Greek Myth AU | Demigod! Bucky Barnes x Nymph! Reader where Bucky has a forge near the woods where you live.
TW battle trauma, magical prosthetic metal arm, food, theft, grumpy x sunshine, son of Hephaestus! Bucky
Bucky Barnes hasn't gone to battle since he encountered the Hydra.
He still remembers the marsh and the screaming and the sound of teeth closing around bone. He remembers how the monster dragged him down into the mud by the arm and the whole world went white with pain. The poets say he fought bravely, that he stood his ground, that the son of Hephaestus didn’t break, even beneath the jaws of a beast older than most kings.
Bucky knows better.
There was nothing noble about it. There was blood in his mouth, poison in his veins and hands clawing uselessly at the wet earth underneath. And then there was pain, and then there was nothing.
When he opened his eyes, his father was standing over him in the red light of a fire.
Hephaestus made him a new arm.
What else could the god of the forge do to repay his son for running his errands? Console him? Talk to him? Say son, I’m proud of you and I’m sorry this happened? Ha!
No, gods aren't really known for their stellar parenting. Instead, his father built something out of it.
It was state of the art, if such a mortal phrase could be used for something made by divine hands. It was made of bronze and celestial iron, gold-threaded mechanisms beneath the plating, joints so fluid they moved like water. His father carved protective spells into the inner frame and fitted it to him so perfectly that Bucky could still feel heat, pressure, texture, weight of everything.
It didn't feel so different from the arm he had lost, and that made it worse.
Because men saw it and thought it was a miracle. Kings saw it and thought it was weapon. Heroes saw it and thought it was an advantage. They stared at the shining metal and forgot there had ever been flesh beneath it. They forgot a monster had taken something from him before his father gave anything back.
So Bucky stopped going to war.
He let other men chase glory while he stayed in Lemnos.
His father gave him the forge there, the greatest forge on the island, built deep into black volcanic stone where the heat rose from the earth itself. The whole place breathed fire. The walls glowed at night.
Or, at least, everyone said it did.
The son of Hephaestus in a forge, the man with the metal arm making metal things. Very poetic. People loved when suffering became useful.
And Bucky was useful. That much, no one could deny.
He made swords for kings who wanted their enemies to slain before sunset. He made armour for heroes who spoke of destiny as though destiny had ever once done the washing up after a war. He made arrowheads for hunters, axes for warlords, helmets for princes, daggers for queens who pretended they had no use for daggers at all.
His work was legendary. A blade from Barnes’ forge did not dull. A shield from Barnes’ forge did not crack. Chainmail from Barnes’ hands could turn aside a spear thrust, a lion’s claw, sometimes even a god’s temper.
Men came to him asking for things that could cut, pierce, crush, defend, maim, conquer, survive.
And Bucky gave it to them.
Because that was what all his hands were good for.
At least, that was what he believed.
And then you come in.
You are a wood nymph, Bucky realises, because no ordinary girl walks into a forge with leaves in her hair and moss on the hem of her dress. You look too kind for all the heat and smoke here, too green and alive for a room full of fresh weapon.
For a second, Bucky forgets to be rude.Then he remembers.
“Forge is closed,” he says.
You blink at the swords on the wall, the armour hanging from hooks, the coals burning bright enough to turn the whole room gold. “Oh,” you say with a frown. “I just… I heard you fix things.”
Bucky froze.
Nobody… has ever said it like that before.
They say he makes weapons. They say he forges armour. They don’t say fix, like his work made people happy.
You open your palm and show him a broken anklet, thin gold, little leaves dangling from the chain. “It caught on a root.”
“A root,” Bucky repeats.
“A rude one,” you say, as if you have a personal vendetta against the tree. You probably do.
He should send you away. He has a sword half-finished for a king and a shield waiting for Ares demigod. He doesn’t mend pretty little things for pretty nymphs with sunlight in their eyes.
But you’re looking at him like he can help.
So Bucky sighs, reaches for the anklet, and mutters, “Fine.”
Your smile blooms so quickly he has to look down.
It is the first time anyone has asked his hands to make something that wasn’t meant to hurt.
He pretends that doesn’t matter.
But the. you keep coming back.
At first, Bucky assumes it is coincidence. Wood nymphs probably break things all the time. You live in forests. Forests have branches, rocks, rude little animals with grabby mouths. So when you return three mornings later with a bent hairpin, he only grunts and takes it from your hand.
“Another root?” he asks.
“A bird,” you say.
Bucky huffs despite himself and fixes it in less than five minutes.
Then you come back with a clasp from your dress. Then a little bronze bell. Then a ring made of twisted copper that you swear belongs to a dryad friend, though Bucky notices it fits your finger perfectly when he gives it back.
You don’t have gold or silver, and Bucky knows that, so he insisted you don’t pay him. You said nonesense! And only ever pay him in flowers.
He’ll never admit it but it’s… sweet.
You gave him small white blossoms, bluebells, white thyme, and tiny yellow things you say grow near the river. Sometimes you bring fruit wrapped in leaves, because apparently you’ve decided he forgets to eat and apparently you’re right.
The first time, Bucky says, “This isn’t payment.”
You look genuinely worried. “Do you not like them?”
“No, I—” He stops, because saying I like them feels impossible and saying I like you feels too vulnerable. He looks down at the flowers in your hands, too bright for his forge, and mutters, “They’ll die in here.”
You smile. “Then I’ll bring more.”
And you do.
Soon there are flowers everywhere, tucked into old jars, hanging upside down from the rafters where the heat dries them beautifully. One little daisy sits in a crack on his workbench for three days before he realises he’s been carefully moving around it.
He tells himself he is only being polite.
Except he starts saving pretty scraps of gold and copper and stone because maybe you’ll bring him another broken little thing and maybe he can make it better than it was before.
You ask him to fix a chain, and he adds tiny leaves to it.
You ask him to mend a pin, and he shapes the end into a flower.
You ask him if he can make a clasp stronger, and he makes it so beautiful you stare at it with no thoughts for a full second.
Bucky looks away every time.
He’s not making pretty things because he thinks you’re pretty. That would be ridiculous. He makes swords for kings and armour for heroes. He doesn’t sit in his forge at night thinking about what different shades of gold would look like against your skin.
Ugh. Fine. He does.
One day, Bucky realises you have not come by in too long.
The forge feels too quiet without the little chime of your anklet, without you leaning over his workbench and asking if something hopelessly broken can still be fixed.
So he goes looking, until he realizes he doesn’t actually know where you live.
He asks a fisherman near the cliffs says he saw a wood nymph by the olive groves that morning. He asks an old woman carrying figs and says she thinks you keep to the trees by the river when you are upset, though she doesn’t explain how she knows that and Bucky doesn’t ask. A shepherd points him farther inland.
By the time Bucky finds you, he is already in a temper, but not at you. At the world, mostly. At whatever has kept you away. At himself for caring enough to come all this way.
Then he sees you, sitting by the riverbank with your knees drawn up, your face turned away, shoulders hunched so small The whole grove is green and dappled with afternoon light, lovely in the way nymph places always are.
You are crying.
Oh.
He clears his throat.
You look up, startled, and then your eyebrows softened when you see him. You are relieved.
“Bucky,” you say, and your voice wobbles.
He hates whoever caused that.
He comes closer. “What happened?”
You wipe at your face with the heel of your hand and laugh a little, embarrassed. “It’s silly.”
He waits.
You glance down at the grass. “I made a flower crown this morning.”
Bucky says nothing.
“I know,” you say quickly. “It sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t.”
You look at him then, something in Bucky’s chest goes tight.
“I spent all morning on it,” you murmur. “I made it from river jasmine and clover and the little blue flowers that grow by the reeds. It was very pretty.”
He can imagine it.
You make a face that is halfway between misery and indignation. “A local river god stole it.”
Bucky blinks.
“He said it was the prettiest thing he’d seen in a long time,” you continue, clearly offended all over again, “and then he just… he just took it. Put it on his own head and disappeared back into the water.”
For a moment, Bucky can only stare.
That little river bastard.
Bucky knows a little of what that’s like. He has spent his whole life making beautiful things only for someone else to walk away with them. At least, though, he’s beautifully compensated for it.
“Come to my forge in three days,” he says.
When he gets back to his forge, three men are waiting with commissions. And enough money to last him many months.
Bucky looks at all of them and says, “No.”
Then he shuts himself inside the forge and begins to make the most intricate thing he has ever made.
He bent gold into branches and shaped silver into tiny blossoms. He embeds blue stones like river flowers, set like dew. Each leaf was made by hand, each petal delicate beneath his metal fingers.
He has made a flower crown that will not wilt.
The, you come to his forge.
Bucky hears the anklet first, that soft little chime he has grown helplessly fond of. He pretends to be busy, pretends he has not spent three days thinking of you.
Then you step inside, and the forge feels warmer for reasons that have nothing to do with fire.
You have flowers in your hair again. Little white ones this time, tucked messily behind your ears, already wilting from the heat.
Bucky unwraps the crown after you say hi.
And it’s clear it’s not a crown for a queen. It’s not meant for a throne. It’s simply little piece of your grove, shaped by fire.
For a moment, you only stare.
Then your hands come up to your mouth. “Oh, Bucky,” you whisper.
“If the river god tries to take this away,” His chest goes tight. “Tell him a son of Hephaestus will come for him.”
You look at him like that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you.
Maybe, from him, it is.
You take it so carefully it makes his heart ache, setting it on your head with delicate fingers. Firelight catches in every petal, every leaf, every little stone, and Bucky forgets all the clever, gruff things he might have said to survive the sight of you.
You look like spring wandered into his forge and decided to stay.
You touch the edge of the crown, shy all at once. “Does it look pretty on me?”
Bucky’s answer comes without a filter. “Everything’s pretty on you.”
Oh, Bucky.
So you rise onto your toes and kiss him.
Bucky freezes because he’s not expecting it, startled still as stone, both hands hovering uselessly in the smoky air. But you are warm and gentle and careful with him, and when you start to pull away, he finally wakes up and chases another kiss.
His human hand finds your waist, his metal one touches your cheek.
He kisses you softer, deeper, like he is learning how to love again for the first time since the Hydra nearly killed him.
When you part, you look away shyly and rest your forehead against his chest. Bucky tries to ignore the patch of green growing by your feet magically, your emotions are bursting from the ground, but he can’t help but smile anyway.
The crown glimmers in your hair.
Bucky finally looks down at his hands, one flesh and one bronze, and thinks of every weapon he has ever made. All those years, he believed that that was all his hands were good for.
But you’re standing in his arms, wearing metal spring on your head, and for the first time in his life, he thinks maybe that was never true.
Maybe his hands can make beautiful things, too.
Maybe they were meant to hold you.
(You come back in a few days with a freshly made flower crown, of course. When it dries, he casts it in iron 🫶)
Relationship: Ari Levinson x gender neutral reader
Warnings: angst, exes, explicit language, adult themes. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Summary: You run into the worst possible person while trying and failing to get back home after the holidays.
Word Count: ~1.4k
Twelve Days of Krismas 2025
Masterlist
A/N: My first real Ari story! Huge thanks to @bigtreefest for helping with the Ari of it all. I spun my three angst roulette wheels and got Ari Levinson - "Why wasn't I enough?" - Airport terminal. I hope you enjoy!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
You see him before he sees you.
It’s been a hellish week. Home for the holidays. You regretted it the moment you walked into your parents’ house. And now, finally able to escape, you’re stuck at the airport, flight delayed indefinitely due to mechanical failure. You wish they'd just officially cancel it so you can make other plans. As things are, you're stuck waiting.
You think that things can't possibly get any worse, before a big hubbub at the end of the concourse catches your attention. Oh god. No no no no no. You never wanted to see him again, but especially not today. The source of the noise is Ari fucking Levinson being hounded by a group of teenage girls trying to get selfies with him.
You turn away as quickly as you can and walk in the opposite direction, but it’s too late. Your name rings out between the gates and duty-free shops. Despite your best instincts, you turn around to see him shrugging off the teens and hurrying towards you. You can’t leave now, so you wait. It gives you time to become acutely aware of the fact that you’re in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, with tennis shoes that have seen better days. Your hair is a mess. As he gets closer to you, you can see that he’s wearing stone-washed jeans and leather boots that are artfully half-undone. He’s got on a plain white tee that hugs his pecs with the deepest vee you think you’ve ever seen. There’s a pair of Ray-Bans tucked into it. To top it all of, he’s wearing a beautiful deep blue jacket. His hair’s a little shorter than you remember it, maybe, but it’s perfectly styled, dark brown but sun-kissed. He looks like a fucking rock star. Because that’s exactly what he is.
He gets to you too soon, with that big, cheeky grin on his face that’s seared into your memories. “Holy shit!” he laughs, full of wonder. “I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been way too long!”
He pulls you into a hug before you have a chance to reply, so you end up softly saying “Hey, Ari,” right into his big chest. Everything, right down to his smell, is exactly as you remember it. It hurts just as much as it feels like home.
When he finally releases you, he’s still grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Please tell me we have time to catch up. How long til your flight boards?”
No time at all, you try to get yourself to say. It’s boarding right now. But when you actually open your mouth, what comes out is, “Uh, delayed indefinitely. So yeah, I guess I have time.”
His smile drops only slightly, into something sympathetic. “Oh man, that sucks.” His expression quickly bounces back. “But shit, kinda feels like fate, doesn’t it?” His gaze darts around the concourse, noting all of the eyes on him, just like they always have been. “Hey, come have a drink with me in the lounge. I want to hear everything.”
The first-class lounge. Of course. “Ari, my ticket won’t get me in there.”
He’s already walking ahead of you. “What?” he asks. He barely looks back, like the thought of basic economy has never even occurred to him. “They’ll let you in, you’re with me. It’ll be fine.” And of course he believes that. He’s Ari Levinson. Self-confidence has never been his problem. It’s one of the things that’s gotten him so far.
They do let you in, of course, they do. All he’s ever had to do is smile and brush his long hair out of his face, and people are bending over backwards to get him what he wants.
You sit down at the bar, and he orders some surely very fancy gin that you’ve never heard of. You just get a beer.
You wait for him to say something, but he’s just looking at you, like maybe you aren’t really there. Like maybe if he fucks up and blinks, you’ll just disappear. It’s unnerving. But it’s also always been so warm in his attention.
But you can’t deal with the silence, even if you have no idea what to say. “So, were you back home for Hannukkah?”
He finally looks away from you long enough to take a drink. “No,” he says as he sets his glass back down. “I’ve had shows all through December. Now going back to LA for a couple of days before flying out to Paris for a New Year’s Eve gig.”
“Wow,” you say, taking a healthy pull of your own beer, “look at you. The glamour never stops, huh?”
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there’s a hint of exhaustion in his voice as he says, “Sure, that’s one word for it.” Another sip of his gin, then, “You went home? You have a good holiday?”
“I went home,” you say with a shrug. You let your silence answer the rest of it.
“Ah,” he hums, when it’s clear you aren’t going to say anything more. “I’m sorry that’s all still… the same.”
“Thanks,” you say quietly. You don’t say anything else. You don’t know how to do this. How to just sit here with the biggest heartbreak of your life and talk like everything is normal.
Like a reflex, he reaches out and puts his hand on your knee, curling into you, mimicking how the two of you always used to sit at bars together, balancing on the barstools as you leaned into each other, and you’re instantly catapulted ten years into the past. To the endless months on the road, going from dive bar to dive bar, sleeping together in the back of the tour van, spending all your money on gas and fast food and cheap beer just to get to the next gig. Watching him play from your place manning the merch table, swept up in how he looked under the spotlight, how he could captivate a crowd, how he shone with all that raw talent. Leaning over his shoulder as he wrote lyrics, as he wrote about you, as he wrote the songs that would make him famous. Laughing, laughing, laughing, making out, making love. Dive bar after dive bar after dive bar. The only constant for either of you during that whole time was just each other. You thought it always would be.
You feel the tears on your face before you realize you’re crying. You see the startled-sad-worried look on his face and turn yours away. “Why wasn’t I enough?” you ask without meaning to, your voice thick.
“What?” It sounds like it’s been punched out of him.
“I only ever needed you, wanted you, that was it. I never needed any of this extra shit, the fame, the money, the status. But you did, I guess. And then you stopped needing me.”
“What are you talking about?” His voice is rising with pent-up feeling. You see the bartender look over in your direction. You can’t bring yourself to care. “That’s not–” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’re the one who left!”
“Because I could already feel myself being pushed out the door!” It feels like a shout, but you’re pretty sure it comes out as a whisper. “After the record deal and those first studio sessions–” you shake your head now in frustration and sadness and anger and your heart breaking all over again. “Once all of this was a possibility,” you fling your arms around at all of the first class accommodations, “there wasn’t room for me anymore. I could feel it.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a frustrated growl, and then his phone vibrates on the bar top. You glance at the notification from the airline’s app. “Your flight is boarding,” you say, tone flat. You get up, furiously trying to wipe the tears from your face.
As you turn to go, his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. His grip is desperate. “Fuck my flight,” he rumbles at you. “Please. Stay.”
steve hasn't fell to bended knee and begged to the sky since his mother took her final, shuddering breath in the tuberculosis ward at the county hospital.
he finds it strange, now. a sense of deja vu washes over him— here, crouched to one knee on cracked and grimy bathroom tiles. water drips down to his elbows, suds spackle the floor.
bucky's shaking. shivering, even. his hair hangs in tangles around his face, his eyes sunken and cheeks hollow. he sits naked, shivering, in the grey water, eyes staring straight past steve. it reminds steve viscerally of the dead-eyed fish he'd see in the markets as a child.
his hands are gentle, reverent even, as steve cups the water in his hands. if he closes his eyes, it feels just like prayer.
if he closes his eyes, he could almost imagine he were Jonah, dutifully crouched at the banks ready to wash humanity of its sins. the thought leaves a sour taste behind his tongue.
steve hasn't been to church, not for years. maybe he's already there.
what is it if not devotion that holds him here, crouched beside a bathtub?
what is it if not reverence in the way steve cards a careful hand through bucky's hair, extracting knots and tangles with deft fingers?
A stucky au in which Steve wakes up cocky and half-dressed, running his mouth while the stranger in his bed slowly wakes up.
The mood crashes when Bucky realizes the arrogant hookup is actually the company's new hire he can’t stand.
Bucky insists it was a drunken mistake and Steve smugly reminds him that’s not what he said last night and the tension only gets worse from there.
Bucky pushes himself upright, scanning the room, the clothes on the floor, the man speaking, too smug, too relaxed, too familiar…
“…Did we-?”
“We did” the man says smoothly “Consensual don’t worry, enthusiastic, five stars, would recommend”
Bucky blinks, then blinks again, his gaze drifts, then snaps back up to the man’s face.
“Oh” he says “You’re… wow”
The man laughs “Thank you, I work out”
“No not that kind of wow… Oh my god! Oh no” Bucky mutters
The man cocks his head “Oh no what?”
Bucky’s eyes narrow as recognition crashes in, his face twists from confusion to horror…
“I know you” he says
The man freezes just for a fraction of a second, then recovers instantly “You do? Wow, I usually have to buy dinner first”
“You’re Steve” Bucky snaps “Steve Rogers, the new digital marketing manager at Wilson Enterprises, the golden boy with the smug smile and the unbearable attitude”
The man- Steve places a hand over his still bare chest “Unbearable is harsh, I’ve only been here two weeks”
“I hate you” Bucky says, dropping his face into his hands “I actually hate you, your voice, your confidence, what the hell came over me?”
Steve steps closer, grin turning sharp, dangerous “That’s not what you said last night”
Bucky looks up slowly “What?”
Steve leans against the bed, entirely too comfortable in Bucky’s space “You said…” he pauses, pretending to think “… that I was, and I quote ‘annoyingly hot’ and that my attitude was ‘unfairly attractive’ Oh, and my personal favorite-”
“Stop” Bucky groans
“ ‘I hate that I like you’ ” Steve finishes brightly “Direct quote”
Bucky stares at him, mortified “I was drunk”
“Sure” Steve agrees “But you were honest”
Bucky exhales hard, rubbing his temples “I slept with the one person in the department I cannot stand”
“And yet” Steve says, straightening, full of himself again “you slept very well” Bucky throws a pillow at him and Steve laughs, catching it easily “Relax, we can pretend this never happened, but fyi, you initiated”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did” Steve leans against the bed again “You also called me ‘annoying’ right before kissing me, I think that’s your thing”
“It is not my thing”
“Sure looked like it”
Bucky buries his face in his hands “I’m never drinking again” and he adds “This was a mistake”
Steve tilts his head, studying him “Did it feel like one?” Bucky hesitates, just long enough and Steve grins “Thought so” …
Summary: You keep growing closer to your neighbour, Bucky. One night, you find out he hasn't had sex in a long time... and you're willing to help him get back into it.
Warnings: reader was team Cap in CW, there is somewhat of a plot!! Can you believe it, smut, kinda sub!Bucky, praise kink, oral (f receiving), p in v unprotected sex again sorry guys don't do that
Note: if my man dies in Doomsday I'm gonna make it everyone's problem
—. I wanted to post this yesterday but I had to do a presentation about my research today so I didn't have the time :(
Bucky was… pent up. There was no softer way to put it.
He might not have been conscious for most of those seventy years under Hydra—his body, still relatively young, was proof of that—but time had passed all the same. And it weighed on him, in ways he didn't really know how to handle.
After he broke free—or rather, after Steve broke him free—the idea of anything like intimacy didn't even cross his mind. He'd been too busy trying to piece himself back together, memories resurfacing in fragments he hadn't asked for, forcing him to confront everything he'd been made to forget.
For a long time, that was all there was.
But eventually, after the pardon, after the constant weight of being hunted finally lifted, his body started catching up to him. He was free now.
And that changed things.
That's when you came back into his life.
An Avenger, once, gone during the Blip, only to return to a world that had moved on without you. Whatever life you'd had before, it was gone. So you did what you knew best—you threw yourself back into the fight, into the work.
Bucky knew you. Not well, per se, but enough. You'd fought on the same side, shared the same battlefield.
Him, for his freedom. You—for what you believed in.
He knew you and Sam got along well. And as he grew fond of Sam over time, he found himself growing fond of you, too. It didn't help that you lived in the same goddamn apartment building.
Bucky knew it was pointless. He wasn't the kind of person who got into relationships anymore. Maybe he used to be—but with all the baggage he carried, it would only ever become too complicated.
Still, you made it difficult to hold on to that mindset.
In the mornings, he'd catch you on your way out—yes, maybe he'd memorized your schedule just to "coincidentally" run into you in the hallway—and you'd ask if you looked decent, always a little rushed because you refused to give up those extra minutes in bed.
Or when you cooked dinner and misjudged the portions, ending up with enough food to feed a small army, you'd knock on his door, knowing full well Bucky mostly survived on takeout and wasn't exactly a Michelin-worthy chef.
Or when you asked him to check your sink because it had started making strange noises every time you used it. You'd say you could fix it yourself, but he had that metal arm and knew his way around tools, so he'd have it working again in no time—because of course he would help. It was his pleasure. Literally. The grateful smile you gave him, the featherlight touch to his shoulder as you handed him a homemade cookie—hair a mess, tank top tighter than he knew how to ignore—made crawling under your sink, soaked in dirty drain water, worth it every time.
All of it only made things worse.
Bucky didn't know how to suppress the feelings building inside him, how to keep them from spilling over. Every conversation felt like it might end in disaster, like he'd say too much and ruin everything he was trying so hard to protect.
Because that's how he was around you.
It had taken time, sure, but you'd pulled him out of his shell. You made him feel like himself again, like the man he'd been before everything: before the torture, before the killing. With you, he talked more. And you listened. Sometimes you'd even bring up things he'd forgotten he'd ever told you.
And when he showed up at your door in the early hours of the morning, you were always quick to understand; he'd had another nightmare. You never pushed him to relive it. Instead, you distracted him with random facts, or updates about everything he'd missed since the 40s, like the moon landing.
You'd debate on whatever topic you'd brought up, until suddenly it was six in the morning and you had to get ready for the day.
Bucky would always apologize for bothering you—even though it didn't happen that often—and you'd just smile and reassure him that it was okay. At least now, you were awake early enough to get ready properly for once.
One uneventful night, you found yourself tossing and turning in bed. The clock read 4:30. In an hour and a half, it would ring—but you were already awake, and sleep wasn't coming back.
With an exasperated sigh, you threw off the covers and sat up. Might as well get a head start on the day, for once.
In the kitchen, you noticed the trash you'd forgotten to take out the night before. The early wake-up worked in your favor—you could still get it out on time.
After hauling it downstairs and leaving it with the other bags, you made your way back up… only to drift a little farther down the hall than necessary. Towards Bucky's apartment.
You paused in front of his door, staring at it.
You knew exactly why.
You'd been crushing on him for months now. It was almost embarrassing, really, the way a grown woman like you could go weak in the knees just watching him fix your kitchen sink in a white undershirt, his biceps straining against the fabric.
But it wasn't just that.
It was the way he smiled when you brought him homemade baked goods. The way he fed the neighbour's cat nearly every day because its owner kept forgetting it existed. The quiet kindness in him, always at odds with the way he seemed to believe he'd been ruined beyond repair.
You fell a little harder every time he stepped out into the hallway in the mornings just to tell you good morning, far earlier than he ever needed to be awake. The way he asked if he could help whenever you so much as mentioned a problem, never intrusive, just offering.
The way he was with kids, too. Letting your nephew poke and prod at his metal arm, humouring him, even play-fighting when asked, despite the way his expression sometimes tightened, just for a second.
Yeah. You had it bad.
You exhaled, shaking your head at yourself. This was ridiculous. Standing outside his door like some lovesick teenager?
You turned to leave—
And froze.
A low, pained sound came from inside his apartment. Your chest tightened. He must be having a nightmare.
You hesitated, hand hovering uselessly at your side as another strained groan slipped through the door, muffled but unmistakable. You shifted your weight, debating—should you knock? Wake him up? Or was that crossing a line?
Then you heard something else. Softer this time. Slurred. Not quite clear.
You leaned in slightly, frowning. He said it again. Your breath caught as you realised he'd said your name.
You went still, staring at the door like it might suddenly open on its own.
What the hell was he dreaming about?
As you heard another quiet sound slip through the door, your eyes grew wide at the realisation that it was a moan.
Bucky moaning your name in the dead of night. Was he having a sex dream? About you? No—that couldn't be it.
Whatever was happening behind that door, you decided to stay out of it, retreating back to your own apartment, mind reeling.
As you got ready for the day, still a little dazed, you left before your usual time, not sure you'd be able to look Bucky in the eyes just yet.
Days passed after that. You slipped back into your usual rhythm, no longer avoiding him. Not that you ever really had; that attempt lasted, what, half a day? Still, you found yourself paying closer attention to him than before.
Since that night, you started noticing things.
The way the tips of Bucky's ears, and sometimes even his neck, flushed pink whenever you grabbed his hand or arm to show him something. How he grew oddly distant, avoiding your gaze whenever you wore a low-cut top or tight jeans. He rarely touched you—you'd always assumed it was tied to his belief that he was dangerous, that he might hurt you—but when he did, when he was the one to take your hand for once, it was always so gentle. Careful. Like you were something fragile he needed to protect.
You caught him staring, too. Only when he thought you weren't looking, when you were busy with something else, completely absorbed. What he didn't know was that you were always hyperaware of him, picking up on every glance, every shift, every quiet habit.
One afternoon, he was helping you rearrange your bookshelves, trying to shove a book into an already packed row.
"I can't make it fit," he muttered under his breath.
You didn't even hesitate.
"Ha. Title of your sex tape."
Bucky rolled his eyes immediately, but you caught it—the quick flash of pink at his ears, the way he shifted his weight like he suddenly didn't know what to do with himself.
Later that evening, you offered him a beer as thanks. One beer turned into two, then three, and eventually you cracked open a bottle of wine, fully aware that neither of you had anything planned for the next day, a sunday.
The conversation drifted easily, eventually landing on relationships—on dating, on whatever passed for a love life these days. Between your demanding job and your not-so-little crush on Bucky, you hadn't exactly been active in that department.
What surprised you, though, was that he’d been the one to bring it up.
When you turned the question back on him, Bucky grimaced.
"Well… I downloaded Tinder a while ago," he admitted. "Didn't really go anywhere, though. Never actually met up with anyone. Eventually just deleted it." He shrugged. "I'm more… old school, I guess."
"So no one caught your eye?" you asked, nodding along.
He didn't answer right away.
You raised a brow, then pressed on. "What about casual hookups?"
Bucky nearly choked on his drink. "That wasn't really… a thing back in my day." He hesitated, suddenly looking unsure, like he wasn't certain he should be saying any of this—even if he brought the topic up. The alcohol had probably made him a little more loose. "And I don't know if that's really… an option for me. If I want to keep my dignity," he trailed off, looking away.
You squinted your eyes slightly, curiosity piqued.
"What do you mean?"
"It's kind of embarassing, actually."
"Come on, Barnes." You leaned back, raising a brow. "I've seen you spill tomato sauce on a white linen shirt and then rub it in while trying to clean it. An old lady once yelled at you in public for offering help because she thought you were calling her useless. You've told me you sometimes mix up shampoo and shower gel. And let's not forget the time we went to a museum; you tried to lean against a statue, casually, but knocked it over—"
"Okay, okay!" Bucky cut in, holding up his hands. "I get it. Jeez, how long were you planning to go on?"
You smirked. "Just saying. You can tell me."
"Well…" He hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I can't really do hookups because I... I haven't had sex in about seventy years."
"Oh."
He grimaced. "Yeah. I'd probably be a little... rusty."
You paused, searching for something—anything—helpful to say. "Well… you've got to start somewhere. I mean, you don't have to, obviously, but if you do want to, then someone’s got to be the first."
"Yeah," Bucky sighed, gaze dropping to his hands. He didn't look convinced.
An awkward silence settled between you, thick enough to notice.
"It's not embarrassing, Buck. Really," you said after a moment, softer now. "And if it helps, I haven't had sex in a while either. Not seventy years," you added quickly, "but at least a full year. Which, for me, is basically the same thing."
That got a real laugh out of him. Warm, unguarded.
"If you say so," he said, shaking his head.
The conversation shifted again, this time to one of the books Bucky came across earlier—The Wizard of Oz, he knew that one—and as the night wore on, sleepiness crept in.
By the time the clock neared two, you finally called it a night. Bucky headed back to his apartment while you got ready for bed, the quiet of your place settling in around you.
But sleep didn't come. Because of course, the idea of Bucky having sex was what your mind fixated on now, making it virtually impossible to focus on anything else, like counting sheep.
Suddenly, you remembered that night—you'd heard him moan your name. Was he attracted to you? He had to be… right? People didn't just dream about others like that for no reason. Even if it wasn't anything romantic, there had to be some level of physical attraction.
You settled on that thought, letting it sit—dangerous, but oddly comforting.
Eventually, sleep found you.
The next morning, you woke with a dull throbbing behind your temples. You hadn't even had that much to drink, but between your job and your increasingly nonexistent social life, your tolerance had clearly taken a hit.
As you waited for your coffee to brew, you grabbed a paracetamol and swallowed it down with a glass of water, wincing slightly.
You wondered if Bucky felt the same.
Great. You hadn't even been awake for an hour, and you were already thinking about him again.
A new record.
You were still debating whether to swing by his place later—casual, not too obvious—or just stay put, when a knock sounded at your door.
Your name followed, low and familiar.
Of course.
"It's unlocked!" you called, remembering too late that you'd never locked it after he left last night.
The door opened, and Bucky stepped in, holding a small white box. You raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Got you something on my walk this morning," he said.
You grinned. "Wow. Aren't you sweet?"
He shrugged, like it was nothing. "Figured it might help with the hangover."
You scoffed. "You have very little faith in me. I might not even feel it."
"Yeah?" he smirked. "Just like the last time, when I had to carry you home from the bar?"
"That was one time," you shot back. "Every other time, I've handled my alcohol just fine."
"Sure. What other times? Back in college? That must've been, what, fifty years ago?"
"Hey! You're the old one here."
"And I still hold my liquor better than you."
"That's because you're a literal supersoldier. I could totally outdrink 40s Bucky."
He snorted. "Do you want your present or not?"
Your grin turned giddy. "Obviously. What is it?"
He opened the box, revealing a neatly arranged selection—an éclair, a croissant, and a strawberry tart.
You groaned. "My stomach is turning just looking at that."
"…Right," he muttered. "Didn't think that through."
You laughed. "It's fine. We'll eat it later. I'm not that bad, it'll pass."
As you finished making your coffee, Bucky settled at your kitchen island, casually picking up yesterday's newspaper like he belonged there.
It felt oddly domestic. And that was the strange part.
Instead of the usual flurry of nerves and butterflies, all you felt was something softer. Warmer. A quiet kind of fullness that settled in your chest and lingered. This wasn't just a crush.
Bucky glanced up, catching you staring. He raised an eyebrow in silent question, so you stuck your tongue out at him. He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head before looking back down at the paper.
After finishing your coffee, you stood and opened the box again. "You want something?"
He shook his head. "You pick first."
You shrugged, reaching for the éclair. Just as you'd thought, you felt fine enough. And honestly, a pastry was never a bad idea.
Bucky grabbed the croissant.
"You know," you said between bites, "I didn't take you for a croissant kind of guy."
He looked up, puzzled. "Why not?"
"I don't know. It's very French. And you're very… not."
"You don't think I could pass as French?"
You laughed at the faintly offended look on his face—and in doing so, missed the bit of chocolate that smeared at the corner of your mouth.
"Sure you could," you said, still smiling.
Bucky leaned forward slightly, hand lifting toward your face.
"You've got—uh—" His voice faltered as his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, wiping away the chocolate. He seemed to realize what he was doing a second too late, hesitation flickering across his features.
You don't know what you were thinking. You weren't thinking, really. You caught his thumb with your lips, tasting the faint sweetness as you pulled it away, your eyes never leaving his.
Bucky went still. His breath hitched, ears flushing red. The moment stretched—too long, too charged.
As you released his thumb, your eyes widened and reality came crashing back.
"Oh—God—I'm sorry, I didn't—" you rushed out, heat flooding your face. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—"
He didn't let you finish. Bucky surged forward, closing the distance in an instant, his lips crashing into yours.
You froze for half a heartbeat, not realizing what was happening. And then, you kissed him back just as fervently, lips moving with his in perfect sync.
The position wasn't exactly comfortable, so you pulled back just long enough to shift closer. Bucky stumbled back into a chair, and you followed, settling into his lap as your lips found his again, just as eager.
One of his hands slid into your hair, holding you gently but firmly in place, while the other rested on your thigh, gripping slightly.
As the kiss deepened, you felt his excitement grow beneath you. Bucky let out a quiet groan, realization hitting him as he pulled back, breathing unevenly against your lips.
"I'm— I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I don't mean to—it just… happens. Can't really control it. Like I said last night… it's been a while, so I'm a little… on edge."
You smiled softly, brushing it off. "Don't apologize, Buck. I don't mind." A playful smirk tugged at your lips. "Actually… this might be kind of convenient. You know, if you ever wanted help with that little problem of yours, you could've just asked."
Bucky nearly choked at that, coughing slightly as he tried to recover.
You softened immediately. "Hey—if you don't want to, that's completely fine—"
"No!" he interrupted, then cleared his throat. "I mean— I do want to. I just… do you?"
You gave him a small, steady smile. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't."
He nodded, more to himself than to you. "Okay. Yeah. Okay." Then he glanced back up at you, a hint of nervous humor returning. "Just… don't expect too much. Like I said, I'm rusty."
You snorted lightly. "We'll fix that. Don't worry."
Something in your tone made the hairs on his arms stand on end, in a way he didn't entirely mind.
"So…" he started.
"Bedroom," you cut in, wrinkling your nose. "I'm not doing this in my kitchen."
He huffed a laugh. "Germaphobe."
You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and pulling him up with you, leading the way.
Despite the anticipation buzzing under your skin, there was something surprisingly easy about it—something steady and familiar as he followed you, like this was exactly where you were both meant to be.
As you climbed onto the bed, Bucky followed close behind. You placed a hand against his chest, gently guiding him down.
"At least get me ready first, Buck," you said, a teasing note in your voice. "It's been a while for me too, you know."
"Right," he nodded, letting out a small, nervous chuckle. "Told you, I'm rusty."
He shifted lower, hands moving to your waist as he carefully unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans. You lifted your hips to help him slide them off.
Bucky paused for a second, glancing up at you. "Can I—uh… kiss you again first?"
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you grinned, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him back up to you.
He smiled into the kiss as your lips met again, a little clumsy, your teeth knocking together in your eagerness.
Then, he moved down again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses at your pussy through the thin fabric of your underwear, his hands firm on your thighs as he kept you in place.
Your head fell back at the sensation, a shiver running through you. When he didn't go any further, you let out a soft, impatient whine. "C'mon, Buck… stop teasing."
He chuckled at that, finally slipping your underwear down your legs. But even then, he didn't rush.
He blew cool air on your exposed pussy, making you jolt slightly, goosebumps rising in its wake. You let out a frustrated groan, half warning. "If you don't get your mouth on my cunt right now, Barnes, I swear to God..."
You trailed off as he finally gave in, dipping down and dragging a long stripe up your pussy with his tongue.
"Good…" your eyes fluttered shut, your hand finding his hair, guiding him closer. "Yeah… that's—yeah, that's good…"
That seemed to encourage him. He grew more confident, one hand shifting to draw small, careful circles on your clit that made your grip tighten instinctively. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing your high without even thinking about it.
Bucky let you, flattening his tongue as he ate you out. Your head tipped back, a soft sound escaping you as the tension built, coiling tighter and tighter.
Somewhere in the haze, Bucky had started softly grinding against the matress like he couldn't quite help himself, drawn in by every breath, every sound you made.
And then it tipped over.
Your hand tightened in his hair as you pressed his face against your cunt, moaning as your body went taut. Bucky kept rubbing your clit as your orgasm washed over you, until it became too much and you gently pushed him back with a whimper.
When you finally opened your eyes, Bucky was looking up at you, a little flushed, a little dazed, his lips covered in your slick.
"If this is what you call rusty, I'd love to see you on a good day," you heaved, letting out a breathless laugh. He grinned, dipping down to kiss your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.
"I—do you want to keep going?" he asked, a little uncertain now that you’d already come.
Your gaze dropped down, a grin spreading as you noticed the clear evidence of his interest. "You clearly do."
Bucky flushed. "Well—"
You cut him off by shifting forward, your hand finding him through the fabric. His breath hitched, mouth falling open slightly as you guided him back against the headboard.
Taking your time, you undid his jeans and pushed them down, then tugged lightly at his shirt. "Off," you murmured.
He fumbled a bit, clearly distracted, pulling it over his head as your fingers traced lightly over his cock through the remaining fabric—just enough to make him shiver.
Soon enough, he was bare beneath you, save for his briefs. When you freed his dick, it sprung up swiftly, red and leaking, clearly in desperate need of some attention. You leaned down, licking the precum from his tip slowly.
Bucky gasped. You did it again, just kitten-licking his cock as if it was a lollypop, until he was squirming on your bed, silently begging you to give him more.
"That feel good, James?"
"Yeah—" he breathed, chest rising and falling quickly. "Feels good..."
You continued stroking his cock slowly, massaging his balls with your other hand.
"Been a long time since a girl took care of you like this, huh?"
His eyes squeezed shut, head tipping back as he tried to respond. "Uh— Uh huh."
You didn’t speed up. If anything, you took your time even more, letting him feel every second of it. Teasing, just like he had done to you.
He didn't tell you to get on with it, though. Didn't ask for more. Just stayed there, taking it, completely at your mercy.
The thought made you smile.
"You're such a good boy, Buck...."
He gasped, eyes flying open as they locked onto yours. Surprise flashed across his expression. Your hand sped up on his cock, then, other hand tugging at his balls.
"Wh- what?" His voice cracked. He sounded downright sinful.
"Yeah," you murmured. "Don't you wanna be good?"
He nodded quickly, breath uneven, eyes falling shut again as his head dropped back against the headboard.
"Yeah... wanna be good for you."
You grinned at his answer. You could tell he was close as he began thrusting his hips up, fucking his cock into your fist.
And just before he could tip over, you pulled your hand away. His eyes snapped open, a flash of betrayal crossing his face, until he he saw you spread yourself out next to him on the bed.
"Don't you wanna be good and fuck me, James?" Your smile was sultry, dipping a finger into your wetness from when you'd came earlier.
That seemed to undo him completely. Bucky felt himself nodding, dazed.
"Well get over here, then."
He moved on top of you without hesitation, gripping the base of his cock with one hand as he rubbed his tip through your folds. Just that could be enough to make him come. He tapped the head of his cock on your pussy lips a few times, staring at his own actions in wonder.
"I can't promise I'll last long..." he admitted under his breath, a hint of nerves slipping through. But you didn't give him time to overthink it, gripping his hips and pushing him inside you in one smooth motion. Bucky gasped, eyes growing wide at the feeling of your cunt around him.
"Oh, God— Oh, my God," he moaned, not even moving yet.
You let out soft, blissful exhale yourself at the feeling of being full, but it wasn't enough.
"C'mon, Barnes," you murmured. "You can do better than that."
He nodded, starting slow, like he was figuring it out, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The restraint slipped, replaced by something more instinctive, more urgent. Soon enough, he was pummeling inside you, barely even moving his cock out. He was quickly rutting into your pussy like a dog in heat as he buried his face near your neck, whining, breath uneven.
Your hand found his hair, fingers tangling as you tugged, grounding yourself just as much as him.
His rhythm faltered for a moment as everything seemed to hit him at once—the closeness, your hands in his hair, the way you responded to him like this was exactly where you wanted to be.
"Hey…" you murmured softly, your tone shifting just enough to ground him. "You're okay. Just feel it. Don't overthink."
That seemed to steady him.
Bucky let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping briefly against yours before he found his pace again— thrusting into you slower this time, more deliberate.
Your grip in his hair softened, turning into something gentler, your thumb brushing along his jaw as you watched him. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression now as he worked the both of you closer to your pinnacle.
"See?" you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Not so rusty."
He huffed out a breath that might've been a laugh, though it came out uneven. "Don't—don't distract me," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.
His thrusts became sloppier, and your cunt clenched around him as you felt your orgasm approaching.
Bucky's movements grew a little more confident, his hands finally settling properly on you instead of hovering like he wasn't sure he was allowed. His grip tightened just slightly, grounding himself, before he moved both hands next to your ears, caging you in.
He was so close to you, panting in your mouth. The tension in him built again, but this time it felt different—less rushed, more connected.
You let out a soft breath, your hand drifting lower to touch your clit as you chased that building tension, needing just a little more to tip over the edge. Bucky's fingers laced with yours, holding on as he leaned in, pressing quick, scattered kisses along your cheek and jaw.
His thrusts grew frantic again, losing control of his rhythm, balls slapping against you as he chased his high.
"Are you gonna come, Bucky?" You said, meaning to tease, but your voice came out breathless, betraying you.
"Yeah," Bucky managed, just as strained. "Yeah, I'm— I'm gonna come, please, come with me."
"Yeah?" A small, shaky laugh left you, your eyes slipping shut as everything tightened, sweat dripping down your neck. "You want me to cum on your fat cock?"
Bucky gasped, a broken sound, thrusting into you hard as he shot white strings of cum in your pussy. You moaned out, intensifying the stimulation on your clit as you followed right after, cunt convulsing around his spent cock, the feeling washing over you in waves.
Bucky kept thrusting in you slowly until your orgasm died down. Eventually, he collapsed on the bed next to you, panting hard.
"Not bad..." he panted, a faint, breathless laugh escaping him, "for the first time in seventy years, huh?"
You turned your head toward him, a tired but satisfied smile forming as you curled closer. "No," you murmured. "Not bad at all."
And just like that, the exhaustion caught up to you both, the two of you drifting off, tangled together in the quiet aftermath.
When you woke up, Bucky was gone—and you'd been cleaned up.
You blinked a few times, still groggy, before pushing yourself out of bed and getting dressed. The apartment was quiet as you stepped out of the bedroom, until you reached the kitchen.
Bucky stood at the stove, shirtless, focused on whatever he was cooking.
"Well, hello there," you smirked, leaning against the doorway.
"Good evening to you, too," he replied casually.
You frowned, glancing at the clock.
5:30 p.m.
"Did I seriously sleep all afternoon?" you gasped.
He shrugged. "Guess you needed it."
You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. "What're you making?"
He turned slightly to face you, putting on an exaggeratedly serious expression. "Now, I'll have you know I'm not exactly a great cook, but I was feeling generous, so I decided to make you dinner."
You peeked past him at the pan; pasta with chicken and what looked like a simple tomato sauce.
Your expression softened. "Aw. You sweet old man."
He scoffed. "Call me old one more time and you'll regret it."
"Oh yeah?" you smirked. "What're you gonna do—pull a muscle trying to prove me wrong?"
Before you could react, he turned and lifted you clean off the ground, holding you up with ease.
You squealed, kicking your legs as you laughed. "Bucky!"
"Wanna say that again?" he asked, clearly amused.
"Okay, okay!" you laughed. "I take it back, you're clearly in your prime!"
He chuckled, setting you down gently before turning back to the stove like nothing had happened.
You settled into a chair, watching him move around the kitchen, looking so comfortable, easy, like he belonged there.
You didn't know what to call this— if there even was a 'this'—but you knew one thing for certain.
Somewhere along the way, you'd fallen for him. Deeply.
And as he stood there, making you dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world, you didn't need him to verbalize it to know he loved you, too.
Summary: She is at a hotel for work conference. Chill day, spending it in the pool. A kid's ball accidentally splashes her when it lands in the water next to her. She ends up spending majority of her afternoon with kid, playing catch with him. When the Dad comes, beyond stressed because the babysitter had fallen asleep and lost track of the kid, he sees Y/N looking after his kid & falls hard.
A/n: hope you guys enjoy. Also for the moodboard sorry its not more inclusive, couldn't find a dress that matches the vibe I was going for.
Xxxx
The pool water was lovely, not too hot, not too cold, as she dipped in via the stairs. She felt good. Single with many eyes on her, in a nice new swimsuit, hair and makeup done, ignoring work on her off day, mostly worry free, at leisure in a nice hotel all expenses paid for. Nothing could break her stride. Except for a sudden, unexpected splash, drenching her pricey hairdo. With a shocked gasp, she removed her sunglasses, water dripping down every inch of her body.
"... Sorry miss.."
A sheepish little voice sounded from behind her. She turned, eyes landing on a boy, no older than 7. Big blue eyes stared at her, wide, frightened, little hands reaching out for the ball that was bobbing beside her in the water. No doubt the cutest kid she'd ever seen. She turned, reaching for the ball.
"No worries, dude."
What the heck else do you call some random kid not to sound rude or creepy? She tossed it back to him, fixing her sunglasses back in place, still dripping, but mostly cleared of droplets. Before she knew it the ball was flying back at her, and on instinct, she caught it. The same blue eyes stared back at her, but this time they weren't frightened, but more curios, testing. She tossed it back. A childlike, joyous, smile bloomed across his little face. He looked to the water, then back to her, then back to the water.
"What the heck, I'm already wet."
She smiled, moving aside to let him jump in. The little boy wasted no time in jumping in, well more like belly flopping. A surprised laugh escaped her as she watched the kid surface, hands patting for the ball. She nudged it closer. He grabbed it, swimming away to the stairs. Mounted on a step where he could stand with his hands above water, the boy looked at her, expectant. And that's how she got caught up in an endless game of catch, in a pool, as an adult at a work conference.
"Where are your parents?"
"My daddy's here in a meeting . My nanny's watching me."
"Oh, okay. Good."
The experience was nicer than she expected. She found herself giggling, as if she herself was a kid, heart healing in ways she'd forgotten were possible.
Bucky, on the other hand, had just come from a very draining conference, head still ringing from the buzz of all the questions and chatter and disputes. He pushed his hotel room door open with a hushed sigh, expecting to see his son and the babysitter (who of course had her own room but for now she was looking after Bucky's son until he was done with his meetings). What alarmed him first was the silence. No giggles, no patter of running feet, no irritating toy sounds (that Bucky actually dearly missed when he was away, which is one of the reasons he brought his son with on the trip), no TV.
What worsened his fright was the sight of the babysitter, asleep on the couch, phone in her hand, same reel looping. Perhaps she'd set him down for a nap, Bucky thought as he quietly stepped in, walking to the bed. Empty. He spun around, and again, looking everywhere. Bathroom, no. Minibar, no. Couch, no. Bedroom, no. His briefcase landed with a painful thud, waking up the babysitter.
"Where's he?"
"Who?"
She yawned, rubbing her eyes.
"My son?"
He breathed, exasperated. Her eyes widened, and she was suddenly wide awake, standing in an instant.
"I-I don't know, he was playing with the toys like two minutes ago. Maybe he's in the bathroom."
"No! He's nowhere in this room I've looked. And how come you were on your phone you know the agreement."
"I was just responding to a tex-"
"On Instagram reels? Sure. Y-"
He cut himself short, shaking his head.
"We will discuss this later. Right now, you're going to shut off the phone, and we're going to split up and look for him. And if you find him, you switch it back on and call me. Clear?"
She nodded, though her posture looked anything but willing to follow out his instructions. But he didn't care, patting his pocket to make sure he had his phone as he strode out.
He felt sick to his stomach as he darted across the hotel, ready to hurl at any given moment. All those horrible stories he'd seen on the news, heard from colleagues, seen remotely himself, resurfaced as he searched. His vision doubled in fright, every boy suddenly looking like his. He got many curious stares as he ran across the hotel lobby, several glares too. His composed self would never be doing this, but when it came to his son all composure was lost, and he'd do literally anything for the kid.
Security was not of much help as he fumbled to tell them, inform them, beg them to shut all exits. The babysitter had no idea when exactly he'd slipped out, worst case, he could be gone by now. The mere thought sickened Bucky even further, and he felt the familiar flushes of a panic attack.
No. Not now.
He ran, outside, suddenly remembering that his son was a water baby, just like his aunt. Damnit! Why couldn't he have remembered that sooner? Though, he was exhausted after a long week of conferences, a particularly long day, and unbeknownst to anyone in his close circles, he was battling ongoing court cases against his ex.
His polished shoes skidded as he turned the corner, narrowly dodging a waiter carrying a tray of glasses. Usually, he'd apologize, well under normal circumstances he wouldn't be doing this at all. But this was not normal, and his chest was about to implode under his racing heart.
He stopped short of the edge of the pool, eyes frantically scanning across the water, over all the heads. He was suddenly very grateful for those private swimming lessons he'd paid an arm an a leg for. He scanned the pool again, heart beginning to tighten as he didn't see his boy, when a familiar laugh bubbled up to his right. He spun towards the sound, eyes landing on a sight that warmed him, shoulders literally sagging with relief.
There he was, safe and sound, little face brighter than he'd seen it all week, playing catch with a stranger, a kind stranger. A beautiful stranger.
"George!"
Y/N's head snapped toward the sound. A suit-clad man stood above her. Gorgeous. Same blue eyes flickering between her and the kid, who she concluded was his son.
"Daddy!"
Y/N's heart warmed at the excitement in the little boy's voice as he paddled to the stairs, ball forgotten.
"Look Daddy I made a friend!"
George, she now knew, funny how she didn't even think about what the kid's name could be, just focused on making sure the kid was safe and content, pointed to her. A smile cracked on her face, and she turned to the suit-clad man to see his reaction. She expected a nod, or a smile, but he wasn't even looking at her. His face was blanched, hands shaking at his sides, eyes trained on his son. Her heart shifted uncomfortably.
"George James Barnes what on earth were you thinking!? Do you realize how worried I was!? You cannot just run off like that! Something horrible could've happened to you. What do you think I would've done if something happened to you, hm?"
The man stepped to the pool, gripping his son's shoulders as he spoke, eyes wide, panicked, face still pale. His eyes scanned across the boy to look for any injuries.
"But daddy Sharon said I can come."
His spine straightened instantly, face hardening.
"Did she?"
"Yes daddy I was playing by my planes and she was on the sofa 'n I asked her if I can play by the pool."
"And she said yes?"
His eyes scanned his son again, turning him slightly to see if his back was injury-free.
"Uh-huh. And I asked her if she was going to come too and come see I'm safe and she said sure."
She saw the man's jaw tick. Brows furrowing.
"Go grab your ball. We're going to have lunch while I talk to Sharon."
"No Daddy I'm playing!"
George shrugged his father's hands off, stepping back.
"Georgie I'm not asking, I'm saying."
"No no no no!"
The boy ran to the pool.
"George! Don't you d-"
Splash. The boy jumped in. Y/N surged forward in the water, having awkwardly watched the entire interaction. The man sighed heavily, one hand on his hip as the other shakily dragged across his face. Her eyes flickered back to the kid, who was now clinging to his ball with a furious pout.
"Georgie, why don't you go eat with daddy? I promise we can play after lunch. But between me and you,"
She leaned closer, whispering playfully, a small smile on her lips.
"I think your daddy needs some lunch in his tummy."
The boy cracked a small smile himself, eyes darting to his father.
"Promise you'll be here?"
"Pinkie promise. I'm only leaving tomorrow afternoon."
The boy hesitated, eyeing her, before he reluctantly swam to the stairs and trudged out. The man's hand instantly went to the boys shoulder, gently resting on it. His eyes lifted to Y/N's. They darted across her face barely noticeable it was so swift.
"Thank you. For watching him."
"No worries. I tried keeping him in the shade."
The man's eyes flickered back to his son, skin fine other than slightly tinted cheeks and his little button nose.
"Give me a form of contact so I can repay you."
She shook her head, raising her hands with a smile.
"No need. I didn't mind."
"I insist."
Yes, he did want to pay her for keeping his son safe and happier than he'd seen him in a while, but a selfish part of him also wanted her number for... other purposes. More romantically inclined purposes.
She tilted her head, that stunning smile on her stunning face.
"I'm Y/N. Here with (company name). Go sort out your dilemma, I'll be here tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah. Of course. I'm here for business too, (company name)."
"Oh! Well perfect. We're temporarily amalgamating as a team building something tomorrow morning."
"Yeah that's right. Completely slipped my mind thanks for the reminder. And thank you, again, for watching George. We'll discuss payment tomorrow."
"See you then."
She waved, sending a specially widened smile to the boy who turned back to wave at her.
The restaurant was buzzing when she walked in that evening. A black tie dinner for the companies. She looked around for her table, spotting it in the far corner against the window. She started walking there when,
"Y/N!"
Little George jumped in her path, looking adorable in a little suit with his dark hair slicked back.
"Well hi there George. Don't you look dashing."
She smiled.
"Can we swim tomorrow?"
She chuckled, adjusting her purse in her grip.
"We sure can, as soon as I'm done with my meeting, and if daddy says yes."
"Daddy has to swim with us!"
She chocked in surprise, eyes widening slightly.
"Oh- okay."
A large frame appeared behind George. The handsome man from earlier, in the same suit. She did not miss the way his eyes trailed across her. She was especially thankful then that she'd packed in her nicest dress.
"Evening, Y/N."
"Good evening to you too..."
She trailed off. His eyes flashed and he raised a hand.
"Apologies. Completely slipped my mind to introduce myself after this afternoon. I'm James."
James. She could finally put a name to the face. And, it was the same as George's middle name.
"Nice to meet you, amidst better circumstances."
He chuckled, nodding.
"Why don't you sit with us?"
She hesitated. As much as she'd love to, they were assigned seats.
"Well, we were assigned seats."
"I haven't seen anyone adhering to that."
She looked around, seeing her colleagues all over at different tables, strange faces at theirs.
"True... Alright. Where do I sit?"
"Right here,"
He pulled out a chair for her. Her cheeks tinted as she smiled, walking up, and sliding into the chair.
"Why thank you."
He beckoned with his hand for his son to join them as he sat down.
"No Daddy that's my seat!"
George protested as James slid into the seat next to her. He chuckled, standing.
"Where do I sit then?"
George shrugged as he settled onto the chair. Bucky looked around the table, a seat was open on the other end and one to the right of their new friend. Oh well. He sat next to Y/N.
"Sharon went home today."
"George-"
"Daddy fired her."
"George."
Y/N chuckled, looking between them. She assumed Sharon to be the babysitter, well ex-babysitter.
"I... let her go, yes. However I did pay her this month's allowance, in full despite today, and bought her tickets back home."
"That's understandable."
"Well whilst we're on the topic let's discuss what I owe you for looking after George. I could tell you her hourly rate but that'd be far too little regarding the fact that A, it's not your job, and B, you did it adequately, and C-"
"You said we could discuss it tomorrow. Let's just enjoy tonight."
Y/N interrupted him gently, chuckling. A smile crossed his face as he sat back in his chair. Perhaps, in some twisted way, he owed a thanks to the negligent babysitter. Because he's sure her negligence led him to meeting his future wife.
Request: Idiots in Love idea for skinny Steve, if you're up for it. Steve knows he's too short, too scrawny, too sickly to ever be your type. Sure every time you've gone out with someone it's a punch to the gut, but he can't say anything. You're too good for him. You know you're too big, too tall for Steve to ever want you. Especially as all the dates you go on confirm you're not pretty enough. Sure every time Bucky sets Steve up on a date it's a punch to the gut, not you can't say anything. You're not good enough for him. - Zombie @thezombieprostitute
Summary: After so many dates being shoddy or uninteresting, you and Steve finally admit your feelings for each other much to the delight of Bucky. [WC 1.3K] [ao3]
Warnings: Skinny!Steve, Reader Idiots in Love
Steve notices first. He always does.
It’s not even intentional anymore—it’s just instinct. The way his eyes track you when you walk into a room, like something in him settles the second you’re there. Like oh, okay, everything’s where it’s supposed to be now.
And then, The guy beside you. Taller than Steve. Broader. Easy smile. The kind of guy who doesn’t look like he has to try to exist.
Steve’s stomach drops. He looks away fast, like he’s been burned.
“Don’t,” Bucky mutters beside him, not even looking up from his drink.
“Don’t what?” Steve says too quickly.
“Do that thing where you pretend you don’t care.”
Steve scoffs, but it’s weak. “I don’t— Buck, she’s just—she’s dating. That’s… normal.”
Normal. Yeah. Normal for someone like you. Not for someone like him. Across the room, you laugh at something your date says—and it’s not even a big laugh. Just a small one. Polite. Careful.
Steve knows your real laugh. That loud, unguarded one you try to hide behind your hand. The one that makes your shoulders shake. You’re not doing that now.
But the guy doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he look that closely?
Steve’s jaw tightens.
“Go talk to her,” Bucky says.
“No.”
“Stevie—”
“No,” he repeats, sharper this time. “She’s… she’s got someone.”
Someone better. Someone who doesn’t look like they might get knocked over by a strong breeze. Someone who doesn’t have to hide how winded they get from climbing stairs. Someone who doesn’t have everything wrong with them. Steve grips his glass a little tighter.
“She deserves…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Not me.”
You notice too. You always do. It’s stupid, really. The way your attention drifts no matter who you’re with, no matter what they’re saying. Like there’s a magnet in your chest and it’s always—always—pulling you back to him. Steve. Sitting across the room. Small in his chair, like he’s trying to take up less space. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands wrapped around his drink like he’s not sure what else to do with them.
He looks… nice. He always looks nice. Soft. Gentle. Careful. The kind of person people overlook. The kind of person you notice too much.
“—and then I told him, I said, no way, man—hey, you listening?”
You blink, dragged back. “Yeah—sorry,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… long day.”
Your date chuckles. “Yeah? You seem kinda distracted.”
Because you are. Because every time you look over, Steve looks away like he’s not allowed to be caught staring. Because earlier, you saw the girl Bucky introduced him to.
Pretty. Small. Everything you’re not.
Your stomach twists.
“Do you… wanna get out of here?” your date asks, leaning in slightly.
You freeze. Because this is the part where you say yes. This is the part where you prove you’re normal, that you can do this, that you’re not— Your eyes flick up again.
Steve’s already looking. And for a split second, neither of you look away. It’s quiet. Just for a heartbeat. Something soft and aching passes between you.
Then he drops his gaze. Of course he does. He always does.
You swallow. “…Actually,” you say, pulling back slightly, “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”
Your date frowns. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
You don’t wait for him to argue. You just grab your bag and turn—and walk straight toward Steve.
He doesn’t realize you’re coming until you’re there.
“Hey,” you say.
Steve looks up so fast he nearly knocks his glass over. “H—hey,” he stammers, scrambling to steady it. “I thought—you were—uh—”
“On a date?” you finish, a little wry.
“Yeah. That.”
You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t really feel like one.”
Something flickers across his face. Hope. Quick and fragile. “Oh.”
There’s a pause. Awkward. Thick. God, why is this always so hard?
You shift your weight. “How about you? Your… uh… setup?”
Steve lets out a small, humorless huff. “Left. While I was in the bathroom.”
Your heart drops. “What? Why?”
He shrugs, but it’s too casual, too practiced. “Guess I’m not exactly—” he cuts himself off. Don’t say it. Don’t. “—what people are looking for,” he finishes quietly.
Something sharp twists in your chest. “Steve—”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “Really. I mean—look at me.”
And there it is. That self-deprecating little laugh. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact.
You stare at him. “Yeah,” you say slowly. “Look at you.”
Steve blinks, confused by your tone.
“You’re kind,” you continue. “And funny. And you remember stupid little things I say from weeks ago. You walk me home even when it’s out of your way. You—” your voice wobbles slightly, but you push through, “—you’re the only person who actually sees me.”
He goes very still.
“Why would anyone not be looking for that?” you ask softly.
Steve’s throat works. “Because,” he says, barely above a whisper, “that’s not enough.”
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”
His eyes snap up to yours. “What?”
You laugh, but it’s small. Not your real one. “Every guy I go out with makes it pretty clear,” you say. “Too tall. Too much. Not exactly what they had in mind.”
“Is it?” you shoot back, a little sharper than you meant. “Because it keeps happening, Stevie.”
Silence. Heavy.
Then, quieter he says, “You deserve better than them.”
You almost smile. “Funny,” you say. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Steve frowns. “What?”
“You deserve someone who actually wants you,” you say, your voice softening again. “Someone who doesn’t walk out. Someone who—” You stop.
Because his expression has changed. Completely. “—someone who what?” he asks.
Your heart is pounding now. This is it. You can feel it. That edge you’ve both been circling forever. “Someone who doesn’t think they’re too good for you,” you finish, barely audible.
Steve stares at you. “You think that’s why I don’t—?” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “No. No, I don’t— I don’t think I’m too good for you.”
“Then why don’t you ever—?” you start, frustration slipping through.
“Because you are,” he blurts.
You freeze. “…what?”
“You’re too good for me,” Steve says, all at once, like it’s been trapped in his chest for too long. “You always have been. I mean—look at you. And look at me. I can barely— I’m not— I’m just—”
“Steve.”
He stops.
Your voice is steady now. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?” He flinches slightly. “I’ve spent months thinking I wasn’t good enough for you,” you continue. “That you’d never look at me like that. That you’d always want someone smaller, prettier—”
“Prettier?” he echoes, genuinely baffled. “Are you serious?”
“Yes!”
“You’re—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even process it. “You’re the most—” He stops again. Takes a breath. Tries again. “You’re it for me,” he says, simply.
The world goes very, very quiet.
“…what?” you whisper.
Steve swallows hard. “You’re it,” he repeats. “Have been. For a while now. I just… figured you’d never want—” he gestures vaguely at himself, “—this.”
You step closer. Close enough that he forgets how to breathe. “You’re an idiot,” you murmur.
His lips twitch faintly. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
“Good,” you say. “Because I’m apparently one too.”
And then—before you can overthink it, before he can talk himself out of it again— You kiss him. It’s soft. A little clumsy. Like neither of you quite believe it’s happening. Steve makes a small, startled sound against your lips, hands hovering awkwardly for half a second before settling—hesitant, careful—at your waist. Like he’s afraid you might disappear. You don’t. You lean in closer instead. And when you pull back, just barely— He’s looking at you like the world just rewrote itself.
“Hi,” you whisper.
Steve lets out a shaky breath. “…hi.”
Across the room, Bucky slams his hand on the table. “FINALLY.”
Neither of you even look at him. Because for once— You’re both exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Truth serum but make it orgasmic. Telling the truth feels like you’re getting the best sex of your life and lying basically edges you. Maybe Bucky is helping you test it.
You didn’t expect the serum to feel like this.
The needle slides out of your arm with a soft pop, and Bucky Barnes steps back, gloved fingers flexing once before he peels the leather off. His metal hand catches the overhead light of the safehouse med room—cool, clinical—but the look in his eyes is anything but. Storm-gray, focused, a little too hungry.
He’s the only one you trusted to run the test. No cameras. No backup. Just the two of you and the small vial of glowing violet liquid that SHIELD swears is only a truth serum.
Except it isn’t. Not anymore.
Heat blooms low in your belly almost instantly—slow and syrupy, like the first lazy roll of a tongue between your legs. You shift on the metal chair, cuffs loose around your wrists because Bucky said you could walk away anytime.
You won’t. You want this.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low—Brooklyn rough, whiskey-warm. “Give it thirty seconds. Tell me what you feel.”
You open your mouth to say something safe—warm—but the truth claws up first, unstoppable.
“It feels like you already have your mouth on me,” you gasp.
The orgasm hits without warning. No build-up. No teasing climb. Just sudden, blinding pleasure—slick and deep, pulsing between your thighs like Bucky’s tongue is really there, thick and relentless.
Your back arches off the chair. A broken moan tears out of you. You come hard, shaking, and Bucky’s eyes darken as he watches every tremor.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
When the high ebbs, you’re panting—thighs pressed together, already soaked enough to feel it through your panties. The serum hums under your skin, waiting.
Bucky drags a stool closer, metal legs scraping concrete. He sits, knees spread, elbows braced on his thighs, close enough that you can smell gun oil and wintergreen.
“Rule one,” he says quietly. “You lie, it edges you. No release.” His gaze flicks between your thighs and your face. “You tell the truth… you get what you just got. Or better.”
Your pulse hammers. You nod.
He starts easy.
“What’s your name?”
You answer. The pleasure rolls through you again—softer this time, like a slow grind against your clit. A warm wave that leaves you gasping his name instead.
The question lands like a spark on gasoline. You try—god, you try—to say something vague, something safe. The lie doesn’t even make it past your tongue. The serum tears it away.
“Since the night you pinned me to the mat in the training room,” you blurt, breath hitching. “When I felt how hard you were against my ass—every day since—every night—I touch myself thinking about your metal hand around my throat and your cock—”
The orgasm detonates.
Harder than the first.
You cry out, hips jerking, body chasing friction that isn’t there. Your walls clench on emptiness while wave after wave of filthy, perfect pleasure rips through you. It feels like he’s inside you—deep, relentless, hitting that spot that makes your vision go white.
You soak your panties completely. Your voice cracks on his name.
When you slump forward, cuffs rattling softly, Bucky’s breathing isn’t steady anymore. His pupils are blown wide. A flush rides high on his cheekbones.
“Fuck,” he mutters, reverent. “Look at you. Already dripping for me and I haven’t even touched you.”
You whimper. The serum pulses—greedy.
Bucky reaches out, slow enough for you to pull away.
You don’t.
His fingers brush your knee, then slide up your thigh, stopping just shy of where you need him most.
“Tell me what you want right now,” he says. “Honest.”
“I want your fingers inside me while you ask me every filthy question you’ve ever thought about me,” you choke out.
The reward is immediate.
Two thick fingers push under the waistband of your sweats, sliding through your slick folds and sinking deep in one smooth stroke.
You scream.
The orgasm crashes over you as his thumb circles your clit—steady, deliberate—and the truth keeps spilling out.
“I dream about you holding me down—making me take every inch until I can’t walk—”
He curls his fingers. You come again, gushing around him, thighs shaking.
“I want your metal hand on my clit while you fuck my throat—”
Another orgasm—sharp, almost too much. Your vision tunnels. Tears slip down your cheeks from the sheer intensity.
Bucky’s voice is wrecked. “Keep going, baby. Don’t stop.”
You don’t. You can’t.
Every confession drags another climax out of you.
You tell him everything—about the shower, about the Quinjet, about wanting to feel him fill you up and stay there. Each truth earns you another shattering release. Your body becomes a live wire—sweat-slick, shaking, overstimulated and still begging for more.
And Bucky—Bucky watches like he’s starving.
He fucks you slow and deep with his fingers while his metal hand finally comes up, pinching and rolling your nipple exactly the way you just admitted you like best.
You’re teetering on the edge of something massive when he leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“Last question,” he growls. “Do you want me to stop testing the serum… and just fuck you stupid right now?”
You don’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The orgasm that rips through you is nuclear.
You scream his name so loud it echoes off the walls. Your whole body locks up—pulsing, shaking, gushing—every nerve lit with white-hot pleasure. Bucky works you through it, murmuring praise against your throat, fingers never stopping until you’re limp, sobbing, still coming in aftershocks.
When it finally fades, he pulls his hand free—glistening—and brings his fingers to his mouth.
His eyes never leave yours as he licks them clean.
“Serum works,” he says, voice rough. “But we’re nowhere near done testing limits tonight.”
He reaches for the cuffs, unlocking them with a soft click, then lifts you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically—he’s rock-hard against you.
“Bedroom,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re gonna tell me every dirty little fantasy you’ve ever had about me.”
His grin is wicked.
“And I’m gonna make every single one come true.”
You kiss him—taste yourself on his tongue—and smile.
“Promise?” you whisper.
The serum purrs inside you, warm and satisfied and already hungry for more.
Bucky huffs a low laugh, carrying you down the hall.
When a pretty girl walks into the station looking for the sheriff, no one ever thought that she could be his wife.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Lee Bodecker x F!Reader — 1.3K
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, age gap (big enough to notice), cockwarming, slight mean!lee (but let's be fr that is him), a touch of fluff
▸ A/N: first of my 2k celebration fics!!! this is for my darling @blowingbarnes for sending in my first request <3 hope you like it my love. actual request included at the end!
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Lee Bodecker is many things, but a ladies' man is not one of them. He had been in a relationship with his ex for years before she finally called it quits and moved three towns over. His deputies know him as a lone wolf, focused solely on work and whatever side gigs he’s working off the books.
So when a pretty young thing with the sweetest smile walks in looking for the sheriff, all heads turn.
“You lost, little lady?” One of them comes up to you first, plastering on a salacious grin that has you crinkling your nose.
“No, just looking for the sheriff. Is he in right now?”
“Well, I’m sure I can help you with whatever it is you need.”
Your lips curl into a sour grimace. “Whatever it is you’re offering, I’m not interested.” Laughter scatters throughout the station as the officer’s smile wipes from his face. “Now, the sheriff?”
“Straight through the back.”
“Thank you.”
At first, they think it’s a fluke. Some new-to-town city girl who got herself into a bit of trouble and wants the highest-ranking officer to help.
Because why is someone like you — fresh-faced, devastatingly gorgeous, inappropriately young — looking for a sleazy geezer like the sheriff?
But then it happens again and again and again.
You keep coming back. You keep asking for Lee.
Each time you come in with a cute little bag, each time you leave without it.
Each evening, everyone watches as Lee leaves with that blue plaid lunch bag in tow.
Once, after you leave, Lee steps out into the bullpen to heat his lunch. His colleagues take that as the prime opportunity to pounce.
“Lee, come on, be honest now. Where’d you pick that gal up? She your niece or something?” Tommy asks first. “She single?”
The sheriff gives him a disgusted look. “Watch your tongue, Deputy, else I’ll shoot it right outta your mouth. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Once again, laughter ripples through the room. Except their boss isn’t laughing. Lee cocks an eyebrow at Tommy.
“That a problem?”
“N-no, but that gal? Your wife? Really?”
“What about it?”
Tommy opens his mouth but the fear of losing his job has him clamping his mouth shut again. Luckily, Stu has never had a problem with uncensoring his raw thoughts when it comes to his good friend. “What he means is — what’s a pretty young thing like that doin’ with a man like you, Sheriff?”
Lee only scowls. “I have many redeeming qualities.”
“Hopefully that means your di—”
“Finish that sentence and I’m putting you on overnight patrol for the rest of the month. Maybe on the wrong side of town.”
Sure enough, the next time you come around, Stu has to confirm for himself.
And there it is — the big fat rock on your finger.
You don’t make it to your husband’s room before you’re intercepted and surrounded by the entire station; granted, it’s a small department but you’re still circled by these hyenas nonetheless.
“Honey, you have to tell us, what do you see in an old grump like the sheriff?” Stu starts with a grin.
You can’t help the dreamy smile that stretches across your face. “Grump? The sheriff? Please. He’s a big ol’ softie. You should’ve seen what he prepared for Valentine’s Day — flooded our living room with flowers, cooked me dinner, even danced with me in the kitchen to Sinatra.”
All of them are convinced they’ve entered the Twilight Zone. Sheriff Lee Bodecker? Flowers? Cooking? Dancing?
“You’re pullin’ my leg,” Stu insists, “that man’s diet consists of beer and burgers. Store-bought only.”
Your lips twitch. “I do like me a man who can eat.”
Stu wiggles his eyebrows. “You tellin’ me that our boss is a mu—”
“That’s enough,” Lee’s voice snaps like a whip to disperse most of them back to their desks. Unfortunately, his best friend has no fear and continues to tease him relentlessly throughtout the rest of the day.
When he comes home in the evening, sinking into his beloved armchair with a cool beer in hand, you settle right down on his lap. His wide frame trapped between your supple thighs.
“The guys weren’t giving you a hard time, were they?” He murmurs, hand sliding down your back to your ass — practically exposed as your little nightgown rides up — as you curl into him like a kitten, nuzzling your face into his thick neck.
You hum, the vibrations going straight through his skin and down to his cock. “No, it was all in good fun, Sheriff.”
Lee’s pants stiffen underneath you. You smile. He’s always been so easy to rile up.
“Sheriff, huh?” He grunts, “Why don’t you be a good wife and warm this sheriff’s cock, sweetheart?”
You don’t miss a beat, hands peeling down his zipper to free his thick cock. One thing Stu got right — his dick is definitely a big perk to being Lee’s wife. You’re dripping at the sight of it, mouth salivating like a trained dog as you flip the hem of your skirt up, as you sink yourself down facing him.
His cock stretches out your poor aching cunt, still sore from when he fucked you good the night before. It’s a burn that has you whining in delight.
“That’s a good wife,” Lee softly says, kissing down the column of your neck. His cool fingers, now free of the beer bottle, reach up to grope you through the flimsy silk of your gown, pinching at your pert nipples. His touch seeps icy cold onto your skin, eliciting a shiver up your spine.
“Mmm, Sheriff, please,” you wriggle on his lap, pushing his cock deeper into your pulsing pussy.
“Let me watch my show, sweetie. I’m gonna need you to be a good, quiet cocksleeve for me. Can you do that?”
A whimper builds in your chest but you nod quietly, hiding your face in his neck again as he picks up his beer and continues watching his show.
It’s disgustingly arousing to see your husband, much too old for you, a belly that protrudes in a puzzle piece that usually fits so snugly into the arch of your back, offer little to no attention to you. You’re used to the hungry eyes that follow you everywhere. But Lee — while he loves you — doesn’t spoil you that way.
Instead, he barely pays you any mind as he takes another swig of his beer.
It only makes you needier for him. You wiggle impatiently, swiveling your hips to drive him deeper inside you. Petulant whines fall from your lips. “Lee, please.”
“What is it, darlin’?”
“Need you,” you pout, grinding your hips down again.
Lee remains unfazed but his cock twitches inside of you, betraying his wanton need. No matter how much he pretends, there’s a reason why Lee locked you down with a ring so early, so quickly.
“Such an impatient little minx. If only the guys knew how much of a needy slut you were, they wouldn’t be asking why you’d want to be with a man like me.”
“I only need you, Lee. Only need you and this fat cock to satisfy me.”
Lee lifts his hips in stuttered thrusts. You slump over him, relishing in the way he keeps muttering what a good wife you are, a good little cockwarmer for him. How your young pussy was made for this old cock.
His fingers bruise evidence of his love on your hips, his mouth imprinting his territorial marks along your collarbones. His cock reshaping your cunt to fit him and only him.
Through it all, he doesn’t stop whispering what a sweet wife you are. How perfect you are for him.
And when is all is said and done, when Lee has creamed inside of you and is keeping you plugged up with his cock, he brushes your hair to the side, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.
“I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you more, Lee.”
+ sam: ilysm bbl you have no idea <33 intended for it to just be cute and we ended up here (as always)
Summary: Nick needs to learn a new language for a new mission he's assigned. He never expected to meet a spunky woman like yourself who matched his quips [wc 685] [ao3]
Warnings: flirting, sexual tension, ig ??
Request: Nick Fowler needs to learn a new language for a mission. You just so happen to be the highest rated tutor he can find. But he wasn't expecting you to be so beautiful. -Zombie @thezombieprostitute
Nick Fowler had worked with spies, assassins, diplomats—people who could lie in five languages and kill you in six. What he hadn’t planned for… was you. He checked the file again, just to be sure he hadn’t misread it.
Top-rated linguistic specialist. Fluent in seven languages. Specializes in accelerated learning under pressure.
He expected… older, maybe. Severe. Someone intimidating in a clinical, academic way.
Instead, you walked in with a large grin on your face. “Nick Fowler?” your voice was calm, warm, just a hint amused—like you already knew exactly what kind of man had walked into your space.
And for the first time in a long time… Nick forgot what he was about to say. “…Yeah,” he managed, a beat too late. God. That was embarrassing.
You stepped aside, letting him in, completely unaware—or maybe very aware—of the way his attention lingered just a second too long. “I read your file,” you said, moving toward the table, already pulling out materials. “You need conversational fluency in—what was it—three weeks?”
“Two,” he corrected, automatically.
You paused. Looked at him. Really looked at him this time. And something shifted behind your eyes—interest, calculation… challenge. “Two?” you echoed softly. “That’s… ambitious.”
Nick smirked, falling back into himself a little. “I don’t really do ‘easy.’”
Your lips curved. Oh, that was trouble. “I can see that.” You gestured for him to sit, but instead of taking the chair across from him, you moved closer—too close—and perched on the edge of the table beside him.
Nick stilled.
“…We’ll have to be efficient, then,” you continued, like you hadn’t just completely wrecked his focus. “Immersion. Repetition. Stress conditioning.”
“Stress conditioning?” he raised a brow.
You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to pull him in with it. “The brain retains language better under heightened emotional states.”
Nick held your gaze. “…And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
There was a flicker—something playful, something sharp. “Depends,” you said lightly. “How well do you handle pressure, Agent Fowler?”
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, something dangerously close to a laugh. “You’re the teacher,” he murmured. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
You smiled again.
Day One Lesson:
Nick learned how to introduce himself. He learned basic phrases. He learned how to say “I understand.” But what he couldn’t seem to learn Was how to stop watching your mouth when you spoke.
Or how your hand felt when you corrected his pronunciation, fingers brushing his jaw just a second longer than necessary.
“Relax,” you murmured, thumb briefly pressing under his chin. “You’re too tense.”
“I’m fine,” he said, voice a little rougher than he intended.
Your eyes flicked up to his.
Oh. You noticed. Of course you noticed. “Are you?” you asked softly.
And suddenly, This didn’t feel like a lesson anymore.
By the end of the session, Nick had memorized more than vocabulary.
He knew the way your voice dropped when you were focused, the way you leaned closer when he got something wrong, the way you looked at him when he got something right. And as he stood to leave, he hesitated.
Which… wasn’t like him.
“At this rate,” you said, gathering your things, “you might actually be ready in time.”
“Might?” he echoed.
You glanced at him over your shoulder. That same knowing look. “That depends,” you said. “On how… dedicated you are to your studies.”
Nick stepped closer without thinking. Close enough now that he could see the subtle shift in your breathing. “Guess I’ll have to make a good impression, then.”
A pause. Tension. Thick. Quiet. Charged.
Your lips parted—just slightly. “…Careful,” you murmured. “You’re starting to sound motivated.”
His gaze dropped—just for a second. Then back up. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
There it was. That moment. That thing neither of you were acknowledging out loud but both of you felt. Clear as day.
You were supposed to teach him a language. Instead? You were becoming the one thing on this mission he couldn’t control.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader // Steve Rogers x reader // Stucky x reader
Synopsis: Stuck in the elevator. Stuffed in the elevator.
Warnings: MDNI // threesome. In an elevator. SIZE Kink (reader is explicitly mentioned to be shorter and smaller than both of them), MANHANDLING (he picks you up with ease, but hear me out..he's captain america, ofc hes gonna do it;), vaginal fingering, unprotected PiV, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, clit play. DRY HUMPING. Creampie. Pussy pronouns. Pussy inspection kinda(??). What's that position called where one of them is giving you head while the other is holding you in the air? If there's not a name yet, we all will call it venirogersandbarnes🙂↕️PRAISE kink.. established stucky, THEY TOUCH EACH OTHER, THEY LOVE EACH OTHER.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: this idea has been in my brain for weeks now. It's finally here. Night 3 of Eleven Nights Worth Remembering
Enjoy 💋
The hallway outside the meeting room was almost empty by the time you finished.
The silence hung heavy in the air. The overhead lights dimmed for nightfall, bathing the polished floors in a soft gold haze.
You rolled your neck, the ache of a long day finally settling in your muscles.
Normally you didn’t mind staying late. But lately there had been distractions.
Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. The two men that haunt your dreams—keep your thoughts a little entertaining during lonely nights—their mere existence has been the biggest distraction you'd ever seen.
They worked a few floors above and every time your eyes met with either of the blue ones, your breath lodged itself inside your chest.
Not that either of them did anything inappropriate. If anything, they were polite.
Professional.
There were moments, when the lines seemed to blur before snapping back to focus again.
Steve’s hand lingering a second too long when he passed you a file.
Bucky leaning against the breakroom counter watching you like he was starving. The glances they passed each other whenever you walked by.
But there were rumors. Whispered words between interns and agents alike, how the two men belong to each other. That the shared history is now on its way to a shared future. That it's beautiful—the blood that spilled is now blood that heals.
And you respected the rumors too much to ever cross that line.
So you ignored the way your eyes search for them in rooms.
Ignored the way Bucky’s voice sometimes dipped lower when he spoke to you.
Ignored the way Steve smiled at you like he knew something you didn’t.
You ignored everything.
The elevator dinged softly when it arrived. The metal doors opening with a quiet swish, and the sight that welcomed you made you wish you were at home— in the comfort of your bed— so you could relieve yourself of the itch that awakens upon seeing both of them.
Steve Rogers stood near the control panel, jacket slung over one arm, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, veins that looked like they were drawn on.
Bucky Barnes leaned against the mirrored wall beside him, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, metal hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket.
Both of them looked up at the exact same time. Two pairs of curious eyes taking you in—no hint of professionalism to be seen anymore.
Steve smiled first, “Hey.”
Licking his lips, his eyes dipped down to your cleavage before snapping back onto your face, “Long day?” he asked gently.
“Mhm.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft thunk. The space suddenly felt very small. The scent of their combined colognes dancing in the air, filling your senses. Bergamot. Earthy musk. A hint of lilies. Rain.
You took a deep breath in, feeling one with them. Behind you, Steve adjusted his buckle, smirking at the brunet.
The elevator hummed as it began descending, floor numbers ticking down slowly.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
“Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” Bucky said, voice deep and raspy.
“I was stuck with the client. Timezones…” you mumbled.
Silence settled again.
You glanced up at the mirrored panel across from you and immediately regretted it—both of them were looking at you— gazes dark and hungry.
Your pulse skipped.
Seven.
Six.
Focus.
Just ignore them. Get home.
Five.
The elevator jolted. The lights flickered.
The hum of the machinery died abruptly, leaving a sudden heavy quiet in its place.
For a second, none of you moved.
Then the emergency lights flicked on, bathing the elevator in dim blue.
Your heart sank down to your stomach,
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky breathed, shaking his head in…amusement?
Steve stepped forward toward the control panel— ever the captain— still taking charge of the situation, his hands on your lower back as he guided you away, and the elevator suddenly felt even smaller than before.
He pressed the emergency button, to no avail. He tried again. Only to find the same result.
Still nothing.
A slow, strange tension filled the air. You felt smaller than you've ever felt in your life. Stuck in a small space with two large men that also happened to be the subject of all your unspoken fantasies.
You didn't realise you were panicking until Steve stood in front of you, tipping your face up by the chin, “You're alright. We're right here, aren't we?”
You didn't know what to do. All you could feel was his thumb stroking your jaw, his warm breath caressing your skin, his strong body pressed impossibly close to yours.
“What do you think you're doing, Steve? Let her breathe… poor thing's scared.”
Bucky.
You felt two hands snake around your waist, pulling you in till your back met a solid chest.
“She's so scared….baby, you scared of the elevator? Or are you scared of us? Hm?” He nosed along your throat, lingering on your erratic pulse before licking the skin there.
Your hands shoot up to Steve's chest—feeling the strength corded through his muscles beneath your palm— “Steve…”
“Oh honey… you weren't expecting this, were you? Bucky and I… we're not blind. We see the way you shy around us.”
Bucky's lips continued sucking on your neck, “We hear the way you talk about us,”
Chucking, Steve slid his hands down to your neck, down to your chest, unbuttoning your blouse with torturous patience —
“We smell the way that greedy little pussy drools for us.”
With the last button undone, he slides the silk down your arms, exposing your lacy bra to both the men.
Bucky barked out a laugh, “You really wear this underneath all the sweet little shirts, huh?”
You gasped as they groped each tit in their hands, kneading and caressing over the lace.
Bucky unclasps it from behind, his movements revealing his, no doubt, experienced confidence. With your bare tits finally in their sight, they groaned in delight, Steve's hips bucking against yours instinctively, desire flowing in his veins.
“Look at her Buck, so much prettier than we imagined.”
You swallowed down the whimper that threatened to escape when he wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples—the other man's fingers twisting and plucking the other, making sure they both get their share of attention.
Your hands weave through his hair, tugging at the roots as he continued sucking your achy nipples.
Steve groaned against your chest as he pulled you away from Bucky—hard enough to send him stumbling back a step— grabbing you by the back of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist.
Ignoring your startled little noise, he slammed his lips against yours, big hands roaming your back and reaching down to squeeze your ass. His tongue roamed inside your mouth—playing with yours—teeth biting your lower lip until they were swollen and tingling with pleasure and pain.
“Fuck, angel— wanted you so bad… you're gonna make us feel so fucking good.”
He captures your lips in a filthy kiss, muffling your whines as Bucky rips your pants off in one clean move. Palming the softness of your curve as he removes the scraps of the fabric, pulling apart your cheeks to look at the leaky mess.
“God… I'm gonna ruin that pussy…”
With stupid ease, Steve turned you over, your back nestled against his broad chest, his hands under your knees as he pushes them up against your chest. His hard cock pressed against your ass, reminding you of the sheer size of him, just how much stronger he was than you.
Your drippy pussy was now on full exposure to Bucky.
He smirks as he studies your face, each expression flashing across your face like a storybook.
He kneels down—right there on the cold floor—face to face with your heat. Fingers trailing up your calves to your thighs, each brush of his hands igniting a heat inside you unlike any you've ever experienced.
His lips tug up in a crooked smile as he looks up—not at you, no— at the man holding you all spread up and open for him.
“She's crying so pretty f’me Steve. Wanna taste her?”
Steve laughs at that— a breathy, cocky sound—“Princess, you listening to this? He thinks you got this wet for him. Tell him the truth…”
Your words got lost in your throat as you felt two thumbs part your folds. Your hips jerked up on their own accord at the gentle exploratory touch, urging Steve to hold you tighter—hitching you up higher, till his chin touched the top of your head.
A drop of your arousal dripped down from your entrance, clenching at nothing. Bucky collected your juices on his finger, smearing it back to your pussy, rubbing it on your clit with gentle swipes.
“Bucky! Don't look down there—”
“Uh-uh. No need to hide from us…don't you trust us?”
With that he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming loudly in wicked delight, relishing in your taste that he'd been craving like a madman.
“Fuck—she tastes so good, Stevie,” he groaned against your pussy, dipping his tongue inside your hole to taste more of you. You moaned out loud, your thighs closing on themselves—but unable to with Steve's vice-like grip on you.
“Yeah? Gimme a taste…”
Pulling away from your pussy— his beard drenched in your juices—he stood up to his full height. Fluttering his fingers up your ribs and caressing your nipples, he leaned in to kiss the blond. Lips moving with each other in tandem, you could only watch as they drank each other —drank you— in.
His hands left your tits and grabbed Steve's jaw to deepen the kiss, both men panting in each other's mouths, chasing each other with desperation.
Steve broke the kiss with a sigh, licking his lips, “yeah…she does taste good.”
“Hear that, angel? He likes how this sweet little pussy tastes…”
His words went straight down to your core, your pussy begging for any sort of relief now, any friction, anything.
“Please, Bucky…”
“Please what? Use your big girl words now.”
“Please touch me…”
“Aww...such a good girl for us. Gonna make you feel so good now, angel. Gonna make you regret not coming to us sooner….these fingers just never did the job, huh?”
You were on the verge of tears now, being in such a vulnerable position and being talked to, teased to, but never touched as you wished to.
“Bucky…please.”
Cooing at your pained voice, he dipped his fingers inside your entrance in one clean push. Your back arched in Steve’s arms as pleasure tickled at your nerve endings.
“Yeah? You like that?”
He pulled his fingers out, wet and shining, a string of your arousal connecting him to you, slowly pushing back in, following a slow rhythm.
Your eyes flutter close with each pass of his fingers against that one soft spot against you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you try to keep in your breathy whines.
“Open your eyes, honey. Look at his fingers inside your pussy, isn't he doing good?” Steve asked you, his voice rough and thick with arousal, his raging hard on grinding against your ass.
“Hmmm…so good…”
His thumb came up to massage your clit, and your toes curled in your heels, vision blacking out as fireworks burst behind your eyes.
“Oh God, Steve…” you threw your head back, nuzzling Steve’s neck as Bucky continued pressing against that soft, gummy spot inside of you.
“You're clenching so hard, angel…you're gonna squeeze his cock so good,” he rasped, eyes twinkling at the thought of Steve pounding into you.
It was instant, the way Steve put you back down and slammed you roughly against the wall, hand at the back of your head to shield you from any pain. Still so thoughtful.
“Gonna fuck you so hard now, love, you'll be screaming nothing but my name…” he purrs against your neck, nipping and licking over the marks left by Bucky.
His hands went to his belt buckle—shaky but determined—to free out his hard cock.
It was beautiful.
That's all you could think. Hard and throbbing and leaking precum all over the blushed tip, veins adorning his length all over.
That was a beautiful cock if you've ever seen one.
Noticing your dazed expression, he smirked, “like what you see?”
“So much, Captain. You're so beautiful…”
He paused at that. A sudden air of vulnerability seemed to drape itself over him.
Bucky strolled over behind him, hands stroking his back and pressing a tender kiss to his neck, “the most beautiful man ever…”
Steve's eyes glistened in the dead blue of the emergency lights. He took a shaky breath—composing himself.
Looking back down at your naked body, all wet and ready and waiting desperately for him, he felt grateful.
He felt loved.
Bending down to consume you in a kiss, pouring every thing he couldn't speak into your mouth.
Bucky’s hands dipped down, palming Steve's cock, dragging the head of his cock up and down through your folds, rubbing over you clit—making you cry out with how deliciously dirty this whole situation was.
“Gonna put him inside you, sweetheart…”
The first inch of him inside had you squirming against him. The girth unforgiving, almost too much as it slowly slid in.
Almost.
He bottomed inside you with a deep groan, the veins in his neck bulging out with his controlled restraint that was fraying at the edges.
Bucky cooed at him, hands playing with his balls as he whispered praises into his sweaty skin.
“Fuck— she's tight.”
His hand came up to your neck, holding you. Not choking, just resting there, letting you feel the weight of him.
He pulls out, only to slam in again—harder, keeping a brutal rhythm.
His hips slammed into yours again and again, his cock filling you up in ways you'll feel him forever.
“Such a good boy, Stevie…. You're doing so good.” Bucky rubs his bulge over Steve's hips, using his thrusts inside you for his own pleasure. His cock pulsing with each push, even through the layers of his clothing.
You moan out a name—you didn't know whose— your walls clenching with each thrust, your juices coating your inner thighs. Not that you cared about the mess.
"Oh god—Buck…” Steve whined, turning his head to kiss the brunet.
Your legs were shaking, if not for the wall and Steve’s grip on you, you'd have not been standing upright. Your eyes shut close as you could feel the knot inside of you tightening with each passing second, before finally coming undone. You come with a scream, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
Your pussy clenching and fluttering against his cock push him off the edge, his hands tightening on your throat as his head falls backwards on Bucky's shoulder, guttural sounds from deep inside his chest filling the small space.
His hips lose their rhythm, twitching with each wave of bliss he went through. Hot streaks of cum fill you up, making you shudder in delight at the foreign feeling.
Bucky was the last to let go, coming in his pants, still not stopping to rub his sensitive cock against Steve.
Your pussy gaped with protest when he pulled out, his cum dripping out of you. He smiled at that, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, before straightening up and looking back at Bucky—
“You can start the elevator now, Buck.”
well, it's finally here. I was struggling real bad with this. Changed out a few parts cus I just wasn't feeling bucky.
Oh and also, please please please come drop any filthy thoughts in my inbox. Requests are open. I've lost it for bucky. 🥹
Tagging my cutie patooties: @heldbybarnes @societyfolklore @willowhaylund @alpinebarnesworld @ornateglass @epiphanyrogers @sassandscribbles @buckybunni @stanmarvelous @eterna1reverie @juniebjonesin @highonmarvel @pinksplace @sheriff-bodecker @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @buckybsdoll @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @idkbeautiful @erina00 @sleepy-k0i
If you would like to be added to my taglist, do let me know!!🤭💖
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader // Steve Rogers x reader // Stucky x reader
Synopsis: Stuck in the elevator. Stuffed in the elevator.
Warnings: MDNI // threesome. In an elevator. SIZE Kink (reader is explicitly mentioned to be shorter and smaller than both of them), MANHANDLING (he picks you up with ease, but hear me out..he's captain america, ofc hes gonna do it;), vaginal fingering, unprotected PiV, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, clit play. DRY HUMPING. Creampie. Pussy pronouns. Pussy inspection kinda(??). What's that position called where one of them is giving you head while the other is holding you in the air? If there's not a name yet, we all will call it venirogersandbarnes🙂↕️PRAISE kink.. established stucky, THEY TOUCH EACH OTHER, THEY LOVE EACH OTHER.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: this idea has been in my brain for weeks now. It's finally here. Night 3 of Eleven Nights Worth Remembering
Enjoy 💋
The hallway outside the meeting room was almost empty by the time you finished.
The silence hung heavy in the air. The overhead lights dimmed for nightfall, bathing the polished floors in a soft gold haze.
You rolled your neck, the ache of a long day finally settling in your muscles.
Normally you didn’t mind staying late. But lately there had been distractions.
Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. The two men that haunt your dreams—keep your thoughts a little entertaining during lonely nights—their mere existence has been the biggest distraction you'd ever seen.
They worked a few floors above and every time your eyes met with either of the blue ones, your breath lodged itself inside your chest.
Not that either of them did anything inappropriate. If anything, they were polite.
Professional.
There were moments, when the lines seemed to blur before snapping back to focus again.
Steve’s hand lingering a second too long when he passed you a file.
Bucky leaning against the breakroom counter watching you like he was starving. The glances they passed each other whenever you walked by.
But there were rumors. Whispered words between interns and agents alike, how the two men belong to each other. That the shared history is now on its way to a shared future. That it's beautiful—the blood that spilled is now blood that heals.
And you respected the rumors too much to ever cross that line.
So you ignored the way your eyes search for them in rooms.
Ignored the way Bucky’s voice sometimes dipped lower when he spoke to you.
Ignored the way Steve smiled at you like he knew something you didn’t.
You ignored everything.
The elevator dinged softly when it arrived. The metal doors opening with a quiet swish, and the sight that welcomed you made you wish you were at home— in the comfort of your bed— so you could relieve yourself of the itch that awakens upon seeing both of them.
Steve Rogers stood near the control panel, jacket slung over one arm, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, veins that looked like they were drawn on.
Bucky Barnes leaned against the mirrored wall beside him, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, metal hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket.
Both of them looked up at the exact same time. Two pairs of curious eyes taking you in—no hint of professionalism to be seen anymore.
Steve smiled first, “Hey.”
Licking his lips, his eyes dipped down to your cleavage before snapping back onto your face, “Long day?” he asked gently.
“Mhm.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft thunk. The space suddenly felt very small. The scent of their combined colognes dancing in the air, filling your senses. Bergamot. Earthy musk. A hint of lilies. Rain.
You took a deep breath in, feeling one with them. Behind you, Steve adjusted his buckle, smirking at the brunet.
The elevator hummed as it began descending, floor numbers ticking down slowly.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
“Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” Bucky said, voice deep and raspy.
“I was stuck with the client. Timezones…” you mumbled.
Silence settled again.
You glanced up at the mirrored panel across from you and immediately regretted it—both of them were looking at you— gazes dark and hungry.
Your pulse skipped.
Seven.
Six.
Focus.
Just ignore them. Get home.
Five.
The elevator jolted. The lights flickered.
The hum of the machinery died abruptly, leaving a sudden heavy quiet in its place.
For a second, none of you moved.
Then the emergency lights flicked on, bathing the elevator in dim blue.
Your heart sank down to your stomach,
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky breathed, shaking his head in…amusement?
Steve stepped forward toward the control panel— ever the captain— still taking charge of the situation, his hands on your lower back as he guided you away, and the elevator suddenly felt even smaller than before.
He pressed the emergency button, to no avail. He tried again. Only to find the same result.
Still nothing.
A slow, strange tension filled the air. You felt smaller than you've ever felt in your life. Stuck in a small space with two large men that also happened to be the subject of all your unspoken fantasies.
You didn't realise you were panicking until Steve stood in front of you, tipping your face up by the chin, “You're alright. We're right here, aren't we?”
You didn't know what to do. All you could feel was his thumb stroking your jaw, his warm breath caressing your skin, his strong body pressed impossibly close to yours.
“What do you think you're doing, Steve? Let her breathe… poor thing's scared.”
Bucky.
You felt two hands snake around your waist, pulling you in till your back met a solid chest.
“She's so scared….baby, you scared of the elevator? Or are you scared of us? Hm?” He nosed along your throat, lingering on your erratic pulse before licking the skin there.
Your hands shoot up to Steve's chest—feeling the strength corded through his muscles beneath your palm— “Steve…”
“Oh honey… you weren't expecting this, were you? Bucky and I… we're not blind. We see the way you shy around us.”
Bucky's lips continued sucking on your neck, “We hear the way you talk about us,”
Chucking, Steve slid his hands down to your neck, down to your chest, unbuttoning your blouse with torturous patience —
“We smell the way that greedy little pussy drools for us.”
With the last button undone, he slides the silk down your arms, exposing your lacy bra to both the men.
Bucky barked out a laugh, “You really wear this underneath all the sweet little shirts, huh?”
You gasped as they groped each tit in their hands, kneading and caressing over the lace.
Bucky unclasps it from behind, his movements revealing his, no doubt, experienced confidence. With your bare tits finally in their sight, they groaned in delight, Steve's hips bucking against yours instinctively, desire flowing in his veins.
“Look at her Buck, so much prettier than we imagined.”
You swallowed down the whimper that threatened to escape when he wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples—the other man's fingers twisting and plucking the other, making sure they both get their share of attention.
Your hands weave through his hair, tugging at the roots as he continued sucking your achy nipples.
Steve groaned against your chest as he pulled you away from Bucky—hard enough to send him stumbling back a step— grabbing you by the back of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist.
Ignoring your startled little noise, he slammed his lips against yours, big hands roaming your back and reaching down to squeeze your ass. His tongue roamed inside your mouth—playing with yours—teeth biting your lower lip until they were swollen and tingling with pleasure and pain.
“Fuck, angel— wanted you so bad… you're gonna make us feel so fucking good.”
He captures your lips in a filthy kiss, muffling your whines as Bucky rips your pants off in one clean move. Palming the softness of your curve as he removes the scraps of the fabric, pulling apart your cheeks to look at the leaky mess.
“God… I'm gonna ruin that pussy…”
With stupid ease, Steve turned you over, your back nestled against his broad chest, his hands under your knees as he pushes them up against your chest. His hard cock pressed against your ass, reminding you of the sheer size of him, just how much stronger he was than you.
Your drippy pussy was now on full exposure to Bucky.
He smirks as he studies your face, each expression flashing across your face like a storybook.
He kneels down—right there on the cold floor—face to face with your heat. Fingers trailing up your calves to your thighs, each brush of his hands igniting a heat inside you unlike any you've ever experienced.
His lips tug up in a crooked smile as he looks up—not at you, no— at the man holding you all spread up and open for him.
“She's crying so pretty f’me Steve. Wanna taste her?”
Steve laughs at that— a breathy, cocky sound—“Princess, you listening to this? He thinks you got this wet for him. Tell him the truth…”
Your words got lost in your throat as you felt two thumbs part your folds. Your hips jerked up on their own accord at the gentle exploratory touch, urging Steve to hold you tighter—hitching you up higher, till his chin touched the top of your head.
A drop of your arousal dripped down from your entrance, clenching at nothing. Bucky collected your juices on his finger, smearing it back to your pussy, rubbing it on your clit with gentle swipes.
“Bucky! Don't look down there—”
“Uh-uh. No need to hide from us…don't you trust us?”
With that he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming loudly in wicked delight, relishing in your taste that he'd been craving like a madman.
“Fuck—she tastes so good, Stevie,” he groaned against your pussy, dipping his tongue inside your hole to taste more of you. You moaned out loud, your thighs closing on themselves—but unable to with Steve's vice-like grip on you.
“Yeah? Gimme a taste…”
Pulling away from your pussy— his beard drenched in your juices—he stood up to his full height. Fluttering his fingers up your ribs and caressing your nipples, he leaned in to kiss the blond. Lips moving with each other in tandem, you could only watch as they drank each other —drank you— in.
His hands left your tits and grabbed Steve's jaw to deepen the kiss, both men panting in each other's mouths, chasing each other with desperation.
Steve broke the kiss with a sigh, licking his lips, “yeah…she does taste good.”
“Hear that, angel? He likes how this sweet little pussy tastes…”
His words went straight down to your core, your pussy begging for any sort of relief now, any friction, anything.
“Please, Bucky…”
“Please what? Use your big girl words now.”
“Please touch me…”
“Aww...such a good girl for us. Gonna make you feel so good now, angel. Gonna make you regret not coming to us sooner….these fingers just never did the job, huh?”
You were on the verge of tears now, being in such a vulnerable position and being talked to, teased to, but never touched as you wished to.
“Bucky…please.”
Cooing at your pained voice, he dipped his fingers inside your entrance in one clean push. Your back arched in Steve’s arms as pleasure tickled at your nerve endings.
“Yeah? You like that?”
He pulled his fingers out, wet and shining, a string of your arousal connecting him to you, slowly pushing back in, following a slow rhythm.
Your eyes flutter close with each pass of his fingers against that one soft spot against you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you try to keep in your breathy whines.
“Open your eyes, honey. Look at his fingers inside your pussy, isn't he doing good?” Steve asked you, his voice rough and thick with arousal, his raging hard on grinding against your ass.
“Hmmm…so good…”
His thumb came up to massage your clit, and your toes curled in your heels, vision blacking out as fireworks burst behind your eyes.
“Oh God, Steve…” you threw your head back, nuzzling Steve’s neck as Bucky continued pressing against that soft, gummy spot inside of you.
“You're clenching so hard, angel…you're gonna squeeze his cock so good,” he rasped, eyes twinkling at the thought of Steve pounding into you.
It was instant, the way Steve put you back down and slammed you roughly against the wall, hand at the back of your head to shield you from any pain. Still so thoughtful.
“Gonna fuck you so hard now, love, you'll be screaming nothing but my name…” he purrs against your neck, nipping and licking over the marks left by Bucky.
His hands went to his belt buckle—shaky but determined—to free out his hard cock.
It was beautiful.
That's all you could think. Hard and throbbing and leaking precum all over the blushed tip, veins adorning his length all over.
That was a beautiful cock if you've ever seen one.
Noticing your dazed expression, he smirked, “like what you see?”
“So much, Captain. You're so beautiful…”
He paused at that. A sudden air of vulnerability seemed to drape itself over him.
Bucky strolled over behind him, hands stroking his back and pressing a tender kiss to his neck, “the most beautiful man ever…”
Steve's eyes glistened in the dead blue of the emergency lights. He took a shaky breath—composing himself.
Looking back down at your naked body, all wet and ready and waiting desperately for him, he felt grateful.
He felt loved.
Bending down to consume you in a kiss, pouring every thing he couldn't speak into your mouth.
Bucky’s hands dipped down, palming Steve's cock, dragging the head of his cock up and down through your folds, rubbing over you clit—making you cry out with how deliciously dirty this whole situation was.
“Gonna put him inside you, sweetheart…”
The first inch of him inside had you squirming against him. The girth unforgiving, almost too much as it slowly slid in.
Almost.
He bottomed inside you with a deep groan, the veins in his neck bulging out with his controlled restraint that was fraying at the edges.
Bucky cooed at him, hands playing with his balls as he whispered praises into his sweaty skin.
“Fuck— she's tight.”
His hand came up to your neck, holding you. Not choking, just resting there, letting you feel the weight of him.
He pulls out, only to slam in again—harder, keeping a brutal rhythm.
His hips slammed into yours again and again, his cock filling you up in ways you'll feel him forever.
“Such a good boy, Stevie…. You're doing so good.” Bucky rubs his bulge over Steve's hips, using his thrusts inside you for his own pleasure. His cock pulsing with each push, even through the layers of his clothing.
You moan out a name—you didn't know whose— your walls clenching with each thrust, your juices coating your inner thighs. Not that you cared about the mess.
"Oh god—Buck…” Steve whined, turning his head to kiss the brunet.
Your legs were shaking, if not for the wall and Steve’s grip on you, you'd have not been standing upright. Your eyes shut close as you could feel the knot inside of you tightening with each passing second, before finally coming undone. You come with a scream, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
Your pussy clenching and fluttering against his cock push him off the edge, his hands tightening on your throat as his head falls backwards on Bucky's shoulder, guttural sounds from deep inside his chest filling the small space.
His hips lose their rhythm, twitching with each wave of bliss he went through. Hot streaks of cum fill you up, making you shudder in delight at the foreign feeling.
Bucky was the last to let go, coming in his pants, still not stopping to rub his sensitive cock against Steve.
Your pussy gaped with protest when he pulled out, his cum dripping out of you. He smiled at that, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, before straightening up and looking back at Bucky—
“You can start the elevator now, Buck.”
well, it's finally here. I was struggling real bad with this. Changed out a few parts cus I just wasn't feeling bucky.
Oh and also, please please please come drop any filthy thoughts in my inbox. Requests are open. I've lost it for bucky. 🥹
Tagging my cutie patooties: @heldbybarnes @societyfolklore @willowhaylund @alpinebarnesworld @ornateglass @epiphanyrogers @sassandscribbles @buckybunni @stanmarvelous @eterna1reverie @juniebjonesin @highonmarvel @pinksplace @sheriff-bodecker @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @buckybsdoll @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @idkbeautiful @erina00 @sleepy-k0i
If you would like to be added to my taglist, do let me know!!🤭💖
Are we maaaybe in the mood for a soft hoe thought about our favorite sweatered troll?
Please imagine, if you will, that Ransom is your BFF…
And you’re in love with him 🥺
But you’ve convinced yourself you’re so not his type, which is easy to do with the way he goes through women. And honestly, half the time you don’t even understand why he took a liking to you in the first place.
What you do know is you need to get over this super inconvenient crush on your best friend before it ruins your relationship for good.
So, you use his next party as an excuse to get all dolled up and maybe try to chat up someone new. Someone else.
Unfortunately, the someone else who zeros in on you is one of Ransom’s college friends, Bryce Langley 👀
He’s always kind of given you the ick, despite how handsome and charming he is. There’s just something about the way he looks at you, his eyes kind of empty but also glittering with something that has all the alarm bells in your head going off.
But sadly your usual self-preservation is lacking once you’re a couple of drinks in and everything after Bryce gets you your third drink is a blur.
You only remember snippets after that…
Feeling unusually off balance and heavy at the same time, like you were slowly losing control of your body.
Bryce pinning you to the bed in one of the guest bedrooms and shoving his hand up your dress despite the way you kept begging him to stop.
Ransom looming over you both with fury burning hot and wild in his gaze.
A scuffle between the two men and Bryce winding up with what looked like a broken, bloody nose.
Ransom being so soft with you as you quavered that you didn’t feel good and you were scared once it was just the two of you.
The way he held you in his arms until you finally stopped crying, petting your head and murmuring, “You’re safe now, kitten, I promise.”
How he let you follow him to his bedroom a little while later, because you didn’t want to be alone.
And the way he gave you this soft smile as you asked to sleep in your favorite sweater of his.
The warm way his eyes shone at you as you didn’t think anything of changing right in front of him, still drunk and swaying on your feet and oblivious to the way his gaze drank in every inch of you that he could get his greedy eyes on.
Feeling so safe and warm as you snuggled against Ransom in bed before finally falling asleep.
All these flashes hit you one by one the next morning when you wake in Ransom’s embrace, the embodiment of O_O as you remember and low key freak out and fall even a little bit more in love with him for protecting you as you try not to move too much and wake him up.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much are you freakin out right now?”
You jerk and squeak at Ransom’s quiet, smoky voice, peeking up to find him sleepily grinning at you.
And dear god, if you thought he was handsome before… he’s simply stunning first thing in the morning with his floppy hair and ruddy cheeks, a kind of warm openness to him that you’ve never witnessed til now.
It’s like all of his masks are completely down, and you think for a second how very few people get to see Ransom like this, and how grateful you are that you’re one of them.
He blinks at you slowly as you stare at him, his grin morphing into a smirk as he teases, “You keep looking at me with that dopey look, and I’m gonna have to do something about it.”
“Uhhh,” you manage in a high pitched wisp.
For some reason, Ransom takes that as a challenge—an invitation—and he moves so quickly you can do little more than gasp and gape up at him as he pins you beneath him.
“Ransom—“
“You’re the only one who looks at me like that,” he murmurs, settling his big body between your sprawled legs.
“Like what?” You whisper.
The smile that curls across his lips is sin incarnate, and you feel your pussy clench in response.
But there’s a softness to his features too as he dips low and hums, “Like you want me more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.”
“Ohhh boy,” you chirp, feeling humiliation flood your cheeks until you’re turning away to hide from Ransom’s intent look.
You don’t even bother trying to deny his observation, because you’re a shit liar, and this is something you don’t have the heart to deny, not to him.
“But it’s not just desire shining in those pretty eyes when you look at me, kitten,” Ransom continues.
Your breath hitches when his lips touch your too warm cheek.
“You know what else I see?”
His lips skim across your skin and up, until his next words are a hot rush against your ear that has you shuddering hard.
“I know you know.” He nips your earlobe before cupping your cheek and turning your guilty, terrified gaze his way.
“Say it.”
His command is simple, but it’s also a challenge, and more than that, it’s a request for validation that you can see reflected in his baby blues as Ransom looks at you with a bit of vulnerability seeping into his features for the first time ever.
“Love,” you give voice to your feelings for him, and Ransom’s grin shifts into a soft, genuine smile.
“So smart, my kitten.”
He boops your nose and you feel a wild bloom in your belly at his possessive descriptor of you, at the way he’s looking at you—like you mean just as much to him as he means to you.
“Yours?” you echo hopefully.
With a playful sparkle in his eyes, Ransom slowly ducks lower, confirming on a throaty rasp, “Mine,” just before he kisses you breathless.
Every single fic update there is an author trying frantically to find the right balance between a nonchalant aside of "leave a comment if you enjoyed =)" and clinging desperately to the coat tails of a random stranger, dragging along behind them on the street wailing "Please, please! I have to know what you thought! I'm desperate to talk to people about this! Ask me about the alliterative repetition! Ask me about the symbolism!"
Hi, nonnie. I can't speak for all writers and there could be many reasons. One example being that they simply enjoy writing smut. There's nothing wrong with that!
There's also nothing wrong with having a niche. Some write fluff only, others write angst only. Why not smut only?
This site has a variety, too. There are some smut fic that are beautifully written with incredible build up and backstories. Others are quick, dirty, and delicious. Some days we want an entree and others we want a snack.
I write a hodgepodge of things and a lot of that has to do with my muse. But if someone wants to write smut only or anything else, more power to them. I hope they are blessed with their muses. ❤️
Because for the whole of recorded history women weren't allowed to talk, read, or write openly about sex. And there's still people out there who think we're disgusting whores for doing any of those things, double so if we - GASP - actually have sex!
It's creative freedom. It's indulgent fantasy. It's hundreds of years of repression flowing out in a doc that says "fuck you, I do what I want; and I want to fuck Bucky Barnes in seven thousand different ways."
Is there a series you haven't done yet and want to?
Oh, nonnie. So, so many.
But a series I'd love is dystopian/futuristic society. There's a sector where men can live and rent a "jewel" to be their companion. And each reader is, you guessed it, nicknamed after jewels/gemstones.
The men meet with the "jeweler" to pick who they want to be with and there are packages to choose from: silver, gold, and platinum.
Silver is the "friends with benefits" experience. The jewel only sleeps over once or twice a week. The cheapest.
Gold if the "girlfriend" experience. The jewel sleeps over a few times a week but doesn't live there full time. Medium price and the most popular package.
Platinum is the ultimate "wife" experience. The jewel lives there full time. The most expensive.
As you can imagine, some who can only afford silver want platinum and some who can afford platinum only want silver or gold. "Rent" is typically month-to-month, but some will pay for much longer. Each package has an additional contract as well with certain kinks and expectations.
When jewels aren't rented or if they're part of the silver or gold package, they stay in the plaza that has a gym, spa, food, etc. They each have their own room and a small allowance to go shopping or save up to eventually leave. Men are allowed to buy gifts for their jewels if they wish, but they're discouraged from giving them money.
Jewels aren't allowed to leave the sector unless escorted by guards or the person who is paying for them. Those who have broken too many rules or proved too... dull for the needs expected, they're taken to the island. No one really knows what the island is, but people suspect it's where jewels either go to eventually get buried in the sand or to get tossed into the bottom of the ocean.
Because who wants a tarnished jewel?
And it begs the question... how many jewels are there willingly?
👀 Oh, I'm intrigued. The depths of this could be Mariana's Trench deep and dark.
And that island could either be heaven or hell. Probably hell, but as a bitch who can't write darkfics to save her life I always think on the bright side. lol
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