Hello, beauties ✨ I hope you're having an amazing day. Welcome to my little corner! I love writing in my spare time, especially intense, sensual, and emotional stories. All fiction here is intended exclusively for readers 18 and older. Please read the **tags** and **content warnings** carefully before proceeding. English is not my native language, so please forgive any mistakes.💚
I don't know if anyone will see this, I've been gone for a good few months, dealing with a wave of problems and I had writer's block. 🥹
I still don't know if I can write new stories, but I'll focus on finishing the ones I'm currently working on! I don't like it when authors disappear and leave their work unfinished, so I don't want to do the same.
Summary: The Avengers go to a private island for the weekend. You decide to tease your two favorite soldiers, and they… can't resist.
Warnings: Steve and Bucky are an established couple and are in love and horny for you, you are a tease, public teasing, suggestive flirting, Steve and Bucky fucking wildly, anal sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected sex, mention of possessiveness, mention of excessive ejaculation, talking about pussy, suggestive of threesome.
Word count: 3K
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Stark Island, Avengers weekend.
The sun beat down on the white sand, and Steve Rogers tried—without much success—to read the book that lay open on his lap. Words jumbled before his eyes as he tried to focus on the page. But he couldn't.
Not with you there.
You were just a few meters away, playing with the crystal-clear water, diving and returning to the surface with your bikini clinging to your body. Steve tried to be discreet. He tried to maintain the composure that was always expected of him. But the truth was simple, direct, impossible to deny:
He couldn't take his eyes off you.
And he knew Bucky couldn't either.
You looked back, noticing the two soldiers' gaze. You smiled that innocent smile that was never truly innocent. Steve held his breath—and hated how this was becoming more and more common when it came to you.
He tried to go back to the book. He read the same line four times. He absorbed nothing.
And then he heard your voice.
“Steve…”
He looked up immediately, as if his body were conditioned to respond. You walked toward him, drops of water trickling down your sun-warmed skin, holding a bottle of sunscreen.
“Can you put some on my back for me?”
It was a trap. Steve knew. He understood the second you spoke, maybe even before. But he didn't have the strength—or the will—to refuse.
“Sure” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.
When you turned, sat on the towel between your legs, and exposed your back, Steve swallowed hard. The bikini top was loose. Your skin glistened. And you arched your back slightly as you felt his hands touch you.
He spread the sunscreen slowly, with firm fingers.
Too slowly.
Too cautious.
But deep down… he just wanted to prolong it.
Steve was gentle, he always had been. But there was something about you that brought out a more possessive, more hungry side of him. He always controlled. Always took a deep breath. He always reminded you of who he was, who he wanted to be.
But you never made it easy.
"Is this good enough, Captain?" you murmured, your voice thick with provocation.
Steve almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm almost done," he replied, with a light squeeze of his fingers on your waist that he pretended was natural.
The truth is, he wanted to touch you more. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to do everything he shouldn't do—especially with a certain ex-Sergeant Barnes on the other side, watching everything from behind his sunglasses.
But he didn't do anything.
Not yet.
“Thank you, Steve” you said in a voice that was anything but innocent. “Your hands are so… steady.”
Steadfast.
You chose that word.
Bucky cursed under his breath.
And Steve realized what was happening: you wanted them to react.
At lunchtime…
Later, when the group gathered to eat, Steve was already on edge. Bucky too. The two exchanged silent glances the whole time — the kind only a very old couple understands.
She's messing with us.
I know.
And you're going to let her?
And you're not going to?
The tension only worsened when you walked over to them again, this time with your hands sticky with some sauce Nat had made.
"Buck…" you asked with the most innocent face, "my hands are dirty. Can you tie my hair up?"
Steve heard his boyfriend's heavy sigh.
You turned around, exposing your neck.
Bucky almost growled.
And Steve… was torn between laughing and grabbing you by the hips.
He saw how Bucky's fingers slowly touched the nape of your neck, gathering your hair into a high ponytail. You bit your lip. It didn't help. It didn't make it any easier.
"There," Bucky murmured against your ear, too low to be polite. "It won't stick to anything anymore."
You turned to him with a smile that should be illegal.
"Thank you, James."
Steve closed his eyes for a second.
James.
Not Bucky.
James.
You knew.
And before either of them could react, you slipped between them, brushing lightly—very lightly—against Steve's chest.
"You guys should enjoy the sea," you commented over your shoulder. "The water's great."
And you left.
Leaving them both standing there, stiff, tense, and utterly unable to pretend they didn't want you.
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You were sitting on the sand chatting with Wanda when you suddenly stood up, walking slowly towards them. Bucky noticed immediately.
The way you walked.
The smile that appeared even before you arrived.
Your eyes glistening with mischief.
You were about to cause something.
Again.
"James," you called as you approached, and Bucky felt his shoulders tense. Whenever you used his full name, something inside him awakened. "Help me?"
It was always that "help me?"
Always that soft voice that fooled no one.
"What is it now, doll?" he asked, trying to sound light.
You delicately lifted your leg, displaying your hip.
"Tie it here for me."
The bow on your bikini bottom was loose. So loose that one wrong pull would completely undo it.
Steve almost choked.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Bucky had two simultaneous reactions:
A fierce impulse to grab your waist and sit you on his lap.
The absolute need to maintain composure because the Avengers were present.
Then he took a deep breath, knelt before you, and carefully picked up the ribbon.
Your hip was too close.
Your skin too warm.
Your scent too sweet.
He pretended not to notice you holding your breath when his fingers touched your thigh.
"Untying your bikini on the beach?" Bucky murmured in a low, husky voice. "You want to die, don't you?"
You smiled—that smile he hated and loved at the same time.
"I trust you."
He looked up.
You were already looking at him.
And that was it.
He felt his stomach churn. The world slowed down. You looked like you were about to bend down and kiss him, and he was about to let you.
But Steve was there.
Watching everything.
And Bucky had no problem with that—Steve knew everything, shared everything with him—but he didn't know how far you could go.
So he had to stop before he got too blatant.
He tied the knot.
Firm. Precise.
But his hand… lingered.
Just a second longer than necessary.
Enough for you to notice.
"There," he said, slowly standing up. "Now it won't fall anymore."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Not even if I want to?"
He almost lost his breath. Steve did too.
But you just turned around and continued walking along the beach as if you hadn't just left two super-soldiers stiff, tense, and completely in love.
Steve remained silent. His gaze followed you, analyzing your every move, as he always did when trying to understand what he felt.
Bucky knew that look.
It was the same look Steve used when he wanted to draw something—detailed, concentrated, admiring.
"You like her," Bucky said.
Steve didn't deny it.
"You too."
Bucky shrugged, as if it were obvious.
"We've always liked her, Steve." The difference is that now she's noticed.
Steve let out a low, tense laugh.
"And she's having a lot of fun with it."
"We should give her some fun."
They both looked at you again. Their minds racing.
—
The island looked different at night.
As if everything was waiting for something to happen.
Most of the Avengers had already retreated to their cabins, deliberately scattered along the beach—Tony's idea, which he swore was "for privacy," but in practice was pure logistical fussiness. Steve and Bucky's cabin was the furthest away of all. Almost at the edge of the sand and the dense vegetation.
You shared yours with Natasha.
And at that moment, you were in the bathroom, finishing brushing your teeth, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a loose shirt.
You were about to lie down when the cabin door opened.
“Hey,” Nat said, leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile you knew too well to be innocent. “The Captain’s calling you.”
You froze for a second.
“Steve?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Nat crossed his arms, watching you with sharp attention.
“Steve. And, technically, Barnes too. But it was Steve who asked.”
You sighed, putting the brush down on the sink.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing specific,” Nat replied, shrugging. “Just that he wanted to talk to you. Now.”
Now.
You looked in the mirror.
The pajamas.
The robe.
The hair too loose.
“Does he know what time it is?” you murmured.
Nat smiled, in that way that said I know exactly what’s going on and so do you.
“He does.”
You felt your stomach churn slowly.
The sand was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of the cabin.
The moon illuminated the path enough that you didn't need a flashlight. The sea made a constant, almost hypnotic sound beside you. The night wind played with the hem of your robe, lifting the fabric occasionally against your legs.
You walked slowly.
Without haste.
As if each step were part of the provocation.
Their cabin was isolated.
Of course Tony would do this, you thought, almost laughing to yourself. If there was one place where something wrong—or very right—could happen without interruption, it was there.
When you got close enough, you saw the light on inside.
You knocked on the door.
No answer.
You waited a few seconds, feeling the cold night wind chill your skin under your robe, and knocked again—a little harder this time.
"Steve?" you called, your voice low. "Bucky?"
Silence.
The cold seemed to intensify, and a strange discomfort settled in her chest. The light remained on. The cabin didn't seem empty.
You pushed the door open carefully. It creaked softly.
"Hi…" she murmured, entering.
The room was empty. No sign of them. No conversation, no television on, no muffled laughter. Only the distant sound of the sea and the creaking of the wood under her bare feet.
You took a few more steps, closing the door behind you.
That's when you heard it.
A low sound. Muffled. Too rhythmic to be mistaken for the wind or the cabin floor.
Your heart raced immediately.
You walked slowly toward the hallway, each step more conscious than the last. The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sounds became—contained breaths, a deep murmur, another lower one, heavy with tension.
The door was ajar.
You paused for a second, your hand suspended in the air, your whole body torn between retreating… or moving forward.
You moved forward.
Carefully, you approached close enough to see inside the room.
And then you saw.
Bucky was kneeling on the bed, his body tense, facing the door, his hands digging into the mattress as if he were holding onto something much bigger than the moment. His hair fell over his face, his breathing visibly heavy.
Behind him, Steve.
Steve's body moved slowly and intently, his expression completely different from the one he usually wore in public—intense, focused, laden with something too intimate to be seen.
Both their bodies moved as if each gesture were known by heart, rehearsed over years of silent complicity.
Bucky remained leaning forward, his whole body reacting to every movement behind him. The sound escaping his throat wasn't loud, but it was raw—muffled, restrained, failing to be silence. A sound somewhere between a sigh and something that clearly required effort not to turn into an open moan.
Steve was pressed against him.
The rhythm of their hips was firm, constant, marking the time like a dull beat echoing in the room. The sound of his breathing was deeper, heavier, mixed with murmurs too low to be understood, but intense enough to make Bucky's body respond immediately.
The mattress sank under their weight.
With each movement, Bucky's body reacted—his shoulders tensed, his back arched involuntarily, his fingers clenched tightly into the sheet as if it were the only possible anchor. His neck was exposed, his head hanging forward, his breathing completely out of control.
Steve leaned over him at certain moments, slowing the pace only to make everything more brutal. The sound then changed—less impact, more contact, more friction, more presence. The kind of pause that doesn't relieve, only prolongs.
A louder sound escaped Bucky.
A broken sound, ripped from him.
Steve responded immediately—not with words, but with movement. The rhythm returned stronger, more decisive, and the room filled with that damp, repetitive sound, mixed with the accelerated breathing of the two.
You felt your own body react before you could think.
Your stomach tightened.
Your skin crawled.
Your heart was beating too fast.
Steve placed a firm hand on Bucky's waist, his fingers pressing into the skin as if marking territory, holding him in place. The other hand moved up his back, leaving a slow, possessive trail that elicited another involuntary sound.
Bucky trembled.
The rhythm became erratic for a few seconds—not out of control, but by choice. As if Steve were taking Bucky exactly to the limit, pulling back just enough to pull him back with even more force.
The creaking of the bed intensified.
Steve's breathing became a low growl.
Bucky's… chaos.
“Steve…” the name came out drawn out, almost a complaint. “Damn it, this isn't fair.”
The creaking of the bed marked the change in cadence. Slower. Deeper.
Steve seemed determined to feel every reaction.
“Since when do I play fair with you?” he murmured, his voice too close to Bucky's ear.
A louder sound escaped him. Muffled, tense, as if he were biting his own lip to keep it from coming out.
“Steve…” another hoarse moan, more relaxed now. “Don't stop.”
Steve didn't stop.
He leaned over Bucky, the sound of his breath mingling with the other's, deeper, heavier.
“I never stop when you ask like that” he teased, his voice too low, too intimate.
The rhythm became irregular.
Hidden in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the surroundings: Steve's toned chest, the light sweat spreading across his golden skin, his blond hair swaying with the force of Bucky's thrusts.
Bucky was a delicious sight, his strong arms gripping the sheets, his red, swollen mouth open, releasing hoarse moans, his hips thrusting, his round ass swaying with the force of Steve's hip thrusts.
You'd always imagined what Steve and Bucky fucking would be like, and now that they were right before your eyes, it looked like fucking sinful paradise.
You could feel the wetness gathering in your pussy, your nipples were itching to be touched, your body was loving the show, and your mind was short-circuiting.
"You're trembling," Steve commented, almost satisfied.
"It's your fault," Bucky replied, his voice raspy.
Steve let out a sound that wasn't quite a word. Something between a sigh and a low growl.
The movement returned stronger for a few seconds, and the room filled with that repetitive sound, mixed with the uneven breathing of the two. Bucky let out a louder moan this time, without trying to contain it.
Steve responded immediately, as if that were encouragement.
“That… let me hear you.”
Bucky was already fucked, his mouth open as he felt his g-spot being continuously hit. “Damn, Steve… it’s so good. I can’t…ngh~…”
“You like having your ass fucked while thinking about her sweet pussy, huh? My dick isn’t enough for you, huh?” Steve groaned loudly. “Ahh, you needy slut. But I understand.”
You were absolutely fucked, hearing those words coming from the so-good Steve Rogers, you were hot just from hearing them and you weren’t even being fucked by them.
“Damn! Ah, Steve, I’m going to cum! Shit!” Bucky announced through a moan.
“Go ahead, darling… put on a show for our needy girl… I’m going to fill that tight hole…” Steve purred in his partner’s ear as he continued.
“Aah, fuck yeah! Fill me up, Stevie, fill me up, fill me up—!” Bucky was cut off as his face was pushed against the mattress, muffling him.
You then realized something that made your stomach clench.
They knew you were there. They called you over to watch the two of them fucking, thinking of you.
Steve lowered his hand and began to rapidly masturbate Bucky’s cock, the sound of their hips colliding was insane. It took a few thrusts and Bucky was cumming all over the sheet, thick strands of cum gushing from his cock.
You had never seen such a large amount of cum spilled like that, your pussy tightened around nothing, wanting to feel that thick load inside it.
With a muffled groan escaping Steve's lips, he released his load inside the brunette, releasing Bucky's grip on her ass.
Steve slowly dragged his cock out of Bucky's stretched hole, letting the cum spill out of it.
He smiled proudly, patting Bucky's ass, "You did such a good job taking me, darling... you always do." Steve cooed as he kissed Bucky's shoulder, before turning him onto his back and observing the bed beneath him.
Steve hummed as he saw the sheets, "Oh, you were generous with the load, Buck... imagine how beautiful she'll look with your cum dripping from her pussy. I know you'll be giving the biggest load when you're in that wet pussy."
It was too much for you to hear them openly talking about filling your pussy while they were fucking each other, it was too much for your pussy to handle. You just needed to be fucked by two, to be used by them until you tested the limits of your endurance.
You just didn't know how to approach it. Should you go into the room and ask to join in? What if they yelled at you for watching everything and not joining in sooner?
Steve seemed to have heard your thoughts, and the next thing you heard was your name, so clear and unmistakable.
"What are you waiting for, doll?"
And you couldn't resist the gods waiting for you in the worn, sweaty sheets of your insane fuck.
Summary: The Avengers go to a private island for the weekend. You decide to tease your two favorite soldiers, and they… can't resist.
Warnings: Steve and Bucky are an established couple and are in love and horny for you, you are a tease, public teasing, suggestive flirting, Steve and Bucky fucking wildly, anal sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected sex, mention of possessiveness, mention of excessive ejaculation, talking about pussy, suggestive of threesome.
Word count: 3K
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Stark Island, Avengers weekend.
The sun beat down on the white sand, and Steve Rogers tried—without much success—to read the book that lay open on his lap. Words jumbled before his eyes as he tried to focus on the page. But he couldn't.
Not with you there.
You were just a few meters away, playing with the crystal-clear water, diving and returning to the surface with your bikini clinging to your body. Steve tried to be discreet. He tried to maintain the composure that was always expected of him. But the truth was simple, direct, impossible to deny:
He couldn't take his eyes off you.
And he knew Bucky couldn't either.
You looked back, noticing the two soldiers' gaze. You smiled that innocent smile that was never truly innocent. Steve held his breath—and hated how this was becoming more and more common when it came to you.
He tried to go back to the book. He read the same line four times. He absorbed nothing.
And then he heard your voice.
“Steve…”
He looked up immediately, as if his body were conditioned to respond. You walked toward him, drops of water trickling down your sun-warmed skin, holding a bottle of sunscreen.
“Can you put some on my back for me?”
It was a trap. Steve knew. He understood the second you spoke, maybe even before. But he didn't have the strength—or the will—to refuse.
“Sure” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.
When you turned, sat on the towel between your legs, and exposed your back, Steve swallowed hard. The bikini top was loose. Your skin glistened. And you arched your back slightly as you felt his hands touch you.
He spread the sunscreen slowly, with firm fingers.
Too slowly.
Too cautious.
But deep down… he just wanted to prolong it.
Steve was gentle, he always had been. But there was something about you that brought out a more possessive, more hungry side of him. He always controlled. Always took a deep breath. He always reminded you of who he was, who he wanted to be.
But you never made it easy.
"Is this good enough, Captain?" you murmured, your voice thick with provocation.
Steve almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm almost done," he replied, with a light squeeze of his fingers on your waist that he pretended was natural.
The truth is, he wanted to touch you more. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to do everything he shouldn't do—especially with a certain ex-Sergeant Barnes on the other side, watching everything from behind his sunglasses.
But he didn't do anything.
Not yet.
“Thank you, Steve” you said in a voice that was anything but innocent. “Your hands are so… steady.”
Steadfast.
You chose that word.
Bucky cursed under his breath.
And Steve realized what was happening: you wanted them to react.
At lunchtime…
Later, when the group gathered to eat, Steve was already on edge. Bucky too. The two exchanged silent glances the whole time — the kind only a very old couple understands.
She's messing with us.
I know.
And you're going to let her?
And you're not going to?
The tension only worsened when you walked over to them again, this time with your hands sticky with some sauce Nat had made.
"Buck…" you asked with the most innocent face, "my hands are dirty. Can you tie my hair up?"
Steve heard his boyfriend's heavy sigh.
You turned around, exposing your neck.
Bucky almost growled.
And Steve… was torn between laughing and grabbing you by the hips.
He saw how Bucky's fingers slowly touched the nape of your neck, gathering your hair into a high ponytail. You bit your lip. It didn't help. It didn't make it any easier.
"There," Bucky murmured against your ear, too low to be polite. "It won't stick to anything anymore."
You turned to him with a smile that should be illegal.
"Thank you, James."
Steve closed his eyes for a second.
James.
Not Bucky.
James.
You knew.
And before either of them could react, you slipped between them, brushing lightly—very lightly—against Steve's chest.
"You guys should enjoy the sea," you commented over your shoulder. "The water's great."
And you left.
Leaving them both standing there, stiff, tense, and utterly unable to pretend they didn't want you.
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You were sitting on the sand chatting with Wanda when you suddenly stood up, walking slowly towards them. Bucky noticed immediately.
The way you walked.
The smile that appeared even before you arrived.
Your eyes glistening with mischief.
You were about to cause something.
Again.
"James," you called as you approached, and Bucky felt his shoulders tense. Whenever you used his full name, something inside him awakened. "Help me?"
It was always that "help me?"
Always that soft voice that fooled no one.
"What is it now, doll?" he asked, trying to sound light.
You delicately lifted your leg, displaying your hip.
"Tie it here for me."
The bow on your bikini bottom was loose. So loose that one wrong pull would completely undo it.
Steve almost choked.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Bucky had two simultaneous reactions:
A fierce impulse to grab your waist and sit you on his lap.
The absolute need to maintain composure because the Avengers were present.
Then he took a deep breath, knelt before you, and carefully picked up the ribbon.
Your hip was too close.
Your skin too warm.
Your scent too sweet.
He pretended not to notice you holding your breath when his fingers touched your thigh.
"Untying your bikini on the beach?" Bucky murmured in a low, husky voice. "You want to die, don't you?"
You smiled—that smile he hated and loved at the same time.
"I trust you."
He looked up.
You were already looking at him.
And that was it.
He felt his stomach churn. The world slowed down. You looked like you were about to bend down and kiss him, and he was about to let you.
But Steve was there.
Watching everything.
And Bucky had no problem with that—Steve knew everything, shared everything with him—but he didn't know how far you could go.
So he had to stop before he got too blatant.
He tied the knot.
Firm. Precise.
But his hand… lingered.
Just a second longer than necessary.
Enough for you to notice.
"There," he said, slowly standing up. "Now it won't fall anymore."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Not even if I want to?"
He almost lost his breath. Steve did too.
But you just turned around and continued walking along the beach as if you hadn't just left two super-soldiers stiff, tense, and completely in love.
Steve remained silent. His gaze followed you, analyzing your every move, as he always did when trying to understand what he felt.
Bucky knew that look.
It was the same look Steve used when he wanted to draw something—detailed, concentrated, admiring.
"You like her," Bucky said.
Steve didn't deny it.
"You too."
Bucky shrugged, as if it were obvious.
"We've always liked her, Steve." The difference is that now she's noticed.
Steve let out a low, tense laugh.
"And she's having a lot of fun with it."
"We should give her some fun."
They both looked at you again. Their minds racing.
—
The island looked different at night.
As if everything was waiting for something to happen.
Most of the Avengers had already retreated to their cabins, deliberately scattered along the beach—Tony's idea, which he swore was "for privacy," but in practice was pure logistical fussiness. Steve and Bucky's cabin was the furthest away of all. Almost at the edge of the sand and the dense vegetation.
You shared yours with Natasha.
And at that moment, you were in the bathroom, finishing brushing your teeth, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a loose shirt.
You were about to lie down when the cabin door opened.
“Hey,” Nat said, leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile you knew too well to be innocent. “The Captain’s calling you.”
You froze for a second.
“Steve?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Nat crossed his arms, watching you with sharp attention.
“Steve. And, technically, Barnes too. But it was Steve who asked.”
You sighed, putting the brush down on the sink.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing specific,” Nat replied, shrugging. “Just that he wanted to talk to you. Now.”
Now.
You looked in the mirror.
The pajamas.
The robe.
The hair too loose.
“Does he know what time it is?” you murmured.
Nat smiled, in that way that said I know exactly what’s going on and so do you.
“He does.”
You felt your stomach churn slowly.
The sand was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of the cabin.
The moon illuminated the path enough that you didn't need a flashlight. The sea made a constant, almost hypnotic sound beside you. The night wind played with the hem of your robe, lifting the fabric occasionally against your legs.
You walked slowly.
Without haste.
As if each step were part of the provocation.
Their cabin was isolated.
Of course Tony would do this, you thought, almost laughing to yourself. If there was one place where something wrong—or very right—could happen without interruption, it was there.
When you got close enough, you saw the light on inside.
You knocked on the door.
No answer.
You waited a few seconds, feeling the cold night wind chill your skin under your robe, and knocked again—a little harder this time.
"Steve?" you called, your voice low. "Bucky?"
Silence.
The cold seemed to intensify, and a strange discomfort settled in her chest. The light remained on. The cabin didn't seem empty.
You pushed the door open carefully. It creaked softly.
"Hi…" she murmured, entering.
The room was empty. No sign of them. No conversation, no television on, no muffled laughter. Only the distant sound of the sea and the creaking of the wood under her bare feet.
You took a few more steps, closing the door behind you.
That's when you heard it.
A low sound. Muffled. Too rhythmic to be mistaken for the wind or the cabin floor.
Your heart raced immediately.
You walked slowly toward the hallway, each step more conscious than the last. The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sounds became—contained breaths, a deep murmur, another lower one, heavy with tension.
The door was ajar.
You paused for a second, your hand suspended in the air, your whole body torn between retreating… or moving forward.
You moved forward.
Carefully, you approached close enough to see inside the room.
And then you saw.
Bucky was kneeling on the bed, his body tense, facing the door, his hands digging into the mattress as if he were holding onto something much bigger than the moment. His hair fell over his face, his breathing visibly heavy.
Behind him, Steve.
Steve's body moved slowly and intently, his expression completely different from the one he usually wore in public—intense, focused, laden with something too intimate to be seen.
Both their bodies moved as if each gesture were known by heart, rehearsed over years of silent complicity.
Bucky remained leaning forward, his whole body reacting to every movement behind him. The sound escaping his throat wasn't loud, but it was raw—muffled, restrained, failing to be silence. A sound somewhere between a sigh and something that clearly required effort not to turn into an open moan.
Steve was pressed against him.
The rhythm of their hips was firm, constant, marking the time like a dull beat echoing in the room. The sound of his breathing was deeper, heavier, mixed with murmurs too low to be understood, but intense enough to make Bucky's body respond immediately.
The mattress sank under their weight.
With each movement, Bucky's body reacted—his shoulders tensed, his back arched involuntarily, his fingers clenched tightly into the sheet as if it were the only possible anchor. His neck was exposed, his head hanging forward, his breathing completely out of control.
Steve leaned over him at certain moments, slowing the pace only to make everything more brutal. The sound then changed—less impact, more contact, more friction, more presence. The kind of pause that doesn't relieve, only prolongs.
A louder sound escaped Bucky.
A broken sound, ripped from him.
Steve responded immediately—not with words, but with movement. The rhythm returned stronger, more decisive, and the room filled with that damp, repetitive sound, mixed with the accelerated breathing of the two.
You felt your own body react before you could think.
Your stomach tightened.
Your skin crawled.
Your heart was beating too fast.
Steve placed a firm hand on Bucky's waist, his fingers pressing into the skin as if marking territory, holding him in place. The other hand moved up his back, leaving a slow, possessive trail that elicited another involuntary sound.
Bucky trembled.
The rhythm became erratic for a few seconds—not out of control, but by choice. As if Steve were taking Bucky exactly to the limit, pulling back just enough to pull him back with even more force.
The creaking of the bed intensified.
Steve's breathing became a low growl.
Bucky's… chaos.
“Steve…” the name came out drawn out, almost a complaint. “Damn it, this isn't fair.”
The creaking of the bed marked the change in cadence. Slower. Deeper.
Steve seemed determined to feel every reaction.
“Since when do I play fair with you?” he murmured, his voice too close to Bucky's ear.
A louder sound escaped him. Muffled, tense, as if he were biting his own lip to keep it from coming out.
“Steve…” another hoarse moan, more relaxed now. “Don't stop.”
Steve didn't stop.
He leaned over Bucky, the sound of his breath mingling with the other's, deeper, heavier.
“I never stop when you ask like that” he teased, his voice too low, too intimate.
The rhythm became irregular.
Hidden in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the surroundings: Steve's toned chest, the light sweat spreading across his golden skin, his blond hair swaying with the force of Bucky's thrusts.
Bucky was a delicious sight, his strong arms gripping the sheets, his red, swollen mouth open, releasing hoarse moans, his hips thrusting, his round ass swaying with the force of Steve's hip thrusts.
You'd always imagined what Steve and Bucky fucking would be like, and now that they were right before your eyes, it looked like fucking sinful paradise.
You could feel the wetness gathering in your pussy, your nipples were itching to be touched, your body was loving the show, and your mind was short-circuiting.
"You're trembling," Steve commented, almost satisfied.
"It's your fault," Bucky replied, his voice raspy.
Steve let out a sound that wasn't quite a word. Something between a sigh and a low growl.
The movement returned stronger for a few seconds, and the room filled with that repetitive sound, mixed with the uneven breathing of the two. Bucky let out a louder moan this time, without trying to contain it.
Steve responded immediately, as if that were encouragement.
“That… let me hear you.”
Bucky was already fucked, his mouth open as he felt his g-spot being continuously hit. “Damn, Steve… it’s so good. I can’t…ngh~…”
“You like having your ass fucked while thinking about her sweet pussy, huh? My dick isn’t enough for you, huh?” Steve groaned loudly. “Ahh, you needy slut. But I understand.”
You were absolutely fucked, hearing those words coming from the so-good Steve Rogers, you were hot just from hearing them and you weren’t even being fucked by them.
“Damn! Ah, Steve, I’m going to cum! Shit!” Bucky announced through a moan.
“Go ahead, darling… put on a show for our needy girl… I’m going to fill that tight hole…” Steve purred in his partner’s ear as he continued.
“Aah, fuck yeah! Fill me up, Stevie, fill me up, fill me up—!” Bucky was cut off as his face was pushed against the mattress, muffling him.
You then realized something that made your stomach clench.
They knew you were there. They called you over to watch the two of them fucking, thinking of you.
Steve lowered his hand and began to rapidly masturbate Bucky’s cock, the sound of their hips colliding was insane. It took a few thrusts and Bucky was cumming all over the sheet, thick strands of cum gushing from his cock.
You had never seen such a large amount of cum spilled like that, your pussy tightened around nothing, wanting to feel that thick load inside it.
With a muffled groan escaping Steve's lips, he released his load inside the brunette, releasing Bucky's grip on her ass.
Steve slowly dragged his cock out of Bucky's stretched hole, letting the cum spill out of it.
He smiled proudly, patting Bucky's ass, "You did such a good job taking me, darling... you always do." Steve cooed as he kissed Bucky's shoulder, before turning him onto his back and observing the bed beneath him.
Steve hummed as he saw the sheets, "Oh, you were generous with the load, Buck... imagine how beautiful she'll look with your cum dripping from her pussy. I know you'll be giving the biggest load when you're in that wet pussy."
It was too much for you to hear them openly talking about filling your pussy while they were fucking each other, it was too much for your pussy to handle. You just needed to be fucked by two, to be used by them until you tested the limits of your endurance.
You just didn't know how to approach it. Should you go into the room and ask to join in? What if they yelled at you for watching everything and not joining in sooner?
Steve seemed to have heard your thoughts, and the next thing you heard was your name, so clear and unmistakable.
"What are you waiting for, doll?"
And you couldn't resist the gods waiting for you in the worn, sweaty sheets of your insane fuck.
Summary: The Avengers go to a private island for the weekend. You decide to tease your two favorite soldiers, and they… can't resist.
Warnings: Steve and Bucky are an established couple and are in love and horny for you, you are a tease, public teasing, suggestive flirting, Steve and Bucky fucking wildly, anal sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected sex, mention of possessiveness, mention of excessive ejaculation, talking about pussy, suggestive of threesome.
Word count: 3K
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Stark Island, Avengers weekend.
The sun beat down on the white sand, and Steve Rogers tried—without much success—to read the book that lay open on his lap. Words jumbled before his eyes as he tried to focus on the page. But he couldn't.
Not with you there.
You were just a few meters away, playing with the crystal-clear water, diving and returning to the surface with your bikini clinging to your body. Steve tried to be discreet. He tried to maintain the composure that was always expected of him. But the truth was simple, direct, impossible to deny:
He couldn't take his eyes off you.
And he knew Bucky couldn't either.
You looked back, noticing the two soldiers' gaze. You smiled that innocent smile that was never truly innocent. Steve held his breath—and hated how this was becoming more and more common when it came to you.
He tried to go back to the book. He read the same line four times. He absorbed nothing.
And then he heard your voice.
“Steve…”
He looked up immediately, as if his body were conditioned to respond. You walked toward him, drops of water trickling down your sun-warmed skin, holding a bottle of sunscreen.
“Can you put some on my back for me?”
It was a trap. Steve knew. He understood the second you spoke, maybe even before. But he didn't have the strength—or the will—to refuse.
“Sure” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.
When you turned, sat on the towel between your legs, and exposed your back, Steve swallowed hard. The bikini top was loose. Your skin glistened. And you arched your back slightly as you felt his hands touch you.
He spread the sunscreen slowly, with firm fingers.
Too slowly.
Too cautious.
But deep down… he just wanted to prolong it.
Steve was gentle, he always had been. But there was something about you that brought out a more possessive, more hungry side of him. He always controlled. Always took a deep breath. He always reminded you of who he was, who he wanted to be.
But you never made it easy.
"Is this good enough, Captain?" you murmured, your voice thick with provocation.
Steve almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm almost done," he replied, with a light squeeze of his fingers on your waist that he pretended was natural.
The truth is, he wanted to touch you more. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to do everything he shouldn't do—especially with a certain ex-Sergeant Barnes on the other side, watching everything from behind his sunglasses.
But he didn't do anything.
Not yet.
“Thank you, Steve” you said in a voice that was anything but innocent. “Your hands are so… steady.”
Steadfast.
You chose that word.
Bucky cursed under his breath.
And Steve realized what was happening: you wanted them to react.
At lunchtime…
Later, when the group gathered to eat, Steve was already on edge. Bucky too. The two exchanged silent glances the whole time — the kind only a very old couple understands.
She's messing with us.
I know.
And you're going to let her?
And you're not going to?
The tension only worsened when you walked over to them again, this time with your hands sticky with some sauce Nat had made.
"Buck…" you asked with the most innocent face, "my hands are dirty. Can you tie my hair up?"
Steve heard his boyfriend's heavy sigh.
You turned around, exposing your neck.
Bucky almost growled.
And Steve… was torn between laughing and grabbing you by the hips.
He saw how Bucky's fingers slowly touched the nape of your neck, gathering your hair into a high ponytail. You bit your lip. It didn't help. It didn't make it any easier.
"There," Bucky murmured against your ear, too low to be polite. "It won't stick to anything anymore."
You turned to him with a smile that should be illegal.
"Thank you, James."
Steve closed his eyes for a second.
James.
Not Bucky.
James.
You knew.
And before either of them could react, you slipped between them, brushing lightly—very lightly—against Steve's chest.
"You guys should enjoy the sea," you commented over your shoulder. "The water's great."
And you left.
Leaving them both standing there, stiff, tense, and utterly unable to pretend they didn't want you.
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You were sitting on the sand chatting with Wanda when you suddenly stood up, walking slowly towards them. Bucky noticed immediately.
The way you walked.
The smile that appeared even before you arrived.
Your eyes glistening with mischief.
You were about to cause something.
Again.
"James," you called as you approached, and Bucky felt his shoulders tense. Whenever you used his full name, something inside him awakened. "Help me?"
It was always that "help me?"
Always that soft voice that fooled no one.
"What is it now, doll?" he asked, trying to sound light.
You delicately lifted your leg, displaying your hip.
"Tie it here for me."
The bow on your bikini bottom was loose. So loose that one wrong pull would completely undo it.
Steve almost choked.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Bucky had two simultaneous reactions:
A fierce impulse to grab your waist and sit you on his lap.
The absolute need to maintain composure because the Avengers were present.
Then he took a deep breath, knelt before you, and carefully picked up the ribbon.
Your hip was too close.
Your skin too warm.
Your scent too sweet.
He pretended not to notice you holding your breath when his fingers touched your thigh.
"Untying your bikini on the beach?" Bucky murmured in a low, husky voice. "You want to die, don't you?"
You smiled—that smile he hated and loved at the same time.
"I trust you."
He looked up.
You were already looking at him.
And that was it.
He felt his stomach churn. The world slowed down. You looked like you were about to bend down and kiss him, and he was about to let you.
But Steve was there.
Watching everything.
And Bucky had no problem with that—Steve knew everything, shared everything with him—but he didn't know how far you could go.
So he had to stop before he got too blatant.
He tied the knot.
Firm. Precise.
But his hand… lingered.
Just a second longer than necessary.
Enough for you to notice.
"There," he said, slowly standing up. "Now it won't fall anymore."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Not even if I want to?"
He almost lost his breath. Steve did too.
But you just turned around and continued walking along the beach as if you hadn't just left two super-soldiers stiff, tense, and completely in love.
Steve remained silent. His gaze followed you, analyzing your every move, as he always did when trying to understand what he felt.
Bucky knew that look.
It was the same look Steve used when he wanted to draw something—detailed, concentrated, admiring.
"You like her," Bucky said.
Steve didn't deny it.
"You too."
Bucky shrugged, as if it were obvious.
"We've always liked her, Steve." The difference is that now she's noticed.
Steve let out a low, tense laugh.
"And she's having a lot of fun with it."
"We should give her some fun."
They both looked at you again. Their minds racing.
—
The island looked different at night.
As if everything was waiting for something to happen.
Most of the Avengers had already retreated to their cabins, deliberately scattered along the beach—Tony's idea, which he swore was "for privacy," but in practice was pure logistical fussiness. Steve and Bucky's cabin was the furthest away of all. Almost at the edge of the sand and the dense vegetation.
You shared yours with Natasha.
And at that moment, you were in the bathroom, finishing brushing your teeth, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a loose shirt.
You were about to lie down when the cabin door opened.
“Hey,” Nat said, leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile you knew too well to be innocent. “The Captain’s calling you.”
You froze for a second.
“Steve?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Nat crossed his arms, watching you with sharp attention.
“Steve. And, technically, Barnes too. But it was Steve who asked.”
You sighed, putting the brush down on the sink.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing specific,” Nat replied, shrugging. “Just that he wanted to talk to you. Now.”
Now.
You looked in the mirror.
The pajamas.
The robe.
The hair too loose.
“Does he know what time it is?” you murmured.
Nat smiled, in that way that said I know exactly what’s going on and so do you.
“He does.”
You felt your stomach churn slowly.
The sand was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of the cabin.
The moon illuminated the path enough that you didn't need a flashlight. The sea made a constant, almost hypnotic sound beside you. The night wind played with the hem of your robe, lifting the fabric occasionally against your legs.
You walked slowly.
Without haste.
As if each step were part of the provocation.
Their cabin was isolated.
Of course Tony would do this, you thought, almost laughing to yourself. If there was one place where something wrong—or very right—could happen without interruption, it was there.
When you got close enough, you saw the light on inside.
You knocked on the door.
No answer.
You waited a few seconds, feeling the cold night wind chill your skin under your robe, and knocked again—a little harder this time.
"Steve?" you called, your voice low. "Bucky?"
Silence.
The cold seemed to intensify, and a strange discomfort settled in her chest. The light remained on. The cabin didn't seem empty.
You pushed the door open carefully. It creaked softly.
"Hi…" she murmured, entering.
The room was empty. No sign of them. No conversation, no television on, no muffled laughter. Only the distant sound of the sea and the creaking of the wood under her bare feet.
You took a few more steps, closing the door behind you.
That's when you heard it.
A low sound. Muffled. Too rhythmic to be mistaken for the wind or the cabin floor.
Your heart raced immediately.
You walked slowly toward the hallway, each step more conscious than the last. The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sounds became—contained breaths, a deep murmur, another lower one, heavy with tension.
The door was ajar.
You paused for a second, your hand suspended in the air, your whole body torn between retreating… or moving forward.
You moved forward.
Carefully, you approached close enough to see inside the room.
And then you saw.
Bucky was kneeling on the bed, his body tense, facing the door, his hands digging into the mattress as if he were holding onto something much bigger than the moment. His hair fell over his face, his breathing visibly heavy.
Behind him, Steve.
Steve's body moved slowly and intently, his expression completely different from the one he usually wore in public—intense, focused, laden with something too intimate to be seen.
Both their bodies moved as if each gesture were known by heart, rehearsed over years of silent complicity.
Bucky remained leaning forward, his whole body reacting to every movement behind him. The sound escaping his throat wasn't loud, but it was raw—muffled, restrained, failing to be silence. A sound somewhere between a sigh and something that clearly required effort not to turn into an open moan.
Steve was pressed against him.
The rhythm of their hips was firm, constant, marking the time like a dull beat echoing in the room. The sound of his breathing was deeper, heavier, mixed with murmurs too low to be understood, but intense enough to make Bucky's body respond immediately.
The mattress sank under their weight.
With each movement, Bucky's body reacted—his shoulders tensed, his back arched involuntarily, his fingers clenched tightly into the sheet as if it were the only possible anchor. His neck was exposed, his head hanging forward, his breathing completely out of control.
Steve leaned over him at certain moments, slowing the pace only to make everything more brutal. The sound then changed—less impact, more contact, more friction, more presence. The kind of pause that doesn't relieve, only prolongs.
A louder sound escaped Bucky.
A broken sound, ripped from him.
Steve responded immediately—not with words, but with movement. The rhythm returned stronger, more decisive, and the room filled with that damp, repetitive sound, mixed with the accelerated breathing of the two.
You felt your own body react before you could think.
Your stomach tightened.
Your skin crawled.
Your heart was beating too fast.
Steve placed a firm hand on Bucky's waist, his fingers pressing into the skin as if marking territory, holding him in place. The other hand moved up his back, leaving a slow, possessive trail that elicited another involuntary sound.
Bucky trembled.
The rhythm became erratic for a few seconds—not out of control, but by choice. As if Steve were taking Bucky exactly to the limit, pulling back just enough to pull him back with even more force.
The creaking of the bed intensified.
Steve's breathing became a low growl.
Bucky's… chaos.
“Steve…” the name came out drawn out, almost a complaint. “Damn it, this isn't fair.”
The creaking of the bed marked the change in cadence. Slower. Deeper.
Steve seemed determined to feel every reaction.
“Since when do I play fair with you?” he murmured, his voice too close to Bucky's ear.
A louder sound escaped him. Muffled, tense, as if he were biting his own lip to keep it from coming out.
“Steve…” another hoarse moan, more relaxed now. “Don't stop.”
Steve didn't stop.
He leaned over Bucky, the sound of his breath mingling with the other's, deeper, heavier.
“I never stop when you ask like that” he teased, his voice too low, too intimate.
The rhythm became irregular.
Hidden in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the surroundings: Steve's toned chest, the light sweat spreading across his golden skin, his blond hair swaying with the force of Bucky's thrusts.
Bucky was a delicious sight, his strong arms gripping the sheets, his red, swollen mouth open, releasing hoarse moans, his hips thrusting, his round ass swaying with the force of Steve's hip thrusts.
You'd always imagined what Steve and Bucky fucking would be like, and now that they were right before your eyes, it looked like fucking sinful paradise.
You could feel the wetness gathering in your pussy, your nipples were itching to be touched, your body was loving the show, and your mind was short-circuiting.
"You're trembling," Steve commented, almost satisfied.
"It's your fault," Bucky replied, his voice raspy.
Steve let out a sound that wasn't quite a word. Something between a sigh and a low growl.
The movement returned stronger for a few seconds, and the room filled with that repetitive sound, mixed with the uneven breathing of the two. Bucky let out a louder moan this time, without trying to contain it.
Steve responded immediately, as if that were encouragement.
“That… let me hear you.”
Bucky was already fucked, his mouth open as he felt his g-spot being continuously hit. “Damn, Steve… it’s so good. I can’t…ngh~…”
“You like having your ass fucked while thinking about her sweet pussy, huh? My dick isn’t enough for you, huh?” Steve groaned loudly. “Ahh, you needy slut. But I understand.”
You were absolutely fucked, hearing those words coming from the so-good Steve Rogers, you were hot just from hearing them and you weren’t even being fucked by them.
“Damn! Ah, Steve, I’m going to cum! Shit!” Bucky announced through a moan.
“Go ahead, darling… put on a show for our needy girl… I’m going to fill that tight hole…” Steve purred in his partner’s ear as he continued.
“Aah, fuck yeah! Fill me up, Stevie, fill me up, fill me up—!” Bucky was cut off as his face was pushed against the mattress, muffling him.
You then realized something that made your stomach clench.
They knew you were there. They called you over to watch the two of them fucking, thinking of you.
Steve lowered his hand and began to rapidly masturbate Bucky’s cock, the sound of their hips colliding was insane. It took a few thrusts and Bucky was cumming all over the sheet, thick strands of cum gushing from his cock.
You had never seen such a large amount of cum spilled like that, your pussy tightened around nothing, wanting to feel that thick load inside it.
With a muffled groan escaping Steve's lips, he released his load inside the brunette, releasing Bucky's grip on her ass.
Steve slowly dragged his cock out of Bucky's stretched hole, letting the cum spill out of it.
He smiled proudly, patting Bucky's ass, "You did such a good job taking me, darling... you always do." Steve cooed as he kissed Bucky's shoulder, before turning him onto his back and observing the bed beneath him.
Steve hummed as he saw the sheets, "Oh, you were generous with the load, Buck... imagine how beautiful she'll look with your cum dripping from her pussy. I know you'll be giving the biggest load when you're in that wet pussy."
It was too much for you to hear them openly talking about filling your pussy while they were fucking each other, it was too much for your pussy to handle. You just needed to be fucked by two, to be used by them until you tested the limits of your endurance.
You just didn't know how to approach it. Should you go into the room and ask to join in? What if they yelled at you for watching everything and not joining in sooner?
Steve seemed to have heard your thoughts, and the next thing you heard was your name, so clear and unmistakable.
"What are you waiting for, doll?"
And you couldn't resist the gods waiting for you in the worn, sweaty sheets of your insane fuck.
Summary: The Avengers go to a private island for the weekend. You decide to tease your two favorite soldiers, and they… can't resist.
Warnings: Steve and Bucky are an established couple and are in love and horny for you, you are a tease, public teasing, suggestive flirting, Steve and Bucky fucking wildly, anal sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected sex, mention of possessiveness, mention of excessive ejaculation, talking about pussy, suggestive of threesome.
Word count: 3K
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Stark Island, Avengers weekend.
The sun beat down on the white sand, and Steve Rogers tried—without much success—to read the book that lay open on his lap. Words jumbled before his eyes as he tried to focus on the page. But he couldn't.
Not with you there.
You were just a few meters away, playing with the crystal-clear water, diving and returning to the surface with your bikini clinging to your body. Steve tried to be discreet. He tried to maintain the composure that was always expected of him. But the truth was simple, direct, impossible to deny:
He couldn't take his eyes off you.
And he knew Bucky couldn't either.
You looked back, noticing the two soldiers' gaze. You smiled that innocent smile that was never truly innocent. Steve held his breath—and hated how this was becoming more and more common when it came to you.
He tried to go back to the book. He read the same line four times. He absorbed nothing.
And then he heard your voice.
“Steve…”
He looked up immediately, as if his body were conditioned to respond. You walked toward him, drops of water trickling down your sun-warmed skin, holding a bottle of sunscreen.
“Can you put some on my back for me?”
It was a trap. Steve knew. He understood the second you spoke, maybe even before. But he didn't have the strength—or the will—to refuse.
“Sure” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.
When you turned, sat on the towel between your legs, and exposed your back, Steve swallowed hard. The bikini top was loose. Your skin glistened. And you arched your back slightly as you felt his hands touch you.
He spread the sunscreen slowly, with firm fingers.
Too slowly.
Too cautious.
But deep down… he just wanted to prolong it.
Steve was gentle, he always had been. But there was something about you that brought out a more possessive, more hungry side of him. He always controlled. Always took a deep breath. He always reminded you of who he was, who he wanted to be.
But you never made it easy.
"Is this good enough, Captain?" you murmured, your voice thick with provocation.
Steve almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm almost done," he replied, with a light squeeze of his fingers on your waist that he pretended was natural.
The truth is, he wanted to touch you more. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to do everything he shouldn't do—especially with a certain ex-Sergeant Barnes on the other side, watching everything from behind his sunglasses.
But he didn't do anything.
Not yet.
“Thank you, Steve” you said in a voice that was anything but innocent. “Your hands are so… steady.”
Steadfast.
You chose that word.
Bucky cursed under his breath.
And Steve realized what was happening: you wanted them to react.
At lunchtime…
Later, when the group gathered to eat, Steve was already on edge. Bucky too. The two exchanged silent glances the whole time — the kind only a very old couple understands.
She's messing with us.
I know.
And you're going to let her?
And you're not going to?
The tension only worsened when you walked over to them again, this time with your hands sticky with some sauce Nat had made.
"Buck…" you asked with the most innocent face, "my hands are dirty. Can you tie my hair up?"
Steve heard his boyfriend's heavy sigh.
You turned around, exposing your neck.
Bucky almost growled.
And Steve… was torn between laughing and grabbing you by the hips.
He saw how Bucky's fingers slowly touched the nape of your neck, gathering your hair into a high ponytail. You bit your lip. It didn't help. It didn't make it any easier.
"There," Bucky murmured against your ear, too low to be polite. "It won't stick to anything anymore."
You turned to him with a smile that should be illegal.
"Thank you, James."
Steve closed his eyes for a second.
James.
Not Bucky.
James.
You knew.
And before either of them could react, you slipped between them, brushing lightly—very lightly—against Steve's chest.
"You guys should enjoy the sea," you commented over your shoulder. "The water's great."
And you left.
Leaving them both standing there, stiff, tense, and utterly unable to pretend they didn't want you.
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You were sitting on the sand chatting with Wanda when you suddenly stood up, walking slowly towards them. Bucky noticed immediately.
The way you walked.
The smile that appeared even before you arrived.
Your eyes glistening with mischief.
You were about to cause something.
Again.
"James," you called as you approached, and Bucky felt his shoulders tense. Whenever you used his full name, something inside him awakened. "Help me?"
It was always that "help me?"
Always that soft voice that fooled no one.
"What is it now, doll?" he asked, trying to sound light.
You delicately lifted your leg, displaying your hip.
"Tie it here for me."
The bow on your bikini bottom was loose. So loose that one wrong pull would completely undo it.
Steve almost choked.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Bucky had two simultaneous reactions:
A fierce impulse to grab your waist and sit you on his lap.
The absolute need to maintain composure because the Avengers were present.
Then he took a deep breath, knelt before you, and carefully picked up the ribbon.
Your hip was too close.
Your skin too warm.
Your scent too sweet.
He pretended not to notice you holding your breath when his fingers touched your thigh.
"Untying your bikini on the beach?" Bucky murmured in a low, husky voice. "You want to die, don't you?"
You smiled—that smile he hated and loved at the same time.
"I trust you."
He looked up.
You were already looking at him.
And that was it.
He felt his stomach churn. The world slowed down. You looked like you were about to bend down and kiss him, and he was about to let you.
But Steve was there.
Watching everything.
And Bucky had no problem with that—Steve knew everything, shared everything with him—but he didn't know how far you could go.
So he had to stop before he got too blatant.
He tied the knot.
Firm. Precise.
But his hand… lingered.
Just a second longer than necessary.
Enough for you to notice.
"There," he said, slowly standing up. "Now it won't fall anymore."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Not even if I want to?"
He almost lost his breath. Steve did too.
But you just turned around and continued walking along the beach as if you hadn't just left two super-soldiers stiff, tense, and completely in love.
Steve remained silent. His gaze followed you, analyzing your every move, as he always did when trying to understand what he felt.
Bucky knew that look.
It was the same look Steve used when he wanted to draw something—detailed, concentrated, admiring.
"You like her," Bucky said.
Steve didn't deny it.
"You too."
Bucky shrugged, as if it were obvious.
"We've always liked her, Steve." The difference is that now she's noticed.
Steve let out a low, tense laugh.
"And she's having a lot of fun with it."
"We should give her some fun."
They both looked at you again. Their minds racing.
—
The island looked different at night.
As if everything was waiting for something to happen.
Most of the Avengers had already retreated to their cabins, deliberately scattered along the beach—Tony's idea, which he swore was "for privacy," but in practice was pure logistical fussiness. Steve and Bucky's cabin was the furthest away of all. Almost at the edge of the sand and the dense vegetation.
You shared yours with Natasha.
And at that moment, you were in the bathroom, finishing brushing your teeth, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a loose shirt.
You were about to lie down when the cabin door opened.
“Hey,” Nat said, leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile you knew too well to be innocent. “The Captain’s calling you.”
You froze for a second.
“Steve?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Nat crossed his arms, watching you with sharp attention.
“Steve. And, technically, Barnes too. But it was Steve who asked.”
You sighed, putting the brush down on the sink.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing specific,” Nat replied, shrugging. “Just that he wanted to talk to you. Now.”
Now.
You looked in the mirror.
The pajamas.
The robe.
The hair too loose.
“Does he know what time it is?” you murmured.
Nat smiled, in that way that said I know exactly what’s going on and so do you.
“He does.”
You felt your stomach churn slowly.
The sand was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of the cabin.
The moon illuminated the path enough that you didn't need a flashlight. The sea made a constant, almost hypnotic sound beside you. The night wind played with the hem of your robe, lifting the fabric occasionally against your legs.
You walked slowly.
Without haste.
As if each step were part of the provocation.
Their cabin was isolated.
Of course Tony would do this, you thought, almost laughing to yourself. If there was one place where something wrong—or very right—could happen without interruption, it was there.
When you got close enough, you saw the light on inside.
You knocked on the door.
No answer.
You waited a few seconds, feeling the cold night wind chill your skin under your robe, and knocked again—a little harder this time.
"Steve?" you called, your voice low. "Bucky?"
Silence.
The cold seemed to intensify, and a strange discomfort settled in her chest. The light remained on. The cabin didn't seem empty.
You pushed the door open carefully. It creaked softly.
"Hi…" she murmured, entering.
The room was empty. No sign of them. No conversation, no television on, no muffled laughter. Only the distant sound of the sea and the creaking of the wood under her bare feet.
You took a few more steps, closing the door behind you.
That's when you heard it.
A low sound. Muffled. Too rhythmic to be mistaken for the wind or the cabin floor.
Your heart raced immediately.
You walked slowly toward the hallway, each step more conscious than the last. The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sounds became—contained breaths, a deep murmur, another lower one, heavy with tension.
The door was ajar.
You paused for a second, your hand suspended in the air, your whole body torn between retreating… or moving forward.
You moved forward.
Carefully, you approached close enough to see inside the room.
And then you saw.
Bucky was kneeling on the bed, his body tense, facing the door, his hands digging into the mattress as if he were holding onto something much bigger than the moment. His hair fell over his face, his breathing visibly heavy.
Behind him, Steve.
Steve's body moved slowly and intently, his expression completely different from the one he usually wore in public—intense, focused, laden with something too intimate to be seen.
Both their bodies moved as if each gesture were known by heart, rehearsed over years of silent complicity.
Bucky remained leaning forward, his whole body reacting to every movement behind him. The sound escaping his throat wasn't loud, but it was raw—muffled, restrained, failing to be silence. A sound somewhere between a sigh and something that clearly required effort not to turn into an open moan.
Steve was pressed against him.
The rhythm of their hips was firm, constant, marking the time like a dull beat echoing in the room. The sound of his breathing was deeper, heavier, mixed with murmurs too low to be understood, but intense enough to make Bucky's body respond immediately.
The mattress sank under their weight.
With each movement, Bucky's body reacted—his shoulders tensed, his back arched involuntarily, his fingers clenched tightly into the sheet as if it were the only possible anchor. His neck was exposed, his head hanging forward, his breathing completely out of control.
Steve leaned over him at certain moments, slowing the pace only to make everything more brutal. The sound then changed—less impact, more contact, more friction, more presence. The kind of pause that doesn't relieve, only prolongs.
A louder sound escaped Bucky.
A broken sound, ripped from him.
Steve responded immediately—not with words, but with movement. The rhythm returned stronger, more decisive, and the room filled with that damp, repetitive sound, mixed with the accelerated breathing of the two.
You felt your own body react before you could think.
Your stomach tightened.
Your skin crawled.
Your heart was beating too fast.
Steve placed a firm hand on Bucky's waist, his fingers pressing into the skin as if marking territory, holding him in place. The other hand moved up his back, leaving a slow, possessive trail that elicited another involuntary sound.
Bucky trembled.
The rhythm became erratic for a few seconds—not out of control, but by choice. As if Steve were taking Bucky exactly to the limit, pulling back just enough to pull him back with even more force.
The creaking of the bed intensified.
Steve's breathing became a low growl.
Bucky's… chaos.
“Steve…” the name came out drawn out, almost a complaint. “Damn it, this isn't fair.”
The creaking of the bed marked the change in cadence. Slower. Deeper.
Steve seemed determined to feel every reaction.
“Since when do I play fair with you?” he murmured, his voice too close to Bucky's ear.
A louder sound escaped him. Muffled, tense, as if he were biting his own lip to keep it from coming out.
“Steve…” another hoarse moan, more relaxed now. “Don't stop.”
Steve didn't stop.
He leaned over Bucky, the sound of his breath mingling with the other's, deeper, heavier.
“I never stop when you ask like that” he teased, his voice too low, too intimate.
The rhythm became irregular.
Hidden in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the surroundings: Steve's toned chest, the light sweat spreading across his golden skin, his blond hair swaying with the force of Bucky's thrusts.
Bucky was a delicious sight, his strong arms gripping the sheets, his red, swollen mouth open, releasing hoarse moans, his hips thrusting, his round ass swaying with the force of Steve's hip thrusts.
You'd always imagined what Steve and Bucky fucking would be like, and now that they were right before your eyes, it looked like fucking sinful paradise.
You could feel the wetness gathering in your pussy, your nipples were itching to be touched, your body was loving the show, and your mind was short-circuiting.
"You're trembling," Steve commented, almost satisfied.
"It's your fault," Bucky replied, his voice raspy.
Steve let out a sound that wasn't quite a word. Something between a sigh and a low growl.
The movement returned stronger for a few seconds, and the room filled with that repetitive sound, mixed with the uneven breathing of the two. Bucky let out a louder moan this time, without trying to contain it.
Steve responded immediately, as if that were encouragement.
“That… let me hear you.”
Bucky was already fucked, his mouth open as he felt his g-spot being continuously hit. “Damn, Steve… it’s so good. I can’t…ngh~…”
“You like having your ass fucked while thinking about her sweet pussy, huh? My dick isn’t enough for you, huh?” Steve groaned loudly. “Ahh, you needy slut. But I understand.”
You were absolutely fucked, hearing those words coming from the so-good Steve Rogers, you were hot just from hearing them and you weren’t even being fucked by them.
“Damn! Ah, Steve, I’m going to cum! Shit!” Bucky announced through a moan.
“Go ahead, darling… put on a show for our needy girl… I’m going to fill that tight hole…” Steve purred in his partner’s ear as he continued.
“Aah, fuck yeah! Fill me up, Stevie, fill me up, fill me up—!” Bucky was cut off as his face was pushed against the mattress, muffling him.
You then realized something that made your stomach clench.
They knew you were there. They called you over to watch the two of them fucking, thinking of you.
Steve lowered his hand and began to rapidly masturbate Bucky’s cock, the sound of their hips colliding was insane. It took a few thrusts and Bucky was cumming all over the sheet, thick strands of cum gushing from his cock.
You had never seen such a large amount of cum spilled like that, your pussy tightened around nothing, wanting to feel that thick load inside it.
With a muffled groan escaping Steve's lips, he released his load inside the brunette, releasing Bucky's grip on her ass.
Steve slowly dragged his cock out of Bucky's stretched hole, letting the cum spill out of it.
He smiled proudly, patting Bucky's ass, "You did such a good job taking me, darling... you always do." Steve cooed as he kissed Bucky's shoulder, before turning him onto his back and observing the bed beneath him.
Steve hummed as he saw the sheets, "Oh, you were generous with the load, Buck... imagine how beautiful she'll look with your cum dripping from her pussy. I know you'll be giving the biggest load when you're in that wet pussy."
It was too much for you to hear them openly talking about filling your pussy while they were fucking each other, it was too much for your pussy to handle. You just needed to be fucked by two, to be used by them until you tested the limits of your endurance.
You just didn't know how to approach it. Should you go into the room and ask to join in? What if they yelled at you for watching everything and not joining in sooner?
Steve seemed to have heard your thoughts, and the next thing you heard was your name, so clear and unmistakable.
"What are you waiting for, doll?"
And you couldn't resist the gods waiting for you in the worn, sweaty sheets of your insane fuck.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: Steve offers to massage his feet and Bucky decides to help. Two hands that aren't so innocent after all.
Warnings: Threesome, foot massage, teasing, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, double oral, profanity, drinking cum, intense orgasm and overstimulation, mention of jealous Bucky, mention of the death of his vagina, dirty talk. Minors should not read.
Word count: 1.7K
You commented almost without thinking, throwing your body weight onto the sofa after a long day.
"My feet are killing me…"
Steve looked up immediately. It was automatic with him—care before anything else.
"Want me to give you a massage?" he offered, already moving closer, his tone simple, almost innocent.
You hesitated for only a second before stretching your legs.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
Steve knelt in front of you, his large hands carefully enveloping your foot. His touch was firm, technical, clearly experienced—thumbs pressing precise points, fingers attentively supporting the arch.
You let out an involuntary sigh.
"Like this?" he asked softly.
"This is perfect," you replied, your eyes closing without realizing it.
On the other side of the sofa, Bucky watched silently. Leaning against the arm of the furniture, arms crossed, his gaze too attentive for someone who wasn't interested.
"You always do it this perfectly," he commented, somewhat amused. “Let me see that.”
Steve looked up, surprised.
“Want to help?”
Bucky shrugged and moved closer, sitting beside you. He carefully took your other foot, mimicking Steve’s initial gesture—slow, almost too respectful.
At first, it was truly innocent.
Their hands moved in a coordinated way, each focused on relieving tension, their fingers working tired muscles, drawing increasingly deep breaths from you.
Until… it changed.
Steve’s touch began to linger a little longer.
His thumb slid too high, pressing the sensitive skin with less technique and more intention.
Bucky, noticing, slowed down—and then did the same.
You opened your eyes.
The air felt different.
“Is this still a massage?” you murmured, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out lower than intended.
Steve didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the spot where his hands touched your skin.
"Maybe," he finally said, his voice deeper. "If you want."
Bucky tilted his head, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"We just hadn't agreed on how far it would go."
His hands moved slowly up, from the sole of your foot to your ankle, from your ankle to your calf. The touch ceased to be functional and became deliberately slow, almost provocative.
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"You're doing this on purpose," you commented.
Steve let out a low sound, almost a suppressed laugh.
"Maybe," he admitted, his fingers pressing firmly enough to make you shift on the sofa.
Bucky moved closer, his knee brushing against yours, the heat of his body evident.
"The question is," he murmured, "do you want us to stop?"
Their hands continued to move as they awaited your response. Slower. More conscious. Less innocent with each passing second.
You didn't answer with words.
You just let your head fall back, your lips parted, your breath betraying everything your mouth didn't say.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance—short, silent, full of understanding.
And their hands continued.
Steve was the first to reach the hem of your shorts, his fingers sliding the garment over your legs. The firm touch on your thigh made you hold your breath.
Bucky followed the movement on the other side, his large hand enveloping your panties and pulling them down, he held your other leg, calmly and deliberately opening the space.
"Relax," Steve murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "We're going to make you feel good."
You felt the weight of their attention, the way their gazes traveled between your legs until they stopped at your pussy. Their hands moved up a little more, just enough to make your body respond before you even thought.
"Look at her," Bucky teased, his voice hoarse. "All open like that… it's a work of art."
Steve let out a low sound, almost a growl, and approached slowly, his knees touching the floor in front of him with an almost solemn calm.
"Look at me," he asked, his voice low, controlled.
When you obeyed, you felt the warm touch of his mouth slowly approaching. The first contact of his tongue was slow, almost exploratory.
Steve tilted his face further, becoming completely immersed in your intimacy. His tongue went from your entrance to your clitoris, and he stopped with his tongue to suck on your clitoris.
You gasped, your fingers closing on the fabric of the sofa.
— That… — he murmured, as if pleased with the sound you made.
Bucky was close. One hand held your leg, keeping you open, and the metal one began to explore your body until it stopped at your chest. He tugged at your nipple and kissed your leg.
Steve's rhythm changed, and you felt his tongue moving faster and harder. His nose touched your clitoris as his tongue penetrated your vagina.
Your breathing became irregular, and you couldn't contain the sound that escaped your throat. Steve responded immediately, deepening the intensity.
Steve's intensity was relentless. You felt your body vibrate under the wave of pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, feeling the orgasm approaching, your fingers were pulling hard at your blonde hair, while you let out incoherent moans and pleas whenever he sucked your clitoris and flicked his tongue.
Then, he stopped.
You opened your eyes, confused and breathless, to find a disheveled, panting Steve, his beard wet with your pleasure. His blue eyes were fixed on yours as he pulled his tongue out to lick around your face, chasing your taste.
Steve pulled away, but his hand remained firm, keeping you wide open. The air coming in through the window whipped against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to close your legs to ease the tension, but the boys' grip was steely.
"Your turn," Steve murmured, his voice deep and husky, addressing Bucky.
Bucky sat there just watching everything, eagerly awaiting his taste. When he leaned in, it wasn't slow; Bucky's tongue was hungry and urgent.
He moved his tongue up and down your slit, spending the next few moments alternating between fucking your entrance and sucking your clitoris.
Sometimes he focused on your entrance, stretching his tongue as deep into your pussy as he could, or opening your lips wide to suck your entire pussy.
Then, he stopped.
"W-what?" You couldn't understand why he had stopped; your pussy was throbbing, wanting to come. "Bucky, Steve, please, I need to come."
"You will, little girl, be patient," Steve said as he lowered his face back to your legs. That's when you felt cold, steely fingers brushing your entrance. "Bucky and I just want to please our beautiful little pussy; it likes to receive so much attention, it was made for us."
"Please, please, please," you begged, your hips almost hitting Steve's face.
You felt the stretching of two fingers deep inside your heat, Bucky curling his fingers searching for your sweet spot that he knew so well.
Then came Steve, his tongue focused on your clitoris before dragging his teeth over it. He groaned beneath your pussy, licking desperately now.
The wet sounds were louder now. There were crushing motions of his tongue on your pussy and the wet sounds your entrance made with each drag of his fingers inside you.
You were a mess of meows and moans, the double stimulation was taking you to paradise, Steve's tongue working magic on your clitoris and Bucky's fingers so deep you swore they were in your womb.
You lost count of how many fingers there were, your legs began to tremble as your orgasm approached. Your moans grew louder and more breathless, you could only think about the pleasure your boys were giving you.
Bucky showered your pussy with compliments and Steve was focused on sucking your soul.
"That pussy is so greedy, she's swallowing three fingers and still squeezing me, I bet she wants another one."
“Our needy little pussy, I missed it so much,” Bucky says this as if they didn’t have you less than 24 hours ago.
Steve lifted his face for a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he caught his breath.
Your pussy was a mess of hands, fingers at your entrance and then rubbing your clitoris up and down.
It was Steve who gave the order first. “Cum for us, little girl, I know your pussy wants to cum. I want to drink all your flavor and spend the day smelling it on my beard.”
That was too much, your hips began to twist, you felt your stomach heat up and your belly tingle, your pussy contracted around the metal fingers and your clitoris throbbed with the pressure.
“S-Stevie, Bucky…. Please, I want to cum. I want to—.” You didn't finish the sentence; your orgasm exploded inside you so intensely that your eyes closed, your mouth opened in a hoarse, high-pitched moan, your back arched upward, and your hand gripped your blond hair tightly.
You felt the absurd amount of pleasure spreading across your lips, the hot, liquid semen flowing towards Steve's hungry, eager mouth. Bucky's fingers were still deeply buried inside you, slowly dragging to prolong your pleasure, Steve's tongue searching for a way between your entrance and the fingers buried within you.
You were hypersensitive, and yet Steve continued to clean up all the pleasure from your pussy, and Bucky moved in and out, touching your sweet spot. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and your legs forced themselves shut.
"Sensitive... I can't take it anymore." Your pussy throbbed, and you didn't know if it was begging for more or if it couldn't handle any more stimulation.
“Stay still, doll, Stevie is just cleaning you up, we can’t waste all this honey.” Bucky had a mischievous smile on his face, his eyes gleaming as he watched Steve so intently licking everything off you.
When Steve judged you were clean, he tilted his face away from your pussy and blew right on your clitoris. The icy wind drew a sensitive moan from you and your entrance contracted.
“Look, Buck, our little pussy is contracting, it tastes so delicious, I could drink you forever.”
Bucky slowly removed his fingers from your entrance and brought them to his lips, wanting to taste you. “Delicious, darling, is there any more for me? It’s not fair that only Steve gets to drink your honey.”
You were officially declaring death to your pussy, and the cause would be two super soldiers.
Summary: A rumor spreads through the complex: Bucky Barnes is sexually impotent. The problem is, you believed it.
Warnings: Hallway gossip, uncomfortable Bucky, false rumors, gossipy Sam, mention of prescription medication use, jealous Bucky, rough sex, degradation, compliments, mentions of ejaculation, squirting jokes, Bucky is a menace (sigh), cum-cum, oral sex (F receiving), unprotected sex, ejaculation, big Bucky, pet names (baby, doll), multiple orgasms. MINORS SHOULD NOT READ!!!
Word count: 13K
A/N: It's been almost a month since I last posted anything. I've been busy with college and only had time to write this. It's not my best work, but it was a good distraction from studying.
The constant noise of footsteps and voices mingled with the sound of elevators, automatic doors opening and closing, the hurried life that the S.H.I.E.L.D. Compound maintained at an almost military pace. Bucky Barnes was used to it. To the routine, to the weight of others' gazes, to the occasional whispers about the "former HYDRA assassin" who now wore an agent's badge.
But that morning, something was different.
As soon as he passed through the main corridor, he noticed the lingering stares. Conversations stopped as soon as he approached. A group of analysts dispersed too quickly when he entered the break room, and two agents chatting by the coffee machine stared at him with a disguised curiosity that made him uncomfortable.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't judgment.
It was… curiosity.
He noticed the way some whispered and then chuckled softly, looking away when he tried to understand what was happening.
Bucky frowned. He had never been the most sociable person—and honestly, he didn't care to be—but this kind of behavior wasn't typical. Something was swirling around him. Something about him.
As he walked through the metal and glass corridors, the murmurs seemed to follow him like a shadow. And the more he tried to ignore them, the more the feeling gnawed at him from the inside.
He tried to ignore the discomfort of the stares as he walked down the corridors to the training wing. The cold metal of his arm vibrated discreetly under the sleeve of his black T-shirt—an automatic reflex of the irritation he was trying to hide.
Teaching hand-to-hand combat to the rookies was one of the few parts of the job he truly enjoyed. It was simple, straightforward. It didn't require smiles or unnecessary conversations. Just technique, movement, and silence.
But, as he pushed open the door to the room, the sound of blows, falls, and heavy breathing made him stop for a moment.
You were there.
In the center of the mat, guiding a group of agents in mission formation, his hair tied in a hurried bun and his gaze sharp as he corrected the posture of one of the recruits. A firm voice, a commanding tone.
Bucky stood still for a few seconds, observing—and hating how his heart always reacted the same way when he saw you.
You laughed at something one of the rookies said, a brief, natural laugh that lit up the room in a way that left him completely defenseless.
He looked away, clearing his throat, trying to look focused on the clock on the wall. But it was no use. The damn knot in his stomach was there. The same one that appeared every time you were around.
The class ended and the agents began to leave, some greeting Bucky with that same curious look he had noticed since early on. He responded with a short nod, but his attention was on you, who approached, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a towel.
“ Barnes — you greeted him with a slight smile. “ Is your class next?”
“Yes. — He nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have. — And it seems they left the mat in good hands before me.
You laughed, shaking your head, and he felt his chest tighten with the almost childlike desire to continue the conversation.
Maybe it was the moment. After so long observing from afar, maybe today he could speak.
Bucky took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey… — he began, his voice lower than he intended. — Are you free later? I was thinking of… I don't know… taking you out for coffee. Or dinner.
You blinked, surprised, the towel still in your hands. The invitation seemed to have caught you completely off guard — and, for a second, he regretted speaking.
But then the corner of your mouth curved, and the smile that appeared was so genuine that it made him forget to breathe for a moment.
"I'd love to, Bucky," you replied, simply, sincerely.
He felt his chest warm in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.
And when you turned to put away the equipment, with that same smile still on your lips, Bucky knew he was lost—completely.
—
Bucky had been in the complex's living room for at least fifteen minutes, but he pretended not to.
He'd arrived too early—which, for him, was the first mistake.
Sitting on the dark leather sofa, he tried to appear calm while drumming his metal fingers on the arm of the armchair. The silvery reflection betrayed the slight tremor of anxiety.
He checked his watch again, took a deep breath, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and thought for the tenth time whether he shouldn't have chosen a different outfit.
It seemed silly to worry about it, but it had been so long since he'd asked someone out that everything felt like a minefield.
The sound of your footsteps echoed down the hallway before he saw you.
And when he finally looked up, it was as if the world lost its sound for a moment.
You were coming towards him in a simple black dress that stopped just above your knees. The fabric molded to your body with an elegance that left Bucky unsure where to look. The red heels accentuated each step, and the contrast made his heart beat at a pace he thought he'd forgotten.
You smiled when you saw him, and he completely forgot what he intended to say.
"Hey," you greeted him lightly, as if this were just another meeting between colleagues.
But it wasn't. Not for him.
Bucky cleared his throat, standing up too quickly. "Hey," he repeated, in a tone hoarser than he expected.
For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you in a way that probably already gave everything away. Then, in a desperate attempt to seem normal, he gestured with his hand.
"You… look…" he began, but the word stuck in his throat. He tried again, running his hand through his hair, without success. "You look incredible. I mean… beautiful."
You laughed, the light, sweet sound cutting through the silence and relieving some of the tension weighing on him.
"Thank you, Bucky. You look great too."
He lowered his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his ears, and shook his head with a small, awkward smile.
"I don't know if I'll even come close, doll."
You bit your lip, amused by his reaction, and he swore his heart stopped for a second.
Bucky took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, and offered you his arm.
"Shall we go? Before I change my mind and go back to my room pretending this never happened."
You laughed again, linking your arm with his. "Let's go."
And as you walked down the hallway, the nervousness gave way to something lighter. Bucky still didn't know if this would work—but for the first time in a long time, he felt... good.
The restaurant was small, cozy, with low lighting and soft music playing in the background. Bucky had chosen the place after researching for hours—he wanted something beautiful, but that didn't seem too pretentious. He only realized how nervous he was when he found himself standing in front of the door, waiting for you to go in first.
You walked past him with a gentle smile, and the scent of your perfume hit him like a pleasant memory—warm, enveloping, impossible to ignore. He almost forgot to breathe.
The hostess led you to a table near the window. Bucky pulled out the chair for you, and when your fingers accidentally brushed against his, he froze for a moment. The touch was quick, but enough to ignite a spark that made him sit a little stiffer than he intended.
"I didn't know you were the type to plan dates," you joked, adjusting the napkin on your lap.
Bucky let out a short, somewhat nervous laugh.
"Me neither. But…" he paused, searching for the words. "I guess there's a first time for everything, right?"
You raised your eyebrows, amused. "So this is a date, really?"
He looked at you, surprised by the teasing, but the corner of his mouth curved into a shy smile.
"If it isn't, then I made a terrible mistake spending the whole afternoon rehearsing how to compliment you without sounding like an idiot."
You laughed, and the sound was so natural that he felt his chest loosen.
As you talked, the atmosphere lightened. The soldier's rigidity gave way to a more human Bucky, who listened to you speak with genuine attention, laughing at your stories and even venturing a few jokes of his own—which, to his surprise, you found funny.
The waiter brought the wine, and Bucky hesitated before tasting his.
"It's been a while since I've had something like this," he commented, observing the dark liquid in his glass. — In my day, a romantic dinner was basically splitting a pie and hoping not to get arrested afterwards.
You laughed loudly, covering your mouth with your hand. — Is that your way of saying I should feel lucky?
He shrugged, his smile widening. — Maybe. But honestly… I’m the one feeling lucky.
For a moment, the table was silent. You looked at him, and Bucky found himself unable to look away. The reflection of the candles flickered in his eyes, and he wondered how something so simple could leave him completely speechless.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table.
— It’s been a long time since I felt like this. — his voice came out low, almost a whisper. — Like the world has slowed down a bit.
You held his gaze, with the same gentle smile as before. — I understand.
The rest of the evening passed lightly, as if time had decided to slow down just for the two of you. The conversation flowed easily — between laughs, memories, and playful teasing, Bucky felt something inside him warming up in a way that hadn't happened in a long time.
You spoke, and he observed. Every gesture of yours, every expression, every brief pause between sentences fascinated him more. When dinner ended, he was surprised to realize he didn't want it to end.
The return to the complex was peaceful, marked by comfortable silences and glances that spoke louder than any words. The night air was fresh, and the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridors seemed louder than usual.
Upon reaching your room door, you turned to him, still smiling. "Thank you for dinner, Bucky. It was… great."
He scratched the back of his neck, somewhat unsure what to say, a shy smile forming. "I should be thanking you. You…" he paused, trying to find a way to finish the sentence without sounding nervous. "You made the night worthwhile."
You approached slowly and, before he could react, placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The touch was quick, but enough to make him freeze in place.
You approached slowly and, before he could react, placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The touch was quick, but enough to make him freeze in place.
The warmth of your skin lingered there, burning as if it had left a mark. For a second, Bucky completely forgot how to breathe—time seemed to stretch, and all he could do was stare at the space between you, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Goodnight, Bucky," you said with a quiet smile, your eyes shining in a way that made him feel lighter than he had in a long time.
He blinked a few times, trying to come to his senses, and replied somewhat awkwardly, "Goodnight, doll."
You nodded and entered the room, the door closing softly behind you.
Bucky stood in the hallway, a silly grin growing on his face, his heart pounding. He ran his fingers across the cheek where her lips had touched and let out a low, almost childlike laugh.
"She kissed me…" he murmured to himself, still incredulous.
That night, when he finally lay down, the smile was still there. He thought of you until he fell asleep—of your laughter, the sparkle in your eyes, the scent that lingered in the air when you said goodbye.
And, for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes slept peacefully.
He just didn't expect the peace to last so long.
—
Bucky woke up that morning with a smile still lingering on his lips—the warmth of last night's encounter seemed etched into every fiber of his being. As he stood up, still feeling the comfortable weight of the pillow, a wave of anticipation coursed through his body.
But before he could even take his first step out of the room, he was surprised by Sam in the hallway. His gaze was agitated, almost electric, and there was an uncontainable curiosity in his voice:
"So… you went out with her last night, huh? Tell me everything, Buck." Sam seemed unable to control his excitement.
Bucky sighed, trying to remain calm, and replied with a half-smile:
"It's none of your business, Sam. But it was… good."
Sam wasn't satisfied with the short answer and stayed by his side as they walked down the hallway, insisting:
"Buck, seriously. How was it? You didn't do anything embarrassing, did you? Women don't look at you much anymore, you can't scare her away too."
Bucky rolled his eyes, amused by Sam's words, but what came next left him disconcerted. — So, you two together now, how are you going to sleep with her considering… her condition?
Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused, thinking Sam was referring to his super-soldier physical resistance. He shrugged, not wanting to delve deeper, and replied firmly:
— The health sector has been helping me with that, so I can handle it.
Sam paused for a moment, giving him a look full of pity, almost disconcerting. Bucky stopped, frowning—his expression made it clear he didn't understand the meaning of that look.
— Sam… what did you mean by that? — he asked, more seriously, trying to grasp the weight behind his friend's words.
Sam just shook his head, as if he couldn't—or didn't want to—answer there. They continued walking in silence, but Sam's inquisitive look remained etched in Bucky's mind, like an unanswered question echoing between them.
Bucky went about his day normally, but the memory of the encounter that previous night still lingered in his mind. More than that, the curiosity—or perhaps the tension—brought about by Sam's question wouldn't leave him. He tried to focus on training and S.H.I.E.L.D. tasks, but every movement seemed to echo the memory of your smile when you were with him.
It was already getting dark when he entered the kitchen set aside for the Avengers. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the low sound of conversations—and that's when he noticed the two of you. You and Sam were leaning against each other, speaking in low tones, almost whispering, with indecipherable expressions. Bucky paused for a moment in the doorway, observing the scene without understanding the content of the conversation.
As soon as they noticed your presence, you both moved away slightly, interrupting the conversation. There was an awkward silence, and both of you were visibly uncomfortable.
Sam glanced quickly at Bucky before murmuring something to you and rushing out, almost without looking back. The kitchen door closed, leaving you and Bucky alone. The air between you two felt heavy—a dense silence, full of unspoken meaning.
Bucky took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on you, trying to understand what had happened, while a pang of jealousy and anxiety grew within him.
Bucky watched you for a few seconds, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression heavy with something he was trying to hide—but couldn't. The question came out before he even thought twice:
"Since when are you and Sam this close?" His voice was low but firm, with that possessive tone he used when trying to appear calm, but already consumed by jealousy.
You raised your eyebrows, surprised by the question, and then let out a light laugh, shaking your head.
"So that's it?" you asked, with an amused smile. "The great Bucky Barnes is jealous of Sam Wilson?"
He looked away, a little embarrassed, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm not jealous," he murmured, his jaw clenched. — I just... found it curious to see you two whispering like that.
You stepped forward, standing right in front of him, so close he could smell the sweet perfume emanating from you.
"Sam's my friend, Bucky. That's all. And you don't need to be jealous..." you said with a playful smile, your gaze rising to meet his. "But I have to admit... you look really cute when you're jealous."
The corner of Bucky's mouth curled, a restrained smile that he tried unsuccessfully to hide. He shook his head, letting out a short sigh.
"Cute, huh? That's a new one," he murmured, his eyes shining with that mixture of relief and desire that only you could provoke.
You watched him, still with the same slight smile, while he tried to disguise the embarrassment and jealousy that had unintentionally escaped. The silence that followed was comfortable, and you took advantage of the moment to tease him a little more.
"So..." you began, crossing your arms and tilting your head to the side. "When are you going to ask me out again?"
The question caught Bucky completely off guard. He blinked, confused, as if he wasn't sure if he'd heard right.
"I... uh," he swallowed hard, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips for a moment. "You mean... like another date?"
You laughed, amused by his hesitation.
"Yeah, Barnes. Another date." And he took a step forward, his playful tone hiding how anxious you were for the answer too.
For a moment, he just stared at you—that intense look, the same one that seemed to undress you and understand you at the same time. Then, a small smile appeared on his face, shy but genuine.
"Okay," he said finally. "How about now?"
You raised your eyebrows, surprised.
"Now?"
"Yeah," he replied, his eyes shining with restrained excitement. "I was going for a motorcycle ride... and I thought maybe you'd like to come along."
The invitation brought an immediate smile to your face.
"A motorcycle ride?" "I promise I'll go easy on you," he said with a half-smile, trying to appear calm, but clearly excited about the idea.
"Okay, Barnes," you replied, crossing your arms and trying to hide the wide smile that threatened to escape. "Just give me five minutes to change."
As you left the kitchen, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway, and only then did he realize how fast his heart was racing. The idea of you behind him, your arms around his waist as the wind whipped against you both… was enough to completely distract him.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his leather jacket, and let out an almost inaudible whisper:
"What have I gotten myself into?"
Five minutes later, you appeared in the hallway—and Bucky swore time had stopped for a moment.
You were wearing a light leather jacket over a simple blouse and tight pants that accentuated your curves. Your loose hair fell perfectly over your shoulders, and there was something about your smile that made his heart beat erratically. “Ready,” you said, stopping in front of him.
Bucky needed a second to react.
“You… look beautiful,” he murmured softly, before quickly clearing his throat and looking away.
You smiled, pretending not to notice his embarrassment, and walked beside the soldier to the elevator. The silence between you was comfortable, full of expectation and a good, almost electric tension.
When you arrived at the garage, the sound of footsteps echoed through the empty space until Bucky’s motorcycle appeared before you—black, shiny, its polished metal reflecting the cool ambient lights.
“Wow…” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed. “It’s beautiful.”
Bucky lowered his gaze, trying to hide his satisfied smile.
“Ah, it’s just an old companion,” he murmured, running his hand affectionately over the motorcycle’s tank. “But I’m glad you liked it.”
“'Old companion,' huh?” you teased. "Then I should feel honored to be invited to share the seat with her."
He laughed, the sound hoarse and low, and gestured for you to come closer.
"Come up here with me, I'll help you."
Bucky climbed up first, settling into the seat and extending one of his metallic hands to you. The gesture, though simple, made your heart race. You took his hand and climbed up carefully, feeling the warmth of his body right in front of you.
— Put your arms around me — he said, turning his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. — And hold on tight, okay?
You obeyed, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the muscles under his jacket and the woody scent that seemed so characteristic of him.
— Ready? — he asked, starting the engine.
The deep rumble of the motorcycle echoed through the space, vibrating against your legs.
— Ready — you replied with a smile he couldn't see, but felt in the light touch of your body against his.
The motorcycle glided out of the garage and onto the streets of New York, the cold wind hitting you both. The city seemed a blur of lights and sounds, but there, pressed against him, everything seemed calm — the whole world reduced to the sensation of the wind, the sound of the engine, and the constant warmth between you.
The ride began peacefully, with the wind cutting through the night and the city lights fading into the distance. You felt safe there, embraced by Bucky, with the sound of the engine vibrating in sync with your heart. The feeling of freedom was almost addictive—and with each turn, the trust between you seemed to grow.
But then, he took a different exit.
You noticed when he slowed down and veered off the main flow, guiding the motorcycle down a narrower road, surrounded by trees and away from the traffic.
"Where are we going?" you asked, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the wind.
Bucky glanced in the rearview mirror, and the corner of his lips curved into a half-smile.
"Surprise. Do you trust me?"
You laughed softly, tightening your embrace a little more.
"I think so."
A few minutes later, the road ended in a small open space. The asphalt gave way to a dirt track and, just ahead, a cliff opened up, offering a panoramic view of New York. The city shone like a sea of distant lights, reflecting in the slightly cloudy sky.
Bucky turned off the engine, and the silence that settled was so profound that the sound of his own heart seemed too loud. He took off his helmet, his messy hair falling over his face, and turned to you with a shy smile.
"Come on." He extended his hand. "I want to show you something."
You got off the motorcycle, still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the trip, and followed him to where he was. The wind was fresh, carrying the distant scent of rain, and the city lights reflected in his eyes, making them even bluer.
"I usually come here when I need to think," he said, crossing his arms. "It's quiet. Nobody bothers me."
You looked around, marveling at the view.
"It's beautiful, Bucky."
He chuckled softly, glancing at the horizon.
"It doesn't even compare."
You stared at him, not immediately understanding what he meant, until you noticed the way he was looking at you—as if he were struggling not to say something that would completely give him away.
For a moment, no one spoke. Only the distant sounds of the city and the gentle wind.
"So... it's a good place for our second date," you joked, trying to break the silence.
Bucky gave a small smile, scratching the back of his neck.
"I thought it would be better than a restaurant this time." He glanced at you sideways. "And... I wanted a place where I could talk without distractions."
You took a step forward, getting closer to him.
"So, speak, Bucky. What do you want to tell me?"
He took a deep breath, hesitating for a second, before letting out a nervous smile.
"That I'm happy to be here with you. More than I imagined I would be."
The sincerity in his voice warmed your chest. And when the wind blew again, ruffling your hair, the world seemed to shrink to that instant—just the two of you, the lights down below, and the tranquil sound of the night enveloping everything.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and full of something that no words could translate.
You felt your heart pounding, so loud it seemed to echo in the open space around you. The cold night wind contrasted with the warmth rising through your body as you took a step forward, closing the distance between you.
"I'm happy too, Bucky," you said softly, with a shy smile, your eyes fixed on his. "Very."
He blinked slowly, as if trying to memorize every detail of you—the way your lips curved, the soft glint in your eyes, the way the moonlight touched your skin. For a moment, it seemed that time truly stopped.
And then, Bucky took a deep breath, his fingers trembling slightly before gathering the courage to move.
The metal hand landed on your waist first, cold, firm, almost hesitant. The other followed soon after, warm, protective, completing the touch with a tenderness that Bucky himself could hardly believe he was capable of demonstrating.
He pulled you closer slowly, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your mouth, and you knew—even before it happened—what he was going to do.
Your heart raced. You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the fabric of his jacket beneath your fingers and the tense muscle beneath. You stood slightly on tiptoe, your body pressed against his, until your lips finally met.
The kiss began softly, almost shyly. But it only took a second for control to slip.
Bucky deepened the touch with a hoarse sigh, his fingers lightly squeezing your waist. The sensation of the kiss was warm, intense, urgent—as if he had been saving that moment for too long.
You returned the kiss in kind, your fingers tracing the nape of his neck, feeling his soft hair between your fingers. The kiss deepened, your lips moving in a slow but intense rhythm. It was sweet and hungry at the same time, as if you were both trying to say everything that words hadn't yet dared to express.
When you separated, it was just enough time to breathe.
Your foreheads touched, your lips still slightly parted, your warm breath mingling with the cool air.
Bucky smiled slightly, his gaze fixed on your face, completely surrendered.
"I've waited so long for this..."
You smiled back, your heart racing.
"Was it worth the wait?"
He chuckled softly, his thumb caressing your cheek.
"More than I can explain."
—
As soon as he returned from the walk with you that night, Bucky felt something inside him change—something profound, that he could barely name. The kiss still burned in his mind, the touch of your skin still haunted him like a memory too sweet to be forgotten. And it was precisely in this state of lightness, with his chest full of hope, that he received the news: he would be sent on a two-week mission.
The first few hours after departure were strange. The S.H.I.E.L.D. plane seemed quieter than usual, and Bucky found himself looking at his cell phone at every interval, as if expecting a message from you to appear there on its own. And, in fact, when the first one came—a simple “come back soon, soldier” accompanied by a smiling emoji—he had to fight to hide the silly grin that took over his face.
From that point on, the two weeks became a constant cycle of messages and calls. You talked at night, when his team finally stopped to rest, and each of your words seemed to alleviate the weight of the hard days in the field. Sometimes you would say things that made him feel awkward—subtle compliments, veiled flirts, vague promises about what you would do when he got back. Other times, he would find himself laughing alone, surprised by how naturally you made him forget the rest of the world.
But there was also a quieter side to those nights.
Bucky would turn off his cell phone and lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling his body respond in ways he didn't yet fully control. He knew the medication he was taking was necessary. He didn't want to scare you with the absurd amount of testosterone he might have. But now, with you in his life, that control seemed like a double-edged sword.
There were three things that kept him awake during the mission.
The first was simple—or at least it should have been: seeing you again. The memory of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him, was enough to make him restless. He relived that kiss more times than he cared to admit, and each time the longing seemed to worsen.
The second kiss was fraught with fear.
Bucky didn't completely trust himself. He was afraid that, in the heat of the moment, the medication would fail and he would lose control. Not in the sense of violence—he would never hurt you on purpose—but in the sense of intensity, of how much desire consumed him when it came to you.
The idea of touching you, of having you close, left him desperate and terrified in equal measure.
And finally, there was the third torment: he didn't know how to tell you.
How could he explain that he needed medication to control his own sexual impulses? It seemed like a joke—a man who needed help controlling something as human as desire.
These thoughts accompanied him until the day of his return.
When the S.H.I.E.L.D. jet landed and he saw the compound again through the window, Bucky felt his heart clench.
It was strange: he already faced enemies, wars, and memories that would make any man crumble. But none of that made him as nervous as the simple idea of seeing you again—and, perhaps, having to face the truth he had been avoiding for so long.
As soon as Bucky crossed the gates of the complex, the familiar smell of metal, coffee, and disinfectant hit him. He was back—to the controlled chaos of S.H.I.E.L.D., to the calculated routines, to the looks he had already learned to decipher. But at that moment, none of that mattered. The only thought that crossed his mind was you.
He walked quickly through the corridors, his step firm, his eyes attentive to every corner. He expected to find you in some laboratory, perhaps in the communications room—or, who knows, on that small terrace you used to use to train alone at dusk.
But the complex seemed quieter than usual.
It was a rookie agent, with a still-gleaming badge on her uniform, who intercepted him.
"Ah, Agent Barnes!" she seemed surprised by the determined way he appeared in the hallway. "Agent Y/N left a little while ago with Director Hill. I think she went to a field meeting."
Bucky took a deep breath, controlling the disappointment he tried not to show.
"I understand. Thank you."
He nodded and kept walking, his boots echoing on the concrete floor. Part of him wanted to wait for you—to stay there, to occupy his time with anything until he saw you walk through that door. But there was another, more rational part that knew he was avoiding a problem he needed to face.
And that's how he ended up in front of Sam Wilson's office.
The Falcon was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, flipping through a report with his typical bored expression. As soon as he saw Bucky standing in the doorway, he raised an eyebrow.
"Bucky?" he said, without completely taking his eyes off the paper. "I thought you were still on a mission."
"I just got back," Bucky replied, crossing his arms. "I need to talk to you."
Sam lowered the report slowly, a curious little smile forming on his lips.
"This has to do with a certain agent, doesn't it?"
Bucky sighed and went inside, closing the door behind him.
"You know I'm not good with these things."
“Those things?” Sam teased, gesturing with his pen. “You mean feelings, communication, emotional vulnerability, or the fact that you still think you’re in a spy movie when it comes to romance?”
Bucky stared at him wearily, but the joke elicited a slight eye roll—the closest thing to a smile he could muster at that moment.
“I want to do this right. She…” he paused, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. “She’s different. I just don’t want to…”
“Disappoint her,” Sam finished, his voice now softer.
Bucky nodded, looking away.
“You’re the only one who knows, Sam. About the medication. About what happens when it fails. I don’t know if I can… if I should get close to her before I figure this out.”
Sam straightened up in his chair, taking his feet off the table.
“Dude, you’re putting in more effort than half the guys out there. That says a lot.” And honestly, you're not the same as before. I'm sure that won't bother her.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, uneasy.
"But what if she gets disappointed at the last minute? If I lose control, even for a second... I don't know what I'd do."
Sam sighed and crossed his arms.
"Then do what you always do when you're scared: face it. You don't need to hide it from her, Buck. Trust me—if she really is all that you say she is, she'll understand."
Bucky was silent for a moment, his friend's words echoing inside him.
Maybe it was that simple. Maybe the fear was just another ghost from the past trying to convince him that he was still the monster HYDRA tried to create.
But as he stood up to leave the room, Sam threw one last provocation:
"Oh, and just so you know... men your age get like that."
Bucky stopped in the doorway, blinked slowly, and replied with a half-smile of amusement:
"I'm sure I'm much more of a man than you are, Wilson."
Sam laughed loudly.
"I don't doubt it."
—
Bucky returned to the room, his body weary from the weight of the mission. He just wanted a decent shower and to lie down to rest, since he hadn't been able to see you as soon as he arrived.
He gets out of the shower, his clothes already on and preparing to text you, when he hears a knock on his door.
Bucky opened the door, still drying his hair with a towel, the steam from the shower escaping into the hallway. His hair was disheveled, his bare chest covered only by a simple gray t-shirt, and his gaze softened instantly when he saw you standing there—hesitant, biting his lower lip.
"You… were in the shower?" you asked softly, your voice a little shy, your fingers intertwined in front of your body.
"No," he answered too quickly, dropping the towel on his shoulder. "I had already left a while ago."
You let out a relieved sigh and a small smile spread across your face.
"I heard you got back today," you said, looking away for a moment. — And… I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you.
The confession seemed to hit something inside him. Bucky stood still for a few seconds, absorbing the sincerity in your voice. His heart raced, and before he could think too much, he opened the door wider.
— Do you want to come in?
You nodded, and he took a step to the side, watching as you walked past him and into the room. The atmosphere was silent, only the yellowish light of the lamp illuminating the space. The air smelled of soap and something that was purely his—a mixture of cleanliness and wood.
The door closed behind you, and suddenly the soft sound of the click seemed too loud.
You stood there, a few steps from each other. No one said anything for a few seconds, and the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was dense, full of something neither of you dared to name.
Bucky watched you as if trying to believe you were really there. The memory of each message, each muffled laugh on late-night calls, seemed to materialize before you.
You, on the other hand, felt his gaze on you, and each second made the air a little warmer.
"So…" you began, with a shy smile. "This isn't how I imagined your room, I expected it to be darker."
He let out a low, nervous laugh and ran a hand through his wet hair.
"It's not so scary when you're in it."
His words came out in a hoarse tone, and you stared at him, surprised by the sincerity that escaped. His eyes held you, intense, blue, and vulnerable at the same time.
"I missed you," you confessed, almost in a whisper.
Bucky took a step toward you, unsure whether he should or not. His chest rose and fell slowly, his muscles tense under his t-shirt. He wanted to touch you—he just didn't know if he could.
"I missed you too," he said, his voice low, almost broken.
Silence fell between you two again, but this time there was something electric about it. The remaining distance seemed minuscule, and yet, enormous. He leaned in slightly, the fingers of his human hand trembling slightly before stopping a few inches from your waist.
You looked at him, your heart beating so fast it was almost audible, and a small smile formed on your lips.
"Bucky… kiss me already," you whispered, your voice trembling with sweetness.
Bucky didn't resist for another second. His hand found your waist firmly—the cold fingers of the prosthetic hand contrasting with the warmth of your skin. He pulled you close suddenly, in an almost instinctive movement, as if he had waited too long to do it.
The shock of your bodies made the air escape your lungs, and before you could think, his lips were on yours. The kiss began urgently, full of longing, of everything you hadn't said.
Bucky's lips were warm, a little shaky at first, but soon firm, moving against yours as if they wanted to reclaim every lost second. You tasted him—a mixture of mint and something familiar that sent shivers down your spine.
He kissed you as if he were afraid you would disappear, and his hands—one on your waist, the other sliding up your back—held you pressed against him, leaving no room for doubt. Bucky's chest rose and fell rapidly, and when he breathed against your mouth, you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with yours.
You leaned on his shoulders, standing slightly on tiptoe, seeking more. The kiss deepened, becoming slower and more intense, full of feeling. It was as if each touch, each movement, said everything you hadn't been able to say before: how much you missed each other, how much you tried to resist, and how futile it was to fight against it.
Bucky's heart was beating hard enough for you to feel it against your body. He let out a low, almost imperceptible groan as his fingers tangled in his damp hair.
When your lips finally parted, you both stood there, breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together, eyes still closed.
Bucky gently ran his thumb along the corner of your mouth, as if he wanted to memorize that moment.
"I've been waiting for this…" he murmured, his voice hoarse, still breathless. "But I need to tell you something."
You smiled, your face still close to his, and replied softly:
"I already know, Bucky."
Bucky froze, his eyes seemed to bulge out of his face, and for a moment, his world stopped.
"What do you mean… 'you already know'?" His voice came out tense, almost hoarse, and his blue eyes widened in a way that made you feel a slight regret for having blurted it out so directly.
You took a deep breath, trying to keep your tone light.
"I already know about… your condition."
The silence that followed was heavy. Bucky froze, his shoulder muscles tensed, and for a moment he just stared at you, expressionless—as if words were meaningless.
— How… exactly do you know that? — he asked slowly, each syllable laden with disbelief and shame.
You scratched the back of your neck, embarrassed, and looked away for a second.
— Kind of… the whole complex knows, actually.
His eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
— What?! — his voice rose a tone, in pure panic. He ran a hand through his hair, starting to pace back and forth, his expression divided between shock and despair. — Everyone…? Oh, great. Perfect. That’s… incredible.
You laughed softly, trying to ease the tension, and moved closer again, placing your hands on his chest.
— Hey, calm down. Nobody talks about this with scorn, Bucky. It’s just… one of those things that end up circulating, you know? But it doesn’t mean anything.
He looked at you, his jaw clenched, clearly uncomfortable.
— It doesn’t mean anything? — he repeated bitterly. — You're saying this now, but—
— Bucky. — you interrupted him, firmly, but with a soft smile. — I don't care if you're impotent, I like you completely.
Bucky didn't know which reaction to have first, whether to be happy that you said you liked him completely or that you said he, Bucky Barnes, was sexually impotent.
Bucky's eyes widened, the expression of disbelief giving way to something completely different — pure astonishment. He blinked a few times, as if trying to understand what he had just heard, and then blurted out, in a loud and hurried tone:
— Wait a minute! — He took a step back, completely euphoric, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze fixed on you. — What?!
You blinked, confused.
— What?
— I'm not sexually impotent! — he retorted immediately, almost defensively, gesturing with his hands as if he needed to reinforce the idea. — Who… who said that?!
Your heart raced, not only because of the intensity of his reaction, but because Bucky's gaze was now a mixture of shock and genuine indignation.
— I… I don't know, Bucky — you replied, your voice a little shaky, trying to calm the situation. — It was something I heard around, but I swear I have no idea who started it.
He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying to process it. His jaw was rigid, and it was visible how much the situation irritated him.
— Unbelievable… — he murmured through his teeth. — So that's why everyone's been looking at me like that in the cafeteria…
You tried to hide a nervous laugh, but the discomfort was palpable.
— Look, I really thought it was true, because… well, that's what they say around here.
Bucky fixed his gaze on you again, his blue eyes burning with curiosity and disbelief.
— What exactly do they say “around here”?
You hesitated, biting your lower lip, trying to find a less embarrassing way to explain.
"Well... they say you became..." you made a vague gesture with your hands, too afraid to finish.
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
"Go ahead, doll. I've heard worse."
You sighed and, somewhat awkwardly, blurted out:
"They say you became impotent after the HYDRA experiments. That the procedures affected your body and... that you need medication to try to reverse the situation."
The silence that followed was almost comical. Bucky stood completely still, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open, as if his brain had frozen.
"...Medication?" he repeated slowly, his voice thick with irony. "To 'reverse the situation'?"
You nodded, blushing.
"That's what they say."
Bucky ran a hand over his face and let out an incredulous, humorless laugh.
"My God... this is..." He shook his head, between laughter and fury. "This is the most absurd rumor they've ever invented about me."
"So it's not true?" you asked, still a little awkward.
He stared at you, and a crooked smile appeared at the corner of his lips, full of irony and a touch of provocation.
"No, princess. Quite the opposite."
You blinked, surprised by the confident tone and the look he gave you—firm, intense, with a mischievous glint that made you feel a warmth rise in your cheeks.
"You mean that..." you began, but he took a step forward, shortening the distance between you.
Bucky took another step closer, and the distance between you practically disappeared. His breathing was heavy, his gaze firm, and his voice low, but full of an intensity that made your whole body react.
“I don’t use medication because I’m impotent,” he said, each word coming out with a dangerous calm. “I use it to control… resistance.”
You frowned, confused.
“Resistance?”
He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, as if pondering whether or not to continue. Then he sighed and let the truth slip out, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
“The serum that transformed me into what I am… it also amplified other things. Strength. Instinct. Desire.” He ran his tongue over his lips, visibly tense. “Sometimes it’s hard to control myself, especially around you.”
Your heart raced. The way he said it, the sincerity mixed with something deeper—almost a confession—sent a shiver down your spine.
“Hard to control yourself how?” you asked, your voice weak, almost soundless.
Bucky chuckled softly, a deep sound, but without humor. He looked up at you again, and the blue in his eyes seemed to burn.
"Because every time you get close, I feel like touching you. Like pulling you close." He took an even closer step, his breath brushing against your skin. "Like making you forget your own name."
The air grew thick. You let out a low, involuntary sound, your body reacting before you could even think.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself, but continued, his voice heavy with sincerity and restrained desire:
"That's why I need these pills. To keep me in control. To make sure that when I finally touch you…" he paused, his eyes meeting yours, "…I won't hurt you."
You remained silent, your heart pounding so fast it hurt. There was something devastating in the way he confessed it—the internal struggle between instinct and respect, desire and the fear of losing control.
You took a step forward.
He didn't move. She just watched, as if any sudden movement could break the last thread of control she had left.
When her hand touched his chest, the air between you ignited. The heat of his skin was almost unbearable. You felt the firm muscle beneath your fingers, his heart pounding, as if echoing your own.
— Bucky… — his name came out in a whisper, a mixture of pleading and courage.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, something about them had changed — the blue seemed darker, deeper, like an ocean about to swallow everything.
The distance between you disappeared. His touch was urgent, hungry, his hand holding your face with an almost possessive force, while the other ran down your back, pressing you against his body.
— That's what I'm talking about — he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. — That's what the serum does. Makes me want you until I lose my mind.
You took a deep breath, your lips almost touching his. — Then you lose it.
The sound that escaped him was a low moan, almost a warning. And then he yielded.
The kiss was intense from the start — hot, deep. His tongue sought yours, but almost desperately, as if trying to absorb every sigh, every sound you made.
The touch of the cold metal against your skin mixed with the heat of his body sent waves of shivers that rose to the nape of your neck. The kiss was almost possessive, desperate, charged with desire and frustration at the same time.
Before you could process it, Bucky wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you up. You clung to his broad shoulders, feeling the firmness of the muscles beneath your hands.
He walked to the bed with you in his arms, his lips never leaving yours.
As he laid you down on the bed, he positioned himself on top of you, his body covering yours as if he wanted to merge with you. His hands explored your back, sliding across your skin, firm and decisive, yet still careful. His touch provoked shivers and involuntary sighs.
The metal hand gently pressed against your waist, keeping you close, while the other rested against the mattress, near your face, surrounding and holding you with his full presence.
Bucky sighed deeply, his forehead pressed against yours, his blue eyes gleaming with intensity and frustration. He seemed on the verge of completely losing control.
"Do you really want to give yourself to me?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, laden with need and doubt at the same time.
Your heart raced. Without hesitation, you answered, your voice low and firm, but full of desire:
"Yes… I want to be yours. Body and soul."
The effect was immediate. His blue eyes shone more intensely, as if a crack in his control had finally given way. A shiver ran through your body as he tilted his head, bringing his lips close to your neck.
His kisses descended urgently, hot, intense, almost devouring your skin, alternating between kisses and light bites, slowly descending your neck, as if every inch were territory to be marked. You arched slightly, breathing deeply, your low moans mingling with his breath.
You arched further beneath him, your fingers intertwined in his hair, the leg you raised wrapped around his waist, creating a thrust that drew your bodies even closer, intensifying the contact.
The friction between you, even through your clothes, was enough to ignite every inch of your skin, leaving you breathless.
Bucky sighed, his jaw tense, his lips pressing against yours in quick, urgent kisses. His metal hand slid down your legs to firmly grip your thigh, keeping you pressed against his warm body, while his other hand rested near your face, almost as if he wanted to hold you there, making any distance impossible.
Every hip movement of yours against his sent waves of heat and desire through his body, and he responded by arching his body further over yours, increasing the friction of your intimacies even more.
You slid the shirt off his shoulders, your fingers tracing the contour of his shoulders, down his back and neck, provoking low sighs that escaped his lips.
He arched slightly, almost breathless, while his firm hands slid down your waist, lifting your shirt in a quick gesture and soon noticing your lack of underwear.
"Damn, darling, they're beautiful."
Bucky began to scatter kisses across your neck and shoulders. The kisses slowly descended, exploring the valley between your breasts. He placed his metallic hand beside your head—the mattress sank—and the other slid down your waist, rising slowly, as if tracing your body with his fingertips.
"Do you feel this?" he asked against your skin, his mouth warm, his breath quickening. "How much I want you?"
You nodded, but he lifted his face, bringing his lips close to yours without kissing.
"I want to hear you, sweetheart."
"I… I feel it," you gasped, pulling him closer.
A crooked smile appeared at the corner of his mouth before descending again. His lips finally found your breast, first with a soft lick, then with a firmer suction that elicited an involuntary moan from you. Bucky smiled against your skin.
His mouth alternated between warm licks, firm sucks, and light bites that made you arch beneath him, seeking more.
His metallic hand slid to your thigh, firmly opening it, positioning your body without asking permission.
"You're so beautiful like this… surrender to me."
He knelt between your legs and slowly pulled the garment down your thighs. With each inch of skin exposed, his eyes darkened more.
When he finally took everything off, he threw it beside the bed without even looking.
His fingers touched your bare skin reverently, as if he had waited too long for this.
"Like this… just the way I wanted you," he murmured, opening your legs wider with his hands on your knees. "Beautiful… like this I almost lose my mind."
He lowered his body slowly, his lips touching your knee first, then the inside of your thigh.
His breath brushed first—warm, focused, intimate.
Then, the touch.
Bucky's mouth finally found you.
His tongue was firm, right on your clitoris.
You felt a kiss that drew an immediate, involuntary moan from you, which he received as if it were the greatest gift in the world.
"That's it…" he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice making your muscles tremble. "Your pussy is so sweet, I need more."
He gripped your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth, and then parted your lips with his fingers, his tongue exploring your pussy with such fervor, as if he were savoring something he had waited years to have.
His tongue rose once and swayed over your clitoris.
Then it went down.
Then it rose again, this time firmer and faster.
Your body reacted immediately, your fingers gripping the sheets and your moans loud like music to his ears.
"Is this how you like it?" he asked before licking you again, deeper, slower. "Or do you want more pressure?" Hm?
His eyes widened, could he apply more pressure?
— B-Bucky… I don’t… don’t stop.
Bucky smiled against his skin.
And then it really began.
He pushed his whole face into your pussy, his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue searched for its way into your entrance.
His tongue began to penetrate you rhythmically and intensely, exploring as deep as it could.
The sensation was more intense than before—as if he had found a spot that made your mind go blank for seconds.
Your hips rose immediately, seeking more, wanting more, and a low sound escaped his throat, a satisfied growl.
He began to alternate slow movements of his nose with firmer thrusts, testing every way to taste more of your arousal.
"Bucky…"
"You taste so good…" he murmured, before sucking slowly, eliciting a moan too loud to control. "I could stay here all night."
He didn't stop.
He didn't slow down.
He didn't ease up.
Each movement of his tongue was a raw provocation, each suck a threat of pleasure.
Your whole body trembled, your hands sliding to his hair, pulling, pleading without words.
"That's it…" Bucky murmured against you, his mouth still pressed against your most sensitive spot. "You're trembling all over."
The provocation was blatant.
You tried to push your hips forward, seeking more contact, more friction, anything that would finally bring you to orgasm.
He increased the pace, firmer, deeper, more decisive. Every touch of his tongue, every pressure of his fingers, every movement of his body pushed you beyond the limit you thought existed.
The heat rose quickly, overwhelmingly.
You felt your whole body tighten, every muscle tense, every involuntary sigh escaping.
The pleasure rose like an uncontrollable wave, consuming you completely.
"Bucky…" your moan came out loud, trembling. "I…"
He held you tight, guiding every sensation, every shudder.
The world disappeared—there was nothing but the two of you, the heat, the touch, the shared hunger. Moans escaped, loud, uncontrolled, mixed with his voice, low and hoarse, murmuring your name, holding you while pleasure coursed through your entire body.
When the spasms finally began to subside, he lifted his face, his mouth moist, his eyes dark with desire—and watched you breathe rapidly, trembling, desperate.
"Look at you…" he said in the lowest voice he had ever heard. "I've barely started, and you've already lost control."
Bucky was still kneeling between your legs when you called him softly.
"Bucky…"
He lifted his face, his mouth still moist from you, his dark blue eyes almost predatorily darkened.
— Hm? — the low tone reverberated throughout your body.
You swallowed hard, slowly raised your torso, and placed your hands on his thighs. Your fingers slid across his warm skin, slowly moving upwards, as if deciding where they wanted to go.
— I… want to reciprocate. — your voice came out weak, but full of certainty. — I want you… in my mouth.
The impact was immediate.
Bucky took a deep breath as if he'd been punched.
His shoulder muscles tensed, his jaw clenched, and he tilted his head back for a second — as if trying to regain some control that no longer existed.
You gripped the waistband of his pants, pulling him closer.
— I want it, Bucky.
He opened his eyes slowly, and what was there was pure desperation.
Desire.
Hunger.
Surrender.
With an almost impatient movement, Bucky pulled his pants off completely, throwing them to some corner, and there, before you, he was exposed—hot, hard, throbbing for you.
You felt the heat rise through your entire body as you saw his exposed member, the light of the room provocatively illuminating its contours. His cock was thick, long, and slightly crooked, the swollen head red and leaking pre-cum, your lips watering at the sight of Bucky Barnes naked just for you.
"Are you sure?" he asked, but his raspy voice betrayed how much he had already lost his footing. "I… I won't last much longer if you do this."
You looked up, staring directly at him.
"That's exactly what I want."
He let out a low moan, almost a muffled growl, and his fingers tangled in your hair.
You moved closer, your lips brushing his skin—a light, warm touch.
Bucky gasped, his whole body reacting.
"Damn…" he breathed, his hand tightening around the back of his neck. "You're going to kill me like this…"
You smiled against his skin, slowly, provocatively.
Your tongue drifted out for a long lick beside his cock, exploring calmly, just enough to drive him wild.
His fingers slid through your hair, intertwining, encouraging you.
You gripped his member with both hands and before your fingers even closed, you began to masturbate him, feeling the weight, the heat, the firmness… and you brought your mouth to the glans for a firm suck.
The sound he made—something between a moan and a plea for mercy—ran down your spine.
His hips moved forward slightly, instinctively, but he held back. He held your head tenderly and desperately at the same time, his breath failing, his body trembling.
"Like this… God… like this," he murmured, completely surrendered. "Don't stop." No… stop.
You continued masturbating his length while sucking on the glans, its slightly salty taste wasn't a problem, you were loving sucking his cock. Your eyes closed and with a muffled moan, you tightened your grip on his length and the speed of your suction, your hair falling over your eyes as quickly as your head moved.
"Darling…my God, you're amazing at this," he gasped, his chest rising with his breath, his hand gripping your scalp tighter.
With each movement, his control crumbled.
His abdominal muscles tightened, his breathing became ragged, and he called your name with an almost pleading fervor.
"I used to touch myself imagining your mouth on my cock…" he confessed, his body arching. "But this, fuck, this is better than imagining."
His hand gripped your hair tighter as you enveloped him deeper, and he let out a hoarse, irrepressible, visceral moan.
— If you keep going like this… I’m going to cum in your mouth.
His voice came out broken, pleading and warning at the same time.
He groaned softly, his fingers tangling in your hair as the wave of pleasure rose too quickly.
You felt his body tremble and increased the pace just to tease him, just to feel his breath hitch again.
That’s when he gripped your head firmly, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pushed you away with a deep groan.
He held your chin, tilting your head up as he remained kneeling before you, imposing, hard, and still throbbing from the stimulation you gave him.
— Not now. — he growled, still panting, his voice too deep to be steady. — I’m not going to cum in your mouth. Not yet.
He ran his thumb across your mouth, spreading the moisture that remained there, as if marking his territory, watching you gasp beneath him.
— I’d rather ruin you first. His hands slid down your waist, his fingers marking your skin intentionally, pulling your body closer to him—so close you felt his heat, his strength, his size, the raw need he was holding back only out of stubbornness.
Without giving you time to respond, he pushed your shoulder until you fell back onto the bed again, still kneeling before him, vulnerable and open.
Bucky leaned over you, the weight of his body pressing against yours in a way that made every inch of you stiffen and arch toward him.
When your lips met, the kiss was voracious, ardent, exploring every inch of your mouth with an intensity that took your breath away.
You felt his cock settle against the lips of your pussy and couldn't stop the moan that rose with the sensation of him so close to your throbbing entrance.
Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him even closer, and he let out a hoarse sound.
"Christ, you're so wet. A needy little pussy for me, get my cock nice and wet before I fuck it."
Bucky started moving his hips, searching for her sensitive spot, and when the head of his penis touched her clitoris, he let out an animalistic sound. His arms gripped the headboard, he braced his knees on the bed, and began to fuck her poor pussy, his cock rubbing deliciously against her clitoris.
You were a mess of moans, already drunk with the sensation of his cock even before it was inside you. Your hands gripped his muscular back, your legs opening even wider to receive everything he wanted to give you.
"Bucky…oh, that's so good, this feels so good…don't stop."
"My beautiful needy girl, I'm going to give you everything you want."
Their bodies press together urgently, each curve and each touch sending shivers down their spines, each contact increasing the heat that circulates between them.
The brushing of his skin against theirs is electrifying, making their chests race, their breathing become irregular, and their consciousness dissolve into the pleasure of mutual touch.
Bucky keeps his eyes fixed on theirs, his breasts bouncing with the impact of their frenzied bodies.
You arch slightly, feeling each of his gestures travel across your body, while his lips meet yours in quick, urgent kisses, full of intensity and contained hunger.
The tension between them becomes almost palpable, each movement of their hips, each touch of their hands, each muffled whisper contributing to a whirlwind of pleasure and expectation that seems endless.
"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and low, laden with contained desire. "More… I need to have you for myself. Say you want to be mine."
"I-I… I want to be yours… Make me yours, B-Bucky." Your pleas are too much for him to bear, all the teasing. He stops moving and his fleshy hand slides down your bodies until it finds his cock and aligns with your entrance.
His hips meet yours with a deep thrust, sitting him fully inside you. He was so big, so deep, stretching you in a way that felt impossibly right and terribly wrong. "God, look at you, taking me so well, my good girl."
The moan that escapes you is involuntary, almost a sob, as he fills your body all at once—hot, intense, overwhelming. Your body receives him with a shock of pleasure that runs down your spine, and your hands shoot to his chest, searching for some anchor to keep from losing your breath.
Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, his expression taken over by something between reverence and complete perdition.
He breathes against your mouth, panting, as if trying to hold back—and failing.
—Like this… — he growls, pressing his forehead against yours. —Just like this. You’re perfect for me.
He remains completely inside you for a few seconds, just feeling, just breathing together, his muscles tense with so much control. The sensation of him so deep is almost too much — hot, heavy, intense — and your body trembles around him, instinctive, unavoidable.
A hoarse curse escapes his lips when he feels you adjust.
His hands slide down your waist, holding your body as if it belonged to him.
—Look at me — he asks, his voice low, firm, full of hunger and adoration at the same time.
You open your eyes, your breath trembling, and see him like this: completely taken, looking at you as if he were seeing something he never wants to lose again.
He begins to move again — not fast, not yet — but deep.
Each slow thrust draws a sigh from you, makes your back arch, your body tighten around him without you being able to control it.
— That… right… — he encourages, his voice raspy, sliding his metallic hand down your thigh until it grips your waist, opening you even wider. — Let me feel you. Let me have you like this.
Your body reacts to every inch of him, the heat growing aggressively, almost painfully good. Your fingers grip his shoulders as he sinks in again, firmer, more surrendered.
“ Bucky… — your moan is almost a cry.
A crooked, obscenely satisfied smile spreads across his lips.
“My girl… — he whispers against your mouth. — Say more… tell me you’re mine.”
You can barely form words, but you try anyway, your voice faltering as he pushes deeper, hotter.
“ I-I’m yours… — you breathe, trembling beneath him. — Only yours.
He shudders, completely, as if your words break him from the inside.
“ Then let me show you how much.”
He grips your hips tightly, and the rhythm changes—still intense, deep, but now charged with something more raw, more urgent, as if he were clinging to you with his whole body.
His body stiffens against yours, his breath falters, the once controlled movements begin to take on a raw, inevitable desperation.
He tries to maintain control.
You feel it in the way his muscles tremble, in the grip of his fingers on your waist, in the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck as if that could hold him back.
But it can't.
"Damn…" he growls against your skin, pushing deep once more. "You're driving me crazy… I can't…"
A violent shiver runs down your spine.
You feel him practically trembling inside you—hot, intense, hungry.
He tries to slow down, but his own body betrays him.
He sinks in once more, a little harder, and the involuntary reaction of his body makes him let out a low, almost shattered groan. “—No…” he forces his voice, tense. “I can’t… you’re… you’re too much…”
Your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, pulling at the dark strands of hair, and it destroys him even more.
His hips move with a heavy, erratic thrust, as if each lunge were a desperate attempt to hold back—and each one failed more than the last.
“Look at me…” he asks, almost pleading.
You comply, and his eyes…
God.
They are so blue, so dark with desire that it hurts.
“Don’t do this to me…” he gasps, sliding deeper. “Don’t look at me like that… don’t talk like that… I’m going to—”
He interrupts the sentence with a hoarse, visceral groan, drowning the sound in his mouth as he captures your lips in an urgent, almost savage kiss.
It’s hot, desperate, as if he’s trying to devour you so he doesn’t explode completely.
Bucky's eyes scan his body as if he needs to memorize every detail to survive.
And then… he slows down.
And this is worse.
Much worse.
He sinks his hips against yours in a slow, deep, dragging motion—the kind of touch that isn't meant for immediate pleasure, but to destroy your sanity little by little.
You feel it.
You feel everything.
"I was so close…" he confesses, breathless, his voice breaking against his mouth. "But you… you deserve more than this. I won't lose control so quickly."
His hand moves up your waist, dominating your entire body, and he presses his thumb against your bare waist as if marking his territory.
He rotates his hips—slow, calculated, cruel.
Your whole body arches.
"Bucky… please…"
He closes his eyes for a second, as if needing strength not to give in.
When he opens them again, they're even darker.
"You begging like this…" he whispers, brushing his mouth against yours. "You have no idea what this does to me."
Their mouths almost touch, but he doesn't kiss you.
He wants you to beg.
Another slow thrust.
Hot.
Deep.
Devastating.
Your breath falters.
He smiles—a small, crooked smile that reveals how much he enjoys seeing you on the edge of the precipice.
"See?" he murmurs, sliding his hands down your waist, squeezing lightly. "I want you desperate… I want you calling me… feeling every second."
He leans in, his nose brushing your cheek.
"You're going to beg a little more, princess, before I give you everything you want."
He makes another slow thrust, almost stopping mid-way—and you let out a moan that he absorbs with his mouth slightly open, still not allowing the kiss.
"Like this…" he whispers, satisfied, his deep voice vibrating against your throat. "It's getting the way I like it."
His hands move up to your breasts, squeezing gently, and he speaks close to your ear:
"Just a little more."
Your fingers grip his shoulders, your body arches involuntarily, your breath catches the moment he rotates his hips—a slow, firm rotation that elicits a moan from you.
He smiles against your mouth without actually kissing it.
"That's it…" he murmurs, satisfied. "You're almost begging. Say it, go on."
Say you want more.
You bite your lip, already relinquishing any control.
"Bucky…" your voice comes out almost breathless. "Please… I need you to fuck me…"
He closes his eyes for a second—as if your plea shattered the last of the self-control he still had.
When he opens them, he's a different man.
More savage.
"That's what I wanted, doll…" he confesses, his voice deeper than before. — You begging me to fuck you… you opening up to me… you saying you need your man.
Suddenly, he grabs your thighs and pulls you down a little more, one of your legs rising to his shoulder, adjusting your body as if it were natural for him to position you exactly where he wanted.
“ You're going to feel me so deep… it's going to be so good, I promise.
A firm, deep, growing rhythm — stronger each time than the last, as if he had finally allowed himself to feel everything he had been repressing.
Your body responds immediately, you feel his cock slide deeper, finding your cervix. A loud moan escapes before you can hold it back.
“ Bucky… — you breathe, your forehead touching his. “ You’re so good. Your cock is so big… fucking me like this…”
You grab his hair, pulling him closer, and Bucky lets out a low sound — an almost growl — as you press your body against his.
He holds you by the hips, pulling you against him, meeting your body with precise thrusts that take your breath away.
Your body begins to tremble.
First your legs.
Then your stomach.
Then everything.
The pressure inside you grows too fast to contain, the pleasure piling up in increasingly violent waves, increasingly impossible to control.
“ That’s it… — he whispers, watching your every reaction with a devotion that hurts. “ Let it happen. Give me all your pleasure.”
You try, but you can’t keep your eyes open.
Your head falls back as a warm wave surges up your spine, crackling in every muscle, eliciting a moan you wouldn't dare make if you were in control.
Your orgasm sweeps you away mercilessly, a hot explosion that makes you grip Bucky tightly, your breath catching, the world disappearing for a few seconds as you melt in his arms.
Bucky groans as he feels your body tighten around his, and it's as if your reaction tears away the last bit of control he's trying to maintain.
"Shit…" he gasps, his voice almost broken. "Like this… squeezing me so tight… she wants my cum inside her, a greedy little pussy."
He grips your hips tighter, pulling your body closer to his with more intense, almost desperate thrusts—as if fighting against despair itself.
Your breath becomes ragged, hot against your neck.
His rhythm becomes erratic—faster, deeper, more urgent.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his fingers gripping your skin, his whole body trembling as the last line of self-control breaks.
He grips your hips with both hands—firm, possessive, as if molding you to receive every inch of him—and then pushes deeper, as if he could drag you even further down into his body.
The moan that escapes you is involuntary, loud, torn.
He slides almost out, very slowly, just the tip inside—a hot torment—and then thrusts back in with a skin-on-skin snap, burying himself to the limit again. Your body would arch on its own if his hands didn't hold you in place.
"B-Bucky…!" your voice falters, broken by the shock of pleasure.
"I know, I know…" he breathes like a hungry animal, his forehead pressed against yours. — So tight… so mine…
He begins to rhythmically move, long and deep at first, as if he wants to feel your every reaction, every tremor, every held breath. His mouth meets yours in a hot, wet, desperate kiss, while he continues pushing inside you — too slow to satisfy your need, too deep to let you think.
You feel your inner wall throb around him, and that draws a low groan from deep in his throat.
“ Look how you receive me… — he murmurs, his voice raspy, cracked with desire. — Open your legs for me… let me take you properly…
He squeezes your thighs, spreading them even further, exposing you completely to him — and then goes deep again, so deep that you lose your breath for a second.
Your whole body vibrates with the sensation.
“ That’s it… my girl… mine — he repeats, as if he were marking you with words, with his body, with each thrust that pushes you onto the bed.
You can barely answer, but he doesn't need to: your body speaks for you — the way you grip his shoulders, the way your hips try to keep up with the rhythm, the way your voice escapes in loud, broken moans, pleading without words.
Bucky smiles against your mouth, panting, satisfied with the havoc he's wreaking.
“Like this… feel me… feel all of me.
His rhythm changes—it becomes more urgent, heavier, as if something inside him has finally crossed the control point.
The air around you seems to tremble.
His rhythm increases—not brutal, but precise, hungry, determined to bring you to a second orgasm with him.
Your whole body throbs, every nerve lit, every part of you tightening, begging for more, begging for everything.
“B-Bucky… I…—your voice barely comes out, trapped between moans.
“I know.
He brings his forehead close to yours, breathing heavily.
“Give me one more, just one more.
The pressure builds inside you too fast, too strong, and he feels it—the way you tremble, the way your body reacts to his, pulling him deeper without you realizing it.
“That's it, love… that's it…—he whispers, lost. —Come with me.
You come hard, your pussy already sensitive—the climax washes over you completely, stealing your breath, your voice, your control. Your body arches against his, trembling, squeezing around him so tightly that Bucky lets out a hoarse groan, almost a grunt.
He continues moving inside you, guided by the sensation of you melting in his arms, until his own limit breaks.
He buries his face in your neck, his whole body tensing, the rhythm faltering as the wave hits him.
"Fuck…" he breathes against your skin, his voice hoarse, raw. "You… you destroy me…"
His weight falls partially on you, still panting, still trembling as if his body is slow to return to itself.
He doesn't pull away immediately—he keeps his body pressed against yours, as if he still needs the contact to prove that you're there.
Your breaths mingle, warm and uneven, as he holds your face with unexpected gentleness.
"Are you okay?" his voice comes out low, hoarse, still laden with emotion.
You just sigh, resting your head on his chest, absorbing the strong beat of his heart against yours. The silence that follows isn't empty, but full—full of his presence, of the intimacy you've just shared.
"I…" he begins, as if trying to find words that make sense after everything. "I needed this… I needed you."
You feel a shiver run down your spine, and for a moment, you just let yourself stay there, surrendering to the feeling of being safe in his arms, even after everything. He runs a hand through your hair, pushing some strands back, as if memorizing every detail of you.
He pulls his face away slightly, looking into your eyes, still unhurried, still as if he wants to record every expression of yours.
"You drive me crazy…" he admits, his voice low and laden with desire still contained, but now mixed with something deeper. "But I promise… I'll take care of you."
And for a few moments, everything is suspended in that warmth, in that silence that speaks louder than words could, while the two of you simply remain there, close together, breathing together, recovering from the impact and the feelings you shared.
Summary: The next day arrives and Steve confronts feelings that have been buried for decades.
Warnings: internal emotional conflict, discussions about repressed feelings, difficulties in acceptance, relationship under construction.
Word count: 1K
A/N: This chapter is in no hurry to resolve anything. It exists to show that loving also means knowing how to wait, respecting the other person's time, and understanding that old feelings don't disappear—they just learn new ways to exist.
Serie: The Poetry That We Are - Next
The next morning arrived with a strange air in the Compound.
Not tense.
Not cold.
Just… suspended.
You first noticed it when you found Bucky in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, stirring his coffee without actually drinking it. He seemed restless—the kind of restlessness that only appeared when it was about Steve.
His eyes lifted to you as soon as you entered.
And the first thing he did was ask:
“Is Steve… mad at me?”
There was no accusation. No resentment.
Just pure concern.
You walked slowly toward him.
“He’s not mad, Buck,” you said calmly. “Just… confused. And scared. And he thinks he hurt you.”
Bucky lowered his gaze for a second, biting the inside of his cheek—an old habit.
Before he could answer, you heard footsteps in the hallway.
Steve appeared.
He was different.
Not in his face—in the way he breathed.
Still nervous. But… determined.
When Bucky saw him, he straightened his posture.
And Steve… hesitated at the door for a moment—almost recoiled.
But you touched his hand.
And he straightened up.
He went in.
Bucky stood up.
The two of them stared at each other.
And the silence was so full of history that you could feel the weight in the air.
You took a deep breath and said:
"Buck… Steve wants to talk to you. And I'm here because he asked me to."
Bucky blinked once.
Twice.
Then nodded slowly.
"Okay. I'm listening."
Steve swallowed hard.
You felt his hand tremble in yours for a second.
He released it just enough to step forward.
He stared at Bucky—not as Captain, not as leader.
But as Steve.
That Steve.
"Buck…" Steve began, his voice hoarse, "I'm not angry. I swear. I just… got stuck in my own head."
Bucky crossed his arms, but not defensively—he did that when he was insecure.
"I noticed you were acting strange. I thought I'd messed everything up," he admitted, in an unexpectedly soft tone. "I said something stupid, didn't I?"
Steve shook his head quickly.
"No. You didn't say anything stupid. You just…" Steve took a deep breath, "you surprised me. And I… don't handle surprise well."
Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Surprised how?”
Steve looked at you, as if gathering courage.
You squeezed his hand.
And he finally said:
“ When you said that… that we were boyfriend and girlfriend too… “ Steve stopped, his chest trembling “ I… I wasn't prepared to hear that.”
“I always felt something for you, but I never called it “dating.” I didn't even let it get close to that. Because…” he laughed nervously, humorlessly “in our time that didn't happen, Buck. There was no space. Only danger.”
Bucky lowered his arms immediately.
His expression changed — understanding. Grasping every fragment.
“ I know. “ Bucky murmured. “ I lived through that too.”
Steve nodded.
“ And now… “he continued “ now we're here. The three of us. Me finally accepting that I can like someone without shame… and then you say we're boyfriend and girlfriend and… and that affected me. In a way I didn't expect.”
You felt Steve flinch when he said the word “boyfriends.”
Bucky took a step forward.
“Steve… if that made you uncomfortable… I—”
“It’s not discomfort,” Steve cut in quickly. “It’s fear. Fear because I’ve always had feelings for you. Always. And I’ve spent my whole life pretending I didn’t. “
The air left Bucky’s lungs.
He blinked several times, as if processing it.
You watched the two of them as if you were witnessing something that should have always happened.
"I was happy when I realized I could… leave that behind," Steve continued, lower in his voice. "I had you as my best friend, my family. And then… now that we're together… and you say that… it feels like everything comes back. Everything I hid. Everything I never said.”
Bucky swallowed hard, moving a little closer.
"Steve…" his voice faltered at first, "you don't have to choose between speaking or hiding. And you don't have to choose between the two of us. I don't want to compete with you. I never wanted to.”
Steve exhaled as if he had waited decades for those words.
"I can't be your boyfriend… like this… right now," Steve said carefully. "I'm not ready to explain it to the world. Or to myself. But I… I want to continue being your… his voice trembled — your Steve."
Bucky took a deep breath.
"Okay." he answered, softly, firmly. “Steve, I didn't say that to pressure you. I said it because… because when you've loved someone for so long, you don't realize when that love changes form. But I don't need us to call each other boyfriend right now. I just need you here. With us.”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, exhausted and relieved at the same time.
“I want to stay.” he whispered. “With both of you.”
You touched his arm and then Bucky's.
And it was you who said:
“That's what matters.”
You two love each other. In a huge way. And no label needs to be put on it right now.
What matters is that nobody is losing anybody.
Bucky looked at Steve.
Steve looked at Bucky.
And for the first time since yesterday…
they smiled.
Small.
Insecure.
But real.
Bucky took a step, hesitating for a second—and then placed his hand on the back of Steve's neck, just like he did with you yesterday. An old gesture.
Steve closed his eyes, their foreheads touching.
There was no kiss.
It wasn't necessary.
It was affection.
——-
Later, when you left the room, you found Bucky in the hallway, leaning against the wall, fiddling with his phone without really paying attention.
He looked up.
"So?"
You approached him.
"He's better."
Bucky nodded, relieved.
"Good," he said. "I'm also... a little." He hesitated. "I was afraid I'd ruined everything."
You touched his arm.
"You didn't ruin anything, Buck. You just opened something that already existed."
Bucky let out a slow breath.
"It always existed, right?"
"Always."
He smiled—that crooked, almost shy smile.
"So…" he tilted his head. "Will you stay with me for a while? Just… so I don't overthink it."
You intertwined your fingers with his.
"I'll always stay with you."
And that night, there were no grand declarations.
Nor definitive decisions.
Just three people learning, for the first time, that love didn't have to be a battle.
