relationship can always be the hardest they say, what’s the secret to making it?” He asked, glancing back at the road.

”Patience, and knowing when to pick your battles.” Bucky responded. You let out a short laugh at his response.

”That’s very funny coming from you.” Bucky smirked, glancing at you.

”What? You disagree?” You tilted your head, pretending to mull it over.

”Let’s say you have a very selective definition of ‘picking your battles.’” The driver chuckled at the interaction.

”It sounds like the both of you keep each other on your toes.”

“You could say that,” You replied, a playful tone lacing your voice, as you shot Bucky a knowing look.

“That’s how you know it’s real though. You guys can argue, but at the end of the day, you still choose each other.” He paused, then added, “You two planning anything special while you’re here?” Bucky hummed, glancing over at you before responding.

”Haven’t locked anything down yet, but we had some ideas. Sightseeing, going to some top rated restaurants, maybe a little dancing.” The driver nodded.

“Well, if you’re looking for ideas, you picked a great city to celebrate in.” He gestured out the windshield as he made a turn. “Vienna’s got something for everyone. You into history? The Schönbrunn Palace is breathtaking. Art? You can’t miss the Belvedere Museum. Or maybe you want something more intimate, the sunset at the Danube Tower is unforgettable.” Bucky drummed his fingers lightly against his thigh.

”Oh you’ve definitely given us some great suggestions, it’s going to be hard to narrow it down.” You nodded, agreeing with him, the mission still looming in the back of your mind.

”You know…You two remind me of my wife and I when we first started going out.” Bucky raised a brow, glancing over at you.

”Yeah?”

”Definitely,” He responded, his hands steady on the wheel, “Always teasing, making little quips at each other, but at the end of the day there was never any doubt that we were solid.” He turned down another street, “That’s how you know it’s real. When you can drive each other absolutely crazy and you still wouldn’t trade them for the world.” Bucky let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, glancing over at you.

”Well, we’ve definitely got the ‘driving each other crazy’ part down…Don’t we doll?” You wanted to nudge him in the ribs, but you held yourself back.

”Oh yeah. Definitely.” The driver let out a hearty laugh, as the car slowed, approaching a grand hotel. Its entrance was illuminated by the soft glow of golden lanterns, the stairs leading up to the towering glass doors were lined with polished stones, where a doorman in a crisp uniform stood at attention, watching him coming down the steps as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.

”Well, lovebirds, here we are.” The driver announced with a grin as he shifted the car into park, “Welcome to the Imperial!” Bucky exhaled through his nose, glancing over at you, a look of relief washing over his face. He must’ve been itching to get out of the car right when the driver started asking questions. Bucky took his wallet out quickly, handing the man a tip.

“Thank you for the ride.” He said, wasting no time opening the door and stepping out, holding his hand out for you to grab, still trying to keep up appearances.

“Enjoy your stay! And remember, don’t sweat the small stuff.” Bucky leaned down to look at the man.

”We’ll keep it in mind. Thank you again.” He responded politely, closing the door behind him, as the doorman opened the trunk of the car.

“Welcome to the Imperial! I’ll bring your bags in for you, no need to wait for me, you can go and get yourselves checked in.” Bucky gave the doorman a quick nod. You could tell he was eager to get inside and escape the unnecessary small talk, just like you at this point. His hand pressed lightly against your lower back, as he gestured for you to head towards the entrance first.

The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the hotel lobby enveloped you, a stark contrast to the bitter night air that was brewing outside. The Imperial exuded luxury in every detail; polished marble floors reflected the golden glow of crystal chandeliers overhead, and the faint scent of fresh lilies mingled with the rich aroma of tobacco, like someone had lit a cigar and left it out to marinate. Ornate columns framed the space, leading toward an opulent sitting area where a handful of late-night guests lingered over drinks, their laughter a quiet murmur beneath the soft classical music playing from hidden speakers. You both walked by, garnering their attention for a brief moment before they returned back to their conversations.

Behind the counter, a woman in her mid-thirties with sharp cheekbones, deep red lipstick, and perfectly slicked back brown hair stood, looking at her computer screen with an emotionless expression, nothing behind the eyes.. When she heard you approaching her gaze flicked up, lingering on Bucky for just a little longer than necessary before looking at you. You could see her straighten her back, almost to puff her chest out, and her expression shifted into something more warm and inviting.

”Good evening! Welcome to the Imperial,” She greeted smoothly, her voice like silk against the air, “Do you have a reservation with us this evening?” Bucky gave her a small nod, taking out his wallet.

”Uh…It should be under Barnes. James Barnes.” You glanced over at him, watching him pull out a credit card that had his name scrawled on the back of it, handing it over to her so she could compare the information. She glanced at the card then her screen, scrolling through the list of guests.

”Ah,” She murmured, tapping the enter key, “Here you are. A deluxe suite. What an excellent choice.” Her smile widened ever so slightly, as she handed Bucky’s card back, letting her fingers graze his. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, it was barely noticeable. He took his card back, clearing his throat slightly.

”The deluxe suite is one of our finest…It’s spacious, private…Perfect for an…” She let the words linger, tilting her head a bit, “Intimate getaway.” You were growing increasingly uncomfortable with the interaction, and you could tell by the way Bucky was fidgeting he was probably in the same boat. He gave her a polite nod, slipping his card back into his wallet.

”It sounds like we got lucky.” The receptionist's smile didn’t waver, if anything it grew even wider.

“Oh, I’d say you’re very lucky, Mr. Barnes.” Her voice dipped just enough into suggestiveness that it caused Bucky’s grip on his wallet to tighten, as her eyes roamed over him. She picked up a black folder, sliding it towards him with ease.

”All the details of your stay will be in here, your key card, the room service menu, spa packages…” She trailed off, her manicured nails tapping against the folders edge, “And of course, if you need anything extra, I’d be happy to personally ensure your stay is perfect.” Bucky nodded stiffly, shifting his weight into you a bit, desperate to wrap this interaction up.

”I appreciate it.” He responded, stepping back a bit, as you took the folder from the desk. Before the receptionist could say anything else, the doorman came in, carrying both of your bags with practiced ease.

”Here we are!” He announced, “Would you like me to bring them up to your suite for you?” Bucky shook his head, jumping at the chance to break free from the lingering tension.

”No need. I got it.” He held his hand out, grabbing both bags from the man, throwing them over his shoulder, his biceps flexing against his fitted long sleeve shirt. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the receptionist’s gaze flicking downward, taking in the ease of his actions, obviously enjoying the view. You let out a small exasperated sigh, as you leaned into Bucky a little more, dragging your hand up his torso, feeling his muscles flinch slightly.

”Baby, can we please go up to the room now? I’ve been dying for a bit of privacy since we got off the plane.” He looked over at you, his eyes widened a bit, taken off guard by your sudden change in tone, now slipping in to save him from being flirted with.

”Of course…Yeah. Where are the elevators?” The both of you turned your attention back to the receptionist, seeing that her expression of lust had faltered just a bit, her smiling tightening at the edges.

”They’re going to be down the hallway to your left. Enjoy your stay.” Bucky didn’t waste a second, moving away from the desk, slipping his hand to your lower back guiding you to the elevators.

As soon as the doors slid closed, the both of you quickly unravelled yourselves from each other, standing on different sides of the elevator.

”Jesus Christ.” Bucky muttered, staring up at the mirrored ceiling, “That was awful.” You smirked.

”She was just being nice.” Bucky’s head snapped down.

”Nice? She was acting like she was going to rip my clothes off in the middle of the lobby. I was about five seconds away from running for my life.” You laughed.

”Who knew the Winter Soldier would be afraid of a little flirting.” Bucky scoffed.

”I’ve seen flirting before. That was not flirting.” He insisted, “And you could’ve stepped in a little sooner y’know.” You let out a soft laugh.

”Well, maybe I wanted to watch you simmer a little bit. You’re the one that went off kilter with the anniversary thing with the driver, it was just pay back.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, shifting his stance a bit, feeling the elevator stop on your floor.

”Yeah…I guess you’re right.” A ding echoed through the small space, signalling your arrival, “Let’s just get inside the room before she comes chasing after us asking if I want a private spa service or something.” He wasted no time stepping out of the elevator, adjusting his grip on the bags, with you following him closely down the lavishly decorated hallway. The plush navy carpet absorbed your footsteps, it felt like you were walking on memory foam. You took the keycard out of the folder the receptionist gave, as you reached your suite, sliding it through with euro hesitation, hearing the door click open, pushing it open wide before slipping into the suite.

You step in first, taking in the expansive suite with its elegant decor. The soft yellow lighting illuminates the room, casting a warm glow all over the navy accents that were strewn about the room. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city, and from way up there you could see things were still buzzing. It was undeniably luxurious, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you were there in the first place. Your eyes continued to skim over the accommodations, as Bucky stepped in behind you, dropping the bags in front of the closet, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Damn…Pretty fancy.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he began to wander. You stepped towards the windows, wanting to get a better look at the view, crossing your arms over your stomach to hold yourself. Bucky moved toward the small kitchenette, his fingers drumming along the marble countertop.

“Mmm…At least we got a free bottle of champagne.” He announced, as you looked over your shoulder, seeing him turn the bottle towards you, a smirk on his lips, placing it back down on the counter, so that he could continue to explore the suite further, disappearing behind a partially opened door. You heard him hum in mild amusement before poking his head out.

”You’d be happy to know that the bed is massive. You’re gonna love it.” You stepped away from the window, making your way toward the bedroom. The room matched the accents of the main living area, the deep navy, the gold accents, the thick carpeting, with a bed so big that it could at least fit three people comfortably.

“It’s nice.” Bucky smirked, watching as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

”There’s just one issue.” Bucky raised a brow.

”What?” You motioned to the wall opposite of the bed.

”There’s no TV in here…” He glanced at the wall.

”Guess they think people coming in here don’t need distractions.” You let out a quiet sigh.

”I can’t sleep without background noise.” You murmured, seeing Bucky’s face fall a bit, now realizing you were being serious. You slipped out of the bedroom, hearing Bucky’s footsteps following close behind.

”Is that a you thing or…Is that a HYDRA thing?” He asked, watching as you went over to the counter that had the bottle of champagne on it, ripping off the black foil.

”I think you can take a guess,” You responded, twisting the metal that was holding the cork on the bottle. His jaw ticked, not needing to push you any further for details, as he moved towards you, leaning against the counter, his fingers idly tapping against his bicep.

”I get it.” You threw the curled metal onto the counter, putting your hand over the cork, turning it slowly.

”Sure.” The tone was a bit dismissive, and you didn’t mean for it to sound that way, all you wanted to do was avoid the conversation about HYDRA.

”I sleep on the floor, with the lights on, and even when those conditions are met I still can’t get a normal night's rest. So I do get it Y/N.” Your movements faltered for a moment, your grip on the cork tightening. The tension in Bucky’s voice wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t light either. You swallowed thickly, letting the words settle between the both of you until the cork popped with a soft thud. You reached for the two tubular glasses and poured the champagne into them slowly, being mindful of the bubbles that frothed at the surface. Bucky stayed where he was, as you handed him a full glass.

”If you need the background noise you can sleep out here, if you want.” You glanced up at him.

“What?” He motioned towards the couch in the living room area.

”You can take the couch since I won’t be using it, and I don’t mind background noise…I probably won’t be sleeping tonight anyways.” You hesitated for a moment, taking a small sip from the champagne glass, letting the sweet, and bitter flavour mingle on your tongue.

“Couch it is…I guess.” You responded. Bucky gave a tiny, satisfied nod before raising his glass slightly, not as a toast, just as a simple acknowledgment of the situation, with you mirroring the same gesture, the both of you downing the whole glass in one go. The fizzy liquid burned slightly on the way down, but it was far from it being unpleasant. If anything, it helped take the edge off, even if it was just a little. Your tongue swiped across your lips, chasing the lingering taste.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to settle in.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

”Could be worse, we could be stuck in some rundown motel with paper-thin walls.” Bucky smirked, setting his empty champagne glass down on the counter with a quiet clink.

”I actually think if we were in a rundown motel less eyes would be on us.” You placed your glass down as well.

”Yeah, but then we’d have to deal with the possibility of bedbugs, a busted heater, and a crappy television set.”

”Sounds like a real test of endurance.” He quipped, as he grabbed the countertop with his hands.

”Mmm, real elite training there Bucky. Maybe throw in some mystery stains on the carpet for a little bit of spice.” He snorted, shaking his head as he reached for one of the mini bottles of whisky that came with the mini bar.

”Speaking of challenges, we should probably get something to eat before we start drinking more.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”Did we get different super serums or something? Because I could’ve sworn I don’t get drunk and I’ve really tried to override that.” He smirked, twisting off the small cap from the bottle, taking a sip.

”No, we definitely have similar versions if you don’t get drunk, but then again I haven’t really ran into anyone else like us to ask this question.” You hummed, handing him the room service menu.

”Well, if we ever do, I think that’ll be the first question I ask. Forget the whole ‘where are you from, what’s your story’, I’m leading with ‘can you go through multiple large bottles of alcohol and not absolutely destroy your liver?’” Bucky laughed.

”Yeah, it’s definitely an important question to ask, skip all the pleasantries, get straight to the essentials.” You smirked, watching as he flipped open the menu, his eyes skimming along the items.

”Alright, what are we thinking? Fries? Sliders? Mystery meat from the hotel’s five-star kitchen?” You shrugged, leaning against the counter.

”Honestly, just order anything. As long as it’s not snails or something that still has a face.” He nodded, reaching for the phone.

”Don’t worry, I have the same sentiment. No fine dining nightmares.” You listened as he placed the order, keeping it simple with fries, sliders, and a charcuterie board because he wanted something to pick at. He also made sure to add the large bottle of whisky onto the order just before hanging up.

”They said it’ll be here in about thirty minutes.” He said, stretching his arms above his head to crack his back and neck.

”Alright, I’m gonna hit the shower first then since it’s gonna be a bit of a wait.” Bucky nodded.

”Go for it, I’ll make sure they don’t slip something into our food.” You made your way over to your bag, grabbing the pajamas you brought before heading toward the bathroom.

”Ever the soldier, Barnes.”

”Hey, it comes with the territory.” He shot back, as you closed the door behind you. The space was sleek and modern, all marble and gold accents, the kind of luxury that made you hesitate for a second. It felt too pristine, too untouched. You shook off the thought and turned the shower on, letting the water heat up as steam filled the room. You peeled your clothes off, leaving them in a small pile on the floor, before stepping under the boiling water, sighing as the heat ran over your skin. You could feel the tension in your muscles melt away, and for the first time in the last few hours, you felt yourself truly relax beneath the stream.

You ran your hands over your arms, watching the droplets of water slide over your skin, reaching over to pump a bit of body wash into your hand. The lush scent of lavender tickled your nose, as you ran the soap along the planes of your body, taking time with yourself to just absorb the calm environment. It wasn’t often that you got to enjoy something as simple as a hot shower without rushing, nor without your mind racing. You lingered longer than usual, running your hands over your body, tracing the rivulets of water as they slid down your skin. It felt indulgent in a way—like taking your time was a luxury.

After a while, the heat began to weigh on you, and you reached to turn off the water, stepping out onto the plush bath mat. The mirror was fogged over, your reflection blurring at the edges as you wiped a hand across the glass

You grabbed a towel, running it over your arms and legs before wrapping it around yourself. The air was noticeably cooler now that you were out of the shower, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just been under. You stood for a moment, looking at your reflection before grabbing your pajamas, and pulling them on, starting with your baggy tan t-shirt, then ending with your shorts that you could barely see due to the length of the top. You stopped to look at your reflection for a moment, turning to the side to look at the three deep scar tissue marks on your outer thigh, your fingertips running along them, letting out a frustrated sigh, before fixing the shirt over it. You hung the damp towel on the back of the door, stepping back out into the main area of the suite, pushing your hair out of your face. Bucky was sitting at the little coffee table, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, looking up when the floor creaked.

His blue eyes scanned over you quietly. You could see the way they roamed up your bare legs, the way he stared at the oversized shirt that silhouetted over your figure. Just for a second you caught a subtle shift in his expression, but he didn’t say anything, he glanced back down at his glass, running his thumb over the rim of the glass. You weren’t sure if his reaction made you feel awkward, but you tried not to notice it, as you made your way to the seat across from him, seeing the food had already arrived and he had waited for you. The charcuterie board was neatly arranged, the sliders looked perfectly cooked, and the fries were still warm, the smell of salt and crisped potatoes filling the air.

“I’m impressed you didn’t rip this entire plate apart.” You said, reaching for a fry, before plopping yourself down on the seat in front of him. Bucky brought his glass of whiskey to his lips.

”Figured it’d be rude if I didn’t wait.” He explained, taking a sip. You hummed in approval, popping the fry into your mouth.

“How thoughtful.” Bucky’s eyes rested on yours for a moment, as he settled his glass down.

”You want some?” He asked, gesturing to the bottle of whiskey. You nodded, grabbing the empty glass in front of you, holding it out for him to pour into. The amber liquid sloshed around slightly, just before he set the bottle back down on the table. You brought the drink up to your lips, taking a small sip, feeling the heat spreading in your mouth, then down your throat. Bucky cleared his throat, gaining your attention.

”I just…I just want to ask.” He hesitated, looking through the glass coffee table at the three scars on your outer thigh. You traced his eyesight, and looked down, “Did I…?” You blinked, caught off guard for a second. He looked like he was bracing himself, waiting to hear another thing he had done that he completely forgot about. You immediately shook your head.

”No,” You replied. “It wasn’t you.” His shoulders relaxed, but the tension didn’t fully leave his face.

”Alright,” He muttered, his eyes still lingering on them, because now he was thinking about who might’ve done it to you.

”Bucky,” You said gently, drawing his attention back up to you, “You don’t have to hold your breath every time you notice something. Trust me, you would’ve known if you caused this.” Bucky nodded slowly, his fingers toying with the rim of his glass again.

“Just wanted to check.” You exhaled softly.

”I get it.” And you really did. His mind was just jumping to the worst-case scenario, as if it was easier for him to believe he was the cause of all the violence you had experienced in your life, rather than realize, for once, he wasn’t to blame.

The two of you continued to pick at the food, trading quiet conversation between bites, until exhaustion started to creep in. You glanced over at the clock, seeing that it was almost 3 o’clock in the morning, groaning as you pushed yourself up from your seat.

“I’m gonna grab the duvet off the bed,” You said, heading towards the bedroom. Bucky watched you disappear before he stood as well, stretching his arms above his head. By the time you returned with the thick duvet and matching pillow bundled in your arms, he had already grabbed a folded blanket from the closet, and was tossing it down onto the floor near the couch. You shifted past him, letting the duvet unravel in your hands, dropping it over the couch, adjusting it as you threw the pillow down on top of it, before sliding beneath the covering, pulling it up to your neck, letting out a sigh at the warmth.

Bucky turned on the television, and left on one of the side table lamps that was closest to him, as he got himself comfortable on the floor beside the couch, shaking his blanket out and carefully lowering himself down with ease, making it clear that it wasn’t his first rodeo. He let out a small groan, turning onto his side so he was facing the muddied infomercials that were on the screen, shifting so he could get comfortable.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the television. The infomercials blurred into background noise, a comforting, monotonous buzz against the silence that had settled between the two of you. You lay on the couch, your head sinking into the pillow, but your mind wasn’t quite ready to shut off yet. You glanced over the side of the couch, looking at Bucky who was now laying on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, while his vibranium fingers flexed against the fabric of his shirt.

“Bucky.” You whispered, he hummed, opening his eyes to look up at you.

”Yeah?” He asks, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

“What are you thinking about?” You hear him swallow at the question, watching him shift a bit.

”The usual things I think about. Sometimes I get these headaches, and I get these…Memories of things. I don’t know if it’s from all the mind wiping they did to me, but it’s like it fills in the gaps.” You could see the tension in his jaw, and the way he was running his vibranium hand along his shirt, like he was trying to soothe himself.

”What kind of memories?” You asked softly.

”Not the good ones…It’s always people I don’t recognize, but it’s usually safe to assume I’ve hurt them in some way.” He whispered, “It’s not clear enough to tell. It’s fragments. A voice, a place, a feeling. I don’t even know if they’re real or not, because I don’t remember things completely, you know what I mean?” You nodded slowly, your fingers curling into the edge of the duvet.

”I get it.” You replied, his eyes flickered toward you.

”Yeah?” You exhaled slowly, shifting on the couch so you were in his line of sight.

”Well, I didn’t go through what you did, but after I escaped and defected, I went through a period where I was constantly having nightmares. I was an absolute wreck. I still have moments where I remember things and it scares the shit out of me, because it feels like I’m back there.” Bucky let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t one of amusement.

”Seems like we have something in common, some nights I wake up and it’s like I’m back there being pinned against the new soldiers all over again, getting the crap beat out of me because HYDRA wanted to see if they were as strong as their first prototype.” You could feel a shiver creep up your bones as you moved back a bit.

”I escaped before they could pin me against you.” He let out a slow breath.

”I know…If I can remember anything about you from back then, it’s that HYDRA had a vendetta against you. That’s why when you escaped they sent me after you.” You nodded.

”Because I broke their precious programming.”

”Mmm, and it pissed them off.” He smirked, “They don’t like loose ends.” You laughed a bit.

”No, they don’t. I’m shocked they never found out that I lived through your attack.” You said, digging your nails into your palm.

“When I found out from Steve that you were still alive I thought he was joking, I had never failed a mission. I kept saying that to him too, and he kept telling me you were in the hospital. Still kicking. Recovering from what I did. He never went into detail about what I had done, probably to not add to the psychological torment.” You smirked.

”Yeah when he told me that he told you I was still alive I almost punched a hole through him.” Bucky let out a small laugh.

”Sounds about right…” He paused, still running his fingers over his top, “Can I be honest about something though?”

“Of course.” He sighed, sitting up so he was face to face with you.

”When he told me you were alive I was really relieved.” You studied him for a moment, seeing him push his hair out of his face, “And when he would come see me…I would ask how you were.” You leaned up on your arm, surprised by this admission, taken completely off guard by what he was saying, “He would tell me all the little updates, but he also told me to not show my face or else you would probably kill me.” You raised your eyebrows at him, remembering the times where Steve would casually ask the nurses if there was anything new going on with me, realizing that it wasn’t for him, it was for Bucky.

”Well he wasn’t wrong there…Even in the briefing room yesterday I was contemplating killing you.” You commented.

”Yeah, I could see it in your eyes when you saw me. I knew you weren’t going to be happy to see me, but my goodness I didn’t think you were going to go in so hard on me.” You scratched the back of your neck.

”Can’t really blame me there…I’m sorry for those things I said though, I got really nasty, and I hit below the belt, and Maria was right...I pushed your buttons.” He shook his head.

”It’s okay, I deserved it, and for what it’s worth…I’m also sorry for getting in your face during that whole thing. Should’ve just let you take your anger out on me, just like everyone used to.” For a long moment the two of you just stayed still, facing each other. The room felt like it had shrunk around you, but it wasn’t suffocating at all. Bucky’s eyes flickered over your face, trying to figure out what you were thinking, but he couldn’t find anything. The weight of everything that had just been spoken about beared down on the both of you, but it had softened some of the resentment you were still holding onto. He watched as you sat up, pushing the duvet off you, and before he could ask what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around him, bringing him in for a hug.

Immediately he stiffened, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. You felt so warm against him, that it took a moment to register what was happening, but when he finally pulled himself out of his racing thoughts, he released a quiet shudder, and wrapped his arms around you as well. You weren’t sure why you had done it. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the weight of everything between you two, pressing in from all sides. But as you held him, you could feel the tension in his body, the way his breathing had become uneven, shallow.

And then, you felt it.

A single shuddered breath against your shoulder. The quietest sniff—so small, so restrained, as if he was fighting against it with everything he had, and then a few warm droplets hitting the fabric of your shirt. Tears. You could feel his arms tighten around you ever so slightly, digging his face into your shoulder like he was shielding himself, or so you couldn’t move back to see him. You breathed in, catching the sweet minty scent of his clothes for a brief moment, as you ran a hand down his back to soothe him. He trembled against you, another sob escaping his throat, muffled by your shoulder.

“I-“ He tried to speak, but his voice was cut off by him breathing in.

”Shh…You don’t have to say anything Bucky…It’s okay.” You whispered, and for the rest of the time you sat there holding him, he didn’t say anything. He just held onto you as tightly as possible.

————

“Bucky. I need you to come in here and zip me up. I’m not flexible.” You yelled, looking at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the tight silk fabric of the dress, pulling it down as far as it could go. You could hear the sound of Bucky’s heavy steps approaching the washroom, before he pushed open the door, buttoning up the sleeves of his black dress shirt that fit snugly against his broad frame. You were surprised at how well he cleaned up, and how good he looked in just a black dress shirt and a pair of dark grey dress pants. It was so simple, yet so…Sophisticated. He glanced up from what he was doing, his eyebrows raising a little bit, a smirk appearing on his lips. You squinted at him.

”What’s that face all about? Hmm? Do you want to wear the dress?” Bucky laughed, shaking his head, stepping closer to you.

“I don’t think I’d fit into it, but I’d love to see you try to get me into one…Now turn around.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, but did as he said, turning your back to him and adjusting your hair so it wouldn’t possibly get in his way. He stepped towards you, his fingers finding the zipper, picking up where you left off. You could feel the fabric getting tighter against your body as he brought the zipper higher up your back, his vibranium hand absentmindedly settling on your waist to hold you still. He sighed, letting you go once he had fully zipped the dress up, catching the way his eyes roamed over your reflection, his teeth briefly biting his bottom lip.

”All set.” He announced, watching as you adjusted the fabric again, seeing his eyes flicking to the scar in the middle of your chest that was poking out from just above the neckline of the dress, his eyes softening.

“Something on your mind, Barnes?” You asked, gaining his attention, drawing him out of his trance.

”No…Just looking.” You raised an eyebrow at him, reaching for the thin gold chain you had placed on the countertop.

”And what exactly are you looking at?” Your tone was playful, trying to settle into the mood you would have to be in the whole night. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you fastened the delicate chain around your neck, letting it settle gently on your skin.

”What do you think I’m looking at?” He responded, now leaning himself against the countertop, looking at the way you continued to adjust yourself.

“If I’m not mistaken…It seems like you’re enjoying the view.”You said, reaching for your earrings, tilting your head to glance over at him.

“You’re definitely not mistaken.” His voice was smooth, with an undeniable teasing tone lacing his words. You let out a small huff, fighting the heat that began to creep up onto your cheeks, as you clasped one of your earrings into place.

”You know Bucky, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are flirting with me.” He smirked, turning fully towards you, as his vibranium fingers tapped along the sink.

”And if I am?” He asked, his eyebrows raising, your gaze meeting his through the reflection, as you fastened the second earring.

”Then I’d say you’re laying it on pretty thick.” He laughed a bit, moving closer to you, your body turning to face him now. He looked down at you.

”You wound me, doll,” He murmured, feigning hurt, “Here I am, just trying to be a convincing partner for the night, and you’re saying I’m laying it on too thick.” You scoffed.

”Oh please.” Bucky’s eyes continue to roam over your face, looking at the way your skin glowed under the harsh lighting of the bathroom, the way your lashes framed your eyes when you looked up at him, the way you studied every expression that came up on his face. There was a beat of silence.

“All jokes aside though…You look great.” His compliment caught you off guard for a split second, as you cleared your throat.

”Well. You clean up pretty well yourself.” He hummed, looking at himself in the mirror.

”You really think so?” You gave him a once-over, using it as an excuse to really take in how form fitting the outfit was, tilting your head slightly, pretending to contemplate.

”Mmm, yeah, you look presentable enough.” Bucky let out a dramatic scoff.

”Presentable enough? That’s all I get huh?” His eyes narrowing with playful offense, drawing out a small beat of laughter from you. You reached for your cherry chapstick, not wanting to be too bold for the night, taking off the cap.

”Now, now, don’t be so dramatic, I’m sure there will still be plenty of eyes on you tonight regardless of what I say.” You said, swiping the sheer red colour over your bottom lip, then the top, repeating a few times.

“Is that so?” Bucky mused, watching you press your lips together, as you capped the tube, tossing it into your small bag.

”Let me see, the hostess, for one, probably all the women in the room, and even the men at this point.” You responded.

“I think you may have left someone out in that long list of yours.” You raised your eyebrows at him, adjusting the dress one more time.

”Oh yeah? And who might that be?” You asked.

”You.” He whispered, leaning in down a bit, getting into your space, his sweet, lavender scented cologne invading your senses. You held your ground though, refusing to crack under how smooth he was with his flirting.

”I didn’t know you wanted my attention so badly.” You replied back, leaning in as well, almost like you were challenging him, getting close enough that you were basically exchanging breaths with one another.

“Can you blame me?” He asked. You could feel your pulse gallop for a split second, as your lips parted, trying to find a witty remark to rebuttal with, only for you to stop short. His gaze flicked between your eyes, then to your lips, his blue irises glistening beneath the lighting. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”That depends…Are you going to be like this all night?” He hummed.

”Are you going to let me? Because I can do this all night sweetheart, won’t even break a sweat.” You could feel the heart crawling up your chest. He was testing you, waiting for you to crack, but you just couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

”That’s a bold claim. You sure you can back it up?” He wet his lips with his tongue, his gaze still locked onto yours.

”You know I can.” The tension between you felt electric, humming in the small space that was still between you, buzzing loudly. Neither of you were willing to step back.

”Is that right?”” You murmured, your voice smooth, testing.

”You want me to prove it?” You arched an eyebrow.

”Are you offering?” His vibranium tapped along the edge of the countertop, whilst his other hand brushed lightly over the fabric at the bottom of your dress, barely touching it as he toyed with the hem.

”Hmm. Yeah, I am.” You could feel his fingers trail up just a fraction higher before you grabbed his wrist. The air in the room shifted, an all encompassed heat raising to your cheeks. He smiled at you, seeing the way you broke eye contact, your eyelashes fluttering involuntarily.

“Too much?” He asked, teasing.

“No…We just have to get going.” You replied. He looked down at you for one more second, gently biting the inside of his lip, before pulling his hand away, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

”Right. Wouldn’t want to be late.” You turned away from him, grabbing your bag from off the counter, the warmth of his touch still lingering against your skin. He watched you closely, hearing the shakiness of your breathing that you tried to cover up by making additional noise, but he knew. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a restraint to hold himself back from touching you again.

“Come on…We got places to be.” You announced, walking past him, keeping your eyes off him.

—————

From the street, the neon-red glow of The Velvet Fang’s sign bathed the alleyway in an eerie, seductive light, casting long shadows against the damp pavement. The sign flickered slightly, a heartbeat of crimson against the darkness of the night, drawing attention like a whisper promising something sinful just beyond its threshold. Bucky’s arm was draped over your waist as the both of you made your way towards the security guard, the scent of rain lingering in the air around you, mixing with the distant aroma of cigar smoke coming from the people that lined the alleyway. There were faint looks of exhaustion printed on their aged faces, and small sweat marks staining their shirts. You were thankful you had dressed lightly, because evidently it seemed like it was going to be overwhelmingly warm in the club.

The security guard stationed by the entrance was tall, and broad shouldered, a mountain of a man, with a shaved head, and dark eyes that roamed over you. You and Bucky stepped towards him, and his hard expression barely shifted, he had a tablet in his hand, which shadowed his face harshly.

”Name?” He asked, only looking at Bucky.

”James Barnes.” He replied, his hand twitching against your waist slightly, almost as if he was giving a warning. The guard looked down at the screen, scrolling up for a moment, before clicking on something. He took a moment, and you could see his eyes scanning over something, glancing up at Bucky, then at you.

“Super soldiers hmm?” He had a hint of interest in his eyes, as he continued to scan over whatever he had been looking at moments ago. Of course they did their research, you could imagine what was on that tablet, all the information. You wouldn’t be surprised if they had been watching you since you stepped foot in Vienna. Bucky didn’t react beyond a tight-lipped smile.

”Is it an issue?” His voice was casual, smooth, and non-threatening. The security guard looked up from the screen, letting out a short, gruff chuckle.

”Not an issue, we get all kinds coming here. All we ask is that you don’t start any problems.” Bucky offered a slow nod, his fingers soothing against the fabric of your dress.

”Wouldn’t dream of it.” The guard studied him for a second longer, before his eyes trailed over to you, dragging over your frame in a way that made your skin crawl. Finally, he stepped aside, motioning towards the metal door, sliding it open.

”Enjoy yourselves.” The moment you stepped inside, the heavy metal door groaned shut behind you, sealing off the outside world. There was a dimly lit hallway leading towards a set of stairs, and the thrum of music vibrated through the floor, a slow seductive beat booming under your legs, almost making them turn to jelly. You could smell the distinct scent of musk in the air; sweat, smoky leather…It was as if it clung to every surface of the enclosed space. Bucky still held your waist, as he guided you towards the staircase. Just before you could step down, he pulled you to the side, into the shadows of a small corridor, leaning in to talk into the shell of your ear so you could hear him over the chest shaking bass that continued to grow in volume. One hand settled on your waist, while the vibranium one was pressed against the wall behind you.

“I need you to listen to me for a minute okay?” You tilted your chin up, nodding at him.

”If we get separated, you don’t come looking for me. You don’t wait around. You leave. Do you understand?” Bucky wasn’t just saying this as a precaution, he was saying it because he knew there was a real possibility of things going wrong, and you could hear the tinge of worry sprinkled in his voice, even though he tried to hold it back. You shook your head.

”That’s ridiculous Bucky. I’m not going to run, are you insane? You can’t ask that of me.” He pulled away from you.

“Why do you always have to argue with me Y/N. Just please for the love of god listen to me.” Your jaw tightened, the weight of his words pressed down on your chest.

”You’re asking me to abandon you, Bucky. Do you not hear yourself?” His fingers on your waist twitched.

”I do hear myself, and I need you to hear me too.” You looked up at him, your eyes glistening in the faint red light of the corridor.

”It’s not an option, Bucky. I’m not doing it.” You crossed your arms over your stomach.

”Do you really think I want to be saying this to you right now?” Your arms stayed locked around yourself, a weak shield against the way his words were sinking into you, as you looked away from him.

“I’m not doing it.” You repeated. Bucky exhaled sharply, his hand leaving your waist for a brief moment, before his calloused touch reached your face, his rough thumbs pressing against your cheekbones, tilting your head to look up at him again. It was gentle, yet firm all at the same time.

“Please.” His voice was stripped of its usual steadiness, “Please Y/N. If something happens, I need to know you’ll be safe. You need to just listen to me. Please.” You could feel his hot breath hitting against your face, the all too familiar scent of him wrapping around you, warming your body. You could feel your chest tighten, your pulse hammering away in your throat, as you reached up and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

”Bucky…” His forehead dipped dangerously close to yours, his breath becoming heavier against your skin.

“Please.” He begged again. His voice cracked, almost like how he sounded last night after he had stopped crying, after he apologized for your tear soaked shirt, after he laid back down and said goodnight. You wanted to scream at him, maybe it would make him understand that you didn’t work this way, but it wasn’t going to work…

”…Fine. I’ll do it…” You could feel his breath come out in a sigh, as he pulled back, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss between your brows. His breath came out shakily against your skin, as his thumbs traced over your cheekbones for a split second, before stopping. The action had caught you off guard, but you couldn’t even think, because by the time you had something to say his lips had left your skin.

”Thank you.” He whispered, pulling back from you, his hands leaving your face, his warmth parting from your body. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to recollect himself, his eyes flicking back to yours. You swallowed thickly.

”We should head in.” You said, breaking the silence. Bucky gave a slow nod, holding out his hand for you, guiding you toward the descending staircase, your eyes adjusting to the blood red walls that surrounded you.

The closer you got to the club area, the heavier the bass thumped through your chest, rattling through every bone in your body like a second heartbeat. The moment you stepped through the final set of doors, it was like you had crossed a threshold into a different world entirely. Now the smell of leather, sweat, and something much more heady settled in the back of your throat. It was dizzying.

The inside of the club was dark, you could barely see anything apart from the shadows that were cast from the strobe lights that were going in chaotic bursts, distorting the movement of the bodies that were tangling themselves into each other on the dance floor, but you could barely see. The music wasn’t just loud now, it was vibrating throughout your entire body, almost to the point where it made you nauseous. Your eyes took a while to adjust to the dimmed lighting, as you felt Bucky tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours. You looked over at him, seeing the way his face had dropped, like he was in shock, caught off guard in some way.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky yelled, but it sounded like a whisper over the deafening bass. Your eyes finally adjusted to the lighting, and now your gaze followed his, connecting the dots as to why he looked so tense.

The dance floor was a writhing mass of limbs, hands touching breasts, settling between thighs, exploring each other, mouths meeting in heated kisses, completely losing themselves in the pools of lust and desire. There were booths that lined the outer perimeter of the dance floor that were hardly private. Some had sheer curtains that barely concealed the occupants inside, while others remained entirely open so that the scenes within them were revealed to the rest of the patrons. A man sat back lazily on a plush seat, his fingers tangled in a woman’s hair as she knelt between his legs, while in another booth there was a trio wrapped up together, moving in intoxicating synchrony.

Bucky leaned in close, his lips hovering just beside your ear.

”I need a fucking drink.” You nodded in agreement, as he pulled you towards the bar on the side of the dance floor. You stayed close to him, your hand tightening around his to make sure the both of you didn’t separate in the chaos of it all.

As you reached the bar, the dim glow of the red light bathed the sleek obsidian bouncer top, reflecting against the rows of expensive liquor that was lined up behind it. The bartender, a tall man with slicked back hair tied into a bun, gave an amused smirk towards the both of you, watching as you sat down on one of the stools.

“What can I get you?” You glanced over at Bucky, motioning for him to order first.

”Whiskey…Neat please.” The bartender nodded, turning to you.

”And for the lady?” You hesitated for a second, as Bucky’s hand rested against your thigh, his thumb tracing along the warm skin.

”I’ll have a tequila pineapple. Thank you.” The bartender leaned in closer to you, a spicy cinnamon scent immediately hitting your nose.

”A single or double shot?” He asked, you glanced over at Bucky, then back towards him.

”Double please.” He smirked, moving back to collect the bottles needed for the drinks, and the glasses as well. The bartender moved with an ease only a professional with years of experience would have, pouring Bucky’s whiskey while he poured out the shots of tequila for your drink, then poured the pineapple juice as well. He slid both drinks towards you, and smiled, going to the other side of the bar to take other orders.

Neither of you spoke as you drank, it was as if you didn’t want to talk about what was going on throughout the club. You kept your eyes locked on the glass, taking generous gulps, letting the burn radiate through your chest. Bucky’s hand remained on your thigh, tracing up your exposed skin, as he surveyed the room, trying his best not to be obvious. You could feel the slight flex of his fingers, before he continued to rub gently, like he was trying to soothe himself, and you at the same time. You finished your drink, placing the glass back on the bar, as Bucky moved towards you, pushing your hair away from your ear.

“I think we need to move, if we keep sitting here it’s gonna draw attention.” Your skin prickled under the heat of his breath, and for a split second, you thought you felt his lips.

”Yeah. Okay.” You replied, as he pulled back, his fingers leaving your thigh, offering you help off your stool. He held your hand as he guided you away from the bar.

The moment Bucky pulled you onto the dance floor it was like you were swallowed up by the bodies, but the people around you ceased to exist. His hands found your waist first, as he kept you close to him, making sure you were practically flush against him. His chest pressed against yours, while you found your rhythm, attempting to match the beat, the friction between your bodies growing with every movement you made, while your hands ran over his dress shirt. His warmth seeped into your skin, and you could feel his hot, uneven breath fanning across your collarbone. You felt his hand slide lower, resting on your hip, his fingers curling into the silk, holding onto it for dear life, as his vibranium hand traced up the length of your back, the cool temperature contrasting against the heat of your body. You looked up at him, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth, seeing the starvation behind his gaze, the kind that pinned you in place, made your pulse pound against your throat like a drum. He shook his head at you, leaning to the side.

”You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.” He said against your ear, your stomach coiling, burning hot from the words he spoke. His lips ghosted over your jaw, not quite touching, just hovering, trying to tease you into making the first move. His breathing grew heavier the closer he got to your throat, when finally, he gave you a gentle kiss, as if he was seeing whether or not you were going to stop him. You tipped your head back, exposing more skin to him, silently giving him the invitation he needed to continue. His mouth opened against your skin, his teeth dragging over your pulse point, eliciting a gasp from you, his tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness of your sweat.

“Fuck…” He rasped against your throat, bringing his vibranium hand down to press against the small of your back, to bring you even closer to him. You could feel every muscle in his body coiling so tight that he was practically shaking against you trying to keep his composure. His lips trailed up, going past your jaw, and ghosting over the corner of your mouth. Teasing. Testing. Waiting for you to make the first move and break, but you couldn’t…Not yet.

His lips hovered over yours, he was so close that every breath you took became his, the both of you panting. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting to let out a shaky breath. Through the strobe lights you could see his pupils were blown wide, the adrenaline of the anticipation eating away at him minute by minute.

You let the moment stretch, as your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, before curling them into the hair at the nape of his neck, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp, earning a small shudder from him. Finally, you brought him down towards you, crashing your lips against his.

The second your mouths met, it was like a dam broke, flooding the both of you with such desperation it almost choked you. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, as his hands reached up to cradle your face, anchoring himself to you. His lips were searing, moving against yours like he had been starving for this. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it gently, willing your mouth to open for him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. You pulled on his hair, feeling one of his hands leaving your face to rest on your waist, as he pressed his hips forward into yours, a silent plea, and a wordless confession of how badly he wanted you. His lips broke away from yours, only to trail kisses down your jaw, his stubble scraping against your skin, creating a contrast to the softness of his lips as he bit, kissed, and licked a path down your throat.

“Bucky…” His name left your lips in a breathy moan, causing him to sink his teeth slightly into your skin, before sucking gently on it, hard enough that there would be evidence of his mark for the next few days. You pulled on his hair again, feeling his lips drag back up to reclaim yours in a kiss so deep that your chest was burning from the lack of air. His vibranium fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress, skinning the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He was seconds away from dragging you out from the dance floor, seconds away from losing control entirely….

And then you felt a new pair of hands on you, causing the both of you to pull away from one another in a frightened haste.

“Well, well,” A voice purred above the pulsing bass, “Please don’t stop on my account.” Timothy Orkolov said, a smile draped over his lips. His gaze flicked between the two of you, taking in your swollen lips, the way Bucky’s hands had now moved to be more in front of you, so you would be behind him. He chuckled at the sight, swirling his drink around in his glass.

“I must admit, I’ve always wanted to see if it was true that HYDRA soldiers could go all night in the bedroom.” He teased, watching Bucky’s fingers twitching against your waist.

”Careful,” He warned sharply. Orkolov held his hand up.

”Oh come on James. You and your lovely partner here come waltzing into my club, put on a little show, and then you expect me not to comment about it? Forgive me for being curious.” His gaze dragged over you, appraising, assessing, his eyes lingering briefly on the scar between your chest, his lips curling into a smirk, “It’s rare to see two super soldiers together in one room, let alone seeing them in love like this…It’s almost poetic.” Bucky exhaled through his nose.

”Do you have a point to make or are you here to run your mouth?” Orkolov took a lazy sip from his glass, before tilting his chin towards the velvet-curtained VIP section at the back of the club.

”Why don’t we have a chat in private? Clearly you two came for something, I’d hate to keep the anticipation building.” Bucky looked over at you, his eyes still glazed over from your heated interaction, giving a nod.

”Fine. Lead the way.” Orkolov gave a small toothy smile, as he motioned for you to follow him.

The VIP section was draped in velvet red walls, the seating areas had harsh lights above you, where you’d be able to see someone perfectly, but it made your eyes sting from the transition from the dark chasm of the club to this. Orkolov took the both of you to a more secluded area, attempting to find the most private area so you would all be able to hear each other. He gestured for the both of you to go inside first. The room was average, it had a bar, a table, some velvet seats that matched the aesthetic of the rest of the club, and of course it was accented with gold trim wherever it could be. Orkolov roamed over to the bar, humming softly, like he was just having a pleasant meeting between old friends.

”Whiskey? Vodka? Anything to drink for either of you?” He asked, motioning to the bottles of alcohol behind him. Neither of you answered, “Well, suit yourselves.” He added, refilling his glass with whiskey, taking a long sip before motioning to the seats.

”Please. Let’s sit.” You and Bucky hesitated, looking at each other, trying to see what the play was going to be, but you never went through the possibility of having a private meeting with Orkolov. So you took a seat first, watching as Bucky joined you, his body on high alert, sturdy and stiff beside you. Orkolov’s eyes swept over you, his gaze dragging down your body, drinking up the image in front of him, until they settled on the scar that disappeared beneath your neckline. He swirled his drink around in his glass, placing it down onto the table.

”You know,” He mused, “I’ve read so much about the experiments HYDRA did. The enhancements. The conditioning. But you…” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, “You’re a mystery to me.” You kept eye contact with him, not breaking, not looking away.

“It’s such a shame they never completed you…” Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you still refused to give him the reaction, “Because that would’ve never happened to you.” He pointed at the scar. You didn’t flinch, and you could see the joy in his face, as he wet his lips, turning his attention to Bucky.

”Tell me James…When you look at her do you see a failed mission? Or the woman you supposedly love? You ever get that itch in the back of your head when you’re laying in bed together at night to finish the job?” Bucky’s hands twitched against his thighs, his jaw locking so tightly that it looked like it was going to shatter. Orkolov sat back.

”I mean…It must be torture, having her so close all the time. Being reminded everyday that you failed your duties to HYDRA.” Bucky’s breath came out slow and measured, but you could feel the rage radiating off of him. You wanted to put your hand on his thigh, but you knew better than to do that at the moment, as he brought his attention to you.

”It must eat away at you sometimes hmm? That no matter how much you love him, no matter how much you may trust him, there will always be that part of him that was given the order to kill you…And that it lives inside him.” You swallowed.

”He wouldn’t do that.” You replied, trying to convince yourself that it was the truth. You wanted to believe it, but there was still the hesitation inside your chest. Orkolov exhaled, a sharp laugh escaping his lips.

”Let me give it to you straight…You can love a blade, you can hold it close, and call it yours, but at the end of the day…It’s always going to be forged to cut. Just like James over here, will always be The Winter Soldier. Plain, and simple.” He smirked, looking over at Bucky, seeing the way his eyes had darkened, “And what will you do…When he finally does what he was commanded to do? When that blade you’re sure of is yours turns in your hand and carves you up all over again?” The words barely had time to settle before your body reached.

Your fist cracked against Orkolov’s jaw, snapping his head to the side with a sickening force, knocking him out of his seat. Bucky didn’t flinch, he didn’t even move a muscle, no protests, no getting up to hold you back, he was blank, almost completely void of anything. The room rang with the sound of a tooth skidding across the floor, and him landing hard against the ground with a thud. For a second there was only silence, you couldn’t feel your hands, it was like you went numb, but you didn’t care. You stood up from your seat, going over to Orkolov who groaned loudly, turning himself over, pressing his hand against his bloodied mouth, a gap showing from where you had knocked his tooth out. He looked up at you, with satisfaction in his eyes, as he coughed, letting the little blood droplets huff out into the air.

“I knew you had it in you.” He sputtered out. You crouched down, wrapping your hand around his neck, pulling him up so he was eye to eye with you.

”If you keep talking I’m going to snap your fucking neck. You may think they never completed me, but I still have the same serum running through my veins, and it burns for the kill. Especially when people run their mouths.” He choked as your hand tightened around his throat, “Now. We came here for information, so keep your end of the bargain, or else I’ll knock the rest of your fucking teeth out of your face.” He wheezed loudly, coughing up blood, the droplets hitting your face, as he moved his head up and down. Your grip on his neck loosened, allowing him to take a breath.

”There’s…A shipment coming in, “ He started, turning his head to spit out some blood that flooded his mouth from where you had knocked out his tooth, “High level assets…The remaining soldiers from HYDRA.” Your hand tightened around his throat again.

”Don’t fucking lie to me.” You spat, feeling him squirm, his hand coming up to hold your wrist, his blood smearing on your skin.

”I’m…I’m not. There’s still…They still exist.” He squeaked out, “Just like you guys.”

”When is it arriving?” He coughed again, more blood splattering on you.

”T-Tomorrow, m-midnight. At the ports on the o-outskirts of the city.” Your grip loosed on his neck, feeling his fingers trembling against your wrists as he struggled to swallow. His jaw was starting to swell up and you could see a faint bruise beginning to form on the side where you had punched, but in his eyes, it still held amusement, that unsettling satisfaction that he had made you crack. It frightened you that you had let the rage come through you again, something that you had tried so hard to control. The serum had given you this innate bloodlust, and you had pushed it down for so long you thought it was gone, then this happened and it felt like you were back to square one. You forced yourself to breathe deeply, as you threw Orkolov back down onto the floor, releasing his neck and knocking the wind out of him in the process.

You turned your head towards Bucky, but he still hadn’t moved, it was like he wasn’t even breathing, his eyes staring off in the distance. You took a step towards him.

”Bucky?” Orkolov let out a hoarse chuckle.

”Look at him…Poor little James, trapped in that head of his. I must’ve gotten to him just like I got to you.” He commented. With your pulse still hammering in your ears, all you could feel was wrong, absolutely sick to your stomach, and you ignored what he had said. Not wanting to get sucked back into the violence that was wanting to come out again. You took another step towards Bucky, crouching down in front of him.

“Bucky…Hey.” Your voice was soft, trying to get his attention, his eyes glazed over, unfocused and locked elsewhere. He still hadn’t moved, nor breathed properly, and it was beginning to worry you. You reached out, your fingers grazing his knee.

”Bucky.” You tried again, making your voice firmer, hoping you could break through whatever fog he was trapped in. Slowly you moved just a bit closer, lifting your hand up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his stubble. His skin was burning hot, but there was no reaction to your cold hands pressing against him, no flicker of recognition in those ice blue eyes. This wasn’t shock or anger that was fueling him to be this way, it was as if he had completely shut down, turned himself off for the world like it was to save himself from doing something stupid.

“Come on…” You whispered, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Orkolov groaned.

”You think you’re gonna miraculously pull him out of this? It’s not up to him anymore.” You glanced over your shoulder at him, watching as he attempted to sit up.

”If you move a single muscle, or say another word…I’m gonna break every bone in your body. Do you understand?” You growled, turning your attention back to Bucky, sliding your fingers down to hold his wrists.

”You’re okay…You’re safe Bucky…I’m safe. You’re in control, Bucky. I know you are.” You could feel your throat tightening, seeing the absence behind his eyes. Your hands squeezed his wrists gently, forcing your presence into him, into whatever place he went to so that he could avoid the pain.

“I need you to hear me,” You whispered, desperation bleeding through your voice now, “You’re not there anymore, you’re not him…You’re Bucky Barnes, now come back to me for the love of god!” Finally, Bucky flinched. It was barely a movement at all, but you felt it against your hands, the slight twitch of his fingers on your skin.

“Come on…” You coxed, tightening your hands on his wrists a little bit more. Your heart was pounding, watching the way his expression slowly shifted, like he was trying to break through, then suddenly you heard it.

”…Y/N?” Your breath caught for a moment, your hands immediately meeting his face against, trembling against his overheated skin.

”Yes, yes it’s me. You’re okay.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching as his eyes began to dart around the room, taking in the environment around him, before settling on you again, seeing your skin splattered with blood.

”Jesus Christ what the hell happened?!” His hands came up to hold onto your wrists, pulling them away from him, seeing one of your hands stained with blood as well, “Are you hurt?!”

“It’s not mine, I’m okay Bucky.” His eyes snapped over toward Orkolov, who was crumpled on the floor, smirking through the pain.

”Missed quite the show…She’s got a hell of a right hook. Guess HYDRA really did do something right with her.” He commented, spitting out more blood. He looked back at you, surprised.

”I got what we needed. We have to get out of here though. I will tell you everything when we get someplace safe, okay?” He nodded, slowly getting up from his seat.

”Running away already? And here I was thinking we would have more time together.” Orkolov said, trying to push himself up onto his hands. Bucky stepped past you, moving towards him slowly, before standing above him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll meet again, and next time, I don’t think you’re going to be getting out alive.”

——————-

When you arrived back at the hotel you didn’t know whether or not you wanted to shower first or call Maria to convey all the information to her. At this point you felt like every bone in your body was on fire, edging with this adrenaline you hadn’t experienced since HYDRA gave you the serum. It was almost mind numbing at this point, and you couldn’t imagine if this was what Bucky would experience when he was The Winter Soldier.

You took your phone out of your purse, dialing the only number that was in it. Hill picked up after the second ring.

”Tell me you have something.” You reached up to rub your face, feeling the crusted blood peeling off.

”There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow at midnight at the ports in the outskirts of the city. Orkolov said there are going to be HYDRA soldiers in it. The remaining ones…” There was a pause.

“Are you sure?” She asked, as you kicked off your shoes, glancing over at Backy who was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I’m positive. He was too scared to lie.” You commented, moving towards the bedroom, feeling Bucky’s eyes following, as you closed the door.

”That’s good. I’ll have a team en route to you guys by tomorrow evening.” Your grip tightened on the phone.

”Maria…I don’t think it’s a good idea that Bucky and I continue this mission. I don’t think it’s good if we come to the port for the shipment…Tonight wasn’t good for either of us, and with HYDRA being involved…I really don’t think we are in the right state to be there.” There was a long pause as you looked at your hand, seeing the dark crimson blood caked on it.

“You’re asking to pull out?” Her voice was even, but there was a hint of sharpness, maybe even disappointment in it. You pressed your fingers to your temple.

”We’re both compromised Maria…I almost killed Orkolov tonight…And Bucky basically dissociated because he got into his head. We can’t be there Maria…Please don’t send us there.” You begged, your voice cracking at the thought that you were both going to be faced with your past. Maria exhaled slowly.

”Okay…I’ll get you both out, but there is going to be a delay. Probably a day or two. Can you handle that?” You nodded.

”Yes, we can handle that, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Maria was quiet for a second.

”Just get some rest, and I’ll send you the information when everything is confirmed. Stay put and stay off the radar.”

“Understood.” Then she hung up without another word, leaving you in the silence of the bedroom. You dropped your phone onto the bed, before opening the door, seeing that Bucky was still at the counter, nursing his drink.

”Maria is going to pull us out.” You announced softly, coming out of the room. He looked over at you, his jaw tightening slightly.

”When?” You moved towards him.

”She said about a day or two, she’s going to text the information when she gets confirmation.” Bucky nodded, as he brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips, knocking back the rest of the drink in one go, putting it back down onto the counter.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, watching you closely, focusing on the little splatters of blood on your skin.

“Like I’m on fire…I haven’t had this much adrenaline going through me in a while.” You commented, moving closer to him, “How are you feeling?” He shook his head.

”Like my brain is swollen…I feel absolutely exhausted, all I want to do is shower, and try to sleep at this point.” You watched the tension in Bucky’s shoulders settle slightly, the adrenaline crash becoming inevitable.

“You can go first if you’d like. I can wait.” Bucky shook his head, a small laugh coming out of him.

”You should definitely go first…You’re the one that has the blood on you.” He pointed out, motioning to your face and body. In the light you saw the smudges on your arms from where Orkolov held, the remnants of the night clinging to you like a second skin.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You admitted, rubbing at your arms, as you turned on your heel, moving towards the bathroom, pausing for a moment just before you walked down the corridor, feeling Bucky’s eyes on you still. You glanced back at him.

“How about you come with me,” You murmured before you could think twice about it. His eyebrows raised, caught off guard by your offer, not sure if he was hearing you right.

”What did you just say?” He asked, his throat tightening on his words.

”Come with me,” You repeated, softer this time, tilting your head, “Unless you’d rather sit out here alone.” Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but the heat in his eyes told you he didn’t need any convincing. Wordlessly, he pushed himself off the counter and followed you down the corridor.

You turned on the bathroom light, motioning for Bucky to come in before closing the door behind you, turning to look at him. He stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets, looking down at you, letting his gaze run over the mess that you had become throughout the night. He sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his forehead.

”Should I turn on the hot water?” He asked, trying to break the silence up a little bit. You nodded, watching him slide open the glass door, and reach for the faucet, turning it counterclockwise. The sound of rushing water filled the space, steam already beginning to slowly rise, making the air in the room just a little bit heavier. He turned himself back towards you, glancing down at your dress briefly, as he brought his hands up to start working on the buttons of his dress shirt, the fabric parting inch by inch.

He was massive. Even after everything, even knowing the strength that came with the bulk of him, it still sent a shiver through you to really see him like this. The thick swell of his shoulders and arms, the defined cut of muscle beneath his skin, every inch of him carved from war and survival. His chest was wide, a few old scars slashing through the ridges of muscle, his vibranium arm gleaming under the bathroom light. His abs flexed with each breath, tight, strong, leading down to the deep v-cut at his hips. He pushed off the shirt completely, throwing it to the side, as he looked at you with anticipation burning behind his gleaming eyes. Slowly, you reached behind you, your fingers finding the zipper of your dress, bringing it down with an agonizing pace, feeling the fabric loosening around you. The dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You saw his fingers twitch at his side, as his gaze dragged over your body, trying to commit it all to memory. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, not out of embarrassment but from the weight of the way he was drinking in your body, the curvature of your breasts, the faint little scars that contrasted lightly against your skin, the way that your figure was just perfectly yours…It made his heart clench slightly, and suddenly he started to feel like he was overdressed.

His hands went to his belt buckle first, gently unlatching it, keeping his eyes on you as he did it. He slid the leather from the loops, dropping it to the tile with a clink. His fingers quickly returned to his pants to unbutton them, pushing the fabric off his hips and stepping out of it, leaving him in just his briefs. The both of you continued to look at each other, as you slowly closed the space, letting your nerves stir in your stomach.

You reached out, grazing the hard ridges of his stomach, barely touching, just lightly tracing the dense muscle there. You could feel him tense beneath your touch, his hand coming up to slide around your waist, bringing you just a little bit closer to him, the steam thickening around the room.

“…You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, bringing his vibranium hand up to trace down the jagged scar in the center of your chest, the coolness causing your skin to perk up against him, his touch didn’t linger there for long, as it moved off to your ribs, then up to the underside of your breast, cupping it gently, his thumb lightly brushing over your nipple, a soft gasp escaping your throat. A smirk tugged up onto his lips, leaning down so that his mouth was just above the mound of your breast, his hot breath clinging to your skin, savoring the moment before he finally took your nipple into his mouth. You gasped louder this time, your fingers pressing into the muscle of his torso, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, his arm tightening around you to pull you closer to him, sucking gently, pulling his mouth off to blow against the wetness he had created.

”Jesus Bucky…” You moaned, as his mouth went to the opposite breast, wrapping around the perked nipple, nibbling slightly to elicit another gasp from you. Your fingers trailed down his abdomen, slipping under the waistband of his briefs for a moment, teasing him just like he was teasing you, as a groan radiated against your chest, and his fingers dug into your back. He took his mouth off your breast, trembling slightly, your hands trailing further beneath the waistband, his eyes looking up at you, seeing his pupils completely blown out from the tension, as you felt his erection against your palm. His lashes fluttered shut, and his cheeks turned a cherry red, tilting his head back as your hand wrapped around him, spreading his precum along his shaft as you began to slowly stroke.

“Oh fuck Y/N…” He gasped, bringing his hand to your chin, tilting your head up so he could crash his lips into yours. There was such a desperate intensity in the kiss, as he stole the air from your lungs, his tongue immediately tracing your bottom lip, begging for you to open for him, his hips rolling into your touch. You opened for him, feeling the hotness of his tongue against yours, as his hand slid off from your back, and slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, earning a moan from you, your legs parting slightly for him. You were already wet for him, as his fingers trailed over the slick arousal, teasing your dripping entrance before pushing two fingers in with ease. You almost screamed at the sensation that rocked through you, as his thick fingers stretched you out. He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, his vibranium hand coming up to cup your face, as you started to stroke him faster, with him trying to catch up to your pace, his fingers curling inside you. You closed your eyes tightly, your mouth dropping open as you moaned.

“That’s it…” Bucky murmured, breathless, trying his best to remain dominant, his lips grazing your jaw, “Let me hear you.” He whispered, biting the skin just below your ear. You could feel your pace falter, getting distracted by your own pleasure, feeling this tension beginning to build in your stomach, coiling around every inch of your body, your hand tightening around him. He gasped, biting into the sensitive flesh of your neck, sucking gently on the mark to soothe the sting.

”If you keep doing that I’m not going to last.” He whispered, shuddering against you.

“Then we should…” You paused, feeling your legs shake beneath you from the pleasure that wrecked through your entire body, “We should move to the shower then.” You suggested, looking up at him, your eyes glazed over, just as lust filled as his. He nodded, slowly taking his fingers out of you, pushing your underwear down, with you doing the same to him. The undergarments pooled at both your feet as he wrapped an arm around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, a surprised gasp leaving your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he brought you to the shower.

The first thing you felt was the boiling water hitting your back, spreading down your skin as he pressed you slowly against the warm porcelain wall, reaching with one hand to close the shower door, the other one anchoring you against him.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, peppering kisses along your collarbone. He was unrushed with his movements, savoring every inch he got to explore, as his hand caressed the curve of your hip. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with praise, almost like you were his religion, or the most sacred thing he had ever touched. His breath mixed with yours as he captured your mouth in another heated kiss, the both of you moaning in unison, your hands tangling into his damp hair. The taste of him made your head spin. The both of you felt as if you were drowning in each other, but neither of you came up for air, his hand coming up to hold the side of your face. He was the first to pull back, his lips brushing yours one more time before his thumb traced along your swollen bottom lip, as the steam curled around the both of you.

“Open,” He said softly. There was no dominance in his voice, it was just a quiet request, something that was optional, but you obeyed anyways, parting your lips for him. He held your jaw gently, as if afraid you’d pull away, but when you didn’t, he let the moment stretch, suspended in tension, in anticipation, before he let a delicate stream of saliva fall from his lips, into your mouth. The act felt like something sacred, something intimate, as his thumb brushed against your chin, his gaze never leaving yours, watching you swallow. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just barely, before he dipped his head, capturing your lips in another deep, slow kiss. His tongue traced your bottom lip, as if savoring the taste of you before he pulled back, his breath warm against your mouth.

“I need to taste you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his grip tightening around your thigh, guiding your leg off the side of his waist, helping you regain your balance. His eyes held yours for just a moment, a silent exchange of desire and want, before he leaned forward, kissing along your collarbone, licking the droplets that slid down your body, sucking gently on the skin right at the bottom of your neck. His hands settled on your hips, pressing his fingers into your damp skin, as he continued his journey, exploring every inch of skin he could reach, and you were at his mercy, not that you minded of course. When he got on his knees in front of you it nearly made you choke, his lips kissing along your hip bone, his hand sliding behind your thigh, squeezing it gently, coaxing you to open for him.

”You’re already shaking…” He commented, his lips finding their way to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin, wanting to mark you wherever he could so when he woke up in the morning he would know that this wasn’t just a dream. Your fingers threaded into his soaked hair, tugging just enough to cause shivers to rush down his body, silently pleading for him. His darkened eyes flickered up at you, his pupils completely blown out, not a speck of blue in sight, as he brought his lips up to your aching heat, placing a gentle kiss, before his tongue dragged along the entire area, your arousal coating his lips.

Your gasped echoed through the shower, feeling him press you against the wall so that you were secure with no possibility of falling, his mouth now completely consuming you whole. His tongue moved with such precision, tracing slow, sinful strokes along you, making sure he was paying attention to every spot that could earn him another moan, or hair pull from you. He groaned against you, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

”Fuck…Y/N. You’re so goddamn perfect. So warm…So fucking sweet.” He whispered, his tongue dragging through your slickness again, “You’re wrecking me…” The vibration of his voice against you made you press your nails into his scalp, shuddering above him.

”Bucky…” You whimpered, pressing him closer, feeling the wet heat of his mouth driving you closer and closer to the breaking point, your hips rolling against his mouth, feeling the heat in your stomach beginning to boil.

“You taste so fucking good…I want to stay here forever.” You moaned at his words, heat flaring through your body, the sound of his desperation causing your heart to flutter, his tongue flicking against your clit.

“You like hearing how much I need you?” Your head fell back against the tile, pulling on his hair again.

”Yes.” You gasped, the pressure inside you mounting in a quickening excess “God, Bucky I love it.” He growled, sending another rush of pleasure through your body, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

”You’re so wet for me…” He murmured, his breath hot against your core, “And I’m going to have every single drop.” One hand slipped from behind your thigh, reaching up to hold your breast, palming it gently, as he slipped his tongue inside you, moving it slowly. You felt like you were on the brink of collapse, all the sensations invading your entire body. He groaned, feeling you push against his mouth, his grip on your breast tightening just a little bit, as his thumb ran over your nipple. You unraveled one of your hands from his hair, bringing it up to hold the back of his.

“Bucky I’m…” You couldn’t manage to get your sentence out as you trembled against him, your breath hitching in your throat.

”I know…You going to come for me sweetheart?” He asked, his mouth now focusing directly on your clit, finding a pace that was so fast you could barely compose yourself before the pressure snapped inside you, your grip on his hand tightening, your nails digging into the skin as you cried out, the overstimulation ceasing your heart. Bucky wasn’t lying when he said he was going to have every single drop, his mouth moved against you like he was starved for it. Your body was trembling beneath him, as he pulled away slowly, looking up at you; his eyes wild…Worshipful even. You collapsed against the wall gasping for air, your eyes roaming over his face. His lips were swollen, covered in your arousal, his hair a mess from where you had pulled on it. He smiled at you, letting out a giddy laugh as he kissed the inside of your thigh, before bringing his forehead to your stomach, his hot breath cooling the droplets against your skin.

”Jesus Christ…” He muttered, half in disbelief, half in complete adoration, as he pressed kisses against every inch of skin he could reach, “You’re still shaking.” He commented, looking up again.

“You absolutely wrecked me.” You replied, your hands reaching down to cup his face, your thumbs running along his cheekbones as he leaned into your touch.

“Mission accomplished.” He joked, feeling your hands guiding him up so he could stand again. He raised from his kneeled position, his hands roaming your body, as he pulled you against him, so you could feel how hard he was for you.

“Bucky…I really need you right now.” You confessed, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. He pulled back for a moment.

”Are you sure?” You nodded instantly, feeling his hands behind your thighs grip, and then effortlessly lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the tiled wall. His arms cradled your body like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched, and that wasn’t far off from the truth.

“I need to hear you say-.” You grabbed his face, forcing him to look in your eyes completely.

”I need you Bucky…Please.” That was all he needed to hear, as his hand left the small of your back, lining himself up with your entrance, your gaze falling on his reaction as he slowly pushed himself into you, his jaw slacking open at the warmth, his eyelids fluttering closed. He leaned forward, placing a kiss against your neck, continuing to push, the both of you savoring the sensation of going slow, taking in the feeling of being stretched.

“H-Holy fuck…” He let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head, “It’s like heaven.” He whispers, looking up at you with his pupils blown out, amazed by the sensation of you fluttering around him, his fingertips digging into your hip as he continued to push forward until he bottomed out in you, a satisfied sigh escaping into the air.

”You feel so good…I just wanna stay inside you like this.” His words sent a shiver up your spine, your nails lightly scraping against the broad muscles of his shoulders. His body was a furnace against yours, and the hot water that cascaded above the both of you made everything feel like it was on fire. His vibranium hand moved up your side, his thumb brushing over your ribcage, then moving up to cup your breast. His lips found their way to the curve of your jaw, brushing over your skin, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses wherever he could. He slowly pulled out just a little before rocking back into you, slowly picking up the pace, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, trying his best to keep the unhurried rhythm he had found. With every thrust it was like he pushed deeper, making sure you could feel every inch of him, your nails digging into his back, dragging down.

“Bucky, you feel so fucking good. “ You moaned, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his as he continued to roll his hips up into you, adjusting the angle a bit so that his cock was dragging across your g-spot, a mangled gasp coming out of your throat at the mind-numbing sensation that shot through you. Bucky felt everything, the way your body clenched around him, the heat of your ragged breath against his lips, the way your nails dug into his shoulders just a little more, and the way you closed your eyes tightly trying to focus on not getting overwhelmed with how he was making you feel.

“You like when I fuck you like this?” He asked, rutting back up into you with just a little more force than before.

”Yes!” You practically yelled, as one of your hands came off his shoulder and tangled it into his hair, “Don’t stop Bucky, please don’t fucking stop.” You begged, desperate for the snapping of his hips against yours to continue. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, pulling back.

”I wouldn’t think of it sweetheart.” He said, a dazed smile appearing on his puffy lips, glancing down at the way he was sliding in and out of you so perfectly, before returning his gaze back up to yours, “You’re so wet for me Y/N, I can’t believe how fucking good it feels…I think I’m gonna want you like this everyday now.” There was such need and longing in his voice that you felt yourself melting against him.

”Bucky, I…I fucking want it all. I want you to ruin me. Take me as your own. Please.”You cried out, as he thrusted hard at the words that fell from your mouth, the tip of his cock grazing your cervix.

“I can do that.” He whispered, his lips finding your neck, pressing you against the wall just a little more as he picked up his pace, kissing along your pulse, letting his teeth graze your skin before sinking in just enough to cause a jolt to shoot through you. You tilted your head back, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom as he grunted against your neck, his hand grabbing tightly on your thigh.

“God you’re making me lose my mind.” He moaned, breathless from the fast pace he was thrusting into you with, the coil in your stomach tightening, twisting, and burning with a fury of a thousand suns.

”I’m going to come again B-Bucky.” You could barely string that simple sentence together as your body arched into his.

”I know. I’m gonna ruin you just like you asked.” He whispered, his lips finding yours, as the both of you opened your mouths, his tongue teasing yours, his hips rolling at just the right angle so he could drag another moan out of you.

“Bucky…” His name left your lips like a prayer, your back slipping up the wall with each harsh thrust. There was no rhythm at this point, it was just mindless, and all consumed.

“I’ve got you baby. Be a good girl…Come for me.” It only took another deep, perfectly angled thrust before you shattered around him, your body clenching, trembling, lost in wave after wave of pleasure, your walls clenching tightly. Bucky followed right after, his unstable rhythm breaking as he groaned against your neck, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he let go, his grip on you digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips as he buried himself as deep as he could, filling you up with ropes of cum.

The only sounds left were ragged breaths between you, the hot shower water still falling over the both of you. Bucky didn’t move right away, he slowly took his teeth off your shoulder, observing the dark red marks that he had left, a satisfied smile pulling up on his lips, peppering soft, gentle kisses along the damage. You sighed as he leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

”You’re so fucking incredible.” He whispered, pecking your lips. You smiled at him, your fingers brushing over his shoulders, feeling his arms tightening around you.

“We should wash off…Then give the bed a test drive.” You suggested. He laughed.

”Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: Tensions rise as the three of you try to find clarity in the aftermath of lines crossed and feelings laid bare. In the weeks that follow, you begin to wonder if something this messy could still become something that lasts.

|| smut MDNI 18+, some mentions of pregnancy, angst and feelings, some fluff, dirty talk, pinv, blowjobs, love triangle (?), no outbreak, jealousy, possessiveness, power play, joel talks you thru it of course, fair warning this isn’t exactly healthy, bad communication, don’t do this ok EDIT TO ADD: threesome, some dubious consent at first then reader fully consents. Tommy is an asshole || notes: eeeehhehe okay I love this one. its a long boy! I listened to you and didn’t delete any of it lmao I love this dynamic so much and it makes me so happy to know everyone is as filthy as I am // pic of Joel & Tommy is mine //

“So, when you saw them, what went through your head, Tommy?” Dr. Servopoulos asked. The office was neat, almost unnervingly so. The walls were bare except for a few framed photos—serene lakes, white sailboats drifting across still water. A false sense of calm in a space built for unraveling things that weren’t calm at all. The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, a weak attempt to soften the weight of conversations like this.

It had taken a lot to convince either of the men beside you to come today.

Bringing anyone into this mess was hard enough, but laying it bare for someone outside the three of you, having someone watch, analyze, pick apart what happened behind closed doors felt like something private was being dissected under a microscope.

Joel hated this. You knew he hated this. He was a man who carried his feelings in silence, whose apologies lived in things left unsaid. He didn't do this—didn’t sit in stiff chairs like this, in stuffy offices like this, didn't put words to things that made his throat tight. Yet, he still agreed to be here.

And Tommy—you knew this was hard for him too. Not just because of what had happened, but because sitting here, having someone else pick at the wounds, meant acknowledging that things weren’t okay. That they couldn’t just fix it themselves. That you had invited someone in to see the cracks that had formed over the past few months.

It made the walls feel closer, the chairs feel stiffer, the quiet feel too loud.

You watched Tommy as he sighed beside you, his fingers rubbing at his brow. His eyes flickered to the doctor before dropping to the floor. “I don’t even remember,” he muttered. “S’like I’ve blocked it all out.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I do remember the right hook I gave ‘im when Joel was tryna say somethin’ to me.” His voice darkened. “Ya know. When they were finally dressed.”

The last word dripped with bitterness.

You flinched. Your fingers curled together in your lap, knuckles pressing tight.

Joel shifted beside you, the slight movement drawing your attention. He sat stiff in his chair, his thumb rubbing absently at the bruised, purple swell on his cheek—the evidence of Tommy’s fury. He hadn’t said a single word since the session started.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to meet the doctor’s gaze. “Dr. Servopoulos—”

“Tess,” she offered smoothly.

“Tess,” you amended. “We never meant… this was never supposed to get this far. I just want him to know I never—” You turned to look Tommy in the eyes. “I never intended for this to happen.”

Tommy let out a rough scoff, shaking his head. His arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, neither did I.”

A quiet beat.

Tess glanced at Joel then, waiting.

Joel felt the weight of her stare and finally looked up. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable.

Tess raised a brow. “Anything to add?”

His jaw ticked. “What d’you want me to say?”

“You tell me, Mr. Miller.” Tess mused, tapping her pen against her notepad. “What about how you ended up sleeping with your brother’s wife?”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. His knuckles flexed. “Didn’t start out that way.”

Tess hummed. “Right.” She flipped to a page of her notes. “So let’s lay this out. You—” she nodded at you, “wanted a baby. You—” she pointed at Tommy, “were willing to ask your own brother to be a sperm donor, which then turned into you—” she turned to Joel, “what, just doing your brother a favor? By sleeping with his wife?”

Joel’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I did say no at first. But yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Tommy mumbled under his breath, “Yeah. A real big favor.”

You swallowed.

Tess scribbled something down. “Okay,” she said, flipping her pen between her fingers. “So when you three agreed to try for a baby in this… hands-on way, you never foresaw the possibility of… complications?”

You shook your head, stomach twisting.

“Not once?”

“I didn’t think about it,” you admitted, voice small. “I thought we were just—we were focused on the baby.”

Tommy snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah? Well, neither of you seemed focused on it when you were sneakin’ around.”

You flinched again.

Joel finally looked up at him, his expression dark. “We weren’t sneakin’.”

“Sure as hell felt like it,” Tommy shot back.

Tess sighed, leaning forward, her gaze flicking between the three of you. “Alright, let’s just call it what it is: things got complicated. Lines that were there for a reason got crossed. And the problem wasn’t you trying for a baby—it was everything that happened outside of that agreement.”

She gestured between you and Joel. “You broke the boundaries you set. Maybe you ignored it, maybe you thought you could handle it, but now you’re here. And not because the plan failed, but because you broke your own rules. You had sex outside of what you all agreed to.”

A brief pause. Her eyes scanned each of you, as if silently asking any of you to deny it, before she tilted her head.

“So let’s cut to it. Why are you here? What do each of you actually want?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—I ain’t ready to throw away my marriage, but I also ain’t stupid enough to pretend like nothin’ happened.”

Tess nodded, absorbing his words before turning to you. “And you?”

Your throat felt tight. “I—” Your hands fisted in your lap. “I don’t want to lose either of them.”

Tommy’s head snapped toward you.

Joel’s fingers twitched.

You swallowed, your voice steadier now. “My marriage with Tommy is important to me. He is important to me.” You turned toward your husband, eyes pleading. “But things are complicated. Because Joel is important too.” You hesitated, shifting your gaze to Joel’s hands, his knuckles tight and white where they pressed together. “I don’t want to just cut him out of this just because of one mistake.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt. His fingers drummed against his knee, his gaze flickering between you and Joel like he was waiting for something.

Tess sat forward slightly, pen poised. “And Joel?”

Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t wanna make things worse than they already are,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable.

Tess hummed, unimpressed. “That’s not really an answer.”

His fingers tapped against his knee. “Ain’t got another one.”

You turned toward him, heart pounding. “Joel.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes staying downcast away from you.

You didn’t push right away, letting the silence stretch between you before trying again, voice softer this time. “What do you want?”

His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

Tess glanced between you both. “It doesn’t have to be a speech, Joel. Just say what’s in your head.”

Joel breathed in a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the heel of his hand over his mouth. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto his brother. “I know what we agreed to,” he said, voice steady but low. “I know this was supposed to be your kid, that I was just…” He trailed off for a second, shaking his head, like the word didn’t sit right with him. “That I was just helpin’.”

The room felt very still. 

Joel shifted, his knuckles flexing against his knee. “But shit changed, Tommy.” His voice roughened. “I can’t just—" He exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. “I won’t just step back like this don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

The weight of it settled between all of you. Tommy’s knee bounced, his hands gripping his own upper arms where they were crossed. His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he didn’t speak, didn’t argue.

Joel swallowed, gaze flicking downward for a second before lifting again. “I ain’t askin’ for—” He hesitated, his jaw flexing like the words were hard to force out. “I don’t even know what I’m askin’ for.” His eyes flickered to Tommy’s. “But I do know I ain’t gonna be left out to dry.”

“No one said you would be,” you tried to soothe, your hand reaching to rest on his forearm, shaking your head. His skin was rough, warm, solid beneath your touch.

Your eyes traced the worn lines of his face, the quiet tension in his jaw as he looked at his brother. He was handsome in a way that felt etched into him, shaped by time and hardship, by everything he’d carried.

And you knew—better than anyone—how much Tommy meant to him. That neither of them trusted anyone as much as they trusted each other. That this needed to be amended before anything else could carry on between the two of you. You took your hand away from his arm.

Tess let out a slow breath. “Okay,” she murmured, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Joel. I think everyone needed to hear that.”

Joel’s fingers flexed again, and this time, his gaze flicked toward you, studying you for the first time since you arrived. There was something there—a charge, a quiet pull that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and you were only noticing it now, now that everything had changed.

You let the silence stretch as you kept your eyes on his, trying to read between everything he wasn’t saying. That he wanted to be part of this, that he wasn’t going to give this up easily.

Then Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Then we gotta figure out what the hell we’re actually doin’ here.”

Tess tapped her pen against her notepad. “Right. So let’s talk about our options.”

“Options?” Tommy echoed, his voice edged with skepticism.

Tess nodded, uncrossing her legs only to recross them the other way. She leaned forward slightly. “The way I see it, there are ways to make this work—even if none of them are simple.” She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “But make no mistake: it’s going to take work.”

Her pen tapped lightly against the paper as she continued. “Let’s start with the obvious: you can walk away from this entirely, go your separate ways—but none of you seem too eager to do that. Or, you and Tommy could stay together, work on the marriage, and Joel can remain in the background. Be some kind of father figure to this child and nothing more.”

She lifted a brow and looked directly at him. “But I’m not sure, with how far this has gotten, that that’s actually what you want.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, tension shifting through his shoulders as his eyes dropped to the floor.

Then, quiet but certain, Joel said, “It’s not.”

Your chest tightened. The urge to reach for him surged again, stronger this time, but you didn’t move. You let him sit in the silence he’d chosen, even as it said more than anything else could.

Tess gave a small nod, like she’d expected that answer.

Joel didn’t elaborate. Didn’t look up. But the shift in the room was immediate. Whatever this had started as—it wasn’t just about the baby anymore.

Tess paused, giving the moment space before she spoke again.

“So the third option…How do we feel about the possibility of an open relationship?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged.

Tommy looked at you. You looked at him. Then at Joel. Joel stared at the floor, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Tess leaned her elbows on her knees, voice calm but direct. “I’ll be honest—I rarely see that work in situations like this. But it’s an option. If you’re willing to set clear, honest boundaries—and actually respect them.”

Tommy let out a breathy, humorless laugh, running a hand down his face again. “Boundaries. We’d need real ones this time. Ones that actually get followed.” His voice was edged, not cruel, but firm. “Not just shit we say and then ignore the second someone gets all… worked up.”

You tried not to let the flush creep onto your face as you kept your eyes on Tess as she went on.

“Now, let’s talk about Sarah.”

Joel immediately stiffened, his eyes shooting up to look at the doctor. Tommy did too.

“She doesn’t need to know about any of this,” Joel said, voice sharp.

“Not right now,” Tommy agreed. He turned to his brother, “But eventually, she’s gonna ask questions. And if we’re talkin’ about raising a baby together too, we can’t just not think about how this looks to her.”

Tess nodded, writing something down. “And if you don’t figure out what you actually are to each other, she’s gonna pick up on that long before you’re ready to have the conversation.” She flicked her gaze between all of you. “Kids are perceptive. The more unsure you are, the more confusing it’s gonna be for her.”

“When the time comes,” Joel said, measured, “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at Tommy, then at you. “Not before. Not unless she starts askin’.”

Tess watched him closely. “And if she does?”

Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Then I’ll explain it to her. In a way that makes sense.” His eyes flickered between you and Tommy again. “She don’t need to know more than what’s right for her age.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright.”

Tess closed her notebook. “Alright. It’s a start. But you’ve got work to do. This isn’t just about a baby anymore.” She looked directly at Tommy. “It’s about your marriage. About your relationships with each other.” Then her gaze flicked between you and Joel. “And whether or not you two can actually handle boundaries, or if this is just a slow crawl toward something blowing up in your faces.”

You swallowed. Joel’s hands clenched.

Tommy just sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The walk into the parking lot was a quiet one, with the buzzing of unsettled energy between the three of you. Once outside the door, you all seemed to turn to each other, waiting for someone to speak.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Both of you. For coming to this. I know it was…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Weird,” Joel offered, with a dry edge.

“Necessary,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms.

You nodded, arms folding across your chest. “So…” you trailed off, unsure what came next. None of you were.

Tommy gave a short sigh and looked off toward the lot. “I’ll go grab the truck.” He didn’t wait for a response—just turned and walked, shoulders tight, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

You and Joel stood in the stillness he left behind.

He glanced at you, then away, rocking slightly on his heels. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say right now.”

You huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, like something was caught just behind his teeth—but he didn’t speak.

And you didn’t reach for him, even though you wanted to. Even though your hand twitched like it might. To squeeze his, to graze his wrist, to pull him close and maybe even kiss him goodbye. But it was still too weird. Too soon.

So instead, when Tommy pulled up and the tires crunched on the pavement, you stepped forward and let your fingers brush lightly over Joel’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just enough to say something without having to speak.

The window on Tommy’s side rolled down, elbow braced on the edge. He was watching his brother with a resigned look in his eyes.

Joel met his eyes. They exchanged a short, silent nod. Nothing more.

You climbed into the passenger seat, heart thrumming. Joel stayed standing where you left him, hands in his pockets, watching as the truck pulled away.

And even though nothing had been said… it felt like something had shifted. Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

For mid-October, the sun sure was baking you in the bleachers. But it was the good kind of heat—cozy, not oppressive. The air smelled like dust and hay and horses. Behind you, the fair buzzed with life—kids screaming on the roller coasters, bells ringing as prizes were won, music from the concert stage floating over the field like static.

The Austin Fall Festival was in full swing.

Tommy sat beside you on the sun-warmed metal bench, one hand deep in a bag of kettle corn, the other resting easy on your knee. Down in the arena below your seats, another bull rider went airborne, thrown like a ragdoll into the dirt. The crowd let out a collective wince.

“Damn,” Tommy said, watching the guy scramble to his feet. “That’s gonna bruise.”

You snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Bruise? That man’s spine just folded in half.”

Tommy grinned, leaning in. “Bet I could do better.”

You raised a brow. “You can’t even get outta bed without your back crackin’ like fireworks.”

He laughed, mouth full of popcorn, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips—warm and familiar. “True. But I’d still look good tryin’.”

You smiled as you sipped your soda. The air smelled like caramel and something fried—probably the funnel cake stand you passed earlier. You sat close enough to the arena that you could hear the thud of hooves, the pop of the announcer’s mic, the wave of cheers and groans rolling through the stands behind you. It felt electric.

Sarah was up soon. Her first barrel race. She’d been buzzing about it for weeks.

You leaned into Tommy’s side, and he brought his arm up to wrap around your shoulders, giving you an affectionate squeeze.

This was good. A sense of normalcy again.

Then, a familiar face caught your eye making his way up the bleachers. Joel had a bag of cotton candy in one hand and was weaving through the crowd with ease up the stairs. He reached your row and slid in beside you, a small smile already on his face.

“Just left Sarah with her trainer,” he said, a little out of breath. “She’s up in the next few.”

Then he leaned in to greet you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek meant to be just a casual familial ‘hello’. But still, his stubble scraped your skin just enough to leave a spark, and he smelled like horses and leather and that subtle cologne he always wore. It hit somewhere low in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show. 

He greeted Tommy with a nod, and popped a puff of cotton candy into his mouth.

You made a face. “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”

Joel grinned around the sugar, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s what makes me so sweet.”

You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your soda. Tommy reached down for more popcorn, his arm brushing against your back as he dropped his hand from your shoulder, and Joel leaned forward to watch the next event being announced.

You sat between them, shoulders brushing, the sun warming your back, the crowd rising around you.

For a moment, it almost felt like things could settle. Like the three of you could fit into this new normal—comfortable, easy, like it was supposed to be this way all along. At least you hoped. 

The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling out Sarah’s name, and your heart gave a little skip.

“There she is,” Joel said, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.

You leaned, too, eyes scanning the gate. Sure enough, Sarah was there behind the posts on her horse, nerves painted all over her posture even though she tried to play it cool. Even from here, you could just make out the furrow in her brow—the same quiet, determined look she got from her dad.

“She’s gonna kill it,” Tommy said beside you, resting his hand high on your thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, leaning into you as he said, “Ain’t no way she don’t win.”

You smiled, but it felt slightly delayed. Joel’s knee pressed against yours as he leaned close on your other side, eyes still locked on the arena.

“Hope she don’t cut that second barrel too close,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his voice low and rough. “She keeps doin’ that in practice. Gets excited and leans too early.”

“She’ll be fine,” you said, but you could hear the tension in your own voice. Joel’s hand had come to rest behind you on the bench, close to your lower back. Tommy’s fingers were still on your leg.

Sarah burst out of the gate, and the crowd roared. The three of you shot to your feet as her horse charged forward, hooves kicking up dust. She moved fast—tight, clean—rounding the first barrel like she’d done it a hundred times.

Joel was grinning ear to ear. “That’s my girl!”

His arm slid around your back, his other hand curled into a loose fist, pressed just beneath his mouth as if to contain the rush of emotion building in him. The hand at your back caught in the fabric of your blouse, fingers curling there, like he was tethering himself. Like he was bracing.

You tried to focus on Sarah, but all you could feel was the heat of his fingers, the way he clung to you, like your body was hyper aware of him.

You smiled, cheering, barely breathing, eyes fixed on her horse thundering toward the second turn. She hugged the barrel tight—too tight. A little wobble, a gasp from the crowd, but she corrected at the last second.

“She’s got it,” Tommy said beside you. His hand came to rest against the small of your back—right below where Joel’s hand was already bunched in your shirt. The two touches nearly met.

Neither of them moved.

Sarah charged toward the third barrel. Clean. Her final sprint down the home stretch brought the stands to their feet.

The three of you clapped, cheered, whooped, your heart racing, the electricity between the two men fizzing silently beside you. Tommy’s hand splayed wide across your backside. Joel barely moved, watching the timer screen flash across the display.

“That’s a good run,” he said, low and proud. His fingers loosened from your shirt, but he didn’t move his hand away.

“She’s gonna place,” Tommy agreed.

“She might win it,” you added, turning your head to look at them.

Both of them were already looking at you.

You smiled, flushed from the excitement—but something in the way they each looked at you made your skin feel hot for an entirely different reason.

Neither of them said anything, and for a second, the moment just… hung there. Their hands on you. The roar of the crowd fading into something muted.

Then the announcer called the next name, and the energy around you snapped back into motion.

Joel pulled his arm back to grab the cotton candy. Tommy slid his hand away like nothing had happened.

But your body remembered. And so did theirs.

After catching up with Sarah after her event, she was still buzzing with adrenaline. Practically bouncing.

“Did you see how fast he took that last curve?!” she gasped, practically skipping between you and Joel. “I was freaking out when the second barrel started to tip—did you see that?! Were you guys watching?!”

Joel was all pride and smiles as he walked beside her, teasing and nodding along, soaking in every word. She rambled on about her trainer’s horses, how they’d competed at Rodeo Austin for real, how she couldn’t wait to do it again. Eventually, she managed to talk the three of you into a round at the BB gun booth.

All four of you took a stance—Sarah coached dramatically, and you, predictably, failed miserably your first try. Joel and Tommy moved to the next round, and you watched from the side with Sarah, both of you hollering in support.

“Hit it! Hit it!” Sarah screeched at her dad. You let out a whoop as Tommy nailed the bullseye again and again.

When the game runner handed him a giant teddy bear, Tommy swung it into your arms with a triumphant grin before kissing you full on the mouth, unbothered by the crowd.

You laughed against his lips, hugging the bear tight, bouncing a little despite yourself.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah groaned, tugging at his arm until he pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her wide-eyed look. “Win me one too! Please?”

Tommy’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Joel, clearly amused that he was the one winning today. Joel rolled his eyes, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long as he glanced at your oversized teddy hitched on your hip.

“Go on, then,” Joel said, nodding toward the booth. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”

“I’ll join you,” you added quickly, glancing toward Tommy. But Sarah was already dragging him away, his hands back on the BB gun, ready for round two.

You and Joel peeled off quietly, heading toward the food and drink stands.

“Sarah was beggin’ for a funnel cake earlier,” Joel said, hands in his pockets. “Okay if we stop by one of the stands?”

“Yeah, ’course,” you murmured, falling into step beside him.

The walk was quiet—not awkward, exactly, but the air between you had thickened. Every step felt like it carried the weight of something unsaid.

You hadn’t talked much since the therapy session. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. The three of you had agreed to give it space—to breathe, to not immediately push into definitions or rules or boundaries.

But space didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like walking on eggshells. Like waiting for someone else to speak first, only no one ever did.

You weren’t sure what this was supposed to look like now. The idea of exploring an open relationship had been thrown out into the room like a life raft, but no one had said if they were actually ready to grab onto it. Not Joel. Not Tommy. Not even you.

You made it all the way to the counter before either of you spoke again.

“Make that two funnel cakes, please,” you said, just as Joel ordered Sarah’s.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” you laughed, lifting a shoulder. “Can’t help the cravings.” You reached for your wallet. “I’ll get Sarah’s too.”

Joel stopped you, his hand catching your wrist as you moved to your back pocket.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, already pulling out cash.

Then, quieter—low enough that the vendor wouldn’t hear, but just loud enough for you—he added, “Guess that sweet tooth runs in the genes.”

Your heart stumbled a beat. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t smirk, didn’t wink, but you could swear there was a twinkle in his eye when he turned back to you as you both stepped aside to wait for your order.

And just like that, the silence settled back in—only now it wasn’t neutral. It was charged.

When the funnel cakes came, you didn’t hesitate—tearing off a bite, still warm and soft, powdered sugar sticking to your lips.

You sighed in delight. “Oh my God.”

Joel was watching you when you looked up. That slight smirk on his face.

“What?” you asked, mouth full.

“You got a little somethin’,” he said, gesturing vaguely near his own mouth.

You licked your lips automatically, tongue sweeping the corner.

“Nope,” he murmured, chuckling. “Still there.”

Before you could try again, his hand reached out. Fingers warm and rough as they curled under your chin. His thumb dragged gently across your upper lip, brushing away the sugar with a slow swipe.

You froze—your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes searched his face. The lights from the festival sparkled in his eyes, and behind him the sky had deepened into a wash of orange and violet.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he moved.

His lips brushed yours—soft, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if this counted as crossing a line, or if the line had disappeared altogether. But he didn’t pull back right away. Instead, he paused there, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your mouth, and for a second neither of you moved. 

You stood still in that sliver of space where touch becomes choice, where you could pretend it hadn’t happened yet. But then his mouth pressed into yours fully, slowly, like he was tasting something he already knew. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate, drawn out and gentle. 

His hand stayed at your chin, his thumb pinching just barely as if to steady you, and your lips parted instinctively beneath his. You felt the sigh in his chest more than you heard it, like something deep inside him had let go the second your mouths met. 

Your hands stayed at your sides, fist clenched around the paper tray still holding your funnel cake, the other hugging the teddy bear to your side, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. It wasn’t a kiss born from adrenaline or jealousy—it wasn’t the kind of kiss that begged for permission. It simply was. 

When he pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow, like he didn’t really want to stop, but knew he had to. His lips hovered a moment longer—just close enough that you could still feel the heat of him—and then he stepped back half a breath. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. You stood there staring at him, your lungs burning like you’d been holding your breath the entire time. Joel’s eyes dropped to your mouth again, and then, with a subtle flick of his tongue, he licked the last trace of powdered sugar from his bottom lip. The gesture was unthinking, automatic, but the sheer sight of it landed somewhere low and electric in your stomach, like a match being struck.

And then the world came rushing back in.

The noise of the fairgrounds—the buzz of voices, the bark of game operators, the soft whir of rides—returned all at once, like someone had turned the volume back up. You swallowed hard and looked away, trying to force air into your lungs, trying to stop the trembling in your fingers. Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded once, almost to himself, and turned to start walking back toward the game booth. You followed beside him, the heat still high in your cheeks, your steps too careful, like if you moved too fast you might lose your balance.

You glanced up at him once, just to see if he was as composed as he acted, but the faint pink flush at the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Dad!”

Sarah’s voice snapped your head up. She was running toward you, a giant stuffed horse clutched in her arms, nearly half her size. She was beaming. “Can I go find Claire and Maddie again? They’re headed to the ferris wheel!”

Joel handed her the funnel cake without hesitation, “Yeah, go on, just stay where we can see you.”

“Thanks!” she chirped, already spinning away with her prize in tow, the funnel cake tipping dangerously as she ran off.

But your eyes weren’t on her.

They were on Tommy, just catching up to you—beer in one hand, the other stuffed in his front pocket, a smile on his face as he watched her go. When his eyes found yours, they flicked to Joel beside you, and something in his expression changed. Not angry, not suspicious… but aware. Like he was conscious of some shift between the two of you.

You tried to will the pink from your cheeks, steady the pulse in your throat as you stepped toward him and offered your funnel cake like nothing had happened.

“That kid had me goin’ three more rounds to get her that prize,” Tommy chuckled, clearly trying to break whatever tension had settled back between the three of you as he tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth.

Joel let out a quiet laugh, eyes following in the direction Sarah had run off. “Better go catch up with her before I lose ’er.”

Tommy nodded, then glanced at you. “Think we’ll call it a night after this. She’ll be wired for another hour and then crash hard.”

You smiled, grateful for the exit.

As Joel nodded and began to step away, Tommy called after him casually, “Hey—when you drop her off, mind swingin’ by the house? Think I left that box of tools in your truck bed last week.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure.” his eyes landed on you for the briefest moment, “See ya in a bit then,”

Tommy gave him a two-finger wave, then turned his attention back to you, the last bite of funnel cake pinched between his fingers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked out of the fair.

The drive home wasn’t long, but it felt like it stretched forever.

Tommy’s hand had been on your thigh from the moment he slid into the driver’s seat—steady at first, but now, it was creeping higher with every turn he made. His fingers flexed just at the top of your leg, the pad of his thumb brushing over your jeans in slow, distracting strokes.

“Tommy,” you said, a quiet breath more than a word.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, too casual for the way his fingers were moving now.

“You’re bein’ handsy.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Yeah, well. You’re lettin’ me.”

This wasn’t like him.

Yes, Tommy was affectionate—always had been. Touching your lower back as you passed through a crowd, brushing his lips over your shoulder while you stood at the sink, nudging your knee under the table just to remind you he was there.

But his gestures had never been… naughty.

Never anything that lit a fuse under your skin like the way his hand was gripping your thigh now. Never anything that made your breath stutter in your chest just from the press of his fingers curling possessively around your skin.

He was usually more careful with you. Gentle.

Tommy was the kind of man who waited until you were both tucked under the covers, warm and safe, soft and sleepy, before climbing over you with a smile and a kiss to your neck. The kind of man who made you smile first, made sure the world had quieted before he pulled you under.

You turned your head, looking at him from the passenger seat. He was focused on the road, jaw tight, eyes hard on the curve of the pavement as he turned into the neighborhood. But there was a spark there, flashing hot and alive beneath his usual easy exterior.

Your gaze slid down as he shifted in his seat, and your eyes caught on the undeniable shape in his jeans.

Heat bloomed in your face. Your chest. Lower.

The tight bulge in his lap pulsed like a secret between you, and it made your thighs press together involuntarily. But it wasn’t just the fact that he was aroused—it was that he wasn’t hiding it. That he was feeling you up in the front seat of the truck, on your quiet neighborhood street, away from the safety of the four walls of your bedroom.

Tommy, who usually waited until the house was dark and the doors were locked. Who kissed you slowly, slid his hands under your shirt and whispered “you okay?” even after years of being together.

He just slid his hand between your legs and gripped your inner thigh like he’d been thinking about it all night.

It sent heat rolling through you, sharp and dizzying. Not just from the touch, but from the awareness of how out of place it was. How unlike him it was to let go like this, to need like this, especially outside the safety of home.

And God help you—you liked it.

You pressed your legs together, your breath catching in your throat, trying to remember how to sit still while every nerve in your body screamed at you to climb into his lap and ride him right there in the middle of the road.

He felt your squirming as he pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The second the truck shifted into park and the headlights clicked off, the cab was swallowed in quiet shadow, only the streetlamp catching the edge of his jaw.

He turned toward you, that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth—the kind that made your stomach flip. His hand slid from your thigh to the top of your seat, arm stretched across the backrest, his gaze drinking you in from the other side of the bench.

“C’mere,” he said, low and smooth, nodding for you to slide over.

You bit your lip, heart thudding, and obeyed without a word—scooting across the cracked leather until your thigh brushed his.

His hand dropped from the headrest to cradle the back of your neck, warm and firm. The other left the steering wheel, finding your cheek, fingers spreading across your jaw like he needed to anchor you in place.

And then he kissed you.

Not the sweet, half-thought kisses he’d given you throughout the day. Not careful, not playful. This was deep. Needy. Starving. Like he’d been holding it back for too long and didn’t care anymore if it showed.

His mouth slanted over yours again and again, open and hot, tongue sweeping past your lips like it belonged there. The soft sounds he made—those low, growling hums that rumbled in his throat—sent heat surging through your core.

Your breath stuttered as his grip on your neck tightened, his other hand trailing slowly down from your face to trace along your body until it was back at your denim clad thighs. He gripped hard, his palm sliding up along the seam of your jeans, squeezing just enough to make you shift in your seat.

When he tugged gently at the base of your hair, just at the nape, a moan slipped from your throat before you could catch it.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

He huffed a breath against your skin, already moving to your neck, kissing a line down the column of your throat. His mouth was open, his tongue slow, dragging heat behind every press of his lips, and then—teeth. A soft bite that made your body jolt.

“Wanted to get my hands on you all day,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled against your skin. “Lookin’ so pretty,”

You whimpered, nails curling into the fabric of his shirt as he worked lower, pushing your neckline aside with one hand just to mouth at the new skin he found there.

You were panting now, flushed all over, your thighs pressing together as he kissed, bit, sucked like he was trying to brand you.

“Tommy,” you breathed, completely undone, and when he looked back up at you—lips swollen, eyes dark—you barely recognized the hunger in his face.

“Get your ass inside,” he rasped. “Now.”

You climbed out the passenger door, giddy like a teenager all over again, your skin still tingling from his hands and mouth and voice. As you made your way up the walk, Tommy’s hand came down in a playful smack against your rear, making you squeal and laugh over your shoulder at him.

He didn’t smile—not fully. His eyes were too dark, too focused. But the edge of his mouth twitched like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time you reached the door, his chest was already at your back, his arms snaking around you, mouth grazing your ear. “You drive me crazy, baby… you know that?” he murmured, voice low and breath hot.

You fumbled the keys, giggling as he pressed closer. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to himself.”

“And you didn’t stop me,” he whispered, nuzzling your jaw. “Didn’t want to, did you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

The door clicked open and the second you were inside, his hands were on you again—spinning you around, backing you up against the wall just inside the entry. His mouth crashed into yours, deeper this time, slower but no less desperate. His hands slid up your sides, over your waist, thumbs hooking into your belt loops to keep you flush against him.

He kissed you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. Like he’d been starving for you.

By the time you pulled apart for air, you were both breathless and a little dizzy.

“Upstairs,” he murmured, voice ragged, his hands slipping down to grab yours, guiding you behind him.

At the top, he didn’t even pause—just pulled you straight into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind you with one solid thud. And then his hands were back on your hips, his mouth on your throat, and whatever this was—it wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.

Your back hit the bedroom wall with a soft thump, and Tommy barely gave you time to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, pressing into the curve of your neck, open and hot, his hands splayed across your hips like he couldn’t keep his hands still.

You gasped as he nipped at the base of your throat, your hands tangling in his shirt, gripping the fabric tight. He groaned softly against your skin, one hand sliding up under your top, rough fingers skimming over your ribs like he needed to feel all of you.

“Tommy—” you breathed, but it came out more like a sigh.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling hard, eyes dark and locked onto yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head before the words even formed. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt up, slow but sure, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes dropped, sweeping over your bare skin like it physically pained him to look away. One of his hands slid behind you and unclasped your bra in a smooth motion, and let it slide from your shoulders. His hands were reverent, warm and wide as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the groan that left him was raw, almost pained.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, like a thought spoken out loud.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his stomach and chest. He helped you the rest of the way, yanking it over his head and tossing it behind him. His mouth was back on you before you could get a good look, lips trailing heat down your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. He kissed your flesh until you were arching into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands moved to the button of your jeans next, and you gasped when he popped it open and dragged the zipper down, his knuckles grazing the skin just below your belly. You toed off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the carpet barely registering over the pounding in your ears. His hands slid to your waist, and he dropped to his knees, pulling your jeans down inch by inch, kissing the skin he uncovered like it was a map he already knew by heart.

By the time he got your jeans off, his mouth never left your skin, kissing along your hip bone, his breath hot and shaky. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and worshipful—until they weren’t. Until they were gripping.

His fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you closer as he moved up to kiss your stomach, chest, throat—claiming every inch like it was his and his alone. You were breathless by the time he kissed you again, and when he pushed you back onto the bed, you went willingly, your back sinking into the sheets, arms stretching above your head.

He hovered over you, eyes tracing every inch of your face. And then something flickered there. Something sharp.

“You let him touch you like this?” he asked, voice low but tight, as his hand moved between your legs, cupping you over your panties. The lace was already damp beneath his fingers, your arousal bleeding through the fabric. He dragged a finger along the center, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat bloom deeper as the pressure built.

Your breath caught. “Tommy—”

“Just tell me,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Did he touch you like this?” He pressed the heel of his palm in, slow but firm, dragging a moan from your lips even as your brows pulled together.

“Stop,” you breathed, trying to push up on your elbows. “It doesn’t matter.”

But he shook his head, his hand sliding your underwear down your thighs, slow and rough all at once. “It does to me.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time, almost bruising until his hands guided you to roll over, his touch less gentle now, more insistent. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, chest pressed into the bed, your face turned toward the pillows. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him—hot and hard, the blunt weight of his cock pressing against you.

You arched back into it instinctively, needing him to forget everything else, to just feel this—feel you.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, pushing into you with one steady thrust that made you gasp, your fingers curling into the comforter. “Always been mine.”

You moaned, eyes shutting tightly as he moved inside you—rougher now, his rhythm firm, controlled, but not cruel. Just desperate. Like he had something to prove.

Every sound that left him was strained, thick with emotion—his hands spreading across your hips, his thumb trailing up your spine like he needed to feel every piece of you to believe this was real.

The sound of your moans and Tommy’s grunts filled the air, the sheets rubbing against your skin beneath you, it was almost loud enough to drown out the front door opening.

But then you heard his voice.

“Tommy?”

Your eyes flew open, breath catching in your throat. That was Joel’s voice coming from downstairs. Your mind scrambled to remember why the hell he was here. And then you remembered Tommy’s request. Some stupid tool box he needed.

Tommy stilled for half a second—just long enough for your heart to lurch—before he started moving again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was doubling down.

You grunted, biting your lip to swallow the moan that threatened to give you away. Your hand scrambled for the edge of the sheets, something to grip, something to hold you to earth.

Your blood ran hot and cold all at once.

Joel’s voice came again—closer. “You home?”

“We’re up here,” Tommy called back, voice completely steady.

No.

Your entire body tensed under him, your head whipping to the side, eyes locked on the closed bedroom door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, panicked, but he only dropped more of his weight onto you, one hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, the other tightening around your hip. You were locked in place beneath him, your breath coming fast.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Tommy cooed, his voice sweet but mocking as his hips kept moving, slow and steady and deep. “Ain’t gonna stop now.”

There was a creak on the stairs.

Your heart slammed into your throat.

“Tommy,” you hissed again, but it came out half-broken, your voice catching in your chest.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Jesus—” Joel flinched hard, turning away with a grunt and lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “What the hell, man!?”

Tommy didn’t stop.

His grip on you tightened, his thrusts slowing just a hair—but only to lean down, breath hot against your ear as he rasped, “That what you wanted, huh? Him seein’ you like this?”

You whimpered, caught between mortification and a heat that made your knees weak.

“Tommy—please—” you gasped, struggling half-heartedly beneath him.

But he was gone.

“Think you can just fuck my wife whenever you want?” Tommy growled, looking over at Joel now, chest heaving, voice thick with rage and something else—something darker. “Think you do it better?”

Joel turned slightly, eyes caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind—”

“Have I?” Tommy snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked into you harder now, like he was trying to prove something with every movement. “’Cause she’s drippin’ all over my cock right now. You seein’ this?”

You let out a broken sound, face buried in the mattress. You wanted to crawl out of your skin—and yet the way Tommy was holding you, the filthy things coming out of his mouth, the heat between the three of you…

It was too much.

Joel’s mouth opened like he was about to say something else—but he didn’t.

He stared.

He stayed.

And your heart nearly exploded as Tommy chuckled low in his throat, thrusting deep and slow again like he wanted Joel to see it.

“That’s right,” Tommy said, never looking away. “Go on. Watch. See what it looks like when a man takes care of what’s his.”

“Call this takin’ care?” Joel said, voice low, sharp with something mean and taunting beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked up, wide, and found his—and the heat there made your breath catch.

“Tell me, little brother,” Joel drawled, “you ever felt her come all over that dick of yours?”

Tommy’s movements faltered. Just for a second.

You felt it—his grip loosening slightly on your hips, his breath catching.

Your heart was in your throat, beating so hard it hurt.

Joel stepped forward, slow, measured. His eyes dragged over your body—not like it was new to him, but like he knew every inch of it already. Like he could trace it blind, by memory alone.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured.

Then his gaze locked with yours.

“Should we show him, sweetheart?” he asked, and your stomach dropped clean through the mattress. “Show him what he’s been missin’?”

Your mouth parted, no sound coming out.

Joel tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Think my pissy little brother needs some pointers?”

Tommy let out a rough breath behind you, a mix between a growl and a scoff, his hand sliding up your spine possessively.

“She’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore.

Joel’s gaze flickered up, darkening, “Then fuckin’ act like it.”

The silence was deafening—so thick you could hear your own pulse in your ears.

Tommy’s hands flexed on your hips again. And then he thrust—hard. Deep. A sound ripped out of you that wasn’t quiet at all.

And Joel’s expression changed. Softer. Almost smug. Almost… proud.

“She sure makes the prettiest sounds, don’t she?” he said, and he approached the bed. Your skin felt like it was on fire as Tommy stilled completely, but he was still hard inside you to your surprise.

“Turn her over,” Joel said steadily.

Tommy’s head snapped toward him. “Get the hell out.”

“You invited me in here, little brother.” Joel’s tone was exasperatingly calm. 

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Both men. In the room with you while you were naked and taking your husband’s cock.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, wild and uneven, like it was trying to warn you. Or maybe it was just overwhelmed.

You didn’t know where to look. Joel, standing there with that infuriating calm like this was just another Tuesday. Tommy, still inside you, bristling with fury, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as he tried to process what was happening.

And you—trapped in the middle, hips pinned beneath the man you married, body still burning for the one you hadn’t stopped thinking about since that first night.

You should’ve felt humiliated. You did. But your skin still tingled everywhere Joel’s eyes touched.

Tommy was quick to snap at his brother, “And now I want you out.”

Joel didn’t flinch. “And what do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, gaze cutting to you, his head tilted slightly as his eyes took in the flushed features of your face.

You exhaled slowly, your lungs feeling like they’d deflated. Your mouth was dry, but you licked your lips anyway, then turned your face to look back at Tommy, biting down gently on the inside of your cheek.

Tommy’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Just…” you breathed, heart pounding in your throat, “let’s just see. It could be fun.” You swallowed. “We haven’t made any rules yet.”

Tommy looked between the two of you—his jaw tight, his eyes wide, stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before he finally pulled out of you, breath ragged. “Alright. Turn over.”

You moved quickly, your skin flushed and glowing, body still trembling as you flipped onto your back. The sheets were warm under you, your thighs still slick, still open.

Behind you, you heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes—the metal clink of a belt, the soft drag of a zipper—and then Joel was there.

The heat of him hit you first. He was so warm, and as he stepped to the side of the bed, the mattress dipped slightly with his weight.

“This is so fuckin’ weird,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as he moved to kneel between your legs again.

You sat up a little, cupping his face, dragging your hand down the center of his chest, his stomach. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “If you don’t want this, we stop. Say the word.”

Tommy stared down at you for a long second. His lips pressed together, pulled inward like he was thinking too hard. His eyes flicked to Joel, then back to you.

He sighed, jaw clenching. “Just this once. And if it doesn’t work—”

“Never again,” you finished softly, nodding.

Only then did you glance up at Joel.

He nodded once, slow and assured, his hand already moving to the bulge in his briefs. Your eyes followed—broad chest, tan skin, strong forearms—and you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back, just slightly, hand drifting up to cup him through the fabric. Joel exhaled, low and rough, eyes fluttering shut as your palm rubbed against him.

“Show him,” you said softly.

His eyes opened again, sharper now, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Not sure he deserves it after all that attitude,” Joel muttered, voice teasing but laced with heat.

“Joel—” you warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes—but his voice was dark now, thicker. “But then it’s my turn.”

You watched him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down with one slow motion that revealed all of him—hard, heavy, already flushed. Your breath caught at the sight, heat flooding through you like a second pulse.

He fisted himself gently, watching you, waiting.

Above you, Tommy shifted. You turned to look at him and his mouth was drawn tight, eyes hard with conflict. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved closer, settling between your legs again, hands sliding up your thighs.

You stared up at him, unsure if he’d really go through with it. But then he lined himself up, his cock dragging through your folds, and you gasped at the contact.

He sighed low, almost like relief, as he sank into you with one long, slow push. The weight of him settling into your hips, the feeling of him filling you again—it made your head fall back, your mouth falling open.

The tension in the room turned molten.

Tommy’s hands slid to your thighs, gripping tight like he needed something to hold on to. His eyes flicked up to Joel, who was still settled at your side, close enough now that you could feel his presence, warm and electric.

You barely registered Joel moving until you felt his hand close around your wrist. Firm. Certain. He guided your hand to his cock—thick and hot and heavy—and curled your fingers around him like he was placing something sacred into your palm.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate.

You wrapped your lips around the head, soft and swollen and already leaking, and sucked—slow, reverent, like you’d been dreaming of this since the last time. And you had been.

Joel hissed through his teeth, his hand threading through your hair as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled him deeper. “Good girl,” he muttered. Your entire body clenched at the praise.

Tommy groaned above you, building up his thrusts, erratic and messy as you pulsed around him.

“Slow down,” Joel said, calm, instructive. “Long, even strokes. Deep.”

Tommy cursed under his breath but obeyed, grinding into you with a slower, heavier rhythm that made your whole body arch forward, your mouth taking Joel deeper.

“Good,” Joel murmured. “Now thumb her clit.”

You whimpered around his cock, the sound thick and broken. Tommy’s thumb slid over your swollen clit in soft, careful circles, and your whole body clenched around him.

“She’s grippin’ the hell outta me,” Tommy breathed. “Fuck.”

Joel’s voice was right above you now, rough but steady. “Spit on it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Spit on her clit. She likes it messier.”

You moaned, mouth full of Joel, your thighs twitching.

Tommy grunted again, but when you felt the warm wet hit of spit on your skin, you moaned loudly, hips bucking. His thumb slid through the slickness building there, the glide smoother, filthier, perfect.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “Keep her right there. Thumb her just like that. Don’t stop. Her throat is squeezin’ me so good when you do that.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your body was clenching up, something coiling in your spine and hips as he kept up the pace. Joel’s cock dragged across your tongue, thick and pulsing, while Tommy thrust into you—slower now, more precise, but still not quite enough.

You loved Tommy’s rhythm—the care in it, the way he was doing everything to get you there, the way he wanted to get you there. But your orgasm wasn’t building the same way. It was harder to catch, harder to ride. Joel’s cock had a weight, a stretch that reached something deeper in you—something that made your body respond instantly. With Tommy, it took more. He was only slightly smaller, narrower, not lacking, just… different.

Still good. Still yours. But different.

“She’s close,” Joel said, voice ragged now, eyes locked on your face. “I can feel it.”

Tommy groaned, cock twitching inside you as you clenched down hard. “Jesus, she’s—fuck, she’s so tight.”

“You wanna come for Tommy, sweet girl?” Joel asked, still beside you on bed, one hand fisted in your hair where it spilled across the bedspread, thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his—and in the same breath, Joel guided his cock back between your lips, sliding into your mouth with a slow, deliberate push that made your throat stretch and burn in the best way.

You gagged softly, the movement rippling through your body. Tommy moaned at the sudden convulsion of your walls around him, his one hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave bruises. The other kept circling your clit with his thumb, your eyes warring between rolling back and trying to focus on Joel. 

“Fuck—she just—goddamn,” Tommy breathed, his hips faltering for half a second before finding that rhythm again. Deep, slow strokes that had your whole body arching beneath him.

Joel pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum connecting your lips to the flushed tip of his cock. You were gasping for breath, whimpering and moaning as he leaned down close, hovering just over your face, thumb wiping at your mouth like it was his.

You were hovering now, your spine tingling with the build up. So close. But not there yet. Your body wanted more.

And Joel knew.

Of course he knew.

“Tommy’s got you so full, huh?” Joel murmured, voice like gravel soaked in honey in your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Still not enough to make you come, greedy girl?”

His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your whole body twitched.

You couldn’t answer—not with words. But your eyes found his, wide and pleading, glassy with need. You looked up at him from where your head rested on the sheets, Joel crouched beside you now, shadowing over your face like he could read everything you couldn’t say aloud.

And he could. He always could.

Your chest rose with a broken breath as your mouth parted—no sound, just air. One of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, grounding you. The other drifted down, palm dragging with reverence over your chest, and when it reached your breast, his touch went still.

He watched you as if testing the waters. The second your back arched into his palm, just a little, the faintest tremble of pleading… he smirked.

“There she is,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your nipple slowly and deliberately before twisting and palming, kneading your flesh. Your thighs jerked and your eyes fluttered closed, breath stalling in your throat.

Joel leaned in, voice like silk soaked in heat.

“Gonna have to beg him for it,” he murmured, this time loud enough for his brother to hear, dragging his thumb over you again as your back arched once more. “Go on. Show him how sweet you sound when you’re right at the edge.”

He kissed your temple, lips warm and just barely there before sitting up again.

“Show him what you gave me.”

Your breath was a broken thing, chest heaving, your legs locked around Tommy’s waist as his cock filled you over and over again, his thumb grinding against your clit with every thrust. You could barely speak—but you tried.

“Please,” you whispered, blinking up at Tommy. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes were wide, blown out, sweat dripping from his brow, “Fuck,” he muttered. “Say it again.”

“Please, Tommy,” you gasped, fingers gripping his arms. “Please let me come—need it—need it so bad.”

Joel’s hand moved from your hair to stroke slowly over his cock at the edge of the bed, gaze flicking between your face and Tommy’s. “There it is,” he murmured. “You hear that? That’s yours, little brother. Make her fuckin’ come on your cock.”

Tommy’s rhythm picked up, driving into you with slow, hard strokes that hit deep, his thumb never stopping the delicious circles over your clit just like Joel had told him.

Your head fell back. Your thighs shook. Your whole body started to come apart.

As your jaw fell open, Joel took your mouth again—his cock thick and slick as it pressed past your lips, filling your mouth with one steady thrust. You welcomed it greedily, your moan muffled and broken, your tongue flattening beneath the weight of him.

Your back arched off the bed, body seizing with pleasure as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave—white-hot, all-consuming. Joel’s hand was back in your hair, holding you down, guiding your mouth as your throat fluttered around him, his cock pressing deeper with every pulse. The other squeezed and twisted your breast as you rode your high.

Tommy groaned loudly above you, his voice rough, desperate, like he’d just been torn open.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, and his hips jerked once, twice—then stilled.

You felt it. The heat of him spilling into you, thick and heavy, your cunt already so wet and wrecked it only made you twitch harder around him. His breath stuttered out in harsh bursts, body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside you.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “That’s a good girl, baby.”

He fucked your mouth with slow, controlled strokes—gentle now, reverent—before finally pulling out, letting you fall back against the bed with a gasp, your chest heaving as your climax still rippled through your body.

Your vision blurred at the edges, nerves lit up like static. You barely felt Tommy at first—his hands adjusting on your hips, his breathing shaky.

Then, after a long, weighted pause, Tommy slowly eased back, slipping out of you with a wet drag that made your entire body jolt. You gasped softly at the loss, walls still fluttering from your orgasm, sensitive and aching.

The room went quiet again, thick and buzzing under the surface. You could hear Tommy’s breathing above you, could feel the shift in his body as he sat back on his heels, one hand sliding down your thigh as if to steady himself. He moved slowly to sit against the headboard, breathing heavily.

Your pulse thrummed at your neck, loud in your ears. You turned your head toward him, your skin flushed, lips swollen, heart racing. Tommy’s eyes found yours—dark, uncertain, something different behind them. Not anger or sadness, but something new and raw.

“Tommy,” you whispered, voice low, hoarse. You swallowed. “Can he…?”

You hesitated, heat prickling across your cheeks. You weren’t even sure what words you were looking for. You just knew what you needed.

“Can Joel… please?”

Tommy’s eyes scanned your face, then dropped to where your thighs were still parted, to the slick between them, to the tremble in your breath. He took a slow inhale, like he was weighing the cost of the question. Then he nodded. “Go on then. Show me what’s worth all this trouble.” You could swear there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a faint crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Not quite a smile. Maybe a dare.

Joel was already moving.

His hands found your body—confident, warm, rough as ever—as he pulled you up onto your knees and flushed your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you easily, like they belonged there. Like he knew this body like the back of his hand.

You inhaled sharply at the feel of him behind you—solid muscle, the heavy press of his cock nudging against your lower back. He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. His voice was low, rich, and dripping with something that made your skin tighten.

“Hope you’re payin’ attention, little brother,” Joel murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “Gonna show you just how sweet she sounds when she gets what she needs.”

You watched Tommy’s jaw clench, and you muttered a short warning to Joel, “Stop,” 

Joel ignored you and his hand slipped down between your legs, fingers gliding through the mess Tommy left behind, gathering it in his fingers and spreading it through your puffy center, making your thighs shake.

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Still so wet.”

He let his fingers trail back up to your hip, palm splaying across your stomach as he held you there—against him, for him, like he was staking his claim right in front of Tommy.

Then he shifted. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, thick and already slick from your mouth. Your breath caught.

“Hold on to me,” Joel murmured. His other hand slid up, cupping one of your breasts, his mouth brushing just behind your ear as your arms held tightly to his splayed over your torso.

And then he pushed in—slow, deep, deliberate.

Your body seized the moment he started to push in. The stretch was immediate—thicker, deeper, unforgiving. Your legs trembled, a broken moan slipping from your throat before you could stop it. It felt like your body forgot how to breathe, how to think—every nerve lit up as he filled you, inch by inch, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Pressure bloomed deep in your core, sharp and aching, and still he kept going, his cock dragging against every hypersensitive spot until your thighs were shaking, your nails biting into his arm.

You gasped—"Joel!" sharp and high—and your head fell back against his shoulder like you couldn’t hold it up anymore. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Just sound. Just a helpless, wrecked whimper that made Joel groan behind you.

Joel gritted his teeth, voice strained through a groan. “Fuck. Always so tight for me, baby. Takin’ me so good. Feels like he barely even touched you."

“Fuck off,” Tommy snapped from somewhere below you, voice rough, and you didn’t need to look to know he was watching—his breath hitched, uneven.

Joel noticed, too.

“My little brother’s gettin’ all worked up again,” he rasped, his cock sliding deeper, arms tightening around you. “Look at him, baby. Watchin’ you take my cock like this.”

You lifted your head just enough to find Tommy’s face—jaw locked, hand slowly fisting his already hardening cock as he sat back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Joel’s hand slid back between your legs, fingers circling your clit with unrelenting precision as he fucked you slow and deep.

“Talk to her, Tommy,” Joel said roughly.

Tommy shook his head, jaw clenched. “I—I don’t—”

“C’mon,” Joel grunted, thrusting into you harder, making you cry out. “You don’t want me talkin’ all this shit? Huh? Even if it makes her this wet—” his fingers slid lower, gathering slick, “—thinkin’ of us fightin’ over this sweet, perfect pussy?”

He fucked up into you hard as he growled, and it made you gasp in pleasure.

“Then talk, dammit.”

Tommy’s breath stuttered. You looked at him—desperate and open, mouth parted. You watched his throat bob as he tried to swallow whatever pride or hesitation was left.

Then, finally, his voice came low, rough, uncertain.

“You like this, baby?” he rasped, the words strange in his mouth but soaked in truth as he leaned forward, looking up at you. “Like me watchin’ while he fucks you?”

You moaned, the sound unholy and obscene as your body twitched. You tried to nod while Joel’s cock dragged deep again, slow and relentless, the stretch still too much, still perfect. 

“Oh, she fuckin’ loves it,” Joel growled in your ear. His palm slid up your chest, fingers curling over the other breast as he kept your back flush to him. “That look on her face? All fucked-out and needy.”

Tommy let out a shuddering breath. His eyes never left yours.

“Look at you,” he said, a little bolder now. “You’re so pretty like this. Letting us ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs were shaking again, a whimper escaping as Joel’s fingers found your clit once more, slick and swollen. He rubbed you just right—tight, insistent circles that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel grunted. “You close again, baby? I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

Tommy leaned forward, looking up at you as he reached for your trembling legs, rubbing your skin and kneading it in his hands as his cock twitched in his hand, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for us. Show us how much you love bein’ ours.”

That did it.

Your body clenched hard, a cry ripping from your throat as the orgasm slammed into you—fierce, fast, and overwhelming. You trembled violently, hips jerking, mouth open but wordless as you came again, harder this time, unraveling between them.

You were still shaking when your body started to shift—Joel's cock still buried deep, grinding against your overstimulated walls with every slow, hungry thrust. You reached forward, chest dropping toward the bed, bracing yourself on your hands as you whimpered through the aftershocks.

But you weren’t done. Not even close.

“Tommy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and half-broken. “Let me—please, let me touch you. Wanna make you come again.”

You reached for him blindly, your hand finding his thigh as he knelt close, cock hard again in his grip.

He looked stunned, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, and he looked up at Joel, “How the hell are you still goin’ after that? The way she gripped me when--”

Joel gave a low, breathless laugh behind you, his thrusts never faltering. “Not my first time, remember?”

He leaned forward over your back, his voice rough and possessive in your ear.

“She gets like this,” Joel said, fucking into you harder now, making your arms tremble. “Once you open her up, she just needs. Can’t help herself, can you, baby?”

You moaned, loud and desperate, your hand finally wrapping around Tommy’s cock again, bringing it into your mouth.

Your husband groaned, hips twitching toward your touch. “Fuckin’ insatiable,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Joel grinned, lips brushing your shoulder before pulling back to straighten, gripping your hips. “She’s gonna milk us dry.”

You moaned at the filthy words, too far gone to be embarrassed, too full to care. You rocked between them, wrecked and desperate—Joel’s cock dragging deep inside you with each powerful thrust, your mouth stretched wide around Tommy’s length, tongue flattened along the underside.

Every time Joel thrusted forward, it shoved you farther onto Tommy’s cock. Your throat clenched, gagging slightly, and both men groaned—low and guttural at the dual sensation of your body constricting around them.

Your eyes watered, spit pooling at the corners of your lips as you tried to breathe around it, the slick sounds obscene in the best way.

Tommy’s hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your jaw as he looked down at you. His face was tight with restraint, flushed and glassy-eyed, jaw twitching, “Look so pretty with a cock in her mouth, doesn’t she?”

Joel grunted behind you, slamming deep, making your body jolt forward. “Sure does,” he growled. “Takin’ us both so good, baby. Just like that.”

You whimpered, the only sound you could manage, body fluttering with overstimulation, throat spasming around Tommy’s cock as he hissed through his teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened, his thrusts getting faster, more desperate, and you could feel the wave starting to build again—relentless, all-consuming. You didn’t know how much more your body could take.

“Come on, baby,” Tommy groaned. “Fuck—your mouth feels so good, sweetheart. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Joel leaned in, his voice thick with heat. “You gonna come again with your mouth full, baby? Think you can come for both of us this time?”

Your whole body responded—tightening instinctively, like those words alone triggered something deep inside. Joel’s hand slid beneath you, and you flinched with a soft gasp as his fingers found your clit again—soaked, swollen, aching from how close you already were.

It was too much. Too good. You couldn’t take it, and yet your body begged for more.

The touch was too light at first—then perfect. Circling. Pressing. Your spine arched, your thighs trembled, and your moan vibrated around Tommy’s cock, still heavy and hot on your tongue.

You could barely register where one of them ended and the other began—just pressure and stretch and friction and heat. Joel’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, perfectly timed with the slow drag of his fingers.

Suddenly your whole body locked, muscles spasming as another orgasm tore through you—sharp and blinding, your vision whiting out as you clenched hard around Joel’s cock, milking him through every brutal thrust.

You moaned around Tommy’s length, the sound desperate and guttural, and that was all it took for either of them.

Joel cursed behind you—low, rough, wrecked. He thrust once, twice more, then buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a broken growl. His hands were shaking where they gripped your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t let go.

The hot pulse of him filled you completely, thick and heavy, and the sensation only dragged your orgasm out longer, your legs trembling violently beneath you.

Tommy let out a choked moan above you, his hips stuttering as your throat fluttered around him. His hand cupped your cheek, and with one more shaky breath, he came—spilling into your mouth with a soft, desperate, “Fuck, baby.”

You took it all, swallowing around him as gently as you could, the muscles of your throat still spasming from Joel’s final, deep thrusts.

Then—finally—everything slowed.

Tommy pulled back with a groan, slumping onto the bed beside you with a heavy exhale, one arm flung over his face as he tried to catch his breath. Joel eased out of you from behind, and you whimpered at the emptiness, already missing the stretch of him, the weight. Your body felt boneless, dazed and trembling, as you rolled to your side and melted into the mattress beside Tommy.

Joel didn’t stay far. Within seconds, he collapsed on your other side with a low, satisfied grunt, still half-wrapped in heat and sweat. His arm slid beneath your head, pulling you gently against his chest until you were tucked in close, skin to skin, your cheek resting just below his collarbone.

You were fully tangled between them now—Joel’s leg brushing yours, Tommy’s chest warm against your back, his hand finding your thigh and resting there like a grounding weight.

The heat of three bodies lingered in the air—sticky and quiet and strangely comforting.

Tommy’s hand found your stomach and gave it a slow rub, and when you looked over at him—he was watching you, not angry, not brooding. Just… tired. And stunned.

You let out a laugh. A small, breathless one, but real.

Then another.

Your face tucked against Joel’s arm, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Joel chuckled too—low and lazy, like he couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug, “Troublemaker.”

Tommy let out a breathless huff, still holding you tight, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck. “I’m not sure I survived that,” he murmured, and then he started laughing too—open, surprised, stunned, “Feel like I blacked out halfway through,”

You turned your head toward him, smiling wide, and kissed the side of his mouth. “You were perfect.”

The three of you fell into an easy silence, wrapped up in sweat and warmth and the quiet hum of something unspoken—something new.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his chest shaking from a chuckle, “Think we’re gonna need a bigger bed.”

And for the first time in a long time, the three of you were laughing together.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Trophy Boyfriend

Word count: 450

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris fully embraces his role as Y/n L/n’s devoted trophy boyfriend, happily standing in the background while she steals the spotlight.

________________________________________________________

Lando Norris had a lot of titles to his name—Formula 1 driver, McLaren’s golden boy, future world champion (hopefully). But none of them mattered quite as much as the one he held now: Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It was a role he took very seriously. Not because he was the main character in this relationship—he wasn’t, not even a little. Y/n was the main event, the superstar, the reason photographers nearly toppled over themselves trying to snap pictures when they walked into a room together.

She was everything. And he was just… well, Lando.

He didn’t mind.

“I love this dress,” he said, watching Y/n twirl in front of the mirror. It was something sleek, designer, probably gifted by a brand that wanted her to post about it.

“You think so?” she mused, adjusting the straps.

“I think,” Lando said, sliding his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, “that every single person at this event is going to wish they were me.”

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m right.” He grinned. “I’m literally dating you. Do you know how crazy that is?”

She turned in his arms, smoothing a hand through his curls. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“I mean, look at you,” he continued dramatically. “Gorgeous. Talented. Everyone loves you. And then there’s me—your little trophy boyfriend.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Little?”

“Well, figuratively.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping. “Not literally.”

She smacked his chest, but he could see the way her lips curled up. “Behave.”

“Never,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss before she could stop him.

The gala was exactly what Lando expected—Y/n’s show, and he was just happy to be a part of it.

People flocked to her the second they arrived, showering her with compliments, gushing over her latest projects, asking for pictures. Lando, in the meantime, sipped his drink and stood a little off to the side, perfectly content to let her shine.

Occasionally, she would reach back for him, lacing their fingers together like a silent reminder: You’re still my favorite person here.

He liked that.

At some point, a well-meaning (but oblivious) businessman clapped Lando on the back and said, “Must be nice, huh? Being with someone like Y/n.”

Lando just grinned. “Mate, I wake up every day and wonder how I pulled it off.”

It was true. He had no delusions about who the star was in this relationship. Y/n walked into a room and owned it, and Lando? He was just happy to be the guy holding her purse when she needed both hands to take a picture.

And honestly? Best gig ever.

[heavenlybodies333]

Virgin Fucking Mary - M.R.

she told you she’s celibate, but she told me I can rail her shit

Theo had been your best friend since before either of you could properly walk, a bond that never wavered, even as you grew older and Hogwarts became your shared stomping ground. Your friendship was simple, easy—even if he did have a habit of oversharing details of his sex life that you could really, really do without.

You were sitting with Theo, Enzo, and Blaise at the Slytherin table, picking at your food while Theo recounted—far too enthusiastically, might you add—his latest escapade.

"Mate, I swear, I had her begging—"

"Merlin, Theo," you groaned, stabbing a piece of fruit with your fork. "Honestly, I don’t know why you put yourself in these positions when you know you're leading these girls on."

Theo just grinned, unbothered. “Can’t help it, darling. You know how they get when I—”

"You ever try talking to these girls first? Or is it straight to sticking your dicks down their throats?" Before you could roll your eyes, a presence dropped into the seat beside you. The scent of smoke and something inherently masculine curled around you, the unmistakable cologne of Mattheo Riddle invading your senses.

"What's this, then?" His voice was low, amused as he reached over, stealing a chip off your plate. "You giving Nott a lecture on morality, princess?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose, refusing to turn toward him. “Just asking if you whores ever have a conversation with a girl instead of thinking with your—” his hand reached over your plate once again, taking another chip.

"Now, where’s the fun in that?" he mused, popping it into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to engage. "Of course you would say that, Riddle."

Theo let out a loud, amused groan, smacking the table. "Alright, alright, calm down, Thou Holy Virgin Mary"

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

Blaise shook his head, laughed under his breath. Enzo snorted into his drink.

But Mattheo—Mattheo—practically collapsed against the table, laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his seat. "No fucking way," he wheezed, pressing a hand to his chest as he recovered.

Your cheeks burned. The heat spread down your neck, prickling against your skin, but you refused to let it show.

"You lot are laughing at me," you huffed, tossing your fork onto your plate, "but at least I don’t have to worry about pushing a fucking kid out of me anytime soon."

Mattheo snorted, his amusement shifting into something more smug. "Yeah, okay, princess," he drawled, leaning into your space. His voice was low, teasing, but his eyes were sharp, glinting with something dark. "No wonder you’re so uptight. Explains why you’re such a bitch."

That pissed you off.

You turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing, expression carefully composed despite the way anger coiled hot in your gut. The others had already lost interest, falling back into their own conversations.

“Oh, I’ll have you know, Riddle,” you said, voice low, syrupy-sweet. “A girl can take matters into her own hands.”

Mattheo blinked. Just once.

You didn’t wait for a response. You stood smoothly, grabbing your book bag, and just for good measure, you leaned down just enough to let your lips ghost near his ear.

"You’d be surprised what I can do without a man."

And then? You walked away. Swaying your hips. Feeling his eyes burn into your back.

By the time you reached the door, you dared one last glance over your shoulder.

And there it was.

Mattheo, still seated, still staring, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and fuck, I’m turned on.

It was late, the library was completely empty with the exception of those in the moving portraits keeping you company. Most students had long since gone to bed, leaving only a dim glow of candlelight flickering between the shelves.

And you weren’t stupid. You had felt it.

The shift in the air. The way the back of your neck tingled. The weight of a stare burning between your shoulder blades.

You knew it was him.

Still, you pretended not to notice. You turned the page of your book, eyes trained on the words, until—

“Taking matters into your own hands, huh?”

His voice was low. Smooth. Dark with something predatory.

You didn’t jump. Didn’t react. Just hummed, dragging your gaze lazily up to where he stood.

Mattheo leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, dark curls falling into his eyes.

You raised a brow. “Something you need?”

His lips curved. “I think you know exactly what I need.”

A slow heat curled in your stomach. You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What, Riddle? A book? Help with your homework?”

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, caging you against the table. His hands found the wood, fingers curling against it as he leaned down—so close you could feel his breath against your cheek.

You refused to look up. Refused to acknowledge the warmth pooling low in your stomach.

But Mattheo? He knew.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured.

His fingers brushed your thigh.

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that?”

Mattheo tilted his head, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth.

“You can show me,” he murmured. “How you take matters into your own hands.”

He saw the way your fingers twitched against the table. The way your lips parted just slightly, as if debating whether to let yourself fall or run. And, like the smug bastard he was, he waited.

“Nothing to say?” he mused, his breath brushing the side of your jaw. His fingers drummed against the wood, lazy, slow. “Funny. You had plenty to say at lunch.”

The heat between you was unbearable. His knee pressed between your legs, just enough to send a spike of need through you, but not enough to satisfy the ache building low in your stomach.

Mattheo saw.

Felt it.

And then—he pushed deeper.

“I bet you like it,” he murmured, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Being the good little princess. The one no one can touch. The one no one fucks.”

Your breath hitched.

“Bet you get yourself off thinking about it, don’t you?” His lips brushed just against your ear. “How desperate they’d be to ruin you?”

You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.

He saw it anyway.

Felt the way your body betrayed you, thighs squeezing around the knee he’d wedged between them, the pulse of your breath, the heat rolling off you in waves.

Mattheo hummed, pleased.

Then, before you could react, his hand slid under your skirt.

You gasped. “Mattheo—”

But he wasn’t listening.

“I mean, let’s be honest, yeah?” His knuckles brushed the inside of your thigh. “A girl can take matters into her own hands, sure—but it’s not the same, is it?”

He leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear. dragging his fingers higher, pressing against the damp fabric of your underwear.

“Look at that,” he mused. "Virgin Mary isn’t so innocent after all."

Your fingers curled against the table. "I will kill you."

He just laughed, dark and low. "Yeah? You gonna do it with my fingers in your cunt, or after I fuck you stupid?"

Your brain short-circuited.

Mattheo used your stunned silence to his advantage, slipping his fingers beneath your underwear, dragging them through the slick pooling between your thighs.

"Fuck, Mattheo—"

He hums, watching your face, the way your lips part, the way your brows pull together in pleasure.

"You’re soaked," he smirks. "Thought you didn’t like me."

"I don’t like you," you pant, back arching as his fingers move faster, working you open, leaving you breathless.

He laughs. "Sure, princess."

He pulls his fingers out, and you whimper at the loss, at the emptiness. But then he’s undoing his belt, pushing his slacks down just enough, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him—thick, hard, leaking at the tip.

Mattheo catches your gaze, smirking. "You’re staring."

You roll your eyes, even as you hook your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Are you gonna talk all night, or are you gonna—fuck—"

Because he’s already sliding inside, pushing into you inch by inch, stretching you open in the most devastating way.

"Shit," he groans, hands gripping your thighs. "So fucking tight."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, head falling back as he fills you completely. You feel everything—the way he pulses inside you, the way his breath stutters against your neck, the way he’s holding himself back, barely resisting the urge to ruin you.

"Mattheo," you whisper. "Deeper, please—"

Something in him snaps.

His grip tightens, and then he’s fucking you—hard, deep, brutal. Every thrust shoves you harder against the wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. You cling to him, nails raking down his back, thighs trembling.

"That what you want?" he rasps, snapping his hips forward, making you cry out. "You want me to fuck you deeper?"

You can’t answer. Can’t think. All you can do is take it, take him, let him fuck you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

"Should’ve known," he mutters, biting down against your shoulder. "All that attitude—just a needy little slut underneath, huh?"

You whimper, gasping his name, digging your heels into his lower back, urging him closer, deeper.

Mattheo groans, pulling back just enough to look at you—your lips swollen, your pupils blown wide, your expression absolutely wrecked.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You look so good like this. Bet Theo would kill me if he knew."

You’re too far gone to care.

"Don’t stop," you plead, voice breaking.

He doesn’t.

He fucks you through it, fucks you until you’re falling apart around him, nails dragging down his spine, thighs squeezing tight around his waist as your orgasm rips through you.

"You feel that?" His voice was wrecked, panting, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he buried himself inside you. "That’s what it’s like when a real man fucks you, sweetheart."

Mattheo groans at the feeling, his pace stuttering, his grip bruising. And then he’s spilling inside you, breathless and wrecked, pressing his forehead against yours as he cums, his thrusts erratic as they slowed.

You were still catching your breath, skirt bunched around your waist, Mattheo’s hands gripping your thighs with a possessive kind of desperation. As he finally pulled out, breath heavy against your ear. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back, taking in the sight of you—disheveled, marked up, and absolutely wrecked beneath him.

His fingers brushed over your thigh before he whispered, “Was that your first?” His voice was dripping with smugness, already assuming he knew the answer. “Did you like it?”

You tilted your head up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. Oh, Mattheo…

“Do you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?” you mused, voice laced with sweet mockery as you reached for your skirt, slipping it back on with slow, deliberate movements. You adjusted it, smoothing out the creases, completely unfazed by the way his expression darkened.

Mattheo’s smirk faltered. “What?”

His expression shifted—something sharp, something dark. "What the fuck does that mean?"

You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder with an easy smirk. "It means, sweetheart," you said, voice dripping with faux sympathy, "that you really should have a chat with Theo sometime."

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering before realization settled in like a slow-burning fire.

"Oh," you mused, tapping your chin like you were deep in thought. "You don’t know about him, do you? About how he doesn't really get the whole 'kiss and don’t tell' thing?"

You slung your bag over your shoulder, taking your time fixing your hair in the reflection of a nearby window. turning to face him, "I don’t kiss and tell—but unfortunately for you, Theo definitely does." you said sweetly.

His brows furrowed. "Theo—what the fuck are you talking about?"

You leaned in, just close enough that he could smell the faint hint of perfume on your skin, the remnants of whatever sin you two had just committed. "Ask him about me sometime," you murmured, a smirk playing at the edges of your lips. "I’m sure he’d love to share the details."

You turned to leave, but not before tossing one last dagger straight at his ego. “Oh, and Mattheo?” You glanced over your shoulder, giving him one last look-over. "Next time, try lasting longer."

Then you walked out, leaving him alone in the dim glow of the library—jaw tight, fists clenched, drowning in the bitter aftertaste of his own ego—because for once in his life, Mattheo Riddle wasn’t the one doing the ruining.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: slut me out

here’s part 2 for you whores

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

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