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supercutszns · 4 months

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rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

#perrie��s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo series #pjo tv show #luke castellan smut #pjo #heroes of olympus #charlie bushnell #i like sexy evil people making out okay.#maybe will make a part 2 to this series because i’m just so fascinated by their weird little dynamic but we’ll see #i kind of hate this but WE MOVE ANYWAYS!!

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ellemj · 4 months

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Inevitable: 12 Days of Smut #9

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: While on a mission with Sam, John Walker, and Bucky, you're the only person exposed to a sex pollen. Bucky sure as hell isn't going to let anyone else take care of you.

Warnings: profanity, dubcon (sex pollen), unprotected sex, slight size kink, slight exhibitionism, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I wrote this fic in an hour and I think it shows lmao. Hopefully tomorrow I can use another one of @mashedpotatooooos inspiring requests, because she sent me one I've been thinking about for days now.

You want someone to blame. You want someone to yell at, someone that you can rightfully take all of your anger out on. You want to be able to point your finger and stomp your feet like a child all because this is someone else’s fault. Who do you take your anger out on when an entire organization is to blame? No one. Instead, you do exactly what you’re doing now, which is sitting on the dirty floor with your knees pulled up to your chest as you try to come up with a plan. You’re the only one that was exposed, the only one that’s about to go through physiological and psychological hell. Sam and John Walker were still securing the perimeter of the compound when you stupidly ran your fingertip along the fine powdery substance that was sprinkled along the walls and floor of the small holding cell. It was even more stupid of you to rub the powder together between your thumb and forefinger before sniffing it for any trace of a scent. As soon as you inhaled the microscopic particles, you let out a cough, your throat immediately feeling scratchy. Bucky was behind you in an instant, grabbing you by the elbow and tugging you away from the holding cell. When his eyes fell to your hand and he saw the white powder along your fingertips, he knew you’d gotten yourself into some serious shit. Before he even had a chance to alert Sam and Walker via comms, you were placing your clean hand on his chest and shoving him away from you hard. He stumbled backward two steps, but kept his eyes trained on your face. Your cheeks were pink, which he assumed was from the small coughing fit you’d just had, but having no idea what you were exposed to, it could’ve been from whatever drug it was that HYDRA left all over the surface of that holding cell. How could you have been so reckless?

You sit with your head resting on your knees and your eyes squeezed shut, trying to drown out the incessant voice of John Walker. He’s been going on and on for over a minute now about what he thinks is the best way to handle the little predicament you’ve found yourselves in.

“We don’t even know what she was exposed to, Sam. You and Bucky should stay here and finish the mission, I’ll take her back to the quinjet and see if we can figure this out. There has to be some sort of testing equipment or something there.” Of course, Walker wants to leave with you. Bucky catches himself clenching his right fist, while his left hand rests dangerously close to where his knife is sheathed along the side of his tactical pants. Bucky isn’t letting Walker do shit with you.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say defiantly, finally picking your head up and looking at the three men who are maintaining their distance from you. You threatened to lock yourself in the contaminated holding cell if they didn’t stay at least ten feet away from you, so that’s about how far they all are from you now. “He’s right, we don’t know what I was exposed to, but I’m not leaving this building until we find out what it was.” It’s the smartest thing you can do. For all you know, it could be some sort of biological warfare shit and you’re not about to go down in history as patient X. You’re staying put.

---

It’s less than fifteen minutes later when the symptoms have begun to set in and you’re actually considering locking yourself in the holding cell. It started out almost unnoticeable, with your heart rate steadily increasing and your body temperature rising to an uncomfortable degree. You chalked it up to being nervous about whatever unknown substance might be coursing through your veins. Soon after, all you wanted was to take your clothes off and soak in an ice bath. This was partially because of the sheer heat your body was radiating from the inside out, but also because you felt some kind of surge of adrenaline making you feel like you could run fifteen miles with ease.

“She isn’t herself, she’s definitely feeling something but she’s not going to let any of us get close enough to look her over.” Sam says to Bruce, who’s currently seated in a SHIELD laboratory, searching through various HYDRA experiment files to figure out what substance you might’ve been exposed to.

“Well, one of you is going to have to try, because without knowing the basics of at least a physical exam, I can’t rule any of these compounds out. It’s a guessing game without more information.”

“I’ll do it. She’ll let me.” Walker’s confidence nearly makes Bucky and Sam both burst out laughing.

“Who the hell do you think you are, man? She isn’t going to let you do shit.” Sam chuckles, looking at Walker out of the corner of his eye. Walker scoffs and shakes his head, clearly disagreeing with Sam.

“C’mon, she can be reasonable.” Walker argues. Of course you can be reasonable, you’re almost always reasonable. But this more than likely isn’t one of the almost-always instances, and if Walker really thinks Bucky is going to let him do any sort of physical exam on you, he’s sorely mistaken.

“I’ll do it. I was right behind her when she was exposed, she knows it’s possible I was exposed too. More possible than either of you having been exposed.” Bucky points out, shooting Walker a death glare before he has a moment to argue. Walker quickly shuts his mouth and remains still in the corridor. The three men stepped out of the small abandoned surveillance room when you started acting like every word they were saying was making your head hurt. Now, Bucky turns around and faces the door, ready to approach you.

“Just look her skin over everywhere you can, look for any rashes, discolorations, new wounds. Try to get a look at her pupils too, I need to know if they’re bigger than usual or smaller, like pinpoints. Anything you notice that’s out of the ordinary, I need to know about it so I can narrow down the type of chemical it might be.” Bruce’s words echo in the concrete corridor as Bucky palms the door handle and pulls it open with a soft creak.

As soon as the door shuts behind Bucky, your eyes meet. He can see how uncomfortable you are, how a few stray strands of your hair are sticking to your forehead, how you’re breathing heavier than normal even though you still sit on the floor. It tugs at something within him and suddenly he wishes he was the one who’d walked into that damn holding cell first. Why the hell did he let you go in first? He should’ve been looking out for you.

“Bruce needs a few questions answered so he can figure out what you were exposed to.” Bucky tries to keep his sentence short and to the point. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you and give you a reason to kick him out, so he’s treading carefully. He’s honestly surprised that you haven’t told him to leave yet. As his eyes roam over your small frame, he can see that you’re miserable. At this point, you’re too miserable to argue with him. You simply nod, agreeing to whatever it is that Bruce wants him to do. Bucky tilts his head over to an empty metal desk pushed up against a side wall, and you quickly understand that he wants you to sit on it so he can get a look at you. You push yourself up off of the floor slowly, knowing you won’t be very steady on your feet. Not only are you beginning to feel lightheaded, but it feels like every nerve ending in your entire body is on fire. Your skin is simultaneously freezing cold while being burning hot, and there’s a sharp, stinging pain somewhere deep in your stomach.

Noticing how unsteady you are, Bucky moves across the room wraps an arm around you, guiding you over to the desk. After helping you sit on top of it, he can’t stop himself from pushing those few stray hairs away from your face and cupping your chin with his right hand. You feel hot to the touch, definitely feverish. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feel of his skin against your chin, but Bucky believes it to be a reaction to whatever pain you’re feeling right now. He notes that your pupils looked much bigger than normal before you closed your eyes. He also notes that your cheeks are flushed, your heart is beating so hard that he can nearly count your pulse rate where the skin lies over your carotid artery in your neck, and you’re keeping one hand on your lower stomach.

“Do you have any spots, anything on your skin?” Bucky’s voice is quiet, but he keeps his hand underneath your chin. It almost feels like you’re leaning into his touch, though he can’t be sure. You finally open your eyes again and look up at him. You’re ready to say something like I don’t fucking know, I’m in full tactical gear, but speaking a sentence that long feels like way too much effort right now. So, instead, you pull your shirt off and drop it on the floor. Bucky averts his gaze instantly, not wanting to be intrusive and look at you with only a bra covering your top half.

“You have to check, Bucky. The lights are killing me.” Your words come out as a meek whisper. Of course the lights are killing you, your pupils are so blown that they’re letting in every tiny bit of light. When the super soldier finally looks back down at you, his jaw clenches as his eyes coast over your bare neck, shoulders, and the central part of your chest. He doesn’t see a single imperfection. He looks further down your torso, past your black sports bra, over the contours of your waist and abdomen. Nothing. Nothing but smooth, perfect skin, slightly glistening with a sheen of sweat. “I think I know what this is.”

“How?” Bucky’s eyes lift to meet your gaze once again, but this time, you look more conflicted than uncomfortable.

“Touch me.” Bucky has a million questions. He wants to know what you think this is, why you want him to touch you. He’s ready to ask every question that’s swirling around his head, and you can see that he sure as hell isn’t about to touch you on his own accord, so you take matters into your own hands. It’s the quickest way you can think of to prove that your assumption is correct. You reach out and take his flesh hand in yours, guiding it up to your face and pressing his palm flat against your cheek. A soft whimper leaves your lips as soon as you feel the warmth from his contact. Bucky stiffens, but doesn’t pull his hand away from you.

“What is it?” He demands to know.

“HYDRA was experimenting with ways to produce more super soldiers without needing great amounts of the original serum. They thought they could get super soldiers to breed, to produce offspring with all of the same strengths and abilities.” It takes a few seconds for Bucky’s mind to wrap around exactly what you’re saying, but as soon as it does, he’s already made a choice. He’ll help you. He’ll do it. He’ll do what he knows needs to be done to give you as much relief as he possibly can. There isn’t another word spoken between the two of you as Bucky steps away from you and crosses the room, turning the lock on the door.

Out in the corridor, Sam and Walker hear the door lock and look at each other with a mix of confusion and concern.

“One of them just locked the door.” Sam says to Bruce. Bruce sighs heavily before taking a long pause. “Bruce, what the hell is this?”

“You’re in a facility where HYDRA scientists would induce super soldier reproduction. I’m guessing Y/n and Bucky have figured that out.”

---

The desk won’t hold the weight of you both, Bucky’s damn sure of that. Which is why he has you lying on your back with your legs dangling off of it as he stands between your legs and unbuckles his tactical pants.

“You don’t have to do this, Bucky. I could—”

“You said it’s the only way, and I’m sure as hell not letting Sam or Walker do it, so I’m doing it.” Bucky snaps, shoving his pants down enough to free his already hardening cock. He’s lucky you’re in such a miserable state right now, otherwise you might’ve sat up and tried to sneak a peek at his dick and noticed how it already stood erect for you. He wasn’t getting off on you being in such a bad situation, but as soon as you told him that you needed someone to do this for you, his cock decided it was going to him. He wraps his fist around the base and strokes forward, toward the tip a couple of times as he watches you shimmy your own pants down your legs. You have them nearly down to your knees when you let out a cry of pain, quickly letting go of the pants and clutching at your stomach. Your eyes are still screwed shut as Bucky finishes pulling your pants down to your ankles and then gets you into the only position he can think of in this moment. He lifts both of your legs up, keeping them together, and rests them over his right shoulder. He’s careful not to even give himself the chance to look between your legs. He won’t do it, not like this. He stares down at your scrunched up face as he moves closer to you and lets the head of his cock slide up and down between your folds, gathering your wetness along his shaft.

“Bucky, please.” You moan out, your back arching off of the desk and eyes opening to look up at him. When the two of you make eye contact, the head of his cock notches into your entrance and he pumps into you slowly. “Fuck, it’s so big.”

Fucking hell. Why did you have to say something like that? Bucky stills when he’s only halfway inside you, feeling how tight you are compared to how thick his length is. He knows it must be hurting you, but you continue to stare up at him, with both pain and pleasure flashing in your eyes.

“Don’t stop, I can take it.” You promise. Bucky’s hands grip your hips and he gives you another inch, watching how your face contorts at the way he’s stretching your entrance.

“Stop saying shit like that.” He warns you through gritted teeth. That’s the moment you realize Bucky might have a bit of a size kink. It’s not at all where your head should be at right now. You should be focused on finding relief and getting this chemical out of your system as fast as possible. But, something within you tells you to keep going.

“But it’s so fucking big.” You moan again, trying to relax as he pushes the rest of his length inside of you. The needy sound that rips through your chest when he bottoms out inside of you echoes in the empty room, and Bucky has no doubt that Sam and Walker both heard it. A dark idea enters his mind as he slowly drags his cock back out of you. John fucking Walker. He’s been after you since day one, that little prick. This could be Bucky’s only chance to show him that he’ll never have you, especially not like this. Like you would possibly give Walker a chance after being fucked by Bucky. Instead of thrusting into you slowly this time, giving you ample time to adjust, Bucky slams into you hard. “Fuck! Bucky, it’s too big, oh my god.” You cry out.

Sam and Walker are frozen in shock as they stand in the corridor, listening to the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and you moaning about how big Bucky’s cock is as you take every inch of it. As soon as Bucky let out his first grunt, Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Walker by the front of his shirt and dragged him out of the building.

“This is fucking bullshit, Sam. This is so unprofessional.” Walker whines, wanting nothing more than to storm back in and rip Bucky off of you.

“Shut the hell up, John. We know you think you’re hot shit, but honestly, she was never going to give you a chance. It was always going to happen this way.”

“What do you mean? You knew this was going to happen?” Walker asks, unable to hide the anger edging his tone.

“I didn’t know it’d be in an abandoned HYDRA lab or within my own earshot, but yeah, everyone knew they were going to fuck eventually.”

Not only did the two of you fuck, but Bucky made sure to spill every drop of his cum so deep inside of you that it’d be dripping out into your tactical pants for the rest of the mission.

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