All The Nobody People (Fanfic Blog)

allthenobodyppl || 30s || she/her || 18+ Blog || Fanfiction.net (abandoned) || AO3 (active) || Masterlist (active)

[allthenobodypplfics]

Take You Home for Christmas

Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 4.2k

Summary: Your coworkers drag you to a pool hall for the annual holiday party and you meet a stranger there who takes an interest in you, mistakes your polite friendliness as something more, and won’t take no for an answer. This is my entry for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @cream-filled-delights' Cream-Filled Delights Writing Challenge!

Prompt: “Stay the fuck on me.”

Warning: Dark, non-con smut (p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, forced orgasm, breast play, creampie), sexual harassment, hand on neck, slight choking, triggering non-con quotes and dialog.

Main Masterlist || Read on AO3

“Those are for kids,” he says, nodding at the pool cue in your hands. He has dark hair that hangs just above his shoulders; a neatly trimmed beard frames his jaw. “Or someone much shorter.”

“Oh…” you utter as you glance at the cue you just picked up.

“Here, use this one.” He plucks the cue from your grasp, pulls a longer one from the stand, and places it in your hands.

“Thanks,” you say, glancing back at your coworkers. They’re crowded around the small food table, too busy helping themselves to notice you.  A red-and-green Christmas vinyl tablecloth is stretched beneath a handful of plates and a bright red bowl packed with ice and canned sodas. A small plastic pine tree is its centerpiece, decked in little pool ball ornaments.

You have decided to inspect the pool table instead, letting your coworkers get their fill rather than fighting for a share.

"I'm Bucky," he says with an easy smile, extending a hand.

You shift the cue stick to your other hand before reaching out to shake his, quietly offering your name in return. His black t-shirt clings tightly to a broad, muscular frame, the fabric stretching across his thick chest. His left arm catches your eye, its material sleek and metallic, glinting with black and gold in the light. You catch yourself staring.

“That’s cute, by the way.” Bucky points to the crocheted Santa hat adorning your head. Everyone in your office was strongly encouraged to wear something festive to the holiday party.

You tear your eyes away from his prosthetic arm and manage to uncomfortably giggle, “Oh, uh, thanks.” You fiddle with the drooping pom-pom of the hat.

“You ever played before?” he asks.

“No... But how hard can it be?”

“Oh?” Bucky grins, amused. “Alright then; show me what you’ve got.”

You scoff, step up to the table, and lean in to take your shot. Carefully, you line up the cue, then jab it forward… only to graze the edge of the cue ball, sending it rolling away barely an inch.

Behind you, Bucky chuckles.

You feel your face heating up. Clearing your throat, you shift your stance and try again, more determined… but the cue slips in your grip, scraping the felt, and missing the ball entirely.

Bucky chuckles again. “Are you left-handed?”

You straighten, flustered. “No?”

He smiles, patient but clearly enjoying himself. “Then you’re holding it wrong. Left hand guides the cue. Right hand shoots.”

“Oh…”

“Here, like this,” Bucky says as he takes the cue from you. “Left hand on the table.”

He pushes at your shoulder until you bend over.

You let out an unsure, “Uh…” but he ignores it and grabs your left hand, places your palm onto the table, and adjusts your fingers and wrist.

He slides the cue between your index and middle fingers, then wraps your index around the stick. “Gently, don’t grip it too hard. This is a closed bridge, offers more stability.”

Before you can react, he takes your right hand and wraps it around the end of the stick. “Use this hand to shoot,” he says.

“You wanna get down low,” he continues as he presses down on your lower back. “Get eye level with the ball so you can get a good sightline.”

“Um, Bucky-”

“Hold it steady,” he says as he places his prosthetic hand over yours on the table, “and zero in on your target.” He leans over you and presses his torso against your back; his hips dig into your ass.

“H-hey!” you incredulously protest.

“And then you shoot.” Bucky grabs your right hand and forces you to strike the cue ball.

A sharp crack echoes through the room as the white ball flies forward, slamming into the rack. A cascade of sharp clacks follows as the rest of the balls scatter across the table.

He straightens when you aim to elbow him, and your arm just awkwardly swings in the air.

“And there you have it, doll,” he casually continues. “A bit of practice and you’ll be beating all your pals at this. Pick either stripes or solids and knock them all in, then go for the 8-ball last. If you fuck up and get the 8-ball in before you get your colors, you automatically lose.”

“Uh, r-right… yeah, thanks,” you mutter, your voice catching as you take a step back. You hug the pool cue closer, resting its tip on the floor. Your shoulders draw inwards as he follows you and takes a step forward.

“Starting without us, huh?” one of your coworkers, a fresh-faced intern, remarks as he sidles up to you. He wears a Krampus-themed ugly Christmas sweater.

“Oh, no,” you answer, voice still a bit strained at your earlier discomfort. You quickly step around him to place him between you and Bucky. “I was just practicing.”

Your coworker instinctively turns with your movements to keep you in his view.

“Well,” he quips, none the wiser, “you should really go grab some food before it’s all gone. I swear, these people, it’s like they’ve never eaten anything in their entire lives, the way they’re inhaling those mozzarella sticks.”

“S-sure, Chase,” you stammer, glancing past him to where Bucky is already walking away, heading back to his group of equally muscular friends. A tall man with short blond hair crosses his massive arms and grins at Bucky, while another man with dark skin claps him on the shoulder and lets out a loud guffaw.

You turn and walk towards the food as your coworkers reset the pool table. You find that you've lost your appetite, but try to eat a little something anyway. After all, you had to pay $50 for this. Your bosses are so cheap; they couldn’t even cover the cost of this holiday event. Not only did you have to fork over the cash, but the whole thing was strongly implied to be mandatory. You couldn’t really decline unless you wanted to earn a reputation for lacking the holiday spirit and not being a team player. You’re also pretty sure it doesn’t really cost $50 per person, and that someone is pocketing the change.

You scowl as you crack open a can of soda and take a sip. You glance up to see Bucky staring at you, the corner of his lips turned into a smirk. You quickly snap your head back to the food and randomly fill your plate with a few items.

You sit alone at one of the booths, surrounded by your coworkers’ jackets and bags, and quietly eat your food as your coworkers begin to play. After you manage to chew on a few mozzarella sticks and a couple of buffalo wings, Chase comes over to drag you to a different pool table to start a new game with you.

“Come on,” Chase grins, “let’s see if your practice paid off.”

Your practice did not pay off. With Bucky’s pointers, you’re able to at least hit the balls, but none of them go into the pocket. Luckily, Chase isn’t faring any better. Unfortunately, that means the game is going nowhere, with the balls ricocheting in every direction, but not a single one is sinking.

A coworker from the other table lets out a loud whoop as the clack of a ball indicates a win. You glance over as the winner fist-bumps the air a few times, grunting with each bump, and ending his display with another loud whoop.

Chase sighs as he eyes the scattered balls on your table and steps next to you. He casually drapes an elbow over your shoulder closest to him and states, “Well. We suck.”

You snort and nod in agreement.

“How about we move on to foosball?” Chase suggests.

“Okay,” you answer, voice sounding a bit tired and irritated because you would much rather call it a day and go home, but no one else is leaving yet, so you can’t be the first to sneak out. You continue, “But, uh, let me use the bathroom first.”

“Sure,” Chase grins as he slips his arm off of you.

You walk away, following the sign pointing toward the restrooms, and step into a dim, unsettling hallway with two doors. Golden tinsel garland drapes in sagging U-shapes along the walls, shimmering faintly in the low light. With the crowd now far behind you, the Christmas music from the overhead speakers swells, suddenly louder and strangely hollow in the empty corridor. The last door on the right bears a worn plastic sign of a woman’s figure nailed to the wood. The sound of Darlene Love singing, “Tell me, I've gotta know, where do lonely hearts go? Because nobody oughta be all alone on Christmas…” echoes as you push the door open and step inside.

You squint at the chaotic scene as the door falls shut behind you, the lively music outside fading into a dull murmur. The walls are completely covered in graffiti with layer upon layer of scribbles, tags, and crude drawings. You're not sure if it’s supposed to be some kind of edgy aesthetic or just the result of customers with their pens and Sharpies. Either way, it looks like a mess, and you’re leaning towards the latter.

There are five stalls, and one is already occupied. You skip the next one, not wanting to sit right beside somebody, and head for the stall against the back wall. Gingerly pushing the door open with your index finger, you brace yourself for something gross. To your relief, the toilet is pretty clean, and there’s plenty of toilet paper.

You place a couple of layers of paper on the toilet seat, pull your pencil skirt up and panties down, and finally sit. You sigh as you “release,” your eyes lazily scanning the scribbles covering the walls.

“You still taste like regret,” one accuses from a corner.

“I can’t wash you off my hands,” whispers another, the words looping and rushed.

“You keep running, but you always end up here,” scrawls across the tile in jagged and uneven letters.

Your bored expression slowly shifts to concern as the scribbles start to grow increasingly unhinged and chaotic.

“You belong to me, even if I have to take it.”

“It’s not wrong if you liked it.”

“You’re so sexy when you’re afraid to leave.”

A chill snakes up your spine as your brows pinch. The corner of your lips turns downward before parting in horror, and your fingers tighten against the toilet paper in your hands.

“You said stop, I heard stay.”

“For a good time, scream no.”

BANG.

You suddenly gasp and jump when a door outside is shoved open with enough force to slam against the wall. You huff and quickly wipe as you hear your stall neighbor flush the toilet and step out. You stand, pull your panties up, adjust your skirt, and then flush. Just as you’re about to step out yourself, you hear your stall neighbor squawk indignantly, “Hey, this is the ladies’ room!”

You hear a male voice snarl, “Fuck off,” followed by a shrill shriek of the woman and the chaotic scrambling of footsteps as the door bursts open and then slammed shut with a violent crack. A muffled “oof!” echoes as the woman hits the opposite wall outside. You can hear him flip the lock.

Heart hammering, you fumble the stall lock back into place and retreat until your calves press against the toilet. Eyes wide, you freeze and stare at the door as the heavy thud of his boots begins to move across the tiles. He starts whistling a cheerful tune, a song that sounds like “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” You shift back instinctively, pressing yourself deeper into the stall until you’re wedged between the toilet and the wall.

The whistling stops. His footsteps pause right outside your door, and then you hear three soft knocks. You gulp, pressing yourself tighter into the corner, and praying that your silence convinces him the stall is empty.

No such luck. You catch a glimpse of metal, black and gold fingers curling over the top of the door, before he pushes against the hindrance and the lock gives with a sharp crack, splintering away from the wood like it’s nothing.

“Hiya, doll.” Bucky grins as the door swings open.

“Buck-” you stutter, “Bucky…you…you shouldn’t be in here…”

He tilts his head, lips pursed in mock consideration, then lets a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Nah… I think I’m right where I belong.”

He steps into the stall, crowding into your space. He kicks the door shut behind him, but it only bounces off the partition, hanging open a few inches. He grabs onto your upper arms and brusquely pulls you away from the wall. You crash against his chest, and he wraps you into a bear hug, crushing you against him.

The air gets squeezed out of your lungs as you wheeze, “Bucky, g-get off me…”

“You’re real cute, ya know that?” Bucky growls, flicking the pom-pom of your hat out of your face. “You in this tight little skirt with your tight little ass.”

He slaps one hand against your ass and grabs a fistful of the cheek.

You grunt as you feel his fingers dig into your flesh. You shove at his chest, but it does nothing to deter him.

“You just kept bending over and showing me the goods. Both the back,” he shakes your ass in his fist, “and the front.” He releases the cheek and then grabs onto the V-neck of your blouse, ripping it down and exposing your bra.

“Did you know you were flashing the entire room your tits when you leaned over?” he snarls. “I bet ya did. You just kept doing it in my direction, making sure I saw ya.”

“It wasn’t-”

“And then swinging your hips as you slowly made your way to the restroom. You wanted me to follow you.”

Bucky shoves his hand under your bra and squeezes one of your breasts. “You’re lookin’ for a good time, aren’t ya?” he snarls.

“No-!” you incredulously yell, but he claps a palm over your mouth and promptly cuts you off.

“Sure, you are,” Bucky confirms for you. “You can’t just go smiling so sweetly and batting your lashes at me and expect me not to do something about it. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

You try to speak, but the hand he holds over your mouth just sounds like gibberish.

“Ah, don’t worry, doll. I’ll give you that good time. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Bucky shoves you against the tiled wall and grinds his hips against yours. You can feel the hard length of him against your pelvis and you whimper against his hand. He pulls at the strap of your bra down until one of your tits falls out. He palms it, pushing it up towards his face as he leans down and takes your nipple into his hot mouth. You squeal and thrash, but he holds you so tightly that all you can do is barely wiggle in his arm.

He moans as he feels you struggle in vain, sucking at the nipple before flicking his tongue up and down at the hardened nub. You jump with every flick as you feel heat pool between your legs at his ministrations. He softly nips your nipple between his teeth and pulls until it slips from him. You squeak and murmur incoherently. He presses his palm harder against your mouth, jolting your head a little, and presses his lips against your ear.

“Shut up,” Bucky demands, his voice deep and unsettlingly calm. The puff of his breath against your ear causes you to tremble. He draws his free hand to your throat and wraps his fingers around your neck gently, but firmly, enough to prove a point but not enough to cut off your breathing.

“I’m gonna take my hand off of your mouth, and you’re not gonna make a sound,” he continues. “You’re gonna be as quiet as a cute little mouse. If you scream, I’ll strangle you until you pass out, you got it?”

After a brief hesitation, you nod.

“Good,” he says as he removes his hand.

You sniffle wetly, take a breath, and whine, “Bucky, I didn’t-”

He suddenly grabs you by your chin, squishing your cheeks until your lips purse.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” he snarls into your face.

“Sorry…” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

“Not,” he squeezes your cheeks slightly harder and shakes your head, lightly thumping it against the tile once, “a sound.”

You snap your mouth shut and nod.

He pulls at the cup of your bra until your other tit pops out. He purrs appreciatively as he cups a breast in each hand. The contrasting heat from one and the coldness of metal from the other is striking and you shiver. He circles the nipples with his thumbs, then pinches and rolls them between his fingers. You flinch and bite your lips. Your legs are shaking as they struggle to keep you standing. Your breathing gets heavier as you swallow thickly, clenching your teeth together to keep from making any noise. He leans forward to lick down your neck, and then gives each nipple wet, open-mouthed kisses.

You’re startled when Bucky suddenly pulls the Santa hat off your head and tosses it to the floor.

“Look,” he says, “it’s cute, but ridiculous. I don’t want that pom-pom bouncing around in my face.”

You press your lips together in a pout as you stare at the hat you crocheted yourself sitting on the dirty floor. Bucky snorts as he grabs your face and forces you to look back at him. He slams his lips against yours and tries to force his tongue into your mouth. He’s only able to lick at your teeth since you keep your jaw firmly clenched. He growls impatiently as he gives the side of your face a little tap. When you still wouldn’t relent, he grabs your chin and squeezes your cheeks until the pain causes you to part your lips. He moans as he slips his tongue in. You can taste a hint of beer and something chocolate peppermint from whatever he drank or ate. At least it’s not unpleasant. He brings his vibranium hand up to place around your neck. He didn’t press down onto your throat, but the warning was there nonetheless. Bite, and there will be consequences.

Bucky sucks your bottom lip and then pulls away. He wrenches you from the wall and turns you around so that you face away from him. He sits down on the toilet seat and pulls you back towards him by your hips. He shoves your pencil skirt up to your waist and roughly yanks your panties down, a small translucent line of your wetness stretches from your skin to the panties. When the fabric gets to your ankles, he pats the side of your ankle to get you to step out of them, and then he pockets your panties. He kicks at your feet until you step your legs further apart, and he purrs as he grabs an ass cheek in each of his hands and spreads them. You involuntarily clench as he inspects you and he chuckles. You gulp as you hear the soft clink of his belt, followed by the metallic zip of his fly and rustling denim

“Come on,” he ordered, pulling you further back with one hand as he strokes his hard cock with the other, smearing his precum over his length. He presses down on your thigh, making you lower yourself onto him, his tip poking at your entrance. There’s a little bit of resistance as he wiggles his cock around your hole. You gasp sharply when the resistance gives way, and his head breaches into you with a wet pop, then a soft squish as the rest of him follows. You bite your lips and scrunch your face as he pushes you all the way down, spearing yourself onto him, sitting fully on his lap. He wraps his arms under your still exposed tits and pulls your back to his chest.

Bucky peers over your shoulder and groans, “Look at you, all split open.”

You glance down and feel a mix of horror and disbelief. Your lower lips are forced wide open and stretched taut around him, the hood of your clit pulled apart by his size, and the little swollen pearl glistens on display.

“Never had a real man’s cock in you before, huh?” he growls into your ear as he gives you a shallow thrust. “Feels good, don’t it? Can feel you leaking onto my balls.”

You shake your head, and he lightly taps your exposed clit with the tip of his fingers, causing you to yelp. You press the back of your head against Bucky’s shoulder and arch when he begins to finger the hardened nub. You start writhing when his other hand plays with your nipples.

“Yeah, you like that,” Bucky states, matter-of-factly. He begins thrusting into you, slow, but hard; his skin claps against yours as the air gets punched out of your lungs with each impact.

Your head lolls on Bucky’s shoulder as you moan breathlessly. He wasn’t wrong when he said it felt good; he knows exactly what to do to set your blood on fire, but like hell you’re going to admit that with words.

He smoothes his hand up from your tit to your neck, and finally up to your mouth. He presses his palm firmly against your lips and you let out a confused sound. You quickly find out why when he lifts you up slightly, and then starts to callously jackhammer into you as he cruelly presses his finger against your clit, rubbing rough and fast circles that have your eyes almost popping out of your skull. You inhale a deep breath through your nose and let out a wail that is muffled against the cold vibranium. Your arms flail as you try to hold onto something, anything. You finally settle on grabbing the back of his neck with one of your hands, and the other grabs the wrist that’s keeping your mouth shut.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, doll,” Bucky grunts, “squeeze my cock.” He’s still looking down your shoulder to watch your tits bounce wildly and to watch his dick, shiny with your arousal, disappear into your sopping cunt.

“You’re tight to begin with,” Bucky continues, slightly out of breath, “but now you’re getting even tighter. You’re gonna come soon, aren’t ya?”

You shake your head as tears spring into your eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” Bucky hisses. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are.”

You shut your eyes as you shake your head again, trying desperately to gain control of your body, but to no avail. Your shrill cry gets stifled as he shoves his hand harder against your mouth, and you feel yourself get thrown over the edge. Your walls clamp down so hard on him that he struggles to keep his pace. He nuzzles into your neck as your legs give out, and you fall into his lap, your body trembling violently against him. He releases his hold over your mouth and you gasp, taking in some much-needed oxygen. He wraps both arms under your tits again as he easily lifts you up and down, using you like a cock sleeve to chase his own high. Your body is weak as you hyperventilate, Bucky forcing you to ride out the rest of your orgasm, with your arms swinging limply at your side.

You feel his cock start twitching inside of you, signaling the inevitable. You flinch and yelp as you feel the first splash of him coming inside. You immediately panic and press your hand against his knee, struggling to push yourself up and away from him. He grabs you by the shoulder and roughly shoves you back down, your cunt squelching loudly as he jams his release deeper inside you.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” Bucky snarls, his lips brushing against your ear and his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Stay the fuck on me.”

He wraps his vibranium hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to silence your protest. You gasp and wheeze as he continues plunging into you. You feel hot ropes of cum stream into you with each thrust and your face pinches into a cringe. With one last grunt, Bucky shoves you down onto his cock, impaling you as deep and as hard as possible. He finally stills, you can feel your comingled fluids leak around his shaft and pool into his lap.

Bucky releases his hand around your neck and wraps his arms over your breasts and around your stomach, pulling you tighter against his chest. You squirm and try again to dislodge his slowly softening and seeping cock out of you, but he wouldn’t allow it.

He nips your earlobe and you recoil. He chuckles, “That was good, doll. Think I’ll take you home for Christmas. You can scream as much as you want there.”

Author's Note: I only played pool a handful of times in my life (and I suck), I just googled what I could and then made up the rest, so if my knowledge of pool is wrong, it’s because I have no idea what I am talking about.

By the way, Chase is Chase Collins from "The Covenant," making a little cameo in this fic!

Thanks so much for reading! I would appreciate some reblogs and comments!

Main Masterlist || Read on AO3

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as STEVE KEMP

➤• FRESH (2022) DIR. MIMI CAVE

[godmadeaterribleerror]

what if he's mine

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: you fell for bucky a long, long while ago. and you think about him, every day and every night. if only you knew that he thought about you too.✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, friends to lovers, light emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, smut, plot and porn mix (dirty talk, use of sex toys , fingering, pussy eating like crazy, fantasization, praise kink, manhandling, perfectly "appropriate" use of bucky's metal arm, nipple play, dumbification, semi-public sex, dry humping, sensitive reader, finger sucking, masturbation, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, mean!bucky, oral m!recieving, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 7.5k✦

✦Author's Note: request! who wouldn't fantasize about bucky barnes?✦

You think you might be a freak.

Compared to everyone else in the building, you’re perfectly normal. On the outside. Where everyone can see. You don’t have any powers, and you’ve never been shot up with serums or infinity stones. You’re a human, with a sharp tongue and shaper brain, pretty features and a charming smile, and absolutely no desire to be anything else.

Tony even asked you once. If you’d consider it. The whole hero thing. You’d laughed and shaken your head. You told him that you’re not that kind of brave. That you prefer to stay behind the scenes, helping with the tech and med services. Tony had laughed with you, and remarked causally that you’d be good at it.

You’d smiled and waved him off. But he was wrong. Because you can’t be normal about anything.

You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.

Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.

Bucky.

The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.

But you.

You’d been a fucking goner.

Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.

Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.

You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.

“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.

“Think so. Just maintenance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”

You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.

But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.

Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.

“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.

Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-

He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.

“What?”

His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.

“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.

You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.

You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.

“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.

God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.

“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”

You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”

“I don’t know things from the 80s.”

You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.

You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.

“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-

“You want me to go?”

Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“

Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.

God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.

“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.

“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”

“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Too much time with Sam.”

“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”

“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”

You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.

And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.

“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.

“Do you like cowboys?”

“I’m neutral.”

“Do you like space?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”

You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”

“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.

“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.

“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.

He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.

“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.

It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.

“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.

You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”

He nods. “Just like you told me to.”

You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.

“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”

“Sam’s right.”

Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”

You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.

It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.

“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“That is my favorite kind of thing.”

“I know.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”

You shrug. “The grocery store?”

Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.

The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and  you let it take over.

How much you want him. How much you need him.

You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.

“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”

And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.

“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.

This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.

“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.

“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”

You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.

“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.

Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.

You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.

But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.

It’s all just a fantasy.

You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.

He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.

You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.

You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.

That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.

“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.

You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.

“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.

“Nope.”

“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”

“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitch.

The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.

“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”

You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”

“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”

Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.

“Ah. So it’s something.”

“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“

“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”

You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.

But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.

He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”

You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.

“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.

Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.

You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“

“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.

“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.

His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.

His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.

When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.

There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.

Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white  knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.

“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.

You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.

“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.

“What?”

“Princess Bride.”

“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”

Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”

You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Stark says you get invited.”

You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.

“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.

Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.

But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.

“Oh- Okay.”

Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.

“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.

You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.

You get messy. He has no idea.

That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.

You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.

He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.

“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”

You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.

“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.

“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”

You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.

“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.

You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.

But your hand finds nothing.

Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.

Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.

You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.

“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.

There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.

Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.

“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.

“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“

“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.

“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.

You last ten minutes.

The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.

You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.

Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.

The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.

Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.

You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.

And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.

You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.

Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.

He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.

The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.

Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.

He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.

“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”

Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.

He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile. 

When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.

You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.

“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.

Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”

Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.

You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.

“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“

You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.

“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“

You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.

He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-

“Something on my face, doll?”

You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Bucky looks worried. He said something.

“Hm?”

“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.

You’re so, so fucked.

It only gets worse.

Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.

For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.

You last about a week, with that one.  Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.

“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.

Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.

You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.

His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-

Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.

Always so kind.

“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.

“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.

“Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-

“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.

You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”

And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.

You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.

First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.

Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.

You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.

“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”

And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.

Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”

You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“

“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”

You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.

“Bucky- Get off-“

He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.

He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘

“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”

You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.

He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”

You shrug. “You wanted me to.”

Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.

“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.

You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.

It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.

Then something shifts.

He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.

He’s hard.

Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.

You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.

And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.

Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.

“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”

He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.

Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.

What the fuck just happened.

Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.

“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”

You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.

Bucky hisses, hips jerking forward. “Careful,” he grunts. “Gonna strangle me.”

“S- Sorry-“

“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”

You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.  

“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”

You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.

But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.

Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.

You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.

He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.

He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.

It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.

And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.

It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.

And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.

But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.

But only ever in his head.

✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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[allthenobodypplfics]

For a minute there, I thought she and Bucky were really doing all of that during movie night right in front of Sam, who was just silenced at their audacity lmao 😆 and then I got to:

Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Yea, Sam definitely knows what's up 😂

Aw, but then the angst at the end 😭 I felt so bad for poor Bucky who thinks he doesn't deserve to have her.

[thezombieprostitute]

Modern Royal(?) Omegaverse

You've often found your Omega designation a curse. So many Alphas sniffing around like they had the right.

Honestly it's one of the reasons you prefer Betas.

At the latest gala you find yourself in the company of two rather adorable Betas, Jake and Jack. Even better, they've both got claim marks so you don't have to worry about unwanted attention.

But as the three of you exchange stories and laughter, a new scent invades your awareness. Practically delectable you fight the urge to seek its source.

The Betas cheerfully wave someone over and the scent grows stronger.

"Alpha, we'd like you to meet our new friend!" Jake beams.

"Delighted," a deep voice practically growls in your ear.

[thezombieprostitute]

Huh. I'm actually thinking Destroyer Chris would be really good at managing both Jake and Jack...

[allthenobodypplfics]

Yes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Oh my god. I just had a terrible idea. A dark guy finding a girl in a wheel chair and simple just grabbing the handles and rolling her away with him

[allthenobodypplfics]

Bucky will do this 🙂‍↕️ he just wants to take care of her.

[superbassbuck]

sexual healing | bucky barnes (18+)

⤷ thunderbolts*!bucky barnes x apothecary fem!reader

⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, thunderbolts fluff, opposites attract, slight enemies to lovers, grumpy and sunshine, sex pollen (dubconnish) dom!bucky, bucky is hungryyy, rough sex, angry sex, oral (m!receiving), intense eye contact

⭐︎ word count: 8.6k

⭐︎ a/n: probably my final thunderbolts fic huzzah before bucky gets slimed in doomsday (will edit this in a few months when the movie comes out)

synopsis: The team is in dire need of a healer. So when Alexei mentions that he knows someone who's proficient with medicinal herbs, Bucky has his hesitations. How could someone possibly heal people with stupid plants and minerals? Then, upon meeting, you accidentally give Bucky a tincture that leaves him feeling all fuzzy and warm, proving his concerns exactly right. And only you can help him get rid of his ache.

← previous fic | main masterlist | next fic ➜

There is one thing many people know about the once Thunderbolts*, now appointed New Avengers, and no one knows it better than the team themselves: they get their asses kicked. A lot.

As a result, the team is now stuck trying to find a reliable healer who can patch up three super soldiers, a man who can turn into a void, an ex-widow, and a woman who can phase in and out of the visible spectrum.

“There’s this woman I know,” Alexei rambles for what feels like the fourth time today, despite it barely being noon. “Lovely lady. Lives in some... cottage somewhere.” He waves a hand like the gesture itself can fill in the blanks. “She crafts these strange potions that can mend pretty much anything!”

“What, like a wizard?” John asks, raising a brow from where he sits on the couch.

“Wizards don’t exist,” Bucky interjects matter of factly.

“No, not a wizard.” Alexei wags his fat finger. “Better than a wizard. She gathers all these herbs and plants and—”

“So... an apothecary?” Ava asks, one hand settling on her hip.

“What the hell is an apothecary?” Yelena squints, her gaze flicking between the group.

Alexei stands there, dumbfounded, mouth hanging slightly open at everyone else's audacity to interrupt. “If you people would actually listen to me and let me explain, then you would know.”

Bob, slouched lazily on the couch beside John, raises a finger with a guileless smile. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you, Bob—”

“I don’t need to hear any more,” Bucky interrupts, pushing himself off the seat with a groan. “We are not resorting to an apothecary.”

Alexei, dramatic as ever, throws his hands into the air in disbelief. He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but Bucky is just as ready to shut him down with a dismissive wave.

“I’m sure there are plenty of capable doctors out there with futuristic, high-quality equipment that can keep up with all of our abilities,” Bucky says gruffly, sweeping a wary gaze around the room as if daring someone to argue.

And John, of course, does.

“I don’t think that’s within our budget.”

“I can’t believe we’re the Avengers on a budget,” Bob mutters, disappointed.

“New Avengers,” Yelena corrects with a pointed look. “Don’t forget the New.”

Bucky can already feel himself aging the longer he stays in this room. “Regardless, we are not going to some old woman who plays with flowers and leaves and calls herself a healer.”

“She’s not an old woman,” Alexei mutters quietly, mostly because no one is listening to him anyway. “She’s quite beautiful, actually—”

“I don’t care,” Bucky cuts him off immediately, his face twisting into a muddled expression. “We’re going to find another healer—an actual licensed doctor who knows what they’re doing. And that’s final.”

Before anyone else can get a word in, he storms out of the room, his boots echoing against the floor. No one dares speak until the door clicks shut behind him.

Once the brooding soldier is gone, everyone finally lets out the breath they’ve been holding.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Since when did he become the leader?”

Ava, John, and Bob shrug.

Yelena sighs before nodding at Alexei. “Tell us more about this apothecary friend of yours.”

It’s not often that you get visitors at your little cottage, tucked away beneath towering trees and overgrown grass. On the rare occasions you do expect someone, they already know your policy: all correspondence goes through mail-in letters. From there, you prepare whatever elixirs, salves, or tinctures they need—a process that usually takes days—before they stop by to collect their order and go on their merry way.

So you can only imagine your surprise when you open the door to find Alexei of all people standing on your front porch.

“Alexei?” you frown, making no effort to hide your confusion. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you.”

You peek past him, only to find what looks like a misfit party of five lingering at the foot of your steps like its Halloween and they’re waiting for their candy.

Most of them look... reasonably okay to be there. Or, at the very least, resigned to it. But one man in particular looks like he had been dragged across the country by his metal arm and held at gunpoint just to stand still and play nice.

“And I certainly wasn’t expecting visitors,” you add.

Alexei chuckles, scratching at his beard. “Yeah... well, you know how it is. When duty calls. Or something like that.”

You raise a brow. “And what exactly is your duty calling for?”

“Our team needs a healer.”

To your surprise, Bucky is the first to speak, despite being the most reluctant to come here in the first place.

“And Alexei vouched for you,” he continues. “Though I don’t know how much I trust his judgment.” He mutters the last part under his breath, but you hear him just fine.

Ava nudges him in the arm, a silent warning to show some class.

“We’re interested in working with you,” Yelena says, deciding to take over. She steps onto your porch, subtly nudging Alexei aside. “As the team’s medic. You’d be staying at the base—”

You blink before letting out a small chuckle, lifting a hand to stop her.

“I’m sorry. You must be mistaken,” you say, offering the group an awkward smile. “I don’t know what Alexei told you, or what you’ve heard, but I don’t work with groups.”

Yelena crosses her arms with a frown. “Why not?” she asks. It is ironic, considering everyone in this group was a lone wolf before they were forcibly lumped together.

You gesture to the lush greenery surrounding the cottage—to the bright red strawberry bushes and the carefully tended patch of soil near the front.

“Because everything my soul requires is right here, rooted in this very earth,” you say, your voice taking on a dreamy, sing-songy cadence that gives them goosebumps. Not in a good way. “The soil sings to me. I cannot possibly hear the secrets of my remedies if I am near danger. All the chaos disrupts their vibrations. It simply isn’t safe for me, or for my leafy little green children.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky groans, his face twisting into a sour cringe. “I’m meeting you guys back inside the Quinjet. This is pointless—”

“Bucky,” John warns over his shoulder. “We did not travel all this way just to turn around and leave. Let’s hear her out. Don’t be rude.”

That makes Bucky stop, his brow twitching in annoyance at being lectured by John Walker of all people. He mutters something grumpy under his breath, crossing his arms and staying put.

“Okay, fine,” Yelena shrugs, “but it’s just as my teammate said—we didn’t travel all this way for nothing. Can we maybe work something out? How about we try one of your elixirs that we can take on the go? Just to keep us from getting killed on our missions until we find a real doctor.” She winces slightly at her last phrase. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you say, dismissing it with a serene smile. “Though, my precious brews are not mere trinkets to be pulled from a dusty cabinet. Each tincture must be sung to, tailored specifically to the unique essence of the soul who drinks it.”

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you eye the team warily. You already know Alexei is a super soldier of some sort, and the man with the metal arm brings a whole host of concerns. Considering the rest of the group’s heavy gear, you assume they all have their own peculiar…. afflictions.

“I can make something for each of you, but it will take time.”

“And we’ll pay you for your time,” Ava speaks up. “How long?”

“There are six of you,” you say, gesturing across the group. “It will take about a week.”

John furrows his brows. “A week? That’s too long. We keep getting our asses kicked out there, and without proper medical care, it’s only a matter of time before we’re put into the ground for good.”

You tuck your hands behind your back, tilting your head slightly. You hate talking about money—you explicitly moved out to this isolated cottage to get away from modern society and capitalism—but everything comes with a price.

“I can get it done sooner. Maybe in about two days, max. But it will cost you extra.”

The team exchanges apprehensive glances before their eyes land on Bucky, the only one still openly against this. A silent debate seems to pass between the group until Bucky finally lets out a defeated sigh. The group nods in unison, reaching a quiet agreement.

“Fine,” Yelena says. “We’ll take it. What’s the process?”

Your smile widens. “Good. I don’t need much—just a list of each person’s specific powers and abilities. When I start brewing, I need to know exactly what I am working with.”

“Okay. Sure. That makes sense.” Yelena looks around the group, crossing her arms. “But if we want this done in two days instead of seven, she’s going to need an assistant. Someone to stay behind, write all this down, and help her keep the details straight.”

The team falls silent, everyone warily looking around to see who can get out of it.

Alexei is already shaking his head, gesturing to his massive hands. Ava looks away, unwilling to sit still in a remote cottage for forty-eight hours. Bob was out of the picture—they needed Bob. John looks like he’s about to volunteer, but Yelena cuts him off with a subtle warning look. Terrible idea.

Slowly, all eyes turn and lock onto Bucky.

It actually makes perfect sense.

Bucky Barnes was a literal U.S. Congressman. If anyone on this chaotic team knows how to organize information and keep a meticulous track record, it’s him.

Bucky realizes they are all staring at him and immediately shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Bucky,” John says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I mean… despite the whole brainwashing thing, you’re pretty good at keeping track of details. You used to read policy packets for a living. You’re perfect for it.”

“What?” Bucky scowls. “No. I haven’t even touched a single policy packet since I was in office.”

“Either way, we need someone to stay, and you’re the best fit,” Yelena interjects.

Bucky hates this. He hates the plan, and he especially hates the whole idea of an apothecary healer thing.

“Think about it,” John adds, trying to sound enthusiastic to help his case. It doesn’t. “Being out here kind of reminds you of your time back in Wakanda, doesn’t it?”

Your eyes go wide with interest. “Wakanda? That’s wonderful! I import many of my rarest herbs and minerals from Wakanda. It’s a beautiful place.”

Alexei gives Bucky a heavy pat on the back, though it comes off more like a shove in your direction. “Perfect. Now you two have something to bond over.”

While you stand gleefully in the doorway, thrilled by the thought of having a personal assistant—especially one who lived in Wakanda—Bucky stands frozen, holding an energy so dark it feels like it might wither your nearby plants if he so much as glares at them.

“Yeah,” the grumpy soldier mumbles. “Perfect.”

Bucky has never seen anything like this before. When he spent time in Wakanda, it was the perfect blend of high technology and nature. Being here feels like he has been transported into a fairy tale book.

Except, you aren’t the princess. You are more like a witch, moving briskly around the cottage. You set down glass vials and stone mortars while Bucky stands by the wooden table, looking entirely out of place as he holds a blank notepad and a pen at your command.

“Alright, let’s begin with the blonde one—Yelena,” you say, tossing a handful of blue petals into a mortar. “Tell me of her physical trials. What are her abilities?”

Bucky is amused by the way veins pop out of your forearms as you work the stone pestle—likely from years of grinding and manual labor. He thinks the contradiction to the white dress and apron you are wearing is funny.

“She’s a Widow,” Bucky explains. “Came from the Red Room, so she has enhanced human conditioning—”

Before he can finish, you shoot him a look. He raises a brow in confusion, and your eyes point sharply down to the notepad in his hands to emphasize, why aren’t you writing this down?

With a reluctant sigh, he starts writing down everything he just said.

“Okay,” you huff. “And what of her endurance? Her cellular recovery?”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s good, I guess.”

You frown. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully being stubborn, or if he just isn’t understanding you.

“Can you please be a little bit more specific?”

“She recovers fine, alright?” Bucky grunts. “Just make a standard healing potion.”

You pause your work, blowing a stray strand of hair away from your face in mild frustration. You wipe your hands on your apron as you step closer to the table.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” you warn, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “It is incredibly important that I know these details. My elixirs are potent. If I balance the herbs incorrectly because you are being stubborn, the side effects will be disastrous. Do you want your teammate to drink a remedy for a flesh wound and end up vomiting neon green bile for a week? Or worse, having her lungs seize up because it clashed with her natural chemistry?”

Bucky makes a face, lifting his pen from the notepad as if preparing to say something smart back. But then he stops.

You furrow your brows. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he tries to play dumb, which only annoys you more.

“It looked like you had something to say,” you point out. “So, what is it?”

Bucky presses his lips together, his eyes looking innocent, and shakes his head. “I have nothing to say.”

You huff, pouring the freshly ground petals into a vial. Capping the lid, you give it a gentle shake before holding it out to Bucky.

“Here,” you say. “Try it.”

Bucky raises a brow, hesitantly taking the glass from your hands. “I thought this was for Yelena?”

“Based on the very vague details you’ve given me, it seems like you, Yelena, and John share similar capabilities. The tinctures I’m brewing for the three of you won’t differ by much—this is just the base.”

He hesitates, swirling the mysterious liquid and eyeing it with suspicion. “So, what, I’m your test subject?”

You give him a bright and serene smile that makes him visibly uncomfortable. “Well, we have to test them all eventually, don’t we? Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

Bucky studies the smile on your face. Ever since he arrived, he’s felt like you’ve taken a personal delight in getting on his nerves. What started out as natural incompatibility has quickly turned into a deliberate effort to get him riled up. It is no wonder you work alone.

Knowing that arguing with you will accomplish nothing and only delay his sweet release from this cottage and your presence, he gives up. With a defeated sigh and a wary glance in your direction, he pops the cap and downs the vial in one gulp.

He sets the empty vial back down on the wooden table with a clink—just to emphasize that he did exactly as he was told.

“How do you feel?” you ask with a curious tilt of your head.

Bucky shrugs casually. “I didn’t have any injuries to begin with, so I feel fine.”

You nod with an approving hum. “Good.” Stepping back over to your station, you add, “Let me know if you experience any strange side effects. I’m going to prepare the rest of the vials using that same base, and then we’ll get down to the nitty-gritty.”

As you line up empty vials and neatly label each one with the team members’ names, Bucky nods in satisfaction. He’s pleased that things are moving much faster than he anticipated.

But as the minutes tick by, Bucky feels himself growing increasingly restless.

The air in the cottage suddenly feels thick, hot, and suffocating. It has nothing to do with the plants or the aromas—and yet he can smell every single note. He can pick up the faint, sweet scent of your sweat from across the room. Every grind of your pestle echoes in his ears, and he can hear every soft rustle of your clothes as you move.

He swallows hard, but his throat is bone-dry. He tries to focus on his own station—on anything else—but his eyes keep drifting back to you.

When you pause to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath hitches. His heart stutters. When you absently lick your dry lips while double-checking a label, a heavy ache coils tight in his gut.

What the hell is happening?

He grips the edge of the counter, fighting the dizziness consuming him. His clothes feel suffocating, his entire body is burning up, and his nerves are spiraling out of control. Every sense is firing on all cylinders, hypersensitive to the tiny cottage—and above all, to you.

He tries to adjust his hands, but his palm accidentally sweeps into an empty glass jar. It flies off the counter and shatters against the floor.

“Shit,” he curses, bending down to pick up the shards, only to prick his own fingers on a sharp edge.

When he swears again in pain, you turn sharply, gasping at the mess. “Bucky! Are you okay?”

You hurry over, catching his forearm to help him stand back up. You are surprised by how heavily he slumps against you, leaning his weight into yours just to keep his balance. You take his wrist, pulling his hand closer to inspect the slice dripping blood onto the floor.

“Let me see—you’re bleeding, hold still—”

With you standing so close, your fingers ghosting over his cut, he catches the faint scent of those blue petals on your skin—the very petals you made him consume just minutes ago.

The scent, the proximity, the gentleness of your touch—everything acts like gasoline poured onto the flame roaring in his gut. Every instinct in his mind screams at him to push you away, to bark at you to give him space, but his body rebels at the thought of losing your touch.

He breathes hard through his mouth, sweat beading at his temples as strands of dark hair fall over his face, partially shielding him from your sight.

“What—what the hell did you do to me?” he hisses, forcing himself to stare at the ground.

You blink at him, confused. “I didn’t do anything—”

You pause, a sudden thought striking you. “Oh. Oh, no. You must be experiencing a side effect from the base tincture.”

You lean closer, your soft, warm hand reaching up to brush the dark, damp strands of hair out of his face. As you rest your palm against his forehead to check his temperature, a growl rumbles deep in his chest. He flinches at the contact, but he doesn't pull away.

When he finally looks up, meeting your gaze head on, the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver straight down your spine. His bright blue irises are swallowed by his dark, blown out pupils.

“Your fever is spiking,” you breathe. “The properties in the blue petals... they must have reacted with the super soldier serum.”

“Properties?” Bucky rasps, sounding almost angry. “What properties?”

You swallow hard, worried about how he’ll react. “I’m talking aphrodisiac properties.”

Bucky’s hand tightens around your wrist. His fingers are molten, his grip strengthening in a way that keeps you in place, showing you just how frustrated he is with all this.

It is no wonder he feels so warm, his body coiled up so tight. His pants strain against his pelvis, trying to fight away the sudden tightness drawing up in his groin.

There is no doubt about it—he’s aroused.

A feeling a man like him thought he’d never get to feel again, after everything. But one sip of your potion and one sniff of your scent, it’s enough to make his heart pound like an animal in heat.

“Fix it,” Bucky commands roughly. “Or so help me God, because I won’t be able to restrain myself.”

Instead of making the tinctures for the rest of the team, you spend the entire day coming up with a remedy for Bucky. You’ve never had an experience quite like this, and you find yourself stumbling over your own feet trying to reach a resolution.

Bucky sits on a wooden stool in the corner of the cottage, his head rolled back against the wall as he watches your every step.

His blue eyes follow you as you frantically scramble from counter to shelf, from glass jars to leather bound herbology books. The serene composure he was met with from the beginning is nothing like the woman he’s seeing now. You’re nervous, muttering under your breath and spilling dried leaves across the wooden table, fighting against your internal panic to heal him.

In another circumstance, seeing you flustered might have brought him a twisted sense of satisfaction, but right now, every passing second feels like torture.

The aphrodisiac courses violently through his bloodstream, amplifying every throb between his thighs, every drop of sweat slipping down his neck, and every scent that radiates off your smooth skin.

His jaw clenches so tight, his gums ache. Watching you stumble over your own feet, picking up the wrong vials and second-guessing your every move makes him unreasonably angry.

“You’re taking too long,” Bucky growls from where he sits.

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder with a look of impatience. “I’m trying, Bucky! The super-soldier serum is accelerating the chemical process, so I have to adjust the proportions carefully, or—”

“God,” he cuts you off with another groan, his fists tightening against his thighs. “You’re stumbling all over yourself.”

You try your best to ignore the clear outline throbbing against his pants in your direction. He gets up abruptly, pushing the stool back until it clatters onto the floor. His boots stomp over to you, each step heavy with frustration, causing the bottles on the shelf to rattle. He stops right before you, his chest heaving.

“Do you even know what you’re doing? Or are you doing this on purpose?”

You blink at his sudden outburst. A scoff escapes you, offended by his accusation.

“Excuse me? No—of course not. Why on earth would you think that?”

While Bucky towers over you, you feel the heat coming off his body and dance with your own warmth. He steps closer, closing what little space remains between you until your lower back hits the edge of the counter.

“You’re punishing me,” he snaps, hot breath ghosting across your cheeks. “This is payback for not cooperating with you earlier, isn’t it?”

Your brows furrow with frustration. Here you are, delaying your work to find a remedy for the angry man before you, and he dares to question your intentions.

“I can’t believe you would assume I’d be setting you up,” you snap back.

You raise your palm, a placating gesture meant to create distance between you two, but you might as well be holding the shovel for your own grave. Your hand rests on his chest, giving him a slight push that only does more damage to his self-control.

“I am trying to save your life—or at least your dignity! If I mess up this ratio, the reaction could be permanent, or worse. So excuse me if I want to get it right!”

Bucky huffs a harsh and bitter laugh. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip before he bites down in annoyance. He steps back to you, but his snarky comeback dies in his throat once his throbbing length makes contact with your leg.

He chokes out a gasp, eyes flying wide as his forehead dips against yours. The mere contact of another human makes his cock beg desperately for some sort of release—it begs his hips to rock back and forth for any friction.

He watches, wide-eyed and a face burning with humiliation, as his cock rests heavy against your thigh. All he has to do is hike up your skirt, unbutton his pants, and…

“Bucky?” you whisper, leaning in closer.

That soft, gentle voice is broken with concern for him—yet all he wants is to hear it broken with moans in pain and bliss.

He pulls back sudden and fast, as if you hurt him.

You inhale deeply, swallowing your pride for him just this once. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Where’s your bathroom?” he interrupts. “I’m going to take care of this myself.”

You blink, momentarily stunned before pointing to the right, not wanting to elaborate any further. “Just down the hall. Make a left.”

Without another word, he pries himself away from you completely. He stomps down your hallway, his frame far too large for the narrow corridor, but he makes do by tilting his body to the side. The bathroom door shuts behind him roughly, making your glass vials shake on the counter.

As the minutes tick by, you try your best not to think about what he could be doing behind those closed doors.

Grunts of frustration and breathless curses echo from the bathroom and throughout your tiny cottage. You pound the pestle harder, trying to drown out his moans, but it’s futile. Your mind can’t help but wander.

You picture him standing large and imposing in the center of your bathroom. Shirtless, probably. Broad shoulders hunching over as he dips his head, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face while his large hand circles around his length, stroking himself fast for any form of relief.

You remember the way he pressed himself up against you not that long ago—you felt how big he was, and you’re certain he wouldn’t be able to satisfy himself with just one hand.

“Fuck.” “God—fuck…” “Mmph—”

Moans and grunts continue to filter from your bathroom, and each sound and thought sends a wave of heat deep into your stomach to pool between your legs. You bite your lip hard, subconsciously pressing your thighs together, rubbing them against each other as a soft gasp slips past your lips.

You’re shamelessly wet, your mind running wild with filthy thoughts of what the brooding man could be doing just a room over. Your fingers trace down your body until they find the sweet spot between your legs. Rubbing your clit through the thin fabric of your dress, you begin to stroke yourself, moaning in time with Bucky’s.

You feel your legs growing weak, gripping onto the table for support as you play with yourself, but then a loud grunt echoes down the hall, followed by a hard thump that shakes the entire wall.

It doesn’t sound like pleasure.

It sounds like he’s in pain.

Eyes flying wide, you abandon everything at your station—including your own pleasure—and run down the hall to tend to Bucky.

“Bucky?” you call out with a frantic knock. “Bucky? Are you okay?”

Silence, save for his labored panting.

Panic takes over your senses. “I’m coming in!”

You throw the door open to a room that is suffocatingly hot. You smell his sweat and masculine musk from where you stand by the doorframe. Bucky is hunched over the edge of the sink, half-undressed, his pants shoved down past his hips. His cock is thick, red, and throbbing angrily in his flesh hand, slick and agonizingly unsated.

You gulp. He looks exactly as you imagined just seconds ago, and the sight is doing no favors for your heart rate.

You expect him to startle at your entry. You wait for him to bark at you to get out, but the order never comes. Breathing heavily with one arm propped on the sink to hold himself up—tricep muscles and forearm veins popping with frustration—he slowly glances over his shoulder.

He looks like a wild, untamed beast. His hair hangs in dark strings around his face, his blue eyes lost to lust, and a thin strand of drool leaks from the corner of his mouth and down his jaw.

Bucky catches you staring at his humiliating state, but he doesn’t point it out. You clear your throat awkwardly, already stepping back toward the doorway.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were hurt—”

“Where are you going?”

You pause. “I should leave you alone. Let you finish, or go back to working on the remedy.”

Before you can escape, Bucky turns his body to face you, not even bothering to cover himself up. His chest heaves, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. The sight of his heavy, veined length standing proud and untreated between his thighs makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“It’s not working,” he rasps, hungry eyes tracing your curves shamelessly. “I’ve been going at it for ten minutes, and it’s doing nothing.”

You’re terrified, but you can’t bring yourself to run, and the dampness between your legs gives you away. “Bucky, it’s your serum. I don’t think your hand would be enough to fix it. A normal remedy will take time—”

“I don’t have time,” he growls, grabbing your wrist tightly. “Look at me! I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You wince, the warmth of his skin burning yours.

“Did you just come in here to taunt me?” Bucky leans closer, baring his teeth as he snarls in your face, forcing you to look at him and nowhere else. “You tell me my hand isn’t enough. So what do you think I need, huh?”

He backs you up against the wall, pressing his legs between yours, forcing you to part for him. His cock rests heavy against your skirt. He reaches up to find your waistband, tugging it down in a rough motion that makes you gasp.

The fabric falls and pools uselessly around your ankles, baring your legs and panties under his hungry gaze. The sight makes him groan roughly—taking in the damp patch resting right over your center. Soaked, and ripe for the taking.

“Looks like you need more than just your hand, too,” he murmurs.

Releasing your wrist, his hand settles for your waist while the other guides the length of his cock against your soaked underwear. He rubs his leaking tip up and down, hissing at the sensation.

“Bucky,” you pant so helplessly, it comes as a moan. “We shouldn’t—”

“I need you to fix me,” he interrupts, gazing at you with desperate, pleading eyes. “I can’t—I can’t continue on with this ache. Especially if I’m going to be stuck here with you for two days, smelling you, looking at you…”

His head falls into the crook of your neck pathetically, breathing you in. His eyes flutter shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward against your core.

“Fix me,” Bucky pleads. “Just let me slip it inside—just for a little bit. I’ll finish quick. Fuck, please. It hurts so bad.”

You’re holding your breath, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest that you’re certain he can hear it.

With vibranium resting on your hip, his right hand tickles the waistband of your panties before dipping beneath the fabric.

His warm fingers stroke your prodding clit gently, applying enough pressure to make you toss your head back with a gasp—giving him an even better opportunity to leave love bites all over your neck. He groans against your skin as his fingers move even lower, slipping against your slick folds and stroking back and forth, teasing the entrance.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You’re so wet—could easily slide my fingers right in. Bet you could take something bigger, too.” He rasps a laugh, his stubble tickling your skin. “There’s no way you could’ve gotten this wet just from hearing me.”

His cock twitches at the realization.

“You were touching yourself, weren’t you?”

Your face burns with a humiliation you don’t want to admit.

“No,” you try to deny it, but your breathless voice gives you away. “I was trying to make the remedy—”

Your voice cracks into a moan when two of his fingers slip past your entrance. Your walls tighten as he slowly eases himself in, just until his knuckles hit your opening.

“My remedy is right here,” he grunts, savoring the way you tighten up around his fingers. “Tight, wet, and already opening up just for me.”

Bucky’s nose tickles your neck again, closing the space with his lips. His tongue dances over your skin, warm lips sucking and tugging to leave his mark. While his fingers fuck your pussy, you can’t help but moan into the sensation, encouraging him to continue.

His cock trembles against your leg, his hips subtly rocking into your thigh. Just the sight of it terrifies you. Hard, engorged, red, and begging to be taken care of. You almost feel sorry for him, considering how long he’s had to deal with this up until now.

Your body works pliantly against his fingers, your hips rocking in subtle movements to meet his digits. He groans, relishing the way you leak around his fingertips. His thumb pads over your clit, working the sensitive bundle of nerves. You mewl helplessly into the air, panting his name and clawing his back for support.

The heat of his skin burns you. He’s so hot and sweaty, like he’s breaking a fever.

With your earlier ministrations, coupled with Bucky taking over your pleasure, your body tightens up as you get ridiculously close.

“Bucky,” you pant. “Don’t stop, please.”

He groans in frustration, forcing his hand to still. “I’m dying over here, and you want me to let you come?”

Bucky moves back just slightly, heaving and angrily glaring you down in a way that makes you feel like a cornered cat. You feel dirty and exposed right in your own home.

“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” His deep voice vibrates in his chest.

His hand finds your panties once more, tearing the soaked fabric easily and letting it slip down your hips to meet the discarded skirt on the floor.

“Then prove it to me. Show me that you can take care of a man in need.”

You tremble as the cool air embraces your skin after the sudden loss of his touch. His eyes rake over your body while he lazily strokes himself, trying to decipher where he wants to start. Blue orbs hone in on the space between your legs. He grunts, as if he’s made his decision, but his gaze slowly rises to your face, stopping at your mouth.

“On your knees,” he urges.

Your breath catches in your throat. At your hesitation, he steps closer to you, giving you a sudden thrill.

“You want me to say please?” he rasps in frustration, tugging at his cock. “Get on your knees, please.” The word comes out bitter.

Without breaking eye contact, you finally submit and sink to your knees. A low groan tears from his mouth at the sight of you kneeling before him—face feverish, lips parted in shock at his size, eyes burning with lust.

He steps closer, guiding his cock toward your plump lips.

“Thank you,” he says, though the words sound almost painful. “This’ll make me feel better. I know it.” He taps the tip gently against your lips. “Come on. Open.”

You slowly open your mouth, strings of saliva already beading between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. Bucky’s breathing is heavy as he slowly guides his cock into the warm expanse.

His eyes roll and his head tosses back at the immediate pleasure he finds in your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he drawls, using his right hand to thread through your hair. “God, this feels—fuck. I don’t even know how to describe it—”

Slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth. His cock feels heavy against your tongue, your lips stretching obscenely around his length until your jaw aches.

“Yes, just like that. Fuck. That’s a good girl,” he groans, his hips increasing their pace. “My good little healer.”

Bucky stares down at you with heavy eyes, forcing himself to stick to a steady, medium pace so he doesn’t overwork your jaw. The dark, curly hair at the base of his shaft tickles the tip of your nose as he works his cock deeper into your mouth.

You gag and choke, drool dripping obscenely down his length and over your chin while he uses your mouth like his personal toy.

“Mmph,” you choke around him, and the vibration of your moan makes his cock twitch and his balls draw up tight.

“I don’t know how—” his voice cracks into a groan, “—but just fucking your mouth like this… is already gonna make me cum faster than when I tried to use my hand. Shit—”

Your hands rest on his strong thighs, your eyes watery as you peer up at the man who has his cock deep down your throat. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours, and he lets out a sound that comes off half growl and half choke.

“Stay like that,” he grunts. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

The words leave his mouth breathlessly. His hips stutter against your lips, his cock twitching heavily against your tongue. His balls slap against your wet chin, drawing tight and pulsing with every stroke inside your warm mouth.

You do exactly as you’re told and keep your eyes locked on his. Tears streak down your face from the ache of your jaw being stretched open, but your pain is Bucky’s pleasure. His jaw hangs loose as his hips pick up speed, fucking your mouth deeper and making you gag.

“God, those eyes,” he moans, his grip in your hair tightening. “Fuck—gonna cum. Look at me while I cum inside this tight little mouth.”

His hand tightens in your hair, holding your head completely still while he thrusts shallowly. A deep groan fills the air, his quad muscles tensing beneath your palms as his balls draw up tight.

His tip pulses against the back of your tongue until, finally, a thick release spills from the slit, coating the back of your throat with hot seed. He holds you still while you choke and gag around the sudden rush filling your mouth. He holds you there until you can’t take it anymore, and only then does he finally release your head.

You sputter and hack, his spunk coating your throat. Some of it dribbles down your lips as you heave to catch your breath.

He stands right before you, completely bare, taking in shallow, heavy breaths. But his cock still shadows over your face—still painfully hard and throbbing, even after his climax subsides.

“Shit,” he breathes, his right hand wrapping heavy around his length, stroking it furiously. “It won’t go down—why won’t it go down?”

“Bucky, wait—” you manage to choke out, wiping the back of your hand across your lips. “Listen to me—”

He staggers back, staring down at his fully erect and still throbbing length in absolute disbelief. His chest is slick with sweat, his eyes wild with confusion and a mounting frustration that tests his patience. His hand strokes the underside of his tip, trying to feel for any decrease in sensitivity, but it remains rock solid, flushed deep red and leaking. Again.

“I just came!” he growls in anger. “I just filled your fucking mouth, and it still feels like it’s going to burst. What the fuck did you put in that drink? What did you do to me?!”

A frustrated sound escapes you. “If you would just let me go back to my station, I could finish your remedy. I’ll make something strong enough to burn through your metabolism, and you can wait it out—”

“I can’t wait it out anymore. I’ve tried,” his wild eyes snap to you. “If your mouth didn’t work—then I’ll have to use something else.”

Before the last word even clears his teeth, his patience boils over completely. Bucky reaches down, his large hands gripping your arms. He lifts you effortlessly off your knees, hauling you up like you weigh nothing.

“Bucky—!”

You gasp as he spins you around, slamming your hips roughly against the edge of the sink counter hard enough to make the bottles on the shelves shake.

Coming eye to eye with your reflection in the mirror, your face heats up at how utterly debauched you look. Your cheeks are streaked with tears, your lips puffy and swollen, and a sheen of saliva and leftover cum reflects off your chin.

“H-how do you know if this will even work?” you stammer.

Bucky’s vibranium hand settles on your hip while the other finds the small of your back, forcing you to bend until your ass tilts up to him. He grabs your knee and hitches your leg up and over the counter, spreading your thighs wide.

“It’ll work,” he grunts deeply, aligning the head of his cock against your drenched entrance. “I’ll make sure it works.”

His relentless arousal is screaming at him to take what he wants. He doesn’t bother teasing or easing in; he knows you’re soaked enough to take it. He drives his hips forward, burying half of his length—forced to pause briefly from your tightness—before pushing the rest of his length deep inside from behind.

A high, breathless scream tears from your throat, your fingers desperately clawing at the wood for purchase. Your walls aren’t used to this size, forced to stretch wildly around his girth.

“Fuck!” Bucky roars out, his head falling forward between your shoulder blades.

The scorching heat of your body suffocating his angry, unsated length makes him shudder violently.

“Fuck, yes—right there. You’re gonna help me burn it off.”

The counter shakes in time with his thrusts.

With your leg propped up on the sink, it allows Bucky to drive deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against your wet folds with every move. You watch him pound into you relentlessly from behind through the reflection of the mirror.

Bucky’s face is twisted in a mix of both pleasure and frustration. He looks almost animalistic—sweaty, hot, and desperate for release.

A litany of moans and curses drifts from his mouth to fill the air while the mirror fogs up with your collective body heat. Bucky’s eyes watch your body from behind, and the sight makes him drive into you even harder. You look like a mess beneath him, your tits bouncing with every thrust.

He watches where his cock disappears in and out of your pussy, admiring the creamy white ring that sits at the base of his shaft and dampens the dark curls on his pelvis. Every sense is heightened to the max—every whimper that leaves your lips doesn’t go unnoticed, and your sweet scent fills his nostrils, swimming in his head like a drug.

Bucky reaches around your front with his flesh hand, wrapping his fingers around your neck to crane it and force you to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Look at what you’re doing to me,” he growls, meeting your eyes in the reflection. “Look at how good you take it.”

You whimper, your head tilting back against his broad chest. Through the fog on the glass, Bucky doesn’t look like himself at all. The aphrodisiac has turned him into a monster who won’t let you go until he gets what he wants.

“Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he grunts into your shoulder, his teeth nipping at the warm skin before licking over the bite mark. “Moan for me. Let me hear how wet you are for this. God—you’re squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe.”

He hitches your leg up even higher over the edge of the sink, opening you up completely. The new angle lets him hit that deep, aching sweet spot inside you with every single stroke.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, watching the reflection as his thick length disappears into your cream coated entrance, over and over. “You’re taking every inch of it. Right where you belong. You’re gonna milk every drop out of me until this fever breaks.”

His eyes roll back as his grip on your hip tightens. Every inch of him ravages your body like it belongs to him, every move delivering a kiss to your cervix and leaving a trail of pre-cum in its wake.

You’re stuffed completely full, and as his right hand circles around your hip to pad at your clit, it’s only a matter of time before you cum all over him.

“Oh my god! Right there, don’t stop!” you instinctively roll your hips against his palm, the movement sending lightning bolts of pleasure straight to Bucky’s gut.

Bucky groans, feeling your core clench up tight around his cock. You’re already impossibly tight, and he can only imagine how tight your body will squeeze him when you finally come.

His cock works shallowly inside you while his fingers rub over your clit. The mixture of his length stretching you open and his fingers grinding against your swollen nerves is enough to make you see stars.

Finally, a broken scream tears from your throat, your fingers scrambling against the counter for purchase as you come undone all over Bucky’s cock.

Your body spasms violently, clenching and milking him for everything he’s worth, and Bucky can’t hold back any longer.

“Oh, fucking hell,” he gasps. His entire body locks up as his cool metal digits dig into your hip, forcing you to take every drop of his second release.

A scalding rush of his seed erupts deep inside you, coating your cervix and spilling past his thick shaft. It’s heavier and thicker than the first time—so much that your body can’t hold it all, and it shamelessly drips down your entrance to pool on the floor.

He holds himself buried deep, gritting his teeth and groaning through the endless, pulsing wave of his climax. His cock throbs in time with your pulsing core while you both try to catch your breath.

Pants and heavy breathing fill the hot, humid bathroom. Bucky’s cock stays warm inside you, but because of how swollen and thoroughly used you feel, you can’t even tell if this remedy helped him or not.

“Bucky?” you ask breathlessly, glancing at him in the mirror as you catch your breath.

Bucky keeps his forehead rested against the back of your head, his hot breaths tickling the nape of your sweaty neck as he steadies himself.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes in a broken voice that catches you off guard. His big arms wrap around your bare waist, pulling you in closer.

That’s when you feel his cock throb inside you again.

“That felt so good—but dammit, I’m still hard.”

A week has passed since the Thunderbolts picked up the elixirs from your cottage. Between all the fighting, jobs, and unnecessary damage they’ve taken as a team, they went through every single one. Not a single drop remains.

John opens one cabinet, then the next, and the next, his brows furrowing with growing confusion when he realizes all the shelves are empty.

“Hey, did someone misplace that extra batch of potions we were supposed to hold onto?” he shouts to the rest of the team over his shoulder.

“You mean elixirs,” Bucky says, stepping out of the elevator with a grumpy look on his face, already mentally checked out for the day.

“Whatever,” John waves his hand dismissively. “Where are they?”

“We went through them all,” Ava answers from where she sits on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.

Bob frowns at Ava. “I thought we agreed this would be a no-shoes indoor household.”

Ava ignores Bob, not even bothering to take her boots off. “Ask Walker. He’s the one who used three of them on a minor scrape because he panicked.”

“It was a deep laceration!” John snaps, slamming a cabinet door shut. “And it was infected! Regardless, we need more. We’re going on that operation next week, and I’m not going in without backup med supplies. Who’s making the run back to the cottage?”

Bucky remains still at the kitchen island. He slowly raises a glass of ice water to his lips to take a long gulp, hoping the cold liquid might flush out the sudden heat rising up his neck.

The second John utters the word cottage, Bucky’s mind floods with memories he had been trying desperately to suppress for the past seven days.

The scent of sweet herbs mixing with sweat. The sound of your breathless whimpers moaning his name as he pinned you to the sink counter, helpless against a fever that had nearly driven him out of his mind. Even now, just thinking about the way your body had squeezed him—over and over, completely ruined beneath him—made his jaw clench hard enough to crack a tooth.

“Okay,” Yelena huffs, looking around. “I don’t know where Alexei is, so he’s out of the picture. Who volunteers?” She asks, already opting herself out.

The room stays quiet. Bucky keeps his eyes glued to the glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes float.

“I’d go,” Bob offers gently, raising a hand. “Buuut I have that severe pollen allergy.”

“Well, Valentina is trying to arrange an interview with the press with me eventually, so..” John explains in a way that makes him sound more important than he actually is. “Gotta stay on call for that.”

Ava and Yelena glance at each other with a snort.

John turns around, leaning back against the empty pantry counter, and his eyes land on the other super soldier who hasn’t said a word.

John squints at him. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet.”

Bucky doesn’t break his stare with the water glass. “I’m drinking.”

Yelena raises a brow. “You know what? Yeah. Bucky, you should go. You two are already well acquainted, no?”

“And let’s be honest, you look like you need to get out of the tower. You’ve been moody all week.” Ava chimes in, finally releasing her feet off the coffee table, shifting on the couch to look over at him. Bob sighs in relief.

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

Going back means coming face-to-face with you for the first time after… everything.

His cheeks heat up at the sheer humiliation that’ll come with it, but his heart thumps with something he didn’t expect: anticipation. Ever since those two days he spent with you, you were the only thing playing in the back of his mind. And truthfully—a secret he would take to his grave—he’d been using more doses of the tinctures than normal just to have an excuse to see you, assuming he could build up the courage to actually do it.

You, and everything that transpired in your cottage, had been playing in his head like a movie on a loop. At night, he rolls around restless in his bed, thinking only of you. Even taking... sexual matters into his own hands isn’t enough anymore.

The room is awfully quiet as everyone stares at him. They expect him to fight back like he did the first time, maybe throw out a snarky remark.

Bucky lifts the glass to his lips with a indifferent shrug, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

“I’ll go.”

📝 this was kind of fun to write at first, but then i abandoned the draft for like two weeks and got back to it and was like "wtf did i write" if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them! I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

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[allthenobodypplfics]

Sooo nonchalant 🤭 I love that he's been sneakily downing those elixirs so he can go see her sooner. And I love that he corrected John and said they were elixirs and not potions. Bucky is not subtle 😏

[johnloganfiles]

the bronze (2015) | sebastian stan as lance tucker

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Who's setting up our cage like this

[allthenobodypplfics]

Steve Kemp, for sure.

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as CHASE COLLINS

➤• THE COVENANT (2006) DIR. RENNY HARLIN

[allthenobodypplfics]

@theinheriteddutchess our psycho baby!

[bucky-luvr]

He walks like it’s heavy 🤤🤤

[palladicannoneaccesa]

Sebastian Stan in Fresh 2022. Dir. Mimi Cave.

[blackheartbiohazards]

➡️ Content warnings on fiction are a courtesy. 

➡️ Not every medium of fiction and storytelling has or is expected to have content warnings or extensive tagging.

➡️ Print novels do not traditionally warn for content in any way.

➡️ Until AO3 came along, fanfiction did not traditionally warn for content in any significant way.

➡️ An author is only obligated to warn for content to the degree mandated by the format they publish their fiction on.

➡️ Content warnings beyond the minimum are a courtesy, not an obligation.

➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is a valid tag that authors are allowed to use on AO3. It means there could be anything in there and you have accepted the risk. 'May contain peanuts!'

➡️ Writers are allowed to use 'Creator chose not to warn' for any reason, including to maintain surprise and avoid spoilers.

➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is not the same thing as 'no archive warnings apply'.

➡️ It is your responsibility to protect yourself and close a book, or hit the back button if you find something in fiction that you're reading that upsets you.

➡️ You are responsible for protecting yourself from fiction that causes you discomfort.

[spoiledblogif]

Imma just...

[gremlin-girly]

Swooning Season

Pairing: Knight!Bucky x lady-in-waiting! Reader

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. all my work is 18+. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Tags/warnings: Bucky being an idiot, Bucky being a romantic, fluff

Summary: When Prince Rogers and your Lady begin courting officially, you're forced to be close to the man you hate most: Bucky.

Word count:1.8k

A/N: This was originally going to be in Flufftober but I changed it last minute. For anyone remembers this Steve fic, yeah... enjoy the inspiration!

Bucky Masterlist | Navigation

'Twas swooning season, apparently.

Your face is set like stone as you stroll behind your lady, who is deep in conversation and light laughter with the Prince of Angieon; Steve Rogers. Although you know your lady is not prone to fainting, nor does she hold much stead in pathetic courting rituals; she has still brought her fan with her, and occasionally flutters it - prompting the prince's cheeks to go pink each time.

Whatever fan-signal she sends her husband-to-be works - because the prince seems ready to swoon at her feet. However, just as you make a mental note to tease her for it later, an annoying sound pierces your ears and you're forced to glance to your left.

Bucky, the prince's knight and best friend, was attempting to make small talk again.

"It's a lovely day for a walk." He says flexing his right arm over the hilt of sword.

"Yes. Indeed." You say coolly focusing back on your Lady and her prince.

"Heard it was your idea." Bucky continues. "The walk."

"Yes."

"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?" Bucky sighs.

"My, whatever gave you that impression?" Your body is taught, head and neck stiff as you keep your eyes forward.

Steve says something in a hushed tone and your Lady laughs. A pang of jealousy strikes your chest. If only you could have experienced something so pure.

"I've apologised countless times already." Bucky says in a desperate whisper.

"Quiet." You hiss over at him. "I don't need my Lady to know about her servant's business. Nor do I want to discuss it further."

Bucky clamps his mouth shut with a frown. "Courting you isn't... it's not..."

You suck in a sharp breath and glower at him with the fury of a thousand suns. "Your cowardice is none of my concern."

You snap your head and beam at your Lady when she addresses you, answering her politely with an inclination of your head. When she turns away, your frown is back and your voice drips contempt.

"I'm not one of your love-sick damsels, Bucky." You snap. "Go and bay at some other poor creature's window and let her take pity on you instead."

You take a few long strides to get ahead of him, leaving him to sulk behind you. You don't look back. You don't need him to see how your eyes are full to the brim with tears.

Your words struck harder than any blow a man could have dealt him and they echo in Bucky's mind long after the walk has finished and Steve gushes about his future wife-to-be.

"Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Steve sighs dreamily.

"Yes, your highness." Bucky replies, remembering how you'd looked at him with such gentle care - like he'd break into a thousand pieces at your soft touch.

And then he'd scorned you.

"She's so- so- gah! I can't think of an adjective fitting enough!" Steve is practically frolicking from each side of the room.

Bucky can't remember the last time he himself had frolicked. Or if he ever would. "Yes, your highness."

Steve's frolicking ceases suddenly as he turns to look at his best friend, who's sitting sullen in a dark corner, growing mushrooms. Steve had never seen him look so glum.

"I take it you're mystery woman didn't work out?" Steve questions, sitting backwards on a chaor opposite Bucky.

"Something like that, your-"

"If you say your highness once more I'll throw something at you." Steve sighs, crossing his arms across the top of the chair and resting his head on top of them. "You know you can refer to me by my name in private."

Bucky sighs, slumping further into himself. "Sorry. But yes, the mystery woman didn't work out."

Steve studies Bucky for a moment. "May I ask how come? I've never seen you this upset over a woman before. Surely, a woman didn't finally break your heart?"

"No." Bucky replies and Steve grins. "But I ruined everything."

That wipes the smile off Steve's face. "How so?"

"I said I cannot be with her." Bucky sighs. "My duty is to you and the Kingdom. A knight-"

Steve looks utterly aghast. "You said what?"

"I- well," Bucky shrugs helplessly. "It would never have worked out."

Steve's mouth hangs open. "You mean to tell me that this mystery woman you have been chasing for months... you- you-" Steve runs his hands over his face and groans loudly. "You're such a fool."

"Surprisingly," Bucky chuckles wryly. "She has been telling me similar."

"No wonder." Steve harrumphs, slumping into a chair. "There is no rule for you not to marry." He says finally, eyes closed and brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding your logic, Buck."

Bucky rolls his shoulders, half shrug, half releasing the tension in his muscles. It didn't make sense out loud - not really. However, Bucky knew that his dedication to the kingdom and to Steve would always trump whoever he would be married to. And when it came to you in particular, he didn't think he would be able to fulfill his duty.

You would always, always, come first.

Well, up until a fortnight ago.

He had thought that it was best if he put an end to your secret courtship; best for the both of you. Best for him. Stupidly, he had not expected that your warm demeanour would shift to cold. Gone was the kindness and the gentle caresses of your hand brushing against his when he'd accompany you to the market to give the prince and his fianceé some privacy. Instead, he felt as if you were now leagues apart - the look of irreprable despair on your face when he told you things had to end haunting every waking moment. The fact of the matter was he loved you and that he could not do anything about it.

He tells Steve as much, who throws up his hands in exasperation.

"Why did you not tell me?" He huffs and Bucky smiles. Of course his best friend would be upset over a secret romance.

"Because you are so in love," Bucky replies coolly. "I didn't want to trouble you with this trivial matter."

"Love is not trivial." Steve argues. "She's unlike your other flings, correct?"

Bucky nods. "Entirely different."

"And she feels the same way?"

"She did," Bucky sighs. "I wouldn't be surprised if she hates my guts at present."

"Then all is not lost." Steve says jumping up. "If she truly loved you, her heart would not be fickle. Her anger at you demonstrates as much."

Bucky blinks at him in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

"Deathly." Steve says seriously. "Now, tell me. Who is she? I wish to help you devise a plan to win her back."

Your Lady had been at afternoon tea with the Queen the following day, dismissing you from your usual duties. The day had been warm enough to read in the sunshine, the evening cold enough to hurry you inside; yet, the sky remained clear enough to see the stars. You sat in the stone crevice of you window gazing up into the night, thanking the powers that be from thwarting further emotional investment on such a cowardly knight.

You may have wished upon a star that there was a different outcome, and you sigh away thoughts of what could have been.

That is, until, a voice beckons you from the darkness below. You squint downward and a warm firey glow from a torch illuminatws a man's face.

"Bucky?"

He grins up at you. "Good evening, my lady."

You roll your eyes and pull a sour face. "How did you get in?"

"I'm a future king's knight." He says, as if it answers your question entirely.

"Very well," you snap. "What are you doing here?"

His face falters for a second - struggling to keep his smile under your hard gaze. "To see you. I wish to speak with you." He pauses to swallow a lump in his throat. "To make ammends."

"Oh," you say, faux-excited. "Here is something for you to make ammends with."

Bucky tactfully dodges the silver jug you launch at him and watches ruefully as you close the wooden windows, shielding yourself from him. A quick glance to the darkness to his left with a shrug, has Steve pointing furiously at the trellis that clings to the wall, leading to your chambers. Bucky sighs.

You pace angrily. How dare he! It isn't enough to have embarassed you, but to get your hopes up too! You thump a pillow angrily, before hugging it to your body, and continue your pacing. A soft knock at your wooden shutters stops you.

No. He couldn't- he wouldn't- have.

You throw the shutters open and there is Bucky, half-hanging onto your window ledge. He looks sheepish, covered in scratches from the roses that trail the trellis but somehow still manages a smile.

"Please," he says quietly. "Listen to what I have to say."

You fold your arms and make no move to help into your room. He sighs in defeat and begins to talk.

"I was a fool. I am so incredibly sorry for hurting you." He dips his head. "But you must understand that my duty would be to the prince first and foremost."

You harrumph in response but he continues.

"However, the prince has informed me that I am also an incredibly small-minded fool amd that I would make a better court jester than a knight - if I do not make it right by you."

You raise an eyebrow and he wiggles slightly. Something snaps under his foot and his body slips slightly. Tensing, you sigh and reach over to him to help him up. He thanks you, and smiles like he hasn't ripped out your heart once already.

"You have apologised many times already." You tell him, picking a stay leaf from his mail.

"I wish to make it right, not apologise." He says firmly. He takes your hand in his softly, cautiously, careful not to break you. "I want you to be my wife."

You stare at him incredulous, heart beating like a cornered beast's. "Bucky you-"

"-are a fool? A wretch?" He interjects, holding your hand tighter. His eyes are fierce. He was serious. "I cannot for a moment think of my life without you. I wish to be selfish. Even if it means forgoing my duties."

"You- but the prince-"

"I have Steve's blessing." He says quickly. "I would be lying if I said that this entire evening was my idea."

It clicks. That was how he got in. The prince pulled strings; which meant...

"My lady also knows about this?"

"By morning, I will let everyone know." Bucky says. "I will shout it from the rooftops if I must; let everyone know that I am yours." He glances at you, eyes hopeful and voice low. "If you will have me?"

It is the longest moment of your life, until you remember to breathe again and fling your arms around his neck. "Of course, my beautiful fool!" You kiss his cheeks as he picks you up and spins you around your room. "Don't you ever be so stupid ever again!"

"Now that, my dear, I can promise."

END

Maybe we will see these two again! I quite like Knight!Bucky hehe 😈

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[allthenobodypplfics]

Bucky is indeed an idiot, but I'm so glad he was able to make it up to her! And I love that Steve is hiding in the shadows making sure Bucky don't screw it up a second time! lol

[godmadeaterribleerror]

good 4 u

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: you've got a no good boyfreind. lucky bucky's here, to show you what you deserve✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, cheating (not by bucky, it's deserved) fluff, big porn level smut (stripping, finger sucking, dirty talk, possessive sex, praise kink, teasing, fingering, light brat taming, softdom!bucky, pussy spanking, dumbification, making out, sensitive reader, manhandling, bucky gets nasty, blowjobs, body worship, oral f!reciving overstimulation, mean!bucky, degradation kink, big dick bucky, creampie, he fucks like a machine), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 8.6k✦

✦Author's Note: request! oh to be yearned after by bucky barnes in a kinda toxic but really hot way✦

“What the fuck is his problem?”

You don’t have to look, to figure out who your boyfriend is talking about. You can feel his glare from across the room, burning over your skin like a brand, making your leg bounce and your fingers pick restlessly at the label on your drink.

Bucky Barnes.

He always stares at you. It doesn’t matter if you’re hanging out at Steve’s place—technically Bucky’s place as well, but you refuse to give him any sort of credit about that—or getting coffee, or at the movies, or here, in another bar on a Friday night, trying to wash the week down with a drink, Bucky stares at you like he’s trying to kill you. It’s the kind of stare you’d find creepy from anyone else. A knit brow and heavy breathing, like just the sight of you makes him want to rip his head off. You glare back when you can, but tonight, you’re determined to ignore it. Ignore him.

Bucky can be as pretty and charming as he wants, he’s not getting a rise out of you. Not one that he can see, at least. When you got to the bar, he drawled your name and teased you about your drink, but you just grabbed your boyfriend’s hand and dragged him across the room without a look over your shoulder.

Maybe one look.

One look that Brock didn’t have to see, because he’s always accusing you and Bucky of having something. You’ve tried to explain to him that whatever something he thinks exists between you and Barnes is just the negative space of pure fucking loathing, but he doesn’t listen. He never listens.

“Barnes wants to fuck you,” he’d muttered last week, after you got home, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Bucky does not want to fuck me, he can barely stand to be in the same room as me-“

“Because he wants to fuck you,” Brock has snapped. “I don’t want you hanging around him alone.”

You’d scoffed. “That’s- We’re friends-“

“Thought he hated you-“

“He does. But- It’s complicated.”

And it was. Bucky was Steve’s best friend, and Steve was your work husband, and Natasha was your best friend, and Steve’s actual girlfriend, and Bucky’s work wife, and Sam was Bucky’s other best friend and work husband, and your best friend—you’d even lived together, in college, which Brock never seemed to understand the concept of—and Steve’s business partner, which made him your boss, but you Nat’s and Bucky’s  boss, and it was a tangled mess of relationships and years of history that became impossible to unweave. You and Bucky were friends because if you weren’t, you were enemies, and that always hurt right under your ribs in a way you never wanted to acknowledge.

Bucky wasn’t a bad guy. He was a stubborn ass sometimes, and he stared a lot, and got kind of judgey about stupid things, but so did you. The first time you met, you’d just stared at each other for—according to Natasha—five straight minutes. Once you’d been at some stupid charity gala, and you’d spent the whole time gossiping in the corner about the old, rich assholes who needed a party to give their endless money to a good cause. You’d thought that you were friends. Really friends. Friends that could’ve been something more, if he’d asked you to be.

But he hadn’t. He never had. And you’d started to butt heads more, and he didn’t ask if you were good like he used to. He avoided you at the stupid parties and didn’t ask your opinion about small things. He didn’t wait for you to go to lunch, or sit with you when you had to stay late, and suddenly the friendship had slipped through your fingers, because it had been so fast you hadn’t been given time to realize you were supposed to hold on.

Some days you wonder what you did, and you want to strangle the answer out of his pretty, thick head. You thought you’d been good. You’d really thought you’d been good, and then he’d just gone and decided that you weren’t. That there was something about you he just couldn’t stand, and you never get to know what it was.

So if he wanted to play the hating game, you’d play it, and you’d win. You ignored him almost every day, only sneering back when you had a comment that you knew would land like a headshot.

“You look comfortable,” he’d muttered last week at Nat’s, and you’d shot him a glare.

Bucky’s mouth had twitched, as you’d just stared at him. He always seemed to enjoy making you want to kill him. You hope he also enjoyed it, when you actually killed him.

“No boyfriend tonight, huh?” He’d smirked, and you swallowed on your venom. “What, he off fucking strippers again?”

Your lip had curled. You’d just kept glaring, and Bucky had laughed.

“Don’t give me that look, doll. It’s not your fault you can’t keep him satisfied-“

“I keep him satisfied,” you’d snapped, your patience finally fraying.

And Bucky had given you a strange, tired look. It was sharp around the edges, but dull everywhere else. Almost cold. Almost exhausted.

“I bet you do,” he’d muttered, and you’d snapped.

“At least I have someone to satisfy, Barnes,” you’d hissed. “No one can even put up with you for a one night stand.”

Bucky had flinched, and the knot in your gut had been immediate. You told yourself you liked the second his armor shattered slightly. You liked the win. You told yourself over and over, that it was fine, because he struck first.

But your body hadn’t learned the lesson. And it felt wrong to be in your skin, whenever Bucky made that broken, vulnerable face. Like he’d almost forgotten how cruel you could be. Like he’d cared at all, that you’d struck back.

He didn’t. You reminded yourself that he didn’t. It was complicated, because it needed to be, for the sake of explaining to Brock. But to you, it was really, painfully simple.

You’d been in a small, blooming love with Bucky. He’d recoiled and poured hatred on you like pesticide, and your loved had curled and shriveled, but never fully died. You think there might be something wrong with you, that you can harbor feelings for a man who brings you nothing but storms. You gave up on trying to understand it a long time ago. Maybe, one day, you’ll tell your therapist. You’re really hoping the love just dies first. It’s humiliating enough to feel it, let alone say it aloud.

Brock demanded he come with you tonight. To keep an eye on Barnes. You didn’t fight him, because fights with Brock aren’t something you win. He was a relationship you started before Bucky, that had been on and off and on and off for years. In the sacred months where Bucky had liked you, Brock had been off on some work trip in Germany. He’d gotten back right when Bucky had decided to hate you, and you’d been a raw, vulnerable creature, just crawling on the beach for a new shell to call home. Brock had been there. He’d been a tight fight, and the love you’d felt for him had soured from the joy of Bucky, but you’d just needed something. And Brock had been asking you to be exclusive for years. So you’d finally just… given in.

It’s not a dream relationship. Sometimes you worry you’re going to marry him and have his babies, and he’d make such ugly babies. You don’t want them. You don’t really see another way.

You wouldn’t mind having Bucky’s babies. That’s not a very productive thought to have.

“He always stare this much?” Brock asks, and you shrug.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Yeah?” Brock snaps. “Or maybe. Can’t be both, sweetheart.”

“Yeah and maybe,” you mutter. “I don’t know.”

“Either he stares or he doesn’t-“

“He stares, I just don’t know what’s this much-“

“Then you should start paying fucking attention.”

You sigh, and give Brock a tight smile. His lip curls, and his eyes narrow, and you fight the urge to flinch away.

Bucky hates you. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to like you all that much either. He won’t let Nat sit with you, and he certainly won’t let Sam sit with you, so now you’re just fucking here. At the crowded bar, all but alone, even with half a dozen worried or hateful eyes on you. You only give yourself eyes for your drink.

At least you have your drink.

You’re smiling. Laughing. Lighting up the whole bar from your little corner, and Bucky’s stuck over here in the dark.

He wants to drink until he can’t anything but your face and a whole blur of colors, but he got stuck being one of the drivers. He wants to go over and sock your stupid boyfriend in the face, but that would lead to a bigger conversation he knows you don’t want to have. This is a grave he dug for himself, but it didn’t even work right. He was supposed to bury himself alive and forget about you, high above him, brighter than the sun and prettier than the sky.

Instead he’s just lying in the dirt, six feet down, only able to watch you orbit around him like an angel. It’s hell. It’s torture. It’s exactly what he fucking deserves.

“You’re sulking again,” Steve says casually, and Bucky grunts.

“So?”

“It’s bringing everyone down, Buck-“

“They’re fine.”

Steve sighs. He does that a lot, when it comes to you and Bucky. He sighed when Bucky told him that he’d fallen in love with you. He sighed when Bucky decided you deserved better and started to push you away. He sighed when Bucky would lock himself on the fire escape for hours after parties, smoking and staring out at the city skyline until the wind was threatening to bite his skin off, and he had to be dragged inside.

Bucky knows Steve thinks he’s an idiot. Hell, most days Bucky thinks he’s an idiot. There isn’t a moment that passes where he doesn’t want to go back and suck up the fear, take the gamble, and just tell you he’d fallen for you. Hard enough to break the sound barrier, hard enough to snap him in half before he even hit the bottom, hard enough that he was never going to be able to climb his way back up. But he’s a veteran with a missing arm and a pile of baggage he can’t even shoulder some days. You’d looked at him like he was something good. You’d looked at him like you thought it could’ve been easy, to fall right back.

And Bucky couldn’t have that.

The only thing worse than never having you would’ve been having you, and breaking you. Letting you down. Letting you love him, then letting you realize how wrong you were, to bother to try. So he’d pushed you away.

Steve said that didn’t give him the right to sulk about it all the time. Steve was probably right, but Bucky sulked anyway. It was all he had, now.

That, and hating your stupid fucking boyfriend.

Brock. Dumb name. Sounded like rock. Bucky had a better name. He’d even let you call him James, like you used to. You’re the only person that ever made Bucky sound like an insult instead of a marker of affection. He wants to go back to being James, just for you. But he can’t. Because of Brock.

“What does she even see in him,” he mutters, and Steve sighs. Again.

“I don’t know, but-“

“He’s not that good looking,” Bucky narrows his eyes at Brock. Leaning over the table. Grabbing your arm. Bucky should be the one touching you. “His dick is probably small.”

“I- Uh- Yeah, sure-“

“She deserves better-“

“Better like you?”

That makes Bucky’s head snap to the side. Steve doesn’t even blink, his brows raised in almost mocking gentleness. It pisses Bucky off sometimes, how he’s not allowed to be pissed at Steve.

“You know she’s with him because he asked her, right?” Steve says, and Bucky scowls.

“That’s not- I- He doesn’t treat her right-“

“And you do?”

Bucky tastes bile. Steve still doesn’t back down, just giving Bucky that sympathetic puppy look, and Bucky wonders if he digs himself another foot down, Steve will do him a favor and bury him alive.

“You could just- Talk to her,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky snorts.

“She doesn’t care what I gotta say, Stevie-“

“Because you made her think you don’t care at all.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky snaps, louder than he means to, and Steve gives him an unimpressed look. Bucky scowls and turns back to his drink. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a thing-“

“You’re thinkin’. I can hear it.”

Steve sighs. Bucky’s going to shove a fist into his mouth, to get him to stop. “I’m just saying, Buck,” Steve murmurs. “Nat thought she was finally going to get over Brock. Before you decided to be an ass to her all the time.”

Bucky scoffs, then pauses. He didn’t actually understand what that meant. It sounded like it meant something important, something he was really supposed to understand, but for the life of him, he can’t work out why. He turns back to Steve with a frown, ready to ask what the hell that meant, but the words are drowned in aloud smash from across the bar.

Bucky’s attention snaps to the side in a second, his body realizing what’s happening before his brain. He’s on his feet when Brock shouts at you, and walking when you shove Brock. He almost breaks into a sprint, when he sees Brock’s hand curl into a fist. It only gets slammed on the table, but Bucky’s heart still threatens to burst through his throat. The bar is crowded. Too crowded. It’s taking him too long to get to you, and Brock shouts something, and you scream something back, and some lady tries to grab Bucky to flirt, but he shoulders her off.

He almost loses you in the chaos. A door slams, and he’s not sure if it’s you or Brock. He looks around for Nat—wherever you went, she’ll be there too—but can’t find her. He stumbles to the table, and his mouth goes dry.

You’re not hurt, but you’re crying. You’re crouching against the wall, Nat petting your head and trying to calm you down. Brock is nowhere to be found. Smart move, Bucky thinks. He was seconds from getting his face knocked in.

“What the hell happened?” He grunts to Nat, kneeling in front of you.

She shakes her head, lips in a thin line. “I’m not sure. They started fighting, Brock smashed a glass, then just- Fucked off, I guess.”

“What’d they fight about-“

“She won’t tell me,” Nat sighs, and you glare at her under gorgeous, wet lashes.

“I’m right here,” you snap, and Nat gives you an apologetic smile.

“I know, but- You won’t tell me.”

You sniff, glancing over to Bucky, then down to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you mutter, and Nat murmurs your name.

“Was it-“

“Yeah.”

Nat scowls, and Bucky feels like he’s being left out of something.

“Nat, I-“ You grab her wrist, voice small and pleading. “I just want to go home.”

Natasha’s throat bobs, but she nods. Bucky frowns. Nat’s been drinking. Everyone’s been drinking except you and him, and he doesn’t think you should be driving when you can’t even get off the floor.

“I’ll take her,” he mutters, and you shoot him a poisoned glare.

“No.”

“Listen, kid, I’m offering to help-“

“I don’t want your help,” you sneer, and Bucky sighs. He deserves that. He knows he does. Doesn’t make it any easier or sweeter to swallow.

Natasha mutters your name, watching Bucky from the corner of her eye. “It’s either him, or an uber-“

“Uber,” you say immediately, and Nat gives you a flat look.

“That wasn’t a real option. You’re going with Bucky.”

You pout, inching away from him, and Bucky’s face burns. He stares at his hands, trying to pretend he can’t hear your whispers. Trying to pretend they don’t cut into a sensitive, raw, needy part of his heart that no amount of self-inflicted burns has ever been able to steel.

“I don’t want to go with Bucky,” you hiss at Nat, and Nat just shrugs.

“I don’t want you to be alone right now-“

“Then you get in the Uber with me.” Your voice is small. Almost pleading. It breaks Bucky’s heart.

Nat shakes her head, voice gentle, as if you’re a wounded animal. “Bucky will drop you at my place, alright? I just have to take care of something first.”

Your nose wrinkles, but you agree. Bucky doesn’t think you’re happy about it. He can almost feel the disdain emitting from your body like radiation, as Nat helps you to Bucky’s car. He decides not to tell you that Nat’s thing is probably hunting down Brock and killing him. Bucky would join her, if he didn’t have to deal with you. He doesn’t think there’s anything more noble. His worry is devotion. It’s a shame you’re blinder than a real god, to see it.

The drive is dead quiet. Bucky glances at the radio every few minutes, but loses the debate with him over and over to turn it on. He doesn’t want you to hate his taste in music.

You curl up against the window, as far away from him as you can get without jumping onto the freeway. Bucky drums his fingers on the wheel to fill the silence. Your breathing has steadied from short, shallow gasps, but he can still hear you sniffle every few seconds. It makes his vision line with red, and he knows he’s the worst kind of hypocrite, but knowing never helped anyone. He doesn’t understand, how Brock could treat you so horribly. He doesn’t understand how you—beautiful, smart, sweet but unwavering and sharp—could tolerate it.

Bucky parks the car outside of Nat’s. You don’t move, and he wishes he could build the anger to make you. But you smell like vanilla and something summery, and you look like an angel in the streetlights, and all he can feel is bubbling red and green. It spills out of his mouth like vomit, before he can garner the will and kindness to shove it down.

“What do you see in him,” Bucky mutters, and you look over with a frown.

You stare at him. Bucky stares back. He loves it when you do that. It’s a little off-putting, but he thinks he can tell you the truth with his eyes. He’s not sure, though, if you ever see it.

“He’s good to me,” you mutter finally, and Bucky snorts. “He is, don’t- Don’t fucking make that face-“

“I’m not makin’ a face-“

“You are,” you point at him, eyes narrowed, voice cold. “He is good to me, Bucky.”

Bucky raises his brows. It only seems to work you up more.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Brock loves me, he- He’s- You just don’t see the side of him that I do-“

“I don’t think he’s got enough sides to hide anything, doll,” Bucky drawls, and you scowl.

“You’re just jealous.”

Bucky recoils, fingers tightening on the wheel. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he grunts, and you roll your eyes.

“Fuck off, it’s so obvious-“

Bucky mutters your name in warning, but you just keep going.

“You’re jealous that someone like me could have a partner that loves them, when you’re alone. But guess what, Bucky,” you lean forward, words spitting over Bucky’s slack face. “You’re going to die alone, and I’m not, so fuck you.”

You push the door open, and storm out onto the street. Bucky’s frozen in the drivers seat for a second, a faint ringing in his ears. You’re right. You’re right, and it’s his fault. Not about Brock—that piece of shit isn’t capable of love, even for someone as perfect as you—but- But-

He’s moving before he can think about why. Shoving his way out of the car and shouting your name, chasing you up the sidewalk like a madman. You ignore him. Of course you do. It’s what he’s fucking earned.

“Just- Wait-“ He catches your wrist. You yank it away.

“Leave me alone, Bucky-“

“No, I got somethin’ I wanna say-“

“Well I don’t want to hear it-“

“I know, I know, just-“

“No!” You scream, round on him with a pointed finger, and Bucky feels something split right down his chest at the tears in your eyes. “No, I don’t want to fucking- I- You don’t get to tell me anything about- About anything. This is your fault, your-“

You cut yourself off, and Bucky blinks, leaning back. “My fault?” He laughs in disbelief, when you nod, not meeting his eyes. “How the hell is it my fault?”

You wrap your arms over your stomach, gaze fixed firmly on your shoes. “Brock thinks you want to fuck me,” you mumble, and Bucky’s heart falters in his chest. “That’s what the- The stupid fight way about, alright? And he thinks I shouldn’t be around you anymore, because of it.”

Bucky gapes at you. He’s trying to think of a way to ask that isn’t selfish. He can’t come up with it. “But you’re not going to listen to him, right?”

You shrug. “It’s not like you like being around me,” you mumble, and Bucky’s hands fists.

“That’s not the fuckin’ point, doll-“

“Isn’t it?” You give him a tired look. “Don’t you want me to just- Just go away? Aren’t you fucking happy, that you’re never going to have to deal with me again?”

Bucky’s throat his too tight to speak. This is a walking nightmare, but he can’t seem to wake up. You’re right. This is the part he’s supposed to want, where you bury him and he never has to see you’re beauty and wonder what if. But he’s selfish. He’s too fucking selfish, and he doesn’t want the sun to go away. He can’t lose you. Not like this, not when you seem to have halfway lost yourself.

You give him a prompting glare, tipping up your chin when he’s been silent too long. He swallows. His fingers flex, and he works his jaw until he can speak.

“Don’t,” he rasps, watching you under hooded eyes. “Don’t go away.”

You laugh, but it doesn’t sound read. “Don’t do that, Bucky, don’t act like you care-“

“I do care-“

“No.” You point at him, face tight. “No, you don’t- You don’t-“

Bucky catches your hand, and you immediately go quiet. He takes a small step forward. You don’t take a step back.

“I care,” he croaks, squeezing your hand once. “I care, doll. I- I’ve always cared, I-“

He moves to his knees. You stare down at him, like you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. Bucky doesn’t need you to do anything. He only prays at the only alter he knows—your feet—that you’ll listen.

“I love you,” he whispers, and your mouth falls open.

“Bucky…”

“I know I’ve been a dick,” he rasps. “I know, and I- I don’t expect you to forgive me, or say anything back. If you wanna slap me, I’ll let you. I’ll let you do anything, doll, just- Please don’t listen to him.” Bucky swallows, daring to wrap a hand around the back of your thighs, silently begging you to stay. “If he’s told you no one else is gonna love you, he’s dead wrong. If you’re letting him tell you what to do ‘cause you think it’s the only way to make him stay, let him fucking leave. You deserve better. You’ve always deserved better. Than-“ His words catch, painful in his throat. “Than me. But also than him. You deserve better.”

He digs his fingers into your soft skin, and you swallow, blinking down at him with soft, glossy eyes.

“I love you,” Bucky echoes like a prayer. “I swear I love you, doll. And I really don’t expect nothing, but- Please.”

You straighten up, and Bucky tries not to flinch when you cup his cheek. Your hand is so warm, so soft. He doesn’t deserve the touch.

“Bucky,” you murmur. “Stand up.”

He blinks at you, then scrambles to his feet. Your mouth twitches. He thinks that’s a good sign.

You stand barely an inch apart, staring into each others eyes. Bucky lets every bit of himself crumble away, until the only thing left for you to see is his love. You let out a sharp breath, and glance to his parted lips.

“You mean it?” You whisper, and he nods in a heartbeat.

“With everything I got.”

You laugh, soft and nervous, and meet his gaze again. “But- You were such an asshole- I thought you hated me.”

“Never,” he whispers. “I- I mean- I was an asshole, but I never hated you doll, ever. I just- I kinda loved you too much, and I’m an idiot-“

Bucky’s voice dies easily, when you push up and press a small kiss to his lips. His hands twitch to catch you, but he holds them back. Not daring to move. Not daring to let this fall apart. Your lips are so soft, and you taste like that sugary drink you’d been nursing, and he thinks he might have just taken a hit of a drug he’s never going to kick.

He’s panting, when you pull away. You smile at him, shy and gorgeous, brows raised in challenge, and he laughs like a ruined man. He dives back down, grabbing your face between his hands and kissing you hard. Kissing you the way he dreamed, your lips molding together and body arching up to his touch, your tongue darting over his lip before he squeezes your jaw, and you open for him with a moan.  He chuckles and spits into your mouth, wrapping an arm around your waist. You scratch his neck and press back with twice the force, dragging a low groan from his chest.

Bucky yanks himself back, and you stare at each other, flushed and panting. You find it in you to speak first. Bucky’s not surprised.

“You love me?” You demand, and he nods.

“All the time.”

You nod, and he thinks he’s got the kind of luck they talk about in kings.

“Good,” you mutter, straightening the collar of his shirt before fixing him with that enchanting, dangerous stare. “Prove it.”

Bucky smiles, and presses a harsh but loving kiss to your lips. You really have no fucking idea.

Proving it is going to be the easy part.

You’ve had dreams about this. So many dreams that living through it takes a lot of convincing, for you to believe it’s reality. You think, through the power of Bucky’s hands and lips, you’re going to get there.

You kissed and stumbled into Nat’s house with your hands roaming and feet tripping over everything but each other. Bucky had ripped your shirt over your head and kicked the door behind him, letting his searing mouth wander over your jaw, your cheeks, your nose and back to your lips. You’d pulled the buckle of his jeans while he made quick work of your bra, using the straps to pull you right back against his chest before tossing it the same way as your shirt.

“Look at you,” he’d muttered, palming your breast with an air of awe to his every word. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

You’d flushed and kissed him before he could say any more nice things. They were already making your heart soft and prone to forgiveness. The kind you were trying to make him earn, even if he was probably about to get it for free.

Bucky slid his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you like it was a movie. You’d melted into him, clinging to the hooks of his jeans and letting him angle your face further back. You’d tugged him closer and he’d grunted, wrapping his full bicep around your neck and sliding his hand on your breast down your side. He’d cupped your ass and squeezed it before dipping his fingers under your waistband, pulling it back and forth as he dragged his tongue over your lower lip.

“Wanna take care of you,” he’d muttered, like he was speaking to himself. “You gonna let me take care of you?

“Ye- Yeah,” you breathe, nails digging into his wrist. You’re trying to stay steady. You’re not sure it’s working, with how the room is spinning and your skin is getting heated. “Yes, please.”

Bucky chuckles, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. Your mouth falls open with a tiny gasp, and his brows furrow tight. He slides the pad of his finger between your lips, and you flick your tongue against it. Your eyes droop, and your head tips back as you start to suck on him. Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Jesus,” he rasps. “Always knew you’d be the death of me, doll.”

You coo, and Bucky’s nostrils flare. His hand drifts further down your back, hooking on your bottoms and pulling them with him. You make another soft, humming sound, smiling at him around his thumb, and his throat bobs.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Just like that, nice and easy.”

Your bottoms fall to the floor, leaving you in only your panties. Bucky glances down, his tongue darting over his lips, and then looks right back to you. He pulls his thumb away, cups the back of your head, and pulls your face back for him to kiss. You moan against his mouth and he groans, pressing over you until there’s no space for anything else left. It’s all just Bucky, everywhere around you and so warm you start to get dizzy. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself, yanking at his shirt and trying to meet every kiss, but it’s hard. Bucky’s demanding, and you’ve wanted this for too long. Just his hands on your bare skin are better than anyone else being inside of you. It’s really unfair.

Bucky cups your pussy when your back hits the wall, and you mewl. He leans back to watch your hips roll against his hand, his eyes going fully dark and a low, rumbling grunt falling from his lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he rubs his hand back and forth, a sweet, lewd sound filling the room. “This wet, just for me?”

You nod a little shamefully, watching him under fluttering lashes. He pulls on the fabric of your panties and snaps it against your cunt, making you buck up with a squeak. Bucky chuckles and rubs over the hurt, leaning down until your lips are brushing together.

“You want me to play nice?” He whispers. “Or fuck you like I’ve been dreamin’ about.”

You blink at him, mouth hanging open and face burning. It’s hard to think, with the drag of his rough, gentle hand against your cunt. For a little while you just stare at him helplessly, and Bucky takes a small mercy, snapping your panties back against your pussy, shocking your heartbeat enough to make you think.

Like he’s been dreaming. You’ve been dreaming too. Holding fantasies about Bucky giving it to you just how you want, walking that thin line you never trusted Brock to balance on. But you trust Bucky. Your Bucky, before the whole mess. The Bucky you can see so clearly now, features shining with affection as he watches you already start to come apart.

“That,” you say, small but certain. “Do- Do it like that.”

Bucky pauses. “Like-“

“How you want,” you whisper, and he goes still.

Bucky scans over your face for an ounce of hesitation. You don’t have any, so you hold his gaze.

He lets out a rough, broken breath. “You sure-“

You press up and kiss him hard. He gets the idea.

Bucky rips your panties off like they’re made of paper, drops one arm under your thighs, and picks you up with barely a grunt. You squeal and try to push away on instinct, but he’s strong. Stronger than you thought, and you’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time ogling his muscles. He slams his mouth over yours for a brief, hungry kiss, spits down your throat, and tosses you right over his shoulder.

“Bucky-“

“Shh,” he slaps your ass and you squeak again, dropping your face right into his shoulder. He squeezes over the pleasurable sting then starts to walk, keeping you steady over him.

“Where- Where are we going?” You try to push up to see over his shoulder. Bucky lands another spank on your ass, and you fall right back down with a whine. “James- Shit-“

He’s dragging his fingers over your sopping wet cunt, smearing the mess everywhere he can, humming while he walks. Your thighs clench, but that only seems to give him easier access, and you whine.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Ah,” Bucky slaps your pussy, and you muffle your moan against his body. “That’s not what I want to hear, doll.”

You swallow and shake your head, bunching his shirt between your trembling fingers. Bucky spanks your pussy again and it clenches around nothing. His thumb drifts, teasing over your clit in tiny brushes, back and forth and back and forth. You whimper, but he just hums, dragging two fingers through the mess between your thighs, before returning to your swollen little button.

“Come on,” he coos, encouraging and mocking all at once. “Use your words for me.”

You can’t. You muffle another moan in Bucky’s shoulder, writhing best you can in his iron grip. Bucky hums like this is casual, like he’s not already taking you apart with the lightest of touches. A door creaks open, and you barely have time to recognize the carpet of Nat’s guest room before you’re being tossed down onto the bed.

You bounce slightly, and Bucky catches your ankles, dragging you right to the edge of the mattress. You stare at him, mouth hanging open, completely unsure what to do with yourself. His lips twitch and he lowers down, pressing a gently, loving kiss to your lips. You arch up and he rubs your thighs, easing you down into his touch. You slump forward, running your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

Bucky traces his hand a little higher up your thigh, and you try not to buck into his touch. It’s not very successful, and he smiles against your lips, pinching your upper thigh. You whimper and turn your head, trying to save useless face. Bucky chuckles, sucking a small mark under your throat, then flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin.

“James…” You moan, and he goes still. You turn nervously, worried you somehow, already, ruined it. “Bucky?”

His throat bobs. He grabs your chins between two fingers, eyes boring through you, like he can see all your hazy, love-colored thoughts.

“Buck-“

“James,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lip. “Keep callin’ me James, doll.”

You nod, a faint flush burning your cheeks. It’s not even from the way he’s touching you. Not right now. James isn’t a name Bucky lets anyone use. You used to, but then he started pushing you, and you didn’t want to lose that last sacred closeness, of being allowed to use his nickname. But if James is what he wants. He’ll get it. You’ll give him almost anything, right now.

“James,” you breathe, and Bucky’s throat bobs. He leans down for another, slower kiss. You close your eyes and let him control the depth, the unmeasured but drizzle passion like honey. When he pulls away you’re breathless, and he’s on his knees.

Naked and on his knees.

You make a tiny sound, gaping shamelessly at his cock. It’s thick and heavy looking, leaking with pre-cum and probably more than you can take. But you want to try. You want to drool around it in every possible way, looking up and Bucky and getting that faint, affectionate smile.

“You seein’ something you like?” Bucky teases, and you give him a hopeless, embarrassed look. He chuckles and grabs himself, stroking slowly and holding your gaze. “You want it bad, huh,” he mutters, smearing some drool over your cheek. “He ain’t been fuckin’ your right, either. Left you so needy for so long, you get all quiet just seeing a real cock?”

Your face is on fire, but your core is throbbing and aching. You drop your brow against Bucky’s, fixated on his fist, pumping that massive dick.

“Spit on it,” Bucky grunts, and you obey thoughtless, letting some of your need fall from your lips to Bucky’s shining cock. He groans and smashes his lips over yours, his hand pumping faster until he’s groaning your name against your lips.

Then he pulls back, lets go of himself, and just stares at your slack, desperate expression. You swallow, and his lips curve into a faint, starved smile.

“You need to be treated like a whore, huh,” he mutters. “Fucked like a toy ‘till you remember how nice it is, to have my attention.”

Oh, God. Your thighs try to press together. Bucky shoves them apart, using his thumb to part your puffy, swollen pussy lips.

“Pretty little thing,” he mutters, pressing over your clit before dragging his thumb back down. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you right. Gonna open you up,” he presses his thumb hard against your entrance, smirking at your tiny sound. “Then give you exactly what you need. That sound good?”

“Ye- Yeah,” you manage to babble, remembering his thing about words. “Yes, please.”

Bucky smiles, and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Good girl.”

You whine, and Bucky doesn’t waste time. He sinks fully down, kissing over your tummy as he shoves your legs fully apart. You watch him, breathing ragged, and weave your fingers through his hair for balance. He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other. Nips at the sensitive skin, then flicks his tongue over the hurt before kissing it again. He takes his time, kissing all around your cunt, but never letting his mouth go where you really fucking need.

“James,” you whine, tugging on his hair. “Don’t- Don’t tease.”

He chuckles, his lips brushing right against your clit. You squirm, but he holds your thighs down and gives you a stern look.

“I’ll tease you all I fuckin’ want, babydoll,” he mutters, giving the quickest, lightest kiss to your clit. “You’re too pretty and reactive not to play with.”

You whimper, unable to come up with a response that isn’t a fuck you. As fun as it would be to push his buttons and find out just what punishment under Bucky’s attention is—being dragged over his lap, forced to sit on his cock until you’re drooling, brought right up to the edge over and over but never being allowed to fall—you’re too desperate right now. You might cum just from looking at him, it’s been so long, and he seems to know it.

“Needy pussy,” he mutters, tracing his thumb in circles around your clit. “Gonna take real good care of you, pretty girl.”

You mewl because god help you, you really believe him. Bucky pulls back the hood of your clit, blows on it in a way that makes your whole body seize up, then presses a long, slow kiss to the bundle of nerves.

“Fuck- James- James-“

“I know,” he coos, tongue flicking against your pulsing cunt. “Such a greedy fuckin’ girl, can’t even wait for me.” He kisses your clit again, making out with it until you’re panting and struggling to sit up. “Lucky I’m feelin’ generous,” he mutters, and whatever restraint he’d been pretending to have was gone.

Bucky shoves his face into your pussy, his beard scraping your thighs and his tongue licking a long, rough stripe up your core until it hits your clit, swirls, and  dives back down. Plunging in and out of your dripping hole before repeating the lick, playing with your clit more and more every time. Thick hands keep your legs spread when you start to get restless, but he lets you buck freely up into his mouth. He seems to enjoy it, how you pull on his hair and cry his name. If anything, his mouth just works harder against you, tongue flicking against your clit in rapid, tiny strokes that send you into a frenzy.

You fall back with a sob, grinding up and craning your neck to try and keep watching him. It’s a beautiful sight, Bucky drowning himself between your thighs. He winks at you, pressing his tongue flat over your entrance, and you fall back with a moan. You’re getting there fast. It would be embarrassing, with anyone but Bucky. He just kisses your thigh and bumps his nose against your clit, muttering you’re close against your skin before diving right back in.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You grab at the sheets, your pussy throbbing like a ticking bomb before an explosion. “Bucky- I- I’m gonna-“

His teeth graze your clit, and he wraps his lips tight around the nub, sucking on it hard. You scream as your vision goes white, your hips flying off the bed, but Bucky doesn’t stop. He lets wraps his arms around each thigh, shoves your legs close around his head, and keeps sucking on your clit, it starts to get all tingly and numb in the best way. It’s almost like he’s tickling it with his tongue, the pressure of his mouth perfect and unbearable, your eyes rolling back in your head as you writhe.

“Oh- Oh my god-“ You sob, pushing at his head. “Bucky- I- I can’t, please-“

He kisses your clit a little more gently, spanks your pussy, and gives you a stern look. “Yes, you can.”

It doesn’t seem to be something that’s up for argument. 

Bucky keeps you pinned to his face, sucking and sucking and sucking, no real care for what else you do. You cry and pull at the sheets, trying and climb away with no avail, and end up rolling onto your stomach, your face pressed into the sheets. Bucky still stays locked against your pussy, the feeling only intensifying when he’s beneath you. You’re all but sitting on his face, grinding you cunt down onto his jaw, sobbing into the sheets as your body becomes taut and wired and ready to snap.

A second orgasm rolls over you like a thunderstorm. Wet and loud and hot. You gush against Bucky’s face, tears starting to stream down your face from the overstimulation. You haven’t even had one proper orgasm in… longer than you want to admit. Brock never really gave you anything more than a shiver, and your patience in your own body was limited to a vibrator and ten minutes before a dull, anti-climatic orgasm that didn’t feel like much, but still made you too sensitive to keep going. Bucky just pulled two out of you, with his mouth alone.

He pulls back when you’re trembling, leaving a last, gentle kiss over your clit.

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he mutters, giving it one more spank before he starts to crawl over your body. “Coulda died there, doll, I swear.”

He laughs to himself, and you whimper against the sheets. Bucky pauses, caging you against the mattress with massive arms, and slowly rolls you over onto your back. You stare up at him, starry-eyed and spent, and his mouth twitches down.

“You alright?” He murmurs, brushing the hair from your face. You nod, and he doesn’t look convinced. “Are you-“

“Bucky,” you whisper, and his throat bobs. “If you don’t fuck me, I’m leaving.”

He laughs, throaty and dry, and ducks back down to give you another, slower kiss. One hand slides down your body, palming at your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers between pinching gently. Bucky smiles, at the tiny whine it pulls out of you.

“Could spend forever here,” he mutters. “Givin’ every single part of you the attention it deserves. Sucking on these tits while you ride my thigh. Bending you over and opening up that cunt with just my hands, just playing with your ass until you’re drippin’ on my lap.” He groans, his cock twitching against your thigh. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, babydoll. You got no idea.”

You hum, the tears on your cheeks shiner than before. He means it. Whatever doubts you’d had before fade, because you’re sure. Bucky means it.

He settles himself fully between your legs, the more aggressive, dominant mask seeming to fracture, like light splitting through the clouds. Always there, even when he pretends. Coming out when you most  need to see it.

“Gonna go right in,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Opened you up real good. Shouldn’t even hurt.”

You hum, pressing your face against his neck. Bucky rubs his cock against your cunt slowly, covering himself in your arousal before tapping his head against your clit—almost ceremoniously, like paying homage—and notching himself against your entrance.

The stretch isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Bucky’s still big, so big you can feel it in your throat, so big you don’t think you’ve ever been this full, but he’d prepped you so well, it’s just a faint burn before it molds into pleasure. Bucky’s warm breath fans over the top of your neck as he watches your pussy mold around his cock. He moans something like your name against your skin, and you wrap your arms tight around his head.

“Feels so good,” you moan as he pushes further in. “So- So good.”

Bucky grunts, and you whimper as he bottoms out, balls pressed tight to your ass.

For a few moments, neither of you move. Bucky looks up at you with a wrecked expression you can feel in your chest, and you give him a faint, nervous smile.

“You know I love you too, right?” You say, because it’s the only thing you can think.

Bucky’s throat bobs. He doesn’t seem to have any words, and gives you a slow, romantic kiss. He rolls his hips experimentally, and you gasp against his lips. He’s curved in a way that presses right up against your g-spot, and it’s almost like a massage. You clench down, and Bucky grunts, but he repeats the motion anyway.

“James- Ooooh-“ Your eyes roll back, and Bucky sucks and kisses over your jaw, grinding his cock right against that soft, gooey spot. “Fuck- James-“

Bucky makes a deep, almost feral sound, and starts to move faster. Shallow, brutal thrusts that split you right open. You grab his bicep for dear life, and he watchers your every reaction with a sharp attention. You mewl when he does a swivel move, almost flying off the bed, and he pins you down with a hand splayed over your stomach.

“Feel that?” He grunts, pulling all the way out before slamming back in. “You fuckin’ feel that, babydoll? How good we feel together? Greedy little pussy, swallowin’ my cock up like the whore you are- Fuck-“

Bucky falls back over you, kissing you with spit and teeth and brutal force. You wrap your arms around your neck, moaning loud and shameless as he picks up his pace. Small, measured thrusts turn into the bed creaking, Bucky’s cock drilling into your pussy like he’s trying to knock every thought from your head. It’s working. You’re a drooling, wound up mess below him, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he mocks. “Smart head so fuckin’ empty, when I got you on my cock. No one else makes you feel like this, do they?”

You don’t answer—you can’t—and Bucky smacks your clit.

“Do they?”

You shake your head, babbling out a pathetic half-answer. “N- No-“

“Who fucks you right?” Bucky demands, words harsh but touch gentle when he grabs your jaw.

“You.” Tears start to fall down your cheeks again. “You, Bucky- Please-“

You moan as he hits that spot again, and Bucky groans, dropping down to kiss the tears away, then mold his lips back over yours.

“Damn right, me,” he grunts, skin slapping against skin, the wet, sinful sound of him bullying into your cunt almost drowning out the words. “My fuckin’ girl.”

Bucky leans up, and you almost cry for him before you realize what he’s doing. Bucky grabs your knees with one arm and presses them up to your chest, leaning down to kiss you as he fucks you deeper into the mattress. The angle is deeper like this. You can feel it everywhere, from your toes to your lips. You make a strangled, undignified sound when Bucky’s thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles.

“Cum with me, babydoll,” he grunts, kissing your calf and rutting into your drooling, pulsing cunt. “Come one, wanna fill you up, pump this pussy up ‘till everyone knows, just-“ He groans. “Gimme just one more.”

You don’t know where it comes from. You didn’t think you had it in you, but Bucky manages to pull it out. A third orgasm, slower and longer than the last too. Hotter, as well. Pooling in your gut before flooding out of your cunt. Down your thighs and over Bucky’s cock as you flutter and he doubles over with a roar.

You’re not sure what’s Bucky’s cum and what’s yours. There’s just wet stickiness, filling you up everywhere until your eyes are unfocused and your body is twitching. Bucky kisses you through the orgasms, fucking shallowly into your pussy like he can’t help himself. When you both ease down, you’re blinking at the ceiling with heavy eyes and a warm feeling blooming back into your chest. Free and light and easy, in a way you never expected yourself to have.

This is going to be a mess in the morning. Right now, you don’t really care.

“I guess Brock was right,” you muse. “You did want to sleep with me.”

Bucky sits up with a glare. “Don’t say that when I’m still inside of you.”

You giggle, reaching up to brush some hair from his brow. His gaze softens and he catches your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Do you believe me?” He mutters, and it’s small and worried. As if, after that, you’d somehow ever let him get away again.

“Yeah,” you smile, and his shoulders slump in relief.

“Thank god-“

“But,” you squeeze his hand. “I think you should keep proving it.”

Bucky chuckles, giving you an amused look before dropping his face right back into your boobs. You beam at the ceiling and pet the top of his head, neither of you in a rush to clean up. You probably should. You really should. Bucky seems to realize why at the same moment you do.

“Nat’s gonna kill us,” he groans, and you snort.

“Yeah. You.”

Bucky props his chin on your chest. “You too-“

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m her favorite.”

“That’s-“ Bucky sighs, and drops his face back down. “Yeah.”

You laugh, and he grins against your boob.

“Worth it,” he mutters, and you smile like a fool.

Because yeah. It was.   

✦End note: sometimes... cheating is okay!✦

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[allthenobodypplfics]

Brock can go suck on an egg, I'm glad Bucky woke up and stole us from him!

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as CHASE COLLINS

➤• THE COVENANT (2006) DIR. RENNY HARLIN

[theinheriteddutchess]

I'm getting feelings again😮‍💨

[allthenobodypplfics]

Our favorite psycho baby wiotch lol

[theinheriteddutchess]

He was the only one sane in that town☝🏻 just need some pampering

[allthenobodypplfics]

You speak the truth 🙂‍↕️ we are not delulu and seduced by the wiotch at all 🤭

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as CHASE COLLINS

➤• THE COVENANT (2006) DIR. RENNY HARLIN

[theinheriteddutchess]

I'm getting feelings again😮‍💨

[allthenobodypplfics]

Our favorite psycho baby wiotch lol

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as CHASE COLLINS

➤• THE COVENANT (2006) DIR. RENNY HARLIN