THE LAST OF US

Would you do comfort shower sex with re2 leon omg I'll give you my soul please🙏🏻

let’s pretend the whole aeon romance didn’t happen during raccoon city😛 also fuckkk i LOVED writing this

warnings; smut obvi, p in v, unprotected sex, cursing, subby leon, kind of angsty and kind of fluffy too, handjob, implied cunnilingus at the end

leon hadn’t been the same since raccoon city.

you were both gonna move there once leon got his new job as a cop, but he went a day earlier than you for his first day, and you needed more time to pack.

thank god you stayed behind, but you constantly blame yourself for letting him go. he assures you it’s not your fault, how you couldn’t have ever known, but it all fell on deaf ears.

its been about three months now, and he still seems pretty traumatised by the whole ordeal. you’ve tried to be there for him, always letting him vent to you on the rare occasion that he needs to let his feelings out, offering him comfort in your arms.

you made sure to work two jobs to pay rent, leon wasn’t ready to work anytime soon (or so you thought) and you cooked for him, cleaned up after him, and sometimes on his bad days, you had to help him shower. 

it was no surprise that you were stressed, feeling overstimulated with everything. but you couldn’t say anything, leon had it way worse, and you understood that. despite the constant dark circles under your eyes, the soreness in your muscles, you stayed strong. stayed strong for him.

but it was getting difficult to keep up with everything. it was hard to sleep because of leon’s insomnia, or when he did sleep, he had nightmares. you would comfort him through the night, try to ease him back to sleep. you would take shit from customers and bosses all day everyday, putting effort into cooking just for most of it to go to waste. but that was all okay, because it was leon. you loved him so much, that none of this other stuff mattered.

you’d probably be able to decompress by getting some release, and of course, you wouldn’t push leon to do anything like that now. you were fine with going solo… except, you had no time to yourself really, so you’d gone practically three months without touching yourself.

but it was okay. you could deal with all of it, for leon.

you’d just finished washing the dishes, strolling back over to the dining table that leon was still sat at, staring at nothing.

your heart ached for him constantly, and you found that you had to hold back tears everytime you saw him like this. he was like a shell of the man you fell in love with.

you slowly moved closer to him, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. he startled, blue eyes snapping up to yours as he tensed. he quickly eased once he realised what’d happened, and mumbled an apology under his breath as he slowly turned to look down at the table.

you stroked his shoulder delicately, pinching your brows together. you stood in silence there for a minute, seeing how he seemed to just be out of it.

“honey,” you whispered. his head barely moved in your direction to show that he was listening. “you wanna get in the shower?”

saying nothing, he nodded slightly. he stood, but didn’t make any move to the bathroom. you bit the inside of your lip, knowing that you’d have to help him. you muttered a “cmon” to him, moving your hand to his back, leading him to the hallway slowly and into the bathroom.

you moved away from him and started the shower, keeping one hand beneath it to check the temperature, and the other was reaching to get a clean towel from the basket, and you put it on the rack.

once the water was warm enough, you turned. leon was leaning against the door, staring at you. well, more like staring through you, like he wasn’t all there. you’d gotten used to that stare by now.

you take a step toward him, and reached up to cup his cheek. his eyes, that seem a lot duller lately, shift to look at you. you smiled at him sadly, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. he reached up to hold your wrist, hardly managing to give you a weak smile back. more like a twitch of the lips.

you take your hand away, and began to unbutton his shirt. he stepped away from the door, moving his arms to help you pull it off of him. you both were used to this routine by now.

you remove his belt next, dropping it to the floor atop of his discarded shirt. you unbutton his jeans, pull down his zip, and take both the waistband of them and his boxers, pulling them down.

normally, this act would be turning you on incredibly, but it’s hard to be when he’s so distant.

you take his socks off, then stand to your height and take his hand, smiling at him again. you carefully walk him over to the shower, letting him get inside and stand beneath the water for a moment. then you undress quickly, pulling of your work shirt and plain bra, then pulling down your pants and panties.

after pulling up your hair into a half-assed bun, you climb in after him.

you reach up to run your hands through his hair as usual, to spread the water and get it wet, but he suddenly turns around and presses his forehead against your shoulder.

you try to not let the shock show on your face, even if he can’t see it. your hands remain up for a second, before moving to hold him. one settles on the back of his neck, the other at the top of his spine.

you stand like that for a few minutes beneath the water, just close to each other. after a little while, you start to hear him sniffling, and something warm drip onto your shoulder, definitely not shower water.

“oh, baby..” you whisper, feeling your own tears well up in your eyes. “don’t cry, shh… it’s okay.” you wrap your arms around him tighter, your hand on his neck moving up to his hair.

he’s silent for a little while, just crying into your shoulder. his arms wrap around your waist, and he nuzzles his nose into your neck. you think this is the most he’s touched you in months.

“i..” he gasps, voice shaky. your heart breaks. “i just can’t stop thinking about it.”

you close your eyes, trying your best not to sob. “i know, i know… it’s gonna be okay, honey… i’m here for you, i’m not going anywhere.”

he lifts his head up, glossy eyes staring at you. you take his face in your hands, smiling tearfully at him. “you are so strong. i love you so much.”

his face twitches as more tears spill from his eyes, he takes your wrist and puts your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. “i love you too.”

god, you’ve not heard that in a long time. you pull him back into your arms, standing in a sorta hug with him.

you both stand like that for what seems like hours, him silently crying into your neck as you stroke his back, kissing his hair softly.

after a while, you feel his lips brush your neck. then he begins to kiss it delicately, pressing little kisses up to your jawline.

“leon?” you ask, moving your head back to question him, but all he does is shush you, continuing to kiss up to your cheek. he places his hands on your hips, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.

he brushes his lips against yours, sad eyes staring right into yours. you swallow nervously. “honey, i don’t want you to rush into anything. it’s okay, we can take it one step at a—”

he cuts you off with a gentle kiss, his plump lips pressing against yours. it doesn’t last long, he pulls away after a few seconds. he moves his hands from your hips to your waist, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. “‘m ready.. ‘n i want you..” he whispers, desperation laced in his tone.

he leans closer again, but you shift your head back. “baby, are you sure?”

leon lets out a quiet whine, eyes locked onto your lips as he places his forehead against yours. “mhm.”

even though you were surprised by his sudden clinginess, you couldn’t deny that even the feeling of his touch and longing look in his gaze was already making your stomach churn.

“‘js need you..” he brushed his lips against yours again. “need to forget.”

you understand. you nod at him, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck. you kiss him softly, then again, then again, and again. he pulls you closer, your soft chest smushed against his hard one, and he deepens the kiss.

you immediately allow his tongue entrance to your mouth, sighing happily against him. he whimpers quietly, hands gripping you tighter as his lips move against yours more fervently.

“baby..” he whispers, pulling away for air. he leans down to suck at your neck, nipping and kissing.

“i know..” you murmur back, already feeling the wetness between your legs grow.

he kisses down to your chest, leaving hickeys in his wake. “‘s been so long…”

you nodded, eyes closing at the feeling. already, you felt as if all the stress of the past few months was melting away.

he leans back up, smashing his lips back against yours with a moan, his hands groping your tits. you shuddered, clenching around nothing already.

you pull away. he chases your mouth, but you lean down to kiss at his neck.

you suck harshly, kissing the spot afterward. you paid extra attention to the sensitive spot between his moles, his little whines making your clit throb.

“fuck..” he sighs. you look up to see his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, staring at you.

you almost cum untouched at the way his eyes are so blown.

you glance down, and actually moan out loud at the sight. he’s just as turned on as you, his cock standing at full attention, pale pink tip practically staring right at you.

you look back up at him, pressing your lips against his, tongue tangling languidly with his.

one of your hands moves from the back of his neck to his chest, gliding down. you gently take his dick into your hand. he gasps and lets out a choked moan against you at the contact.

fuck, he’s already leaking. you swipe your thumb against his slit, and he shudders. you spread the precum over his cock, running your hand up and down slowly.

he has to pull away to gasp. his head falls back against your shoulder. you smile, hand moving faster.

he’s already fucking dripping all over your hand, which isn’t all that surprising, it has been three months. hell, you think you can feel your wetness on your inner thighs.

his hips are twitching already, and he’s whimpering into your neck, and.. is he drooling?

“fuck.. oh fuck, baby… that’s it, that’s..” he’s cut off by his own gasp as you speed up, and it’s so wet that you can hear the squelching over the sound of the shower.

“oh my fuhhhck… ‘m gonna cum, gonnacum gonna..” he cries, hips bucking into your grip. his whines are growing more frequent and loud.

he’s whispering something, and you listen closely, “make me cum, make me cum… i need it, needitneed…”

you go even faster, kissing his hair. “cum ‘fr me, baby..”

his breath seems to be lost, he’s gasping and hiccuping. then, with one final moan, he’s releasing white ropes onto your stomach and hand.

you stroke him through it, whispering sweet praises into his ear. you take your hand off of him once he whines out of overstimulation, and his spend easily washes off since you’re in the shower.

you kiss him delicately on his cheek when he pulls away from your neck, staring at you lovingly. “you did so well, you’re so good..”

you think that’s the end of it. you’ll wash his hair, help him change, and cuddle him to sleep. then it’ll go back to how it’s been for months in the morning.

you move to reach behind you for the shampoo, but he takes your wrist and holds it between his hands.

he’s looking at you so intensely that you almost want to shy away from his gaze. but you don’t.

he licks his lips, and you resist the urge to stare.

“what, you think we’re done?”

god, it’s just all so slippery.

the way your back is sliding against the tile wall, the wet sound of leon’s hips slapping against your ass, your legs gliding along his waist, the feeling of both of your saliva-coated lips moving against each other.

leon is fucking dumb, non-stop whining and whimpering against you as he desperately ruts up into you. the feeling of your soaked pussy clenching around him made him feel like he was on cloud nine.

you both had already came twice together, his cum was still oozing out of your pussy.

leon pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. your foreheads press together, and he’s practically slobbering all over you. his speech is slurring together. “baby.. oh my god, fuck… this feels so.. so..”

you let out a moan, your head leaning back against the wall, “fuckk, i know.” you already feel your third peak rapidly approaching.

his tip is repeatedly nudging that spot over and over and over and it’s almost too much, your breathing is uneven and heavy.

he drops his head back into your neck, and if you weren’t so cockdrunk, you’d probably laugh at how it’s practically his new home.

his hot breath is hitting your shoulder, needy moans spilling repeatedly from his mouth.

“leon,” you gasped out, needing to look into those pretty eyes when you cum. “leon, honey, look at me.”

he shakes his head frantically, his thrusts becoming sloppier and his pace growing faster.

“look at me, please.” you repeat, your climax is right there, you need this.

“can’t,” he panted, his hands that are on the back of your thighs grip harder, bruises surely forming. “can’t or i’ll cum. wan’ this to last…”

“baby, ‘s okay, we can— fuck, we can go again.”

he whimpers at your words, licking sloppily at your neck. “ohhh my fuck.. ‘m gonna cum againn.. gonna— gonna fill you up.”

“please,” you whined, desperation to be filled rolling over you like a tidal wave. “cum, baby, ‘s alright.”

he’s muttering something incoherent, completely pussydrunk. your words are making his cock twitch relentlessly inside you.

your hand reaches into his hair and you pull it, smashing your lips against his.

he lets out the fucking sluttiest moan you’ve heard from him yet, and his hips still and you feel that familiar, welcome warmth fill you. his tongue is rolling with yours lewdly.

his hips weakly buck up, fucking his cum into you. after a few moments of catching your breaths, he reluctantly pulls out. you shakily put your legs back onto the shower floor, holding tightly onto his shoulders for support.

he watches his cum droop from your pussy with fascination, and uses two fingers to push it back inside. he swallows harshly.

your head rolls back, exhaustion taking hold of your limbs.

leon gets the hint, and this time, it’s him helping you out of the shower and change.

once you’re all settled in bed, you’re more than ready to go straight to sleep. until you feel a brush against your spent cunt.

your eyes flicker to leon, who’s just watching his hand that’s cupping your pussy through your pyjama shorts.

you furrow your brows at him in confusion, and he just lifts the blanket and gets eye-level with your clothed core.

“what’re you doing?” you ask tiredly, despite already growing horny again.

“well, you didn’t cum that last time, hm?” he murmured, taking the waistband of your shorts and fresh panties, beginning to pull them down. his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

you smile, letting your head roll back onto the pillow and closing your eyes, letting your legs spread wider.

can’t believe i had to root for the knights and they played like that. disgusting.

Nathan MacKinnon’s two Tylenol commercials for those who were having a hard time seeing them on Vimeo.

x

DUNE

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

PAUL ATREIDES/FEYD-RAUTHA

we dream of knives – one shot. angst.

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

CHANI KYNES/IRULAN CORRINO

Thinking about how Luke could cum just from eating you out. Like he’d be between your legs, sloppily sucking on your clit while grinding into the mattress, getting so worked up over just tasting you. He’d moan against you, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, wanting to know if he’s doing good, your moans only driving him further. His pants would be soaked with precum, his neglected cock painfully hard from being ignored for hours, but he wouldn’t care. He just wants to make you cum on his mouth one more time. Of course, that’s what he’s been saying for the past three orgasms.

You’ve had five orgasms, and your sixth is quickly approaching, and when he sticks his tongue inside your sopping cunt and finds that spongy spot that has you seeing stars, you moan and pull his hair, making him grind just a little bit too hard into the mattress, the sharp pain on his hair making him stiffen and whimper as he spills into his pants. And despite his sticky, softening cock and your sore overstimulated cunt, he still goes in for more, wanting to pull just one more orgasm out of you.

when we got leo there was one rule, we said: 'never will leo sleep in the bed with us'. he sleeps every night with us 😭

ᝰ

the fire was low, but the glow of it painted the walls with a soft orange flicker. the house was quiet, save for the soft scrape of metal on wood and the occasional pop from the fireplace. joel sat at the table, glasses halfway down his nose, sleeves pushed up, and a small block of wood cradled in his calloused hands. his knife scraped slow, methodical strokes along the curve of what looked like the beginnings of a fox, delicate ears just forming, the snout notched into shape. he looked like he belonged there. not just in the room, but in the moment. hands busy, mouth set, the steady rhythm of his work filling the silence like he needed it more than rest.

you hovered in the doorway for a moment. there was something magnetic about watching him when he didn’t know you were, how quiet he became, how precise. you couldn’t explain it, but something in you twisted a little when you saw him like this. it didn’t help that your brain was already a little fried from the day. you’d been restless all afternoon, bouncing between tasks around town, trying to distract yourself with anything that wasn't the thought of his hands. now you were back. and the ache was worse. he didn’t look up when you stepped in, but you could tell by the subtle shift in his shoulders that he knew you were there.

“you’ve been out there awhile,” he said, voice low and even, not pausing in his carving.

“wasn’t that long,” you murmured, stepping closer. “you eat anything?”

joel snorted softly. “ate somethin’ earlier. left some stew if you’re hungry.”

you walked around him, slow and quiet, letting your fingertips brush the edge of the table. you watched him work a little longer, the careful drag of his knife, the tension in his forearm, the way his brow furrowed when he focused. his glasses slid further down, and he huffed, pushing them back with the side of his wrist.

“i’m not really hungry,” you said, voice lower now.

he hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

you stepped between him and the table, gently nudging one of his knees open with yours. that finally earned you a glance. a small, knowing one.

“what’re you doin’?” he asked, not irritated, just suspicious.

you didn’t answer. you just moved closer and lowered yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh like it was muscle memory.

joel made a small sound in his throat. “jesus,” he muttered, setting the carving knife down with care but not taking his hands off you. “you’re gonna make me slice my damn thumb open one of these days, sneakin’ up on me like that.”

“you looked busy,” you said softly, your arms sliding around his shoulders. “didn’t wanna interrupt the great artist at work.”

he shook his head, his hands found your hips, grounding you, holding you still, but not pushing you away.

he muttered something you couldn't make out, setting the knife down with more care than necessary. “that what we’re doin’ now?”

“you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” you said, your voice low as you slid your hands up the front of his shirt, thumbs brushing the space just under his collarbones. “been wound up all day.”

joel leaned back slightly to look at you over the top of his glasses. his eyes dragged over your face, then lower—assessing. thinking. his hands landed heavy on your hips, grounding.

he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was weighing his options. like he was pretending you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger.

“you’re actin’ real needy tonight,” he said, voice dropping a little lower. his hands were still on your hips, thumbs idly brushing the hem of your shirt like he was debating whether to tug you closer or keep you there and burn slow.

“been thinking about you all day,” you admitted, quiet against his skin. “you didn’t even notice how pretty you looked this morning. all frown and flannel and your fuckin hands…”

“mm,” he rumbled, mouth twitching. “that what’s got you worked up?”

you didn’t answer. you just shifted slightly in his lap, pressing down a little harder on his thigh, watching the way his jaw tightened when you did.

joel’s hands flexed, gripping your waist a little firmer now. “you come in here sittin’ on my leg like that,” he said lowly, eyes flicking to your mouth, “and you expect me to finish my carvin’?”

“i expected you to tell me how bad you missed me while i was gone,” you teased.

his brows lifted. “i see you every day.”

you leaned in closer. “doesn’t mean you don’t miss me.”

joel leaned back, gave you that quiet, unreadable look.

his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, squeezing once before he pulled you closer, flush against him. the fox on the table forgotten, the knife untouched. his mouth brushed your cheek, soft and rough.

but you had him here, grounded. his hands, his warmth, the slow way he let himself have you.

“you done carving?” you whispered.

joel nodded slowly, almost like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“good,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “’cause i need you worse than that fox does.” his glasses were crooked. you reached up and pulled them off, setting them aside. his eyes were darker now, heavier.

ᝰ

a/n: i wrote this at like 1am after watching the s2 premiere so it's ass but seeing him in those glasses... meow...

This poster just screams, "He asked for no pickles."

i loved grumpy x sunshine! can we get more of it? bucky’s just a big doberman who loves his sweet precious baby girl more than anything

yes I absolutely love their dynamic and BIG DOBERMAN energy is so spot on!! here’s protective Bucky *wink wink*

Sink in

grumpy!bucky barnes x sunshine!reader

summary: you go on an undercover mission with Bucky who gets overprotective and… jealous?

word count: 2771

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, breeding, possessive behavior, mutual desperation, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

You didn’t need to be told twice to smile — it came naturally to you.

Even undercover in a tight red dress and uncomfortable heels, walking into an event filled with arms dealers and corrupt diplomats, you smiled like you had nothing to fear.

Bucky hated it.

“You’re drawing attention.” he muttered under his breath, large hand on the small of your back. “You walk in like that and every asshole in here’s gonna think you’re available.”

You bumped his hip with yours. “That’s kind of the point, grump. You’re supposed to look like you’re here with your arm candy.”

“I don’t like the idea of being bait.” he muttered.

“You’re not bait,” you said with a smile that could melt titanium. “I am.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s even worse.”

Your relationship with Bucky wasn’t simple. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t tease. He grunted. He rolled his eyes. He glared at anyone who looked at you too long. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You hadn’t kissed, hadn’t crossed that line.

But you’d shared motel rooms. Shared food. Watched old movies on scratched discs in safehouses, shoulders brushing in the dark. You’d woken up more than once with your legs tangled under a too-small blanket and his arm slung heavy across your stomach.

You called him “grump” and he let you. You made him coffee just the way he liked it — Black, one tablespoon of sugar— even when he never asked.

He called you doll once, under his breath, when he didn’t know you were listening. And when things got dangerous, when missions got ugly, when people came too close — Bucky stopped being silent. He turned brutal. Fierce.

Protective.

Of you.

You weren’t sure what that meant. You weren’t lovers. But you weren’t just teammates either.

Sometimes, when you caught him staring too long — at your mouth, at your bare shoulder, at your smile — you thought maybe… maybe he felt it too.

The pull.

The way the air shifted between you like something unsaid was pressing against both your ribs.

But he never made a move.

Never crossed the line.

So you didn’t either. You stayed in that strange in-between — close, but not close enough.

But tonight?

When he was here with you in that goddamn tailored suit? Gods be good — it was getting difficult. Very difficult to not get close.

You continued your undercover mission, glancing at Bucky who was watching just from around the corner.

Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t.

You were halfway through your flirtatious distraction with a smug suit named Anton when something shifted. You felt it before you saw it — the way Bucky stiffened across the room, how his gaze locked onto yours like a damn hawk.

Anton’s hand brushed your bare arm. Too high.

Bucky moved.

Not walked. Not jogged.

Moved. Like a fucking missile.

By the time Anton leaned in to whisper something vile in your ear, Bucky was already there.

His metal arm was around your waist before you could blink, yanking you back against his chest as his other hand slammed Anton back into the velvet booth.

“She’s not yours to touch.” he growled, low and deadly.

Anton sputtered, caught off guard. “She said—she was just—”

“I don’t care what she said,” Bucky snapped. “You don’t lay a hand on her.”

“Bucky—” you started, cheeks warm, heart hammering. You weren’t sure If you felt embarrassed or flustered… or maybe it was both?

“No.” His voice was sharp, eyes never leaving the guy’s face. “You don’t touch her unless she asks you to. Got it?”

Anton nodded, wide-eyed, hands raised. Bucky didn’t let go of your waist.

Not even when the man scurried away like a kicked dog. Not even when the music returned to full volume and the mission resumed.

He held you tight against him, breathing hard.

You looked up at him, that same soft smile on your face. “You okay, soldier?”

His jaw was clenched tight. “Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Let someone else put their hands on you.”

You blinked, voice lowering. “It was part of the mission.”

“Don’t care.” His grip tightened slightly. “Next time anyone tries that, I’m breaking more than their pride.”

And just like that — it was silent between you.

Hot.

Tense.

Buzzing with a line you hadn’t crossed yet, but you were so close.

Then he leaned down, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re mine to protect. You get that?”

Your breath caught.

You nodded.

And from the way his hand slipped down your hip, lingering like he needed to feel you were safe, you knew the mission wasn’t the only thing getting dangerously close to explosive.

You watched him leave and soon as you made sure Bucky made his way back to his spot, talking with some other men you rushed to find the bathroom, your breath still caught in your throat, panic raising with every passing moment.

The second the door to the staff’s restroom clicked shut behind you, you exhaled.

Not calmly. Not softly.

You practically collapsed against the sink, palms flat on the cool porcelain as your shoulders slumped forward.

Your heart was still racing, and it wasn’t just the mission.

It was him.

God, it was always him.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bass from the club thudding through the floor beneath your heels.

You looked like yourself.

The flirty dress. The soft smile still trying to recover. But inside, you were buzzing. And tired. And confused. And a little bit angry.

Because Bucky had done it again.

The jealousy, the possessiveness — the way he’d shoved that man like he was seconds from pulling the trigger, growling like a feral thing with the words that basically said “don’t touch what’s mine.”

But then, as always, he’d walked away like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t just claim you in front of a room full of people and then leave you standing there, heart pounding, body still warm from his hands.

You felt like a fool. You closed your eyes. Let out a slow breath. You weren’t weak. You weren’t. You’d handled worse.

But not this.

Not him.

You had no idea what the hell you were to Bucky Barnes.

Some days, he looked at you like you were his only peace in this godforsaken world. Other days, he barely spoke — only snapped when you got too close to danger or when someone else looked at you too long. He’d touch you — your waist, your back, your wrist when he needed to pull you out of the way — but he never stayed.

Never kissed you.

Never said anything.

You opened your eyes again and muttered to your reflection:

“Just say it, man. Just say it. Either you want me or you don’t.”

Your voice cracked, and you hated it.

Because you were tired. Tired of feeling like you belonged to someone who didn’t want to belong back.

You didn’t even hear the door open. You only felt it — the sudden shift in the air behind you. The presence. Heavy. Quiet. Familiar.

Then the low voice:

“Why’d you run?”

You turned slowly. Bucky stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, filling the frame like a storm you hadn’t seen coming.

“I didn’t run.” you said, trying for casual. It came out thin.

“You disappeared.”

“I needed air.”

“You could’ve told me.”

Your hands clenched. “Oh, so now I’m supposed to tell you where I go, too?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not what I—”

“God, Bucky, what are we?”

The words exploded out of you before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, but your spine stayed straight. “Because one second you’re pushing guys off me like you own me, and the next it’s like nothing happened. You look at me like you… like you want me. But you never say it. Never do anything. And I’m so – so damn tired of guessing!”

Silence. It pressed thick between you, heavy enough to crush. His stare didn’t waver. But his shoulders had dropped just slightly, and something vulnerable flickered behind his eyes.

You swallowed hard, chest rising and falling. “Do you even know what you want from me?”

He didn’t move for a second. Then he stepped forward — slow, deliberate.

“I want you safe.” he said quietly.

You scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can say without crossing a line I can’t come back from.”

Your heart skipped. “So cross it.”

His jaw clenched.

“Cross it.” You repeated, as If you were daring him.

He was in front of you in a breath, eyes wild, hands reaching out and gripping the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. His body hovered, close but not touching. You could feel the heat of him. Smell the leather and sweat and something so distinctly him that your knees nearly buckled.

His hands left the counter and grabbed your waist instead, yanking you flush against his chest. You barely had a second to gasp before his mouth was on yours — rough, devouring, starving. He kissed you like a man possessed. Like he’d been holding this in for months. Maybe he had.

You whimpered into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his suit as he pushed you back until your spine hit the cold bathroom wall.

“Fuck,” he muttered between kisses. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You gasped as his lips moved down to your neck, sucking a mark right under your ear. “G-Get what?”

His grip tightened on your hips. “That every time someone touches you, I want to break their fucking hands. That I can’t sleep unless I know you’re okay. That I’ve been dying to do this.”

He ground his hips into yours and you felt it — thick, hard, desperate. You moaned.

“This what you wanted, doll?” he growled against your throat.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—God, yes—”

He spun you around, pressing your front against the sink as his hand shoved your dress up roughly over your hips. You let out a breathy gasp, the cool air hitting your thighs.

“No more running,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. His hand cupped between your legs through your soaked panties, his fingers rubbing your wet heat. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you breathed. “I’ve always been yours—”

He growled something filthy under his breath — you only caught good girl — and then he was pulling your panties down and freeing himself from his pants. You looked up just in time to see your own wrecked reflection in the mirror.

He caught your eye there. Held it. One hand flat on your stomach, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

He teased your slick folds with his cock first, making you moan and gasp, your body moved in anticipation and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Please,” you whispered. “Need you, Bucky—just… need you.”

That was all it took.

He thrust into you in one sharp motion and you cried out, hand slamming against the mirror to steady yourself. He filled you completely, thick and pulsing inside, and didn’t give you a second to adjust — just started pounding into you like he was making up for every moment he hadn’t touched you before.

“Fuck—tight little pussy—been dreamin’ about this,” he groaned, metal hand gripping your hip so hard you’d have bruises tomorrow. His other hand grabbed your jaw, making you look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your moans bounced off the walls — you barely cared who heard. His thrusts were deep, punishing, filthy.

And he wouldn’t shut up.

“Not letting you flirt with those assholes again,” he snarled, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “You wanna act like bait? Fine. But I’m the one who gets to fuck you after.”

You clenched around him at his words and he felt it.

“Oh, baby. You like that, huh? You like when I get mean for you?”

“Y-Yes—fuck, Bucky—please—”

He brought his hand down and smacked your ass, not hard, just enough to make you yelp. “That’s right. This pussy’s mine.”

“Yours,” you sobbed. “All yours—”

He reached around and rubbed tight circles on your clit, hips never faltering. You were unraveling fast, so fast, the pleasure built from weeks — months — of wanting this.

You came hard, body shaking against the sink as he kept fucking you through it, murmuring praises into your ear. Good girl. So sweet. So fuckin’ good for me.

When he was close, he pulled out just long enough to flip you around and lift you onto the sink. You gasped as your back hit the mirror, legs spreading on instinct.

He slid back in easily, growling into your mouth as he kissed you again — slower now, but no less intense.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against your lips. “Mine, doll. Say it again.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He came with a groan, forehead pressed to yours, hips twitching as he filled you deep, his seed spreading inside of your walls.

And then — silence.

Just breathing. Just heat. Just the faint bass of the music still thumping beyond the door, as if none of it mattered. The rush, the blinding pressure of it all started to fade — and Bucky was the first to come down from it.

You were still boneless, leaning back against the mirror with your legs dangling over the edge of the sink, dress wrinkled, panties somewhere on the damn floor.

And Bucky… looked like he’d seen a ghost.

His hands were still on your thighs, but barely. Like he was afraid to touch you now.

His chest was heaving, jaw tight, eyes flickering between your face and the door behind him, like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you again or bolt.

You gave a small, lazy smile. “Hey.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

You reached up, brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “You okay?”

“I—shit,” he mumbled, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Shit, I—did I hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No—”

“I was rough. Too rough.” His metal hand hovered near your waist but didn’t land. “You didn’t even—fuck, we didn’t talk, I didn’t even ask, I just—”

“Bucky,” you said, soft but firm. “Look at me.”

He did. Slowly.

Your smile was still there. Warm. Safe.

The look on your face didn’t match the apocalypse going off in his head. If anything, you looked… happy. Messy, flushed, glowing — and happy.

“I would’ve stopped you,” you said gently. “I would’ve said no if I didn’t want it this way.”

He exhaled hard, running a hand down his face like he didn’t believe you could possibly be real.

You reached for him again and tugged him back between your knees. “Bucky. I wanted it,” you said, more seriously now. “I’ve wanted you. For so long. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His hands settled on your hips, gentler this time. His head bowed.

“…I’ve never had anyone like you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to… be.”

Your heart squeezed.

You brought his hand — the flesh one — to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “I know… You were perfect, Bucky.”

A few moments passed in silence.

Then he cleared his throat. “You should… uh. Let me clean you up.”

You laughed softly. “What, getting shy now?”

He flushed. The Bucky Barnes blushing? You were keeping that in your pocket forever.

“I just—yeah, lemme take care of you, okay?” he muttered.

He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser, ran one under warm water, and returned with a careful, almost reverent look.

He was quiet as he cleaned you up — too quiet. Focused. Gentle.

You tilted his chin up so he’d look at you again. “I’m not gonna break, Buck.”

“I know,” he said, smiling faintly. “But you’re still my doll.”

You blinked, surprised by how soft he sounded saying it out loud — like it slipped out without permission.

“…You’ve never called me that to my face before.”

He shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t want you to know how gone I was.”

He helped you off the counter and found your underwear with a grunt, slipping them into your hand with an adorably sheepish look.

You both fixed yourselves up, and when you opened the door, the gala still raged on like nothing happened.

But something had changed.

Because Bucky took your hand — not just to lead you out, not just for safety.

He held it.

And he didn’t let go.

I WANT HIM 🚩