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gogogodzilla · 6 months

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day 31, sex pollen

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, unprotected sex, fuck or die, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, reader gets sad at the end, multiple orgasms, dedicated to @omgbrcat hope you enjoy it bestie kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast and wildly in your life. Well, except for last year when you were fighting for your life and running away from everything that was trying to kill you.

Peeta was a few steps behind you, slower and stumbling a bit due to his prosthetic leg. You threw a glance over your shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure he was still there with you.

The various leaves and foliage of the jungle hit you as you ran. You hardly even notice as the foliage shifts from a normal lush green to unnatural shades of pinks, purples, and blues. You did notice, however, when one of the plants shoots a dusty substance directly in your face as you run past it.

You lost your footing as you attempted to wipe the dust off your face. Peeta came up beside you, arms outstretched and ready to pick you up.

“Don’t!” you shouted as you slowly stood, slightly relieved that your face didn’t immediately burn off. “I don’t want it to affect you, whatever it is.”

Your ears strained as you tried to discern if the mutts were still on your tail.

“Do you hear them?” Peeta questioned, echoing your thoughts. “Y’know since you have a Capitol-engineered ear and all.”

You huffed out a laugh as you listened. You couldn’t hear the familiar rustle of leaves, and you relaxed slightly. You knew never to get too comfortable in the arena, but your lungs were burning and you needed to get this stuff off your face.

“Do you still have the spile?” you asked, attempting to avoid the way your body felt like it was on fire and your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he began to hammer it into the trunk of a nearby tree. You prayed that the trees wouldn’t be as hazardous as whatever was covering your face. You watched as he stuck a finger under the liquid flowing out of the spile, checking to make sure it was safe.

He wrapped his hand around your elbow and it felt like fire bloomed under his touch. He was gentle as always as he guided your face under the water. You dragged your hands over your face as you washed off the dusty substance that had covered it. You attempted to rid yourself of the inferno burning under your skin.

Your cheeks flushed as you pulled away from the stream of water. Peeta’s touch was fleeting but your entire body ached for him. It was a strange feeling, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest with every shaky breath you took. You hunched over, attempting to calm yourself. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover your skin, and your eyebrows furrowed in something akin to pain.

You heard Peeta call your name, but the only thing you could get out was a whimper. He was on you within seconds, gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly. You scrambled out of his touch, thinking clearly enough to know that you needed to get away from him.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned, voice desperate and eyes frantically searching over your form. You hurriedly crawled away from him.

You shook your head, as you pressed your back against a tree. “I— I don’t know. I feel hot,” you breathed, conflicted between clenching your thighs together and spreading them for him.

Peeta kneeled in front of you, eyes soft, “How can I help?”

You remembered before you’d entered your first Games together how he didn’t want the Game to change him. You were thankful that he was still the same sweet boy you entered the arena with. He was different in some ways, of course. No one left the arena unscathed, but who he was at his core was unwavering.

Your vision was becoming hazy, and a dull ache where you’d never felt it before emerged. You let out a low groan as the heat blistering down to your bones becomes almost unbearable.

Peeta crawled between your legs and cupped your face. You hissed at his touch, leaning into him. You gripped onto his sides, nails digging into the soft flesh through his suit. His touch felt heavenly against your skin, a ravenous hunger for more filled you to the very brim.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Please, Peeta.”

He swiped a thumb across your cheek, and your grip on his tightened. You tugged him closer, your limbs seeming to move on their own. You made a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat.

Peeta’s lips were hesitant against yours as he kissed you. He was always so gentle with you, never wanting to cross a line. You moaned against him, and swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, desperate to taste him.

You wrapped your arms around his back and clawed at the zipper to his suit, tugging it down as much as you could. He sucked in a breath as you yanked his suit off of his shoulders, practically manhandling him. You were giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted, but you didn’t care.

The ache deep between your legs was growing with every moment, and your body temperature rose along with it. Your kisses increased in desperation until you were pleading against Peeta’s lips and writhing against him.

“It’s okay,” Peeta soothed, reaching behind you to unzip your suit. “I’ll help, it’s okay.”

You hurriedly peeled your suit off your shoulders, letting out a sigh as Peeta’s fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck and your chest.

You ran your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, the feeling doing little to quell the electricity crackling under your skin. His tongue circled your nipple, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

You raked your hands through the hair at the nape of his tugged and tugged on the strands. A groan vibrated in his throat, and his hands splayed against your ribcage.

“Peeta,” you whined as he kneaded your other breast and you clenched your thighs around him.

You couldn’t stand not having him for a second longer and you hooked your arms under his, gripping him tightly as you rolled to the side. You landed on top of him, straddling him. You panted as you finally got a good look at him. His eyes were half-lidded and he was flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at you.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “Is it getting to you, too?”

He nodded, attempting to steady his breathing. You stood and shimmied out of your suit, tossing it to the side. You leaned down to hook your fingers into the waistband of Peeta’s suit and looked up at him through your lashes. The quick dip of his head was all you needed, and you were practically ripping his suit off of him. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken off Peeta’s pants, but you flushed all the same. You were too focused on saving his life last time to worry about being embarrassed.

You were back on him faster than your hazy mind could process, your hips moving on their own accord as you ground against his thigh. His length pressed against your belly, warm and unbelievably hard, as you dragged your hips against him.

You reached down and stroked him in time with each rut of your hips. He let out a mix between a whimper and a sigh as you did. Your movements quickened, and you buried your face in the crook of Peeta’s neck. With each twist of your wrist around his cock, he was letting out noises that had heat pooling in your belly. His tip was leaking, and you loved the sound he made when you ran your thumb over it.

Peeta’s fingertips dug into the plush of your hips so hard you didn’t doubt that he’d leave bruises. The animalistic part of you that had taken control wanted him to mark you in every way possible. Your slick had begun to cover Peeta’s thigh, allowing you to easily grind against him.

Your strokes became more erratic as your pace against Peeta’s cock increased. You both were so wound tight you might burst. You’d never been so aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, and you came with a strangled cry. Tears coated your cheeks as warmth encased your entire being and you spasmed against Peeta. You had a moment of respite as you thought the plant’s effects had subsided, but the drive to ravish him returned with a vengeance.

He followed you off the precipice soon after you calmed down, back arched and head thrown back as his release covered your knuckles. The fog that surrounded your head cleared just enough for you to realize just how pretty Peeta looked like this. If you were going to die, you didn’t think you’d get a better view.

Your pace slowed but Peeta was still hard in your hand. The boiling heat still lingered under your skin, and your pulse quickened. You wondered if that was the Capitol’s goal; to make you so fucked out you succumb to exhaustion or burn you from the inside out.

Peeta looked utterly exhausted and a coil of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

“Just one more, please,” you begged, trailing kisses down his neck. He nodded against you, and you could’ve cried from the relief that washed over you.

You lifted your hips and aligned the tip of his cock with your entrance, gasping at the sensation. Peeta’s hips bucked up unconsciously, shoving himself deeper inside you. A pained hiss left you, and Peeta cried out a thousand apologies, his iron grip returning to your hips once more.

“I’m sorry. You’re just— Fuck… So— tight,” he babbled out, brown eyes glazing over. You pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek, thoughts too consumed with his cock inside you to reassure him properly. You slowly lowered yourself onto him, sighing when your hips were finally flush. Peeta had his eyes screwed shut, gritting his jaw in thinly veiled restraint.

Your hands settled on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the tree as you rode him, releasing little pants and moans with every thrust of your hips.

With each moment that passed your movements became more erratic, desperate to reach your peak once again. Peeta’s hands frantically roamed your body, grasping and kneading whatever inch of skin he could reach.

He reached a hand between the two of you and drew hurried circles around your clit. He lifted his hips to meet yours, jutting himself deeper inside you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, and you prayed you were the only ones trapped in this portion of the arena.

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you clenched around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy, and for a moment you feared you’d pass out.

Peeta finished with a few more rolls of your hips against his. He filled you to the brim, his release hot and steady coated your walls.

Your vision cleared as you came down from your high. The fire within you had finally dissipated, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You felt exhaustion consume you as you slumped against Peeta.

“I’m sorry,” you slurred out, clinging onto Peeta like your life depended on it. Your face screwed up and you felt your throat tightening.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he rushed out, running his hands over your body, attempting to soothe you as quiet sobs wracked your body. Your last thought before drowsiness overtook you was of how much you didn’t deserve Peeta Mellark.

Your heart pounded as you awoke, adrenaline spiking as you heard someone calling your name. You jumped to your feet, eyes frantically searching your surroundings. Your movements caused Peeta to stir and his eyes shot open, the same panic gracing his features.

You tugged on your suit, grimacing at the dried cum that covered your inner thighs. You tossed Peeta his suit and pulled him to his feet. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, and the thought turned your stomach. Someone could’ve easily come along and killed you both.

You grabbed your weapon while Peeta removed the spile from the tree.

“Let’s just hope our sponsors enjoyed the show,” you joked, immediately cringing as soon as the words left your mouth.

The corners of Peeta’s mouth quirked up, “I’m sure they did.”

#peeta mellark #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games peeta #thg peeta #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark x reader smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #reader insert #no y/n #josh hutcherson

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hada-gotica · 1 year

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#280.jpg #234x334 #fairies #this one is weird even though i can read the signature #ive tried searching various ways of reading it #but i cant find anything on the internet D:#i can find a book with this cover #still i see the author of the book but i cant find the author of the cover

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ichorai · 5 months

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wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter.

Control. That was all he needed.

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you.

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled.

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.”

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time.

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine.

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you.

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth.

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow

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chiscribbs · 7 months

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I had an idea for a one-off Rise episode plot and just wanted to quickly sketch up some visuals for it.

The plot goes as follows: Donnie attempts to invent a cloning machine and, due to some kind of science-y mishap, ends up cloning himself...a lot. But there's a catch to this - the clones aren't exact copies of Donnie, they each possess just ONE of the various facets of his personality (i.e. brainy, broody, sarcastic, passionate, dramatic, mischievous, etc.) and a small portion of his mystic powers. Don tries his darnedest to keep the whole situation under wraps while he searches for a way to fix it, but some of the more rambunctious Donnies quickly escape and begin stirring up trouble in the Lair, so it doesn't stay a secret for very long. To make matters worse - the real Donnie starts to slowly disappear (something having to do with his existence being divided among the Donnies or blahblahblah fake science explanation). So, while he and the scientist Donnies continue to look for a way to reverse the cloning effect, his brothers and Co. set to work gathering up all the other Donnies so they can put them back where they belong and keep Donnie Prime™ from vanishing.

Hilarity, wholesomeness (and some mild angst) ensues.

(Note: I meant to include April in that second-to-last image, but ran out of room. Just know that she, Splinter, and probably Casey Jr. are all there, as well.)

#I always love plots that have a healthy mix of whimsy and emotional weight. Bonus for DT bonding.#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #disaster twins #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #donatello hamato #rottmnt leo #rise leo #leonardo hamato #technically all the boys are in there but I'll just tag the ones with the most focus...esp since mikey's tiny lol #fanart #concept art #chiscribbs #Fun game idea for the tag-readers: what name would you give this ep if it were real? I'm eagerly awaiting suggestions.#shades of purple (rottmnt)#<- added in post for ease of access

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ellemj · 2 months

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Look At Me

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @daddy-bucky: one bed trope "with a bit (LOTS & LOTS) of breeding kink."

Summary: Bucky gets exposed to a chemical compound that heightens his already above-average sense of smell. Then he's stuck sharing a bed with the girl he's nearly fucked on more than one occasion.

Warnings: profanity, dubcon (noncon? if you look too close?), slight thigh fucking, unprotected sex, somnophilia, heavy breeding kink, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: This one took me a few days because I got a bit of writer's block around the time the smut started. Thanks to @daddy-bucky for this unhinged request, specifically for the part where you requested that he be feral, apologizing but can't stop himself, and for mentioning that he can smell her ovulating. You are unhinged and I love it.

There are worse things than a mission going sideways. There are worse things than being stuck in a safehouse overnight. There are even worse things than being hunted down by a few thugs from a HYDRA offshoot. But you’re sure that there isn’t anything worse than being shut in with a man that you’ve nearly slept with on more than one occasion.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water on your face as you try to come up with a way to make it through the night. You’re a four-hour drive away from the compound, and a five-hour drive away from the nearest SHIELD base. The safest option you had was to head to the closest safehouse and tuck in until morning, with a handful of modern-day HYDRA operatives hot on your heels. You start toweling your face dry and running through all of the mistakes that were made today.

The first mistake was believing that the intel you received about the new HYDRA facility was accurate, without doing the recon yourself. You were told that the facility is empty three days a week, only in operation from Monday through Thursday. That’s why you and Bucky staged your break-in for today, a Friday. Your second mistake was letting Bucky follow you into the lab, instead of having him stay at the door and keep watch. You don’t know what possessed him to take his own look around, to start reading the labels on the various vials located in glass refrigeration units and on benchtops throughout the room. Your third mistake was tucking your gun into your thigh holster while you searched through the lab’s computer, looking for the identification number of one specific compound that you were sent to retrieve. If you hadn’t holstered your gun, you wouldn’t have been caught off guard when a night guard came bursting through the door, pointing his weapon right between your eyes. If you hadn’t holstered your gun, you would’ve been able to shoot the guy yourself. Bucky wouldn’t have shoved you hard enough to send you crashing into one of the little glass refrigeration units in an attempt to get you out of the line of fire, before killing the guy himself. The shot leaving Bucky’s gun didn’t even register in your mind as you watched the glass door shatter and the vials inside shake around on the shelves. As you steadied yourself and shot Bucky an annoyed look, you didn’t notice the vial full of pale pink liquid was the only one that had broken and spilled.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked gruffly, grabbing you by the forearm and pulling you away from the broken glass. You nodded quickly, feeling perfectly fine after being seconds away from having either a bullet in your head or shards of glass in your skin.

“I’m fine, just help me find the vial labeled 012-6A, so we can get out of here.” You double-checked the ID number on the computer screen one last time as Bucky stepped around you and began rifling through the refrigeration unit that you’d just been shoved into.

Bucky wouldn’t have known that he inhaled enough manganese to cause hyperosmia. He noticed the pink liquid spread over the surface of one of the shelves as he stepped in close and read over the various labels on the vials that were still intact, but he assumed you’d already seen the spill and since you didn’t mention it, it must not have been a big deal. In truth, even if you’d seen it and been able to properly identify it as a manganese compound, you would’ve written it off as being a minor incident. You’d have to be continuously exposed to it, inhaling large quantities of it over time to really be in any sort of major danger. A little sniff in a lab accident wouldn’t send either one of you to the hospital.

However, one of the known side effects of inhaling manganese is significantly increased olfactory perception, or to put it plainly: a heightened sense of smell. You might be able to smell the cleaners used on the lab floors or the wet dirt stuck in the treads of your tactical boots, if you’d inhaled the manganese. But Bucky, already having a heightened sense of smell from the super soldier serum coursing through his veins, would soon be able to smell everything.

After finding vial 012-6A, the two of you were tailed from the moment you left the compound until Bucky started weaving in and out of traffic, doing everything he could to shake the tail. You notified Fury and Sam of the situation and within minutes, you had an address to a safehouse and were on your way.

Bucky carefully folds out the couch bed, watching the thin mattress unfurl before him. It might just be the most uncomfortable looking bed he’s ever seen, but it’s not like he ever sleeps much anyway. You, however, are in for a rough night. Before you went to shower, you found a set of sheets and a quilt tucked away in a closet and set them out. Bucky begins making the bed but something isn’t quite right. As he lays the flat sheet over the fitted one and begins tucking the corners at the foot of the mattress, he starts to wonder why the he can smell the metal springs beneath. The metallic scent is strong, as if he’s pressed his nose right against the springs and inhaled as hard as he could. He stands up straight and sniffs the air, instantly overwhelmed by the plethora of smells circulating in the air. What the hell is going on?

When you emerge from the bathroom a moment later, you find Bucky standing in the middle of the tiny house, running a hand through his hair and looking a bit bewildered.

“Bucky?” You call his name softly, slowly crossing the room and eyeing the bed that he’s made up for you both. He keeps his gaze trained on the floor, not even acknowledging your presence. “Bucky, what’s going on?” You try again.

“Everything smells really strong.” He answers dryly, still not looking up at you. You narrow your eyes at him and start scanning his features, looking for any clues as to what might be going on.

“What do you mean? Don’t things always smell really strong to you?”

“Not like this, this is…I can smell your shampoo.” He says. His blue eyes flit up, meeting your gaze and holding it.

“What did you touch in the lab?” You ask suddenly, already leaping into action. You sit on the side of the couch bed and reach for your bag that sits on the floor, dragging it over to your feet. You rummage around for your laptop, fishing it out as soon as it hits your fingertips.

“I didn’t touch anything.” Bucky promises, shaking his head. He takes a couple of steps back, away from the bed, as if he can’t stand the smell of your shampoo or whatever else he smells on you. You begin typing quickly, working to open a secure video call line to Bruce Banner. “There was a spill, in that fridge I pushed you into.” He remembers, recalling the liquid that was spread over the shelf.

“Did you breathe it in?” You cast him a glance over your shoulder as you sit and wait for Bruce to join the video call.

“No, I mean, I don’t know. There wasn’t an odor, it didn’t feel like I breathed anything in.”

“What color was it?” You ask, already narrowing down the list of chemicals in your head based on the fact that it was odorless.

“Pink, clear.” Bucky answers. He’s rubbing the back of his neck as you wrack your brain. Pink, clear, odorless, hyperosmia-inducing. You have a theory, but you need Bruce to confirm. Your shoulders relax as your mind begins to realize that the chances of the chemical having been life-threatening are very low. There aren’t very many chemicals out there that are known to cause hyperosmia, and the ones that do are really only dangerous in large amounts. Bruce’s face appears on your laptop screen and relief washes over you.

“Hey, I have a few questions for you.” You say kindly, smiling at the scientist that you’ve grown familiar with. Bruce smiles back at you and Bucky catches himself narrowing his eyes and wondering how close the two of you actually are.

“Shoot.”

“There was a spill in the lab, Bucky may have inhaled something odorless, a pink aqueous solution. It’s causing hyperosmia, he says he can smell my shampoo from across the room.”

“More than his usual hyperosmia?” Bruce questions thoughtfully.

“Yes.” You and Bucky both respond in unison. You look over your shoulder at him again and notice how uneasy he looks, how he’s being sure to keep his distance from you. “I’m thinking it’s some sort of manganese compound.” You guess, turning your attention back to Bruce.

“You’re probably right. Just be on the lookout for any symptoms that would suggest otherwise, but if it was a small spill and he only inhaled a minimal amount of vapor from it, I wouldn’t be too concerned. The only worry I would have would be not knowing how manganese might react with the serum, but I can do some research on it and let you know what I find.” Bruce pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s what I was thinking. We’ll let you know if anything else develops, just send me whatever you find.” After a few more exchanges between the two of you, you end the call and shove your laptop back into your bag. Bucky remains across the room, watching you carefully, like he’s afraid to get too close.

What you don’t know, is that Bucky can’t just smell your shampoo. He can smell you. Your hair, your skin, your everything. You leave him be and head to the tiny kitchen connected to the living room, in search of a glass of water. Bucky inhales deeply through his mouth, trying to avoid smelling anything, but your scent lingers in the air and it’s suffocating. He’s going to have to sleep in the car just to get away from it.

---

“Bucky, you’re not sleeping in the damn car and neither am I. There’s a reason we’re stuck in this safehouse, we’re staying put.” Your tone is stern as you stand blocking the door. Bucky sighs heavily. He knows he could easily move you out of his way, but he also knows he’s treading dangerous waters already. The two of you have always had an indescribable tension, a palpable energy between you. One drunken night a month ago, you nearly fucked. You were drunk, he wasn’t, but he might as well have been with the way he lost his self-control when you leaned into him and rested your hands against his abs. The heated makeout session that ensued was electric, with your back pushed up against a wall in whatever bar the team had been hanging out in that night. The only reason you didn’t go through with it was because the grating sound of John Walker’s voice echoed down the dimly lit back hall right before he turned the corner and saw you pushing Bucky away. Only a week after that, Bucky caught you staring him down in the gym, clearly enjoying the sight of him shirtless and sweating as he threw punches at the bag. An hour later he had your lips against his in the elevator, desperately kissing and licking as much of the skin of your jaw and neck as he could before the elevator reached the main living floor. He would’ve taken you right there if the elevator was any slower. The third and final time was a week and a half ago, when, during an undercover mission, you both seemed to have trouble keeping your hands off of each other. Your covers gave you an excuse to be a little handsy, but continuing to be handsy the entire drive back to the compound wasn’t quite so excused. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice the car following you, not until Redwing picked up on it and Sam alerted you both. That was the night you both decided to stop whatever it was that was going on between you. It was dangerous and addictive and it only served as a distraction in the field. So, you stopped it before it ever truly began.

Bucky moves around to the opposite side of the bed, shooting you a moody look before tugging his shirt off and baring his chest. Your eyes drift down to the dog tags that hang around his neck as he starts pushing his pants down his legs. Suddenly he’s standing there wearing nothing but boxers and dog tags, and your mouth is damn near watering.

“You’re sleeping in that?” You ask incredulously, gesturing at his distinct lack of clothing. Bucky chuckles and pulls the sheet and quilt back, sliding under the covers with ease. The thin mattress curves down to support his weight and the springs creak loudly.

“You’re sleeping in that, so you can’t complain.” He mimics your gesture as he refers to your oversized t-shirt and lack of pants. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t have much in your bag, this was never supposed to be an overnight trip. You sigh as you sit on your own side of the bed, turning your back to Bucky. He turns off the lamp beside the couch and the room is cast into darkness.

While you’re sitting on the side of the bed, reminding yourself why the two of you decided to leave each other alone, Bucky’s lying on his back, breathing through his mouth. He can still smell you. The vanilla scent of your shampoo makes him want to bury his face in your hair and inhale as deeply as he possibly can, it smells so fucking sweet.

An hour later, you’re sound asleep next to Bucky, with your back facing him and the sound of your soft, steady breathing filling the quiet space. Every single minute that’s gone by since you slid under the covers next to him has be spent actively trying to ignore the smells in the air. First, all he really noticed was your shampoo. After fifteen minutes of lying next to you, he could smell the lotion you put on your legs that morning. Ten minutes later, he was ready to bust down the damn door to get to the car. He could smell you. Something so distinctive, something that was sending his entire body into overdrive with every breath he inhaled.

Now Bucky lies there, clenching his jaw and covering his face with both hands in an attempt to stifle the scent that he’s trying to pretend isn’t there. He’d have already gotten out of the bed and locked himself in the bathroom, the closet, or even a fucking kitchen cupboard if the bed springs weren’t so damn loud. He can’t make a move that big without waking you up, so he remains frozen. It’s not until Bucky hears you whimper in your sleep that he pulls his hands away from his face and turns his head to look in your direction. Though the scent of your unconscious arousal is affecting him so strongly, the sound you made momentarily redirects some of the bloodflow away from his cock, toward his head. The tone to your whimper was fearful. It escapes your lips again and Bucky watches as you begin to shake beside him. Fuck. Of course you have nightmares. You’re so similar in so many other ways, he should’ve assumed you were plagued the same way that he is.

As your eyes dart back and forth rapidly beneath your closed eyelids, your breathing quickens more and more until your body begins to feel deprived of oxygen. That’s when you wake up, gasping for air, in full fight-or-flight mode. You’re on your side, grasping the quilt in your left hand and desperately searching the darkness around you for anything familiar.

Without thinking, Bucky rolls onto his side and slides his vibranium hand over your hip. Though he can’t feel it, your shirt has ridden up above your thighs and his hand lands partially on the waistband of your panties and partially on your skin. You tense at his touch initially, still trying to figure out where the hell you are, but that touch is something familiar. Your mind latches onto it, and suddenly you’re remembering the last three times you felt it. Vibranium against your skin, his lips on yours, every nerve ending in your body firing at the same time. It’s familiar, so familiar that you relax after a couple of seconds and lean back. Your back brushes against his chest and his grip on your hip tightens a barely noticeable amount as he realizes you’re moving. He doesn’t want you to move back too far and find out that he has a full-blown erection while you’re recovering from a nightmare, but he also doesn’t want to stop you from finding comfort.

“You’re safe.” He whispers close to your ear, taking in the scent of your shampoo once again. His eyes close as the vanilla temporarily covers up the smell that’s been driving him insane for the past hour. “We’re in a safehouse.” He assures you. Your breathing begins to slow and your shaking limbs calm as you move your left hand. You release your grip on the sheets and slide it beneath the covers, running your palm over the crevices of his vibranium hand. So familiar.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You apologize softly, taking in a shaky breath and flattening your hand over his metal one.

“I wasn’t asleep.” Though you know how he operates in the field, how he likes to be kissed, how infuriating he can be when he insists on doing things his way, you don’t know much about his sleeping habits…or lack thereof. Suddenly, the evening’s mission comes flooding back into your mind. You remember him being exposed to something and experiencing hyperosmia, with you and Bruce only being able to speculate about the chemical he inhaled. You make a move to look over your shoulder at him and when you do, your body almost enough to let your ass make contact with his crotch. He squeezes your hip so hard that you almost peel his vibranium fingers off of you.

“Shit, Bucky.” You speak through clenched teeth as he holds you firmly in place against the mattress. “What are you—”

“Don’t move.” He groans. The tone of his voice is one you’ve heard once before, when you were licking and sucking the skin along the column of his throat in the elevator that day. Instead of listening to his clear command, you try to wiggle an inch or two away from him, as if that would help the situation, but it only makes Bucky’s problem more obvious. His hard cock is straining against the fabric of his black boxers, and as you move your hips once again, it brushes against your ass and you feel it. You feel it and you freeze. “Fuck.” Another groan leaves his lips and you feel your cheeks heat up. Your nightmare from moments ago is forgotten.

“Is it…is it from what you inhaled earlier? Tell me what you’re feeling.” The words come tumbling out of you with urgency as you grow more and more worried.

“Yeah. No. It’s just—fuck.” Bucky swears again, exhaling quickly and then inhaling through his mouth. “You smell so goddamn good, I don’t know what to do with myself.” You’re both silent, so silent that you can hear the way he’s mouth-breathing just so he doesn’t have to overwhelm himself with your scent.

“Bucky—”

“You saying my name only makes this worse.” His grip on your hip tightens slightly and you try to keep your own breathing shallow, so you won’t be moving even a centimeter more than necessary.

“What can I do to help?” You ask quietly. What can you do to help? Bucky bites his lip. Your question is so innocent, so kind, and yet all he can think about is actually letting you do the one thing that would help him right now.

“Let me sleep in the car.” He sighs. You can tell he’s struggling, you can tell he’s in need, and as much as you hate that he’s in that kind of position, you can’t help but feel a little excited about the fact that he’s in it with you.

“You know why that’s a stupid idea. What else can I do?” While you’re lying there in front of him, offering your help, Bucky’s squeezing his eyes shut as he remembers the taste of your lips and the skillful way that you ran your hand along his thigh in the car after that one mission, letting your fingertips just barely skim over his bulge. He remembers every fucking detail of the way you kiss and the memories paired with the fact that your ass is still pressed against him make him feel as though all control is slipping away from him.

“Remind me why I can’t have you.” His request takes you by surprise. It takes a moment for your mind to gather the words that will give him what he wants.

“We work together.” Three words? That’s all you can come up with? With his cock pressing against your ass, your mind is going on strike.

“We work together.” Bucky repeats. That’s a shit reason, sure as hell not a good enough reason to get him to let go of your hip.

“It’d ruin our working relationship.” You try again, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in.

“It would.” Bucky agrees. Your reasons really aren’t even registering in his mind. He’s loosening his hold on your hip but instead of letting go completely, he starts dragging a vibranium fingertip along the waistband of your panties, almost absentmindedly. Your breath hitches in your throat when his fingertip ghosts over your lower stomach, but he slowly drags it back to your hip. He loves the way your body responds to even the slightest of touches.

“It could end horribly.” You point out, trying to keep your breathing steady as he continues tracing the waistband of your panties.

“It could.” He says with a small nod. Bucky doesn’t think as he leans in and presses his lips against the side of your neck. One kiss. One deep inhale. Another kiss. Another deep inhale. You catch yourself arching your back the tiniest bit, pressing your ass against him more.

“There isn’t a single good reason for us to do this.” It’s the last thing you can think of. Bucky pulls his lips away from your neck and his hand stills on your hip.

“There isn’t. It would be a pretty bad decision.” He acknowledges. That’s when you feel him adjust his legs and grind into you. “We might end up hating each other.”

“We can’t have that.” You tsk, biting into your bottom lip after the words leave your mouth. Neither one of you has enough self-control to separate at this point.

“You can have whatever the fuck you want.”

The soft whimper that leaves your lips at the undeniably filthy sentence he’s just spoken against your ear makes him grind into you harder. He can’t think straight when you make noises like that, when you smell like you do. Fuck. You don’t say a word, so he slides his vibranium hand down your thigh and wraps it around your knee, hitching your leg back and over his own. Once he has you a little more spread and leaning even more into his space, he grinds against you from the new angle. You feel his erection against your clothed cunt and the already wet fabric between your legs gets a little more soaked.

“I thought you just agreed that this would ruin our working relationship.” You whine. Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop. Though you sound like you’re being reasonable, your mind is anything but.

“I’m thinking about ruining something right now.” He grumbles against the side of your neck, nipping at your skin.

“We can’t do this.” You say firmly, reaching your left hand down to pull his vibranium one away from your leg that’s still hitched over his thigh. When your palm glides over the now warm metal, you can’t seem to push his hand away. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and fight to hold in the moans that are threatening to spill from your lips if he keeps grinding against you the way that he is.

“I know, baby, we can’t.” Bucky groans, rutting into you a little harder and faster, as if he’s trying to get just a little more pleasure out of this before it ends.

“We can’t.” You repeat. Why your hand lets go of his and moves to reach over your shoulder and tangle in his hair is beyond you. Why you pull him further against your neck, encouraging him to kiss and lick you even more is lost on you. Why you don’t do a damn thing to stop what’s currently happening can only be chalked up to how badly you’ve wanted him to fuck you since the first time you kissed him in that bar. Bucky doesn’t dare to say a single word more. He isn’t going to risk talking a little too much sense into you. So, he starts sucking on your neck, leaving obvious marks as you whimper and moan out those sweet, irresistible little noises that have him wanting to fuck you ten different ways.

Bucky’s holding onto the tiniest thread of self-control, it’s all he has left, a damn thread. Every single one of his senses is overwhelmed as he grinds himself against your barely clothed body and tastes the skin of your neck.

“We’re not doing this.” Bucky sounds so resolved, but even as he speaks the claim, he’s pushing your leg off of where it was hitched over his own and guiding you onto your stomach. He doesn’t want you on your stomach, fuck no. He wants you in any position where he can see the faces you make when he buries himself inside of you for the first time, when he starts fucking you the way you’ve needed to be fucked for weeks now, when he cums inside of you. But Bucky knows if he has the privilege of seeing your face through all of that, he won’t ever be able to look at you the same way. He won’t ever be able to go back to working with you in the field. It would ruin your working relationship just like you said. So, he makes sure you’re on your stomach when he starts pushing your shirt up and running his palms along the skin of your back. There isn’t a hint of protest from you as your back arches against his hands and your ass raises up ever so slightly. Even as Bucky begins tugging your panties down your thighs, not a damn word.

Your scent. Your fucking scent. As soon as he has your panties halfway down your thighs, he knows why he couldn’t resist you. You’re ovulating, and he can smell it, the pheromones, just radiating off of you.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans headily. He completely abandons his effort to tug your panties any further than your knees as he rolls on top of you and gets his cock in just the right position to slide between your legs. His hard shaft presses against your wet cunt as he lowers himself onto you and lets his length move between your upper thighs. “You’re already so wet, fuck.”

It only takes a second for you to have Bucky’s entire cock soaked with your arousal, and he hasn’t even been inside you yet. You can’t stop yourself from arching your back and pressing your ass up and into him as he teases you, dragging his length back and forth along your cunt but never giving himself the chance to slide in.

“Bucky…” His name leaves your lips as a needy moan and you don’t have to say another word. You don’t have to ask him to do it. He braces himself with his forearms on either side of your head, his knees on either side of your legs, and lets you shuffle your own knees until they’re underneath you enough to raise your ass off of the bed. A breathy whimper escapes you as a shiver runs down your spine.

“If you keep saying my name, I won’t be able to pull out when I need to.” Bucky warns you, just as you feel the head of his cock teasing your entrance. You think he’s about to push in, when he lets his cock slip away from your entrance and run lazily through your folds. He does it repeatedly, letting it rub against your clit over and over again, listening as your breaths come in more and more ragged at the stimulation.

“Shit, you’re right. You’re not wearing a condom.” You point out in a rare moment of clarity. Bucky chuckles and uses one hand to move your hair away from your neck, before leaning down as pressing a kiss there. You push your forehead into the pillow, muffling the soft moan that you can’t hold back.

“I’m not wearing a condom.” Bucky repeats, as if he means to say that he wouldn’t wear one even if he happened to have one.

“You’re not wearing a—” You’re cut off by Bucky thrusting half of his length into you so suddenly and forcefully that the rest of your sentence disappears from your mind entirely and your hands move to grip his wrists beside your head. You dig your nails into him without realizing as your muscles tense and you press your face into the pillow once again.

“That’s it, get used to it.” Bucky encourages you. It’s such a simple thing to say yet it sounds so filthy coming from him in this moment. It is filthy. He takes a moment for himself, focusing on how tightly your pussy is gripping the first few inches of his cock, how your arousal is basically dripping down his shaft as he lets you adjust to him. That little thread of self-control he was holding onto earlier has frayed more and more and he can’t stop himself from forcing the rest of himself inside of you, until his balls are pressing against you and you’re screaming into the pillow.

“It’s too much, oh my god, it’s too much.” You moan out as you lift your face from the pillow and rest your chin on it instead. You don’t dare to try and look over your shoulder at him, you can barely move without feeling the sting of his cock stretching your entrance.

“No, no it’s just an adjustment.” Bucky coos, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck and inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of your hair. “You’re taking it so well already, just relax for me.”

Your body listens to him. You feel yourself relaxing. First, your hold on his wrists eases until you’re no longer leaving nail marks in his skin. Then, you let out a deep exhale and sink into the mattress beneath him. Bucky’s in awe of you. He knows he’s big, and he knows it’s probably been a while since you’ve slept with anyone with the way work keeps you busy near 24/7. You really are taking him so well. He starts dragging his length out of you slowly, but only a third of the way before he’s pushing it back into you again. The wet sound that results makes him fucking feral. He does it again. Then again. And again. The next thing he knows, he’s holding your hips with your ass up in the air and your face down on your folded forearms as he fucks you so hard that the springs of the couch bed are threatening to snap. With every loud creak of the springs, there’s an equally loud sound of skin smacking against skin. It’s animalistic, the way he’s fucking you.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper. You bite into your forearm, surely leaving a mark, as he sets a tortuously pleasuring pace. You can feel him reaching a spot inside you no one has ever reached before and it has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“I know, fuck.” Bucky says breathlessly. He pounds into you over and over again, chasing his own release as he feels the walls of your pussy fluttering around him. You’re right there and he can tell. “Cum on my cock, so I can pull out and cum all over your fucking back.” He groans, sounding so damn needy. You can’t think straight. You’re definitely not thinking straight. That’s the only reason you say what you say next.

“No, I’m not cumming if you’re going to pull out.” You say defiantly, actively fighting to hold back your orgasm. Bucky thrusts into you even harder, letting you know that he most definitely likes the sound of not pulling out. He leans down until his chest is pressed against your back and he’s close enough to whisper against your ear.

“You’re going to make me cum inside you when you’re fucking ovulating?”

“How do you—”

“I can fucking smell you.” He rasps against your ear. “Answer me. You really want me to do this?”

You don’t even take a moment to think about it, not a single moment to consider the possible consequence.

“Please.”

It’s only a few hard, deep thrusts later when Bucky’s rhythm grows sloppy and he gives you every single drop of cum he has, fucking it all into you almost recklessly. With every last thrust into your cunt, he’s fully aware that he could be getting you pregnant. He’s fully aware, and yet, he doesn’t have a single fuck to give.

---

It’s the smell of your arousal mixed with his cum, dripping out of you and into your panties, that wakes Bucky around midnight. It’s only been a couple of hours since he was buried deep inside of you but it feels like it could’ve been days ago with how hard his cock is right now. He reaches beneath the covers, palming his erection through the fabric of his boxers as he listens to your steady breaths. You’re sleeping so soundly beside him, with your back turned to him and the covers pulled up just past your waist.

A few key thoughts run through Bucky’s head as he lets his hand run along his clothed length. How serious is this to you? Have you wanted him as badly as he’s wanted you since that night in the bar? Is it just physical for you? A surface level attraction that you momentarily gave into because he was horny and shoving his cock against your ass in a shared bed? But you let him cum inside of you, while you’re ovulating. When your body is fully ready and capable of beginning a pregnancy, you let him pump an entire load into you without a hint of hesitation. You didn’t just let him, you said please. Bucky’s suddenly pushing his boxers down his thighs for the second time tonight, wrapping his fist around his length, and rolling over to face you.

He doesn’t think there’s ever been a better scent than the one emanating from between your legs right now. He can picture the way his cum is swirled together with your arousal right now, probably threatening to soak through the thin fabric of your panties and drip down the soft skin of your thighs until it reaches the bedsheets beneath you. It’s that thought that spurs Bucky on, that makes him tug your panties to the side and press a gentle kiss to the side of your neck as he guides his cock between your legs. The moment he feels the warmth of his own cum from earlier drip from your folds to coat his shaft, he starts mumbling against your skin.

“I need you.” He whispers into your neck, fighting the urge to bite into your skin as the head of his cock notches inside of you and begins to slide in. “Wake up.” Your eyes flutter open just as the head of his cock has fully entered you and the rest of his shaft is following. A raspy swear escapes your lips as your back arches and you start to tense up at the sudden intrusion. Bucky’s vibranium hand flies to your hip, stilling you as he continues pushing in.

“Oh my god.” It’s all you can say as he bottoms out inside you and immediately starts pulling his hips back. He sets a much slower pace than last time, rhythmically fucking you sideways. “I’m sore.” You whimper, turning your head slightly to muffle your moans in your pillow, just like you did earlier.

“I’m sorry, I know.” Bucky groans against your neck, continuing to thrust in and out of you. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He can’t stop. He can’t make his hips still, he can’t pull out of you and let you recover. He just fucking can’t. He fucks you as gently as he can, using his own cum from earlier as lube. With every slow thrust, your soreness dissipates more and more and pleasure begins to replace it. When he cums inside you the second time, it’s without warning, without one single worry about pulling out. He just does it and expects you to take it…which of course, you do.

---

You wake up two hours later, with aching thighs and the slightest hint of a burn on your neck from Bucky’s scruff. As you lie there in the darkness, listening to the sound of Bucky breathing softly mere inches behind you, feeling the excessive amount of cum pooling in your panties, you only seem to be able to think about one thing. Both times that he’s fucked you, he did it from behind. You didn’t get to see his face once. Not once did you get to see how he reacted when he felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, the face he made when you told him you didn’t want him to pull out, or the way his eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open when he was cumming. You’ve been deprived of it.

Why does it bother you so much that he hasn’t looked in your eyes either of the two times he’s fucked you? Is he trying to pretend you’re someone else? As tears begin to rim the edges of your eyes, you tell yourself that you’re just being emotional because you’re ovulating. God. You wouldn’t have even known you were ovulating if he hadn’t told you himself.

Truthfully, you’re not even horny. Yet, you find yourself rolling over as quietly as possible, making sure the bed springs don’t creak beneath you. You’re silent as you tug your panties down your legs and toss them onto the floor. You’re even more quiet as you pull the covers back just enough to let you stealthily straddle Bucky’s hips, making sure you don’t touch him yet. Who knew this is what you’d be using all of your professional training for?

He begins to stir when your fingertips graze over his lower stomach. He draws in a deep breath as you tug his waistband down and free his already hard cock from the confines of his boxers. His eyes are blinking open, studying the sight before him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and stroke it firmly. That’s when he comes to his senses and his gaze lands on your face.

“Shit.” He breathes out as you sink down onto his length with determination. Your face. He can see your face. The way your features contort as you try to fit all of him in at this new angle is ruining him. This is exactly what he didn’t need to see, so he tries to talk some sense into you. “You’ll be too sore if we do this again, three times is too many.” Bucky says quietly, running his hands up your thighs to grab onto your hips. You’re only an inch from being fully seated on his cock when he holds you still, not letting you slide down any further. He doesn’t want it, you think. What man tries to stop a girl when she’s already sitting on his dick? He just wanted to fuck you in the dark, with your face invisible to him, and then he wanted to be done with you. Tears well up in your eyes a little more and you dare to look down at him. His gaze coasts from where you’re both connected, up the front of your t-shirt, to your face. That’s when he sees the watery layer over your pretty irises.

“Just let me do this.” You plead, pushing his hands away from your hips and taking in the last inch of his length. Bucky inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut as your tight, wet cunt envelopes his cock completely. He can’t deny you. He can’t deny you, so it’s his turn to fist the sheets as you start moving your hips. You alternate between sliding up and down the entirety of his length and grinding in deep, slow circles when he’s fully sheathed inside you. Even as a tear falls from your face and lands on his bare chest, he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m already so close.” He groans, lifting his hands and covering his face with them. He wants nothing more than to roll you over and fuck you missionary. He wants to rail you into the mattress until its deformed and concaved to fit your body. He wants to pin you down and look into your eyes as he fills you for the third time.

“Look at me.” You whisper, moving your hips a little faster. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Bucky groans beneath his hands, and reluctantly removes them from his face, resting them on your thighs once more. His eyes focus between your legs again, but after a couple of seconds his lifts his gaze to meet yours.

“How do you still look so damn pretty after taking my cock the first two times?” He asks with a pained groan. You know he can’t possibly have much to give you after the first two times, but you’ll be damned if you’re not going to take what you can get. You start bouncing on his cock with increasing desperation, chasing your own orgasm. “You even look pretty with tears in your eyes.” He says with a softer tone.

Right as Bucky nears the edge, you feel his cock twitching, you feel his abs tighten beneath your hands, and you lean down. Your nose brushes against his and for a second, you think about kissing him.

“You know why I didn’t want to see your face?” He asks, his ability to form a complete sentence surprising even him. He pushes your hair back, cupping your cheeks in his hands as you continue riding his cock. “Because I knew I’d memorize the way you look when you’re stuffed full of my cock, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

“So you were okay with potentially getting me pregnant but not with looking me in the eye?” You ask incredulously, your hips slowing. Bucky groans and thrusts up into you impatiently.

“Don’t talk about being pregnant, fuck.” He thrusts up again and a smile plays on your lips. His hands move from your face down to your waist as he starts setting a pace.

“Bucky, you fucked me raw. You came inside me twice. I’m probably halfway to pregnant right now and you’re about to do it all over again. We can’t talk about it?”

In the blink of an eye, Bucky’s rolling you over, making sure his cock stays inside of you as he lays you on your back and immediately starts thrusting into you.

“Fine.” He grunts, pushing your thighs up to your chest and draping your legs over his shoulders. He buries himself in you deeper and deeper with every snap of his hips. “I’ll look you in the eye right now while I make sure you’re so full of my cum that there’s no fucking way you aren’t pregnant. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck yes.” You moan out as he pounds into you. Within seconds, you’re a panting mess on the couch bed and Bucky’s staring down at you with a passionate, determined look in his eye.

“Look at me when I’m cumming inside you.” He commands. “Look at me when I’m getting you fucking pregnant.”

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