hello everyone! My name is Anne and I'm just a girl who writes for Formula 1!
reqs currently open inbox currently open
I am so glad you have somehow found this little blog! a few things about me: I have the unhealthiest obsession with uhm... OLDER MEN, I struggle to wake up on race days but do it anyways and still complain about it, I love good romance books and movies, and I like to cook rather than bake because I can't bake 🥲
we're all friends here, so please feel free to reach out! I hope you all enjoy your time here! :)
below is my masterlist related to all things f1! as I continue to write, I will continue to add to the list.
the list will be divided individually by drivers or team principals (mostly toto wolff). Any mature content will be noted by the symbol ❤️ if it's full of fluffy content then I will mark it with the symbol 🩵, I don't know if there're any chances that I will write some angsty stuff or not, and if yes then it will go by this heart symbol 💛.
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader
word count | 11.3k words
summary | when your boyfriend offers to play the stranger who picks you up at a bar, you expect a little dirty talk—not a full performance, a running camera, and the dirtiest night of your life.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, unprotected sex, rough sex, established relationship, roleplay smut, manhandling, roleplay sex, filmed sex, degradation/praise, overstimulation, fingering, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f!receiving), facial, fake cheating, teasing!reader, mean!bucky, flustered!bucky, bf!bucky, bucky is down so bad, smut with feelings, bucky has a cam kink now, horny and in love, porn with the tiniest bit of plot, or no... actually I'm lying, there's really no plot.
a/n | this has been sitting in my drafts since oct, enjoy. inspired by that episode of modern family where claire and phil roleplay strangers in a hotel bar.
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
you do NOT need to read the previous parts to read this one
sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @omi-resources
You stood near the end of the counter, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of something you couldn’t even remember ordering.
The condensation dripped between your fingers, cool and slick, grounding you in the low-lit noise of the bar. Your heel was propped on the brass rail, dress riding up just a little, enough to feel the air against your thigh.
The place was alive tonight. Warm with pressed bodies and old wood, the kind of Friday-night hum that vibrated through your ribs. Neon signs flickered half-heartedly against exposed brick, casting everything in shades of pink and amber.
It wasn’t your scene, not really, but you’d promised yourself you’d try. A little lipstick. A short sequence dress. A half-commitment to pretending you weren’t already imagining the silence of your apartment, the relief of kicking off your heels, the familiar weight of his arms around you when you got home.
But then you felt it.
A gaze sliding over your skin like a warm hand before it even touched you. Your neck prickled. The hair on your arms stood. The strange gravity of someone looking shifted the air around you before you even turned.
Then the voice came from behind your left shoulder, cutting through the bar’s chatter like a blade.
“Didn’t think a girl like you would be here alone.”
You turned.
The man beside you was tall, broad-shouldered under a dark coat that looked expensive in a simple way. His hair was neatly cut, dark, with a hint of grey catching the neon light. Stubble lined his jaw, sharp and clean, his eyes were blue, electric even in the dim haze—and they carried this confidence that bordered on predatory.
You gave him a slow once-over. From his boots to his jaw, letting him feel the weight of your attention. Then, casually, you turned back to your drink. “I’m not alone.”
He didn’t leave. You could feel him smile before he spoke again, the warmth of it bleeding into his voice.
“Boyfriend?”
You nodded.
“Is he here?”
You shook your head, taking a sip of your drink, something citrusy and sweet that burned pleasantly on the way down.
“Then you’re alone.” His voice was soft, like he was stating a fact you’d been trying to ignore.
You huffed a laugh before you could stop it, surprised sound that slipped out like a traitor. You sipped again, buying a second, then glanced sideways at him. “That’s not really how it works.”
He leaned in, close enough that his cologne reached you first; clean, soapy, undercut with something warm and woody. It was good. The kind of scent that made you want to lean closer just to breathe it in.
“Maybe not,” he said, “but I’ve got a feeling your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.”
You looked at him then, skeptical, one eyebrow lifting. “You know my boyfriend?”
“No.” A grin spread across his mouth. “But if he was doing his job, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”
Your lips curved… again, against your will. A small, reluctant acknowledgment that the game was already in play. You shifted, angling your body slightly away, a polite distance that said I’m not interested even as your eyes lingered a beat too long.
He didn’t take the hint. He took a step closer, filling the space you’d left, and the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin.
His gaze traveled over your face, not crude, not hungry in the cheap way. Appreciative. Attentive. Too attentive, like he was memorising the curve of your jaw, the way the neon light caught the gloss on your lips.
“I’m flattered,” you said, keeping your tone light, easy. “But like I said—I’ve got someone.”
“Yeah?” His voice dropped, almost a murmur. “Is he here?”
You let out a slow exhale, a half-smile tugging at your mouth. “We’ve been over this.”
He smiled back, smaller this time. A quiet acknowledgment that yes, you had, and he didn’t care.
“You’re drinking alone,” he said, each word placed with care. “Dressed like that. Smiling at me.” He paused, tilting his head, letting the silence stretch. “You don’t strike me as the loyal girlfriend type.”
Your jaw tightened, just a fraction. You turned toward him fully now, elbows finding the bar.
“I’m very loyal,” you said, voice steady. “He’s just not the jealous type.”
He let the word sit, “oh,” slow and dry, laced with amusement. Then, “So he’s a fucking idiot.”
You blinked.
The laugh that escaped you was real this time, warm and surprised, your shoulders loosening despite yourself. You shook your head, a little smile you couldn’t suppress curving your lips.
“That’s one way to put it,” you said.
He tilted his head, eyes catching the soft curve of your smile, and holding it like a prize. A low, appreciative hum escaped him as his gaze dragged down your body, the kind of look that felt like a touch you hadn’t consented to but couldn’t bring yourself to stop.
“You let your girl come out here looking like that,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something rougher, “on her own, with guys like me walking around?” His tongue swept across his bottom lip as his eyes traveled back up to yours. “He doesn’t care. That’s what I’m hearing.”
You didn’t respond. Instead, you brought your glass to your lips, letting the cool liquid slide over your tongue, buying yourself a beat of silence. You could feel the weight of his attention pressing against your skin.
Then he lifted two fingers at the bartender, a lazy, confident gesture.
“Get her another,” he said, without breaking eye contact with you. “Whatever she’s drinking.”
You held up a hand, palm out. “I’m good, thanks.”
“I insist.” His words were soft but firm, and his eyes stayed locked on yours, daring you to look away first. “Your boyfriend can be mad later.”
You tilted your head, letting yourself study him in return. Really look this time. The sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar near his chin, and the barely-there dimple that flickered at the corner of his mouth when his smirk deepened.
He leaned in again, closer now, under the pretense of the music swelling around you. His lips hovered near your ear, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath before you heard his voice.
“I’ll be honest,” he said, each word a carefully placed stone in the path he wanted you to follow. “I’m not here for the small talk. You don’t want me—fine. I can take no.” A pause. “But if you do… just say the word.”
The new drink landed in front of you, the glass slick with condensation, a thin river of water pooling on the dark wood. You glanced at it, then back at him. He hadn’t looked away once, not even to blink.
You gave him a flat look, but your fingers still curled around the rim of the fresh glass, betraying you. “You’re really pushy.”
He shrugged, unhurried. “I’m direct.”
“Same thing.”
“I’d argue it’s different.” His voice dropped, conversational now. “Pushy guys don’t take no for an answer. I’m just giving you a chance to be honest with yourself.”
You lifted the drink to your lips, more to buy time than anything else. The liquid was cold and sharp, citrus cutting through the warmth blooming in your chest.
“I mean, he can’t be that good,” he casually added, as if commenting on the weather. “You’ve checked your phone three times since I walked in. Not once did it light up with his name.”
Your gaze dropped to your hand, fingers tightening on the glass until your knuckles paled.
“That’s not really any of your business.”
He leaned his elbow on the bar, turning more fully to face you. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a chuckle. “It’s a little bit my business, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “especially if I’m about to spend the rest of my night thinking about those pretty legs wrapped around me.”
Your eyes snapped to his, a jolt of heat lancing through you at the crudeness. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression schooled, even as your pulse hammered against your ribs.
“You always talk to women like this?” you asked, your voice steady, a thin shield.
“No.” He said it simply, without hesitation. “Just the girls who pretend they don’t want it.”
You scoffed, but you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “You’re an asshole.”
He tilted his head, considering the word like a wine he was tasting. “Confident,” he corrected, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And maybe a little desperate.” His eyes held yours, a challenge and an invitation all at once. “Can you blame me?”
His eyes dipped lower for just a second, dragging over the obvious curve of your cleavage, the bare expanse of thigh you’d half-heartedly crossed. When they came back up, his pupils had swallowed nearly all the blue, leaving only a thin ring of color.
“If I were your man,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something gravelly, “I’d never let you out of my sight. Let alone out of the house dressed like this.” A pause, his gaze flicking down again. “That’d only be for me to appreciate.”
You shook your head, a breathy laugh escaping you. “You really think negging my boyfriend’s gonna make me want to fuck you?”
“No.” The word camwe out confident. “But I think you’re already thinking about it. And that’s got nothing to do with him.”
The air between you tightened like a drawn wire. You hated how right he felt. How every time he leaned in, your body seemed to sway toward him, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite override.
You didn’t meet his eyes right away. Instead, you let your gaze drift to the condensation on your glass, tracing a path through the droplets with your fingertip. Let him sit in his confidence. Let him think he was winning. Even if he kind of was.
“So,” you said after a beat, your voice dropping to a murmur that was almost lost in the pulse of the music, “how exactly would you be better than my boyfriend?”
He didn’t hesitate. Not a flicker.
“I’d actually pay attention,” he said, and his voice had gone quieter, it felt like a secret meant only for you. “I wouldn’t let you walk around looking like this unless it was for me. I’d keep you so satisfied you’d never even remember his name.”
You laughed softly, low and skeptical, a sound that caught in your throat. “That so?”
“Yeah.” The word was a breath, a promise. He leaned closer, and you caught the faint rasp of stubble against his jaw as his mouth hovered near your ear. “I’d learn your body like a map. I’d make you beg without even touching you. I’d ruin every other man for you just by how good I fuck you.”
The words landed like sparks on dry tinder, igniting something low in your belly. You should’ve rolled your eyes. Should’ve told him to get lost, laughed in his face, walked away.
Instead, you turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, your chin lifting in quiet defiance.
“You rehearse this shit, or is it just off the cuff?”
A grin spread across his face. “I can show you if you want.”
You took another sip, letting the cool liquid coat your throat. And then you felt it, his knee, sliding slowly between your thighs, pressing against the inside of your leg with unhurried pressure.
“I think,” you said, lips brushing the rim of your glass, your voice steady even as your skin hummed, “you’re full of shit.”
“I think,” he countered, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath at your cheek, “you’re hoping I’m not.”
And you didn’t say anything for a second too long. The silence stretched, filled with the thrum of bass and the thud of your own heartbeat.
His smile widened, slow and triumphant.
“Just one night,” he said, soft as a murmur. “That’s all I’m askin’.”
You exhaled, the breath shaking just a little. “God, you’re really committed to this.”
His head tilted slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “Could say the same about you, sweetheart.”
Your eyes lingered on him longer than they should have. Longer than was safe. The neon glow from the sign behind him painted his jaw in shades of pink and blue. The way he stood; loose, confident, like he owned every inch of space around him, made your mouth go dry.
You were past the point of denial now. You didn’t even try to cover the way your thighs pressed tighter around his knee every time he leaned in, the way your breath caught when his voice dropped. Every word he whispered, every glance, it was crawling under your skin, planting something hot and unruly inside you.
You let out a slow breath, your chest rising and falling as you held his gaze. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, the slight curve, the faint wetness from where he’d licked his lips, then back up to meet his.
“Fine,” you said softly, the word barely audible beneath the thrum of the bar’s music. “Just one night.”
He didn’t even blink. Didn’t question it, didn’t gloat, at least, not out loud. But the shift in him was unmistakable. His shoulders straightened, his jaw tightened, and that smirk curved at the corners of his mouth. It was a look that said I knew it. I knew you’d break.
Then his fingers wrapped around your hand; big, warm, a little rough, calloused in a way that made you wonder what he did for a living. He pulled you up from your stool in one clean, fluid motion, and you felt the sudden loss of the barstool’s support replaced by the solid heat of his body close to yours.
Your drink was still half-full. Your dignity back at that bar. Didn’t matter.
His hand didn’t just hold yours, it led. Gripped with purpose, not carelessness. His thumb pressed into the soft webbing between your index and middle finger, and you felt the pulse in his palm, steady and strong.
Out of the bar, past the crowd jostling at the door, through the heavy oak door and into the night air that hit you like a slap, cold and sharp after the suffocating heat you’d been sitting in.
The temperature difference made your skin prickle, your nipples tightening beneath your dress. But it didn’t cool you down. If anything, it made everything more electric, more alive.
He glanced back once, just long enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, you caught the flicker of heat behind his gaze, the tension in his jaw.
The parking lot was mostly empty. You hadn’t even registered which one was his, too busy trying to slow your heart down, too busy wondering what the hell you’d just agreed to.
He didn’t give you time to second-guess it.
Before you could reach for the door handle, he turned you.
One quick, smooth movement, your back hitting the cool metal side of the car with a quiet thud that echoed in your chest. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, your eyes going wide, your hands flying up instinctively.
Then his hand came up, gripping your jaw, his fingers curving around the bone just beneath your ear. He tilted your face up toward his, forcing your gaze to meet his, and you saw the raw hunger there, barely leashed.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured.
It was all mouth and hunger and heat, his lips crashing into yours like he’d been holding himself back for hours and the dam had finally broken.
The first contact was almost bruising, a desperate, claiming press that stole your breath and left you reeling. His mouth was warm, tasted faintly of whiskey and salt, and the scrape of his stubble against your chin sent a shiver down your neck.
He kissed like a man who knew what your mouth would taste like. Who’d imagined it in vivid detail, over and over, until now, finally, it was real. His tongue slid in, exploring, tasting, taking, just claiming what he wanted. His fingers held your jaw in place, like he didn’t want you pulling away. Like he didn’t want you thinking.
Your knees buckled.
Your hands flew up, gripping the front of his shirt, the fabric soft but warm, the muscles beneath taut and steely. You fisted the material, trying to anchor yourself to something solid as his mouth moved against yours. His chest was hard against your palms, his heartbeat a rapid drum beneath your fingers.
You weren’t kissing him back at first. You were just trying to keep up. Trying to breathe.
But he didn’t let you. He didn’t give you space to gather yourself.
He licked into your mouth like he was starving, like every second without your taste was agony. A groan rumbled low in his throat, a sound that was equal parts relief and torture, and it vibrated through you, settling somewhere deep in your belly.
His hand slipped from your jaw to the side of your neck, fingers curling behind your ear, tilting your head just slightly to deepen the angle.
The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, the way his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind your ear. The cold night air bit at your bare legs, but you barely felt it, all you felt was him, all you tasted was him, all you heard was the wet sound of the kiss and your own ragged breathing.
When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, throbbing, wet with the evidence of his claim. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.
A thin string of saliva connected your lips, glistening in the streetlight, unbroken until you finally parted them with a shaky exhale.
You didn’t even realize your nails were still digging into his shirt until you felt him exhale against your mouth, a warm, shaky breath that fanned across your sensitive skin.
He didn’t say anything.
Just pressed his forehead to yours. Let you breathe. His eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his cheekbones, his breath still uneven. You could feel the tremour in his frame, the barely restrained hunger still simmering beneath the surface.
Then he stepped back, opened the car door like nothing had just happened and waited for you to climb in.
The elevator ride was barely two floors.
Maybe three. You didn’t know. You didn’t remember stepping inside, didn’t remember pressing the button, didn’t remember the doors sliding shut behind you.
All you remembered was his hand on the small of your back, the firm, pressure of his palm against the curve of your spine, fingers splayed wide, pressing just hard enough to steer you forward.
And when you reached his door, his grip tightened. Those fingers dug into the flesh just above your hip, and you felt the tremour in his arm, the barely restrained tension coiling through his muscles. Like he was already fighting himself not to ravage you in the hallway.
The key turned. The lock clicked.
And the second the door swung shut behind you, it was over.
He was on you.
There was nothing smooth about it. No romantic glide across hardwood floors to a couch you’d never reach. No whispered sweet nothings.
This was fast.
His coat hit the floor before the door fully closed, followed by the jingle of keys dropping somewhere near his shoes. Your purse slipped from your fingers, landing near the entry table with a dull thump you barely registered.
His hands found your hips first. Then your ass, grabbing handfuls of flesh through the thin fabric of your dress. Then your back, sliding up the curve of your spine, fingertips pressing into the muscles on either side. Then your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and you gasped against his mouth.
He couldn’t decide where to touch first, so he touched everything.
God, his mouth was everywhere too.
At your jaw, teeth scraping along the sharp edge of it. At your throat, tongue dragging hot and wet over your pulse point. At your collarbone, lips sucking a bruise into the hollow just above where your dress dipped. Anywhere your skin peeked out, he was ther.
He was like a fucking bear. Big, warm, all-consuming, surrounding you with heat and muscle and the faint scent of whiskey and leather and male. And you weren’t complaining. Not even a little.
Your back hit the nearest wall with a thud that rattled the picture frame beside you. The impact forced the air from your lungs, and you gasped, head falling back against the plaster. The dress rode up under his grip, the hem bunching around your hips, cool air kissing the bare skin of your thighs.
Your leg lifted instinctively, wrapping around his hip, heel digging into the firm curve of his ass to anchor him to you. He groaned into your neck and the sound vibrated through your skin.
“Mmm,” he muttered against your throat. His lips brushed your pulse as he spoke, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Does your boyfriend touch you like this?”
A breathy laugh escaped you, surprised and amused despite the heat flooding your veins. You tilted your head back further, giving him more access, and your fingers tangled in the short hairs at the nape of his neck.
“You really hate that guy, huh?”
He pulled back just far enough to look you in the eye. Dim light from the kitchen filtered through the apartment, catching the sharp blue of his gaze, the dilated pupils, the flush creeping up his neck.
“I think he’s a goddamn idiot,” he said, voice low and rough. “Letting a girl like you walk around wanting this kind of attention. Dressed like this, looking like you do.” His grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “If you were mine—”
You cut him off with a kiss. It was teeth and tongue and a sharp bite against his lower lip that made him hiss, and then you pulled back, breath short, lips slick.
“But I’m not yours,” you said against his mouth, the words barely a whisper.
And god, the look he gave you.
His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the blue. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his temple. His right hand came up, fingers curling around your throat as his thumb pressed gently against the hollow beneath your jaw, feeling your pulse flutter like a trapped bird beneath his touch.
“Not yet,” he rasped, the words a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through his chest into yours
He didn’t guide you so much as haul you toward the nearest surface.
One hand clamped under your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh, while the other gripped your ass hard enough to make you gasp. The world blurred; a flash of dark cabinetry, the hum of a refrigerator, the faint citrus scent of cleaner, and then your back hit the edge of his kitchen island.
The impact knocked a quiet, breathless gasp from your lungs. The granite was cold against your skin through your dress, a sharp shock against the heat blazing through your body. The edge dug into your lower back, a hard line of pressure that should have been uncomfortable, but it barely registered.
Not with the furnace of his body pressed so close. Not with the way he was already shoving the hem of your dress up your thighs, bunching the fabric with impatient hands, like the dress itself had personally offended him.
“Fuck,” he breathed out. His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking near his temple as his eyes raked down your body. His fingers curled into the hem and yanked it higher, past your hips, past the damp lace of your panties, baring you to the cool kitchen air. “Look at you.”
His voice dropped, as his hands slid under the bunched fabric to grip your bare hips. His fingers dug into the curve of bone, hard enough to leave crescents, and a shiver of anticipation rolled through you at the thought of feeling those marks tomorrow.
“Can’t believe your man lets you walk around like this,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin of your thighs. “Dress so short I can see the curve of your ass with every step you take. Tits practically spilling out, begging for attention. You’re a walking invitation, sweetheart.”
“He trusts me,” you shot back, grinning despite the wildfire racing through your veins.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Bucky grunted, and then he lifted you like you weighed nothing, hands under your thighs, a single smooth motion that had you gasping as he set you on the cold granite counter.
Your ass met the stone, a jolt of cold against the heat between your legs, and you braced your palms flat on the surface to steady yourself. “Should’ve locked you up before someone else got to you.”
Your thighs spread instinctively to keep your balance, opening yourself to him like a flower turning toward the sun. His eyes dropped between them like he was starving, dress rucked up around your waist, panties damp and clinging.
His hands followed his gaze. Fingertips found the soft inner flesh of your thighs, tracing lazy patterns, goosebumps rising in their wake. His thumbs brushed the edges of your panties, teasing,. His mouth hovered just above yours, close enough that you could taste his breath, warm and slightly sweet with the whiskey from the bar.
“Bet he doesn’t even touch you right,” he murmured, his lips barely skimming yours with each word. “Bet he doesn’t make you beg. Doesn’t know how wet you get from just being told what to do. Does he, sweetheart? Does he know how your body responds to a firm hand?”
You didn’t respond. Your tongue felt thick, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
His fingers hooked into the crotch of your panties, and he shoved the damp fabric aside with two confident strokes. Then one finger traced the length of your slit, gathering the wetness that had been pooling there since the bar. The sensation made you jerk, a sharp inhale hissing through your teeth.
“Fuck,” he hissed, almost to himself. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared at where his hand disappeared between your thighs. “Yeah. This is mine now.”
You clenched around nothing, your body responding before your brain could catch up, a desperate, empty ache blooming in your core.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say this pussy’s mine for the night.”
A grin tugged at your lips, defiant even now. You dragged your nails up the length of his back, feeling the muscles jump beneath the fabric of his shirt. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”
He let out a low chuckle. His hand slid from your throat to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he dragged you into another kiss, a reclaiming of territory already conquered.
His other hand slipped lower, fingers teasing at your entrance, slick with your own arousal. The tip of his finger pressed in just barely, and then withdrew.
“Yeah,” he murmured against your mouth, the word a breathless, cocky whisper. “And you’re about to let me prove it.”
His fingers were still between your thighs, barely moving now. Just resting there. A lazy pressure that kept you teetering on the edge of desperate, your hips twitching involuntarily against his palm.
Every time you tried to grind down, he pulled back just enough to deny you, a cruel little game he played with the patience of a predator.
His other hand trailed up your side, slipping beneath the rumpled dress to brush the curve of your waist. His fingertips traced the ridge of your ribs, then swept higher, grazing the underside of your breast with a featherlight touch that had your spine arching.
And then he murmured, voice low and wrapped in velvet, “You ever been filmed before, sweetheart?”
Your breath caught. Lodged somewhere in your throat like a stone.
Your body said yes before your brain even processed the question, your thighs tensed, your nipples tightened, a fresh pulse of heat bloomed between your legs. But your mouth hesitated. A flicker of uncertainty crossed your face.
“Filmed?” The word came out breathless, barely audible over the thudding of your heart.
“Mmhmm.” His voice was soft now, coaxing. His lips ghosted over your jaw as he spoke, hot and teasing. “Wanna see how goddamn pretty you look like this. Want to watch you later—legs spread, begging for it, that messy little sound you make when you cum. You ever seen yourself like that, honey?”
You couldn’t answer. Your mouth was dry, your pulse hammering so loud you could hear it rushing in your ears.
He kissed your neck, his lips parting against your skin. Then his teeth grazed the sensitive tendon just below your ear, a sharp little pressure that made you gasp.
His hand stayed between your legs, just touching, his palm pressed flat against your cunt, fingers slick and still, the heel of his hand grinding lazily against your clit. Keeping your blood hot. Keeping you pliant.
“C’mon,” he whispered, the word a hot puff of air against your throat. “Let me keep it. Just for me. I won’t show anyone.” A pause. His lips brushed the hollow of your collarbone. “Just wanna remember how you sounded when I made you cum. Just wanna have something to jerk off to when you go back to that sorry excuse for a boyfriend.”
Your lips parted. Your heart was in your throat, beating against the base of your tongue.
He pulled back just enough to look at you—and fuck. Those eyes. Half-lidded, dark as sin, glittering with something between hunger and tenderness.
This was for him. Just because he wanted to own this moment. To freeze it, preserve it, revisit it whenever he pleased.
“Please,” he added, the word a low murmur that crawled down your spine. “Let me watch you fall apart. Let me have something to remember you by when you’re gone.”
And just like that, you broke. You nodded once, a small, jerky motion that felt too fast and too slow all at once.
The look on his face turned downright pleased. A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips, pleased and satisfied.
He stepped back, pulling his hand from between your legs deliberately slow that bordered on cruel. The absence was sharp, almost painful—you whimpered, a soft, instinctive sound that slipped out before you could stop it.
He heard it. His lips parted like he might say something, but instead he just let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
He reached into his jeans pocket and tugged out his phone. The screen blazed to life, casting cold light across his angular features. He swiped it awake with one thumb, eyes never leaving yours.
You stayed on the counter. Legs spread. Dress bunched up around your hips, the fabric twisted and forgotten. Panties still pushed to the side, damp and useless.
But before you could process what came next, he handed you the phone.
“Hold this,” he said. “Keep it steady. And don’t stop filming until I say so.”
The weight of the device settled in your palm, the screen angled toward him. Your fingers trembled, but you gripped it tight.
His hands slid under your thighs, palms warm and calloused against your skin, and he pulled you to the edge of the counter with a single, effortless motion.
“You’re really gonna let me eat you out on camera?” he muttered. His thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, pressing hard enough to leave a mark. “Look at you. Spread open, holding the phone, panting for it like a bitch in heat. What would your boyfriend say if he saw this, huh?”
A shiver rolled through you. You let out a shaky breath as you leaned back on your elbows, your legs falling open even wider.
“He doesn’t need to know,” you murmured.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest, through the air between you, through your bones.
“No, he doesn’t.” Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the tender flesh where your legs met your hips. “But I will.”
He lowered his head, his breath hot against your slick skin.
“Now keep that camera steady, sweetheart. I want to see your face when I make you forget your name.”
And then he was on you.
His tongue hit you like a brand. It dragged from the slick entrance of your cunt all the way up to your clit in one long, agonizingly slow stroke, tasting you like he was savouring every inch. The flat of his tongue pressed firm, parting your folds, and when he reached the top he circled once, lazy, before dipping back down.
You gasped. Your back bowed off the counter, your spine curling like a struck wire. One hand scrambled for the edge of the granite, fingers scrabbling for purchase, while the other fought to keep the camera steady, pointed directly down at him, at the way his mouth was devouring you.
He moaned into you.
A deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your clit, through your thighs, through the aching core of you. Like he was the one being pleasured. Like your taste was the only thing that could satisfy him.
“Goddamn,” he muttered against your flesh, his breath hot and damp. His tongue flicked out, lapping at your clit with a lazy stroke. “So fuckin’ sweet. Sweetest thing I’ve had in my mouth in months.”
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark, lips glistening and chin slick. The camera caught every detail.
“Bet he doesn’t even taste you, does he?” His voice was a low, rasping cruel whisper. “Bet he just shoves it in and pumps away like a jackrabbit, leaves you lying there wet and wanting.”
You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form a single word. Not when his mouth wrapped around your clit again, sealing tight, and he sucked, once, hard, a sharp vacuum of pleasure that punched a cry from your throat. Then he eased, softening into slower licks, his tongue tracing figure-eights around the swollen bud.
Your thighs trembled, clamping around his head. He didn’t seem to mind. He moaned again, the vibration traveling straight through your cunt and up your spine.
“Bet he doesn’t even know how to touch you here—” His metal thumb pressed into the soft, sensitive spot just beside your entrance, the cool metal a shocking contrast against your heat. “—or how wet you get just from a little attention. Look at you. Dripping. Making a mess all over my face.”
You whimpered. A high, broken sound that felt torn from somewhere deep in your chest.
His metal hand slid up your thigh, the cool vibranium tracking a path of goosebumps across your flushed skin. Then, without warning, two fingers pushed into you. A slick, effortless slide that made you gasp again.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t give you time to adjust. He just pumped them in and out, a steady rhythm that matched the circling of his tongue. His fingers crooked, searching, and when they found that spongy spot inside you, he pressed hard and held.
You didn’t mean to make the sounds you were making.
They poured out of you like confession, gasping, keening, helpless little moans that you couldn’t hold back. Your head fell back, your hips lifting off the counter, chasing his mouth and fingers like you’d lost all sense of self-preservation.
“Look at you,” he murmured against your wet skin, his lips brushing your clit with every word. “So desperate for someone who isn’t even your man. Fuck, he must be so boring.”
You whimpered, your hips grinding against his face.
His fingers curled again… just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His tongue never stopped. It circled and flicked and pressed, relentless.
“You think about this?” he went on, “When you’re lying next to him at night, do you think about someone else doing this to you? Someone who actually knows how to use his mouth?”
You shook your head, trying to deny, but your body betrayed you, your hips rocking faster against his hand.
“Yeah, you do,” he said, and he laughed, a low, breathless sound against your cunt. “You think about it all the time. I think you’d let me do anything just to feel good for once. I think you’d let me fuck you right in his bed while he’s at work, and you’d still smile like a good girl and kiss him goodnight.”
His fingers fucked into you, slow and steady, his tongue circling your clit in tight, focused strokes that left no room for thought. The pressure built in your belly, impossible to ignore.
“You close?” he asked, his voice hoarse and knowing.
You nodded, a frantic, jerky motion. Too far gone to pretend. Too far gone to care.
He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes. His lips were glistening, his jaw slick, his pupils blown wide and black. And then… smirking, that wicked curve of his mouth, he glanced toward the camera.
“Let’s show him, yeah doll?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s show him how you cum for someone who actually knows what he’s doing. Let’s give him something to think about tonight.”
And then he sucked your clit again—hard—while his fingers pumped faster, deeper, curling with ruthless precision.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—”
You came.
It was raw. Violent. Your hips jerked off the counter, your thighs clamping around his head like a vise. The sounds that tore out of you were ragged and broken, a string of curses and pleas that blurred into incoherence.
Your vision went white, your whole body seizing, and he didn’t stop. His tongue kept stroking, his fingers kept pumping, fucking you through every last wave of pleasure until you were twitching and shaking, oversensitive and gasping.
He groaned against your clit, like he loved it. Like he was drinking it down.
You barely had time to catch your breath. Barely had time to register the aftershocks still rippling through your thighs before he was climbing up your body, his lips slick with your release, his chin wet, his eyes dark with something animalistic.
His hand snatched the phone from your trembling grip, like a predator claiming his prize. The other hand clamped around your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he dragged you toward the edge of the kitchen island.
He angled the phone down, the camera aimed directly at your cunt, glistening, swollen, still slick from his mouth. Your dress was bunched around your waist in a crumpled mess, and your panties were long gone, ripped off somewhere between the counter and the floor.
“Gonna let me fuck you now?” His voice was a mocking drawl that made your toes curl. “Even though you’ve got a boyfriend waiting at home? Probably wondering where his sweet little girl is.”
You blinked up at him, still dazed, still floating on the aftershocks of your orgasm. But you played along. You nodded slowly, your lips parting, your eyes half-lidded. Like a good girl. Like a stupid little slut who’d already crossed every line and couldn’t find her way back.
You watched like a hungry bitch in heat as he unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking loud in the quiet kitchen, and shoved his pants down his thighs with one hand. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet sound that made your mouth water. The head flushed dark, already slick with pre-cum.
Your voice didn’t work anymore. All the clever retorts, the smart mouth answers—gone. Your legs parted on pure instinct, your hips tilting up in silent invitation.
He clicked his tongue.
“Such a dirty girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “Cheating on your boyfriend like this. Letting a stranger stretch your pretty pussy open in his kitchen. On his counter. While he films it.”
He positioned himself at your entrance, just the head pressing, teasing, not pushing in yet. Your breath hitched. Your whole body trembled.
“Tell me what you are,” he said, the camera still fixed on where he was about to enter you.
“I’m—I’m a dirty girl—”
“Louder.”
“I’m a dirty girl.”
“And?”
“And I—I want you to fuck me.”
He smiled, satisfied.
And then he pushed in.
Thick and slow. Letting you feel every filthy inch as he sank into you, stretching you open inch by inch. The burn was exquisite, a sharp, delicious ache that made your jaw drop and your eyes roll back. You clenched around him, too sensitive, already fucked-out from his mouth, and he groaned, an animal sound that vibrated through his chest.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips seating flush against yours. “Tight little thing. Feels like you were made for this. Made for my cock.”
He pulled back just enough to look down at where you were joined, angling the phone to capture every detail, the way your cunt gripped him, the slick shine of his cock as he dragged out, the desperate flutter of your muscles.
And then he started to move.
His hips dragged back and slammed in again with bruising force. The first thrust punched the air from your lungs. The second made you cry out, loud and raw, your voice cracking in the empty kitchen.
He groaned harder at the sound.
“Look at that,” he rasped, his voice wrecked with pleasure. He angled the camera down again, zooming in on where he split you open. “Fuckin’ made for it, huh? Look at how pretty she takes it.”
He shifted his weight, lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder, the angle changed, deeper nowand your back hit the counter hard as he picked up the pace. The slapping sounds filled the room.
“You gonna cum for me again?” he asked, breath ragged, the phone still steady in his grip. “Gonna cum on this cock like the fucking slut you are? Let your boyfriend watch it later? Think he’d wanna see what a whore you are when no one’s watching?”
Your eyes rolled back. Your mouth hung open, drool threatening to slip down your chin. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He slapped your clit, a bright flare of pain-pleasure that made you jolt.
“Answer me.”
“Yes—yes, fuck, I—please—”
“Please what?”
“Please let me cum—I need—”
He thrust harder, faster, the angle punishing. His free hand pressed down on your lower belly, making you feel every inch of him inside you.
“Look at the camera,” he commanded, his voice a growl. “Look at it and tell him who’s making you feel this good.”
You forced your eyes open, found the lens, stared into it with glassy, tear-streaked eyes.
“You,” you gasped. “You’re making me—”
“That’s right. Me. Not him. Me.”
He lowered his mouth to your ear, still fucking you, his breath hot and ragged.
“Now cum for me. Cum for the camera. Let everyone see what a good little slut you are.”
The orgasm hit you like a freight train, sudden and impossible to stop. Your back arched off the counter, your walls clamping down around him in pulsing waves, a broken cry tearing from your throat. He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, groaning as you tightened around him, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.
“That’s what I thought”
He pulled out suddenly, an abrupt emptiness that made you gasp, your body clenching around nothing, desperate to keep him. The whine that escaped your lips was pathetic, high and needy, and you didn’t even have the shame to swallow it.
But Bucky didn’t give you a second to recover. His metal hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you upright before your head stopped spinning.
“Up,” he ordered, his voice tight and ragged. “C’mon. Up, baby. I’m not done with you.”
Your legs were jelly. Your bones had turned to water. But he hooked his hand under your thigh and lifted you off the island like you weighed nothing, sliding you down until your bare feet hit the cold tile floor.
Your knees buckled immediately. You were shaking, ruined, still dripping down your thighs in sticky trails, your dress bunched around your waist, while he steadied you with a hand on your hip.
“You’re a mess,” he muttered, not even pretending to hide the pride in his voice. His metal fingers traced the curve of your hip, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Bet he’s never fucked you dumb like this, huh?”
Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted. But he didn’t let you stay there. He spun you around, grabbed your hips, and bent you over the counter like a doll, your tits pressing flat against the cold marble, your cheek smushed against the cool stone, your legs spread wide before you even realized what he was doing.
The camera was still rolling. And he aimed it directly at your ass, at your dripping cunt, at the mess he’d made of you.
“There we go,” he rasped, his voice a rough purr behind you. “Much better view. Look at that, fuckin’ dripping for me. Like a little faucet.”
You gasped as his hand came down right across your ass cheek. The crack echoed in the kitchen, and your skin bloomed with heat instantly. Your hips bucked forward, pushing your tits harder against the marble.
“Stay still,” he grunted, his metal hand pressing into the small of your back, pinning you down. “Be good and take it. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
And then he was sliding back in.
No teasing. Just one sharp, deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs. He filled you completely, the angle brutal, the stretch exquisite. Your mouth fell open on a silent scream.
He didn’t wait. He started moving immediately, punishing strokes that made the counter shake. His hand clamped onto your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you open for him.
“Fuck, baby—so tight like this,” he groaned, his voice strained, wrecked. “Like you’re trying to milk me dry.”
He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear.
“Bet he’s never seen you like this. Fucked out. Bent over. Filmed like a little slut.” He punctuated each word with a thrust, driving them into you along with his cock. “What would he say if he saw this video? Huh? If he watched you beggin’ for my cock with your makeup running, your pretty little pussy creamin’ all over me?”
Your only answer was a broken moan. Your hands scrambled uselessly across the marble, searching for something to hold onto.
He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, arching your spine, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The stretch in your neck sent a shiver down your spine.
“What would he say, huh,” Bucky panted, fucking into you harder now, the slapping sounds wet and filthy, “if he saw how much you love it? If he saw that look in your eyes—that fucked-out, starved look you get when I’m deep inside you?”
Your third orgasm was building, coiling low in your belly, your pussy aching with overstimulation. The marble was digging into your hips, leaving red marks on your skin, and you didn’t care. You wanted more. You wanted him to break you.
“Say it,” he grunted, snapping his hips faster, his hand wrapping around your throat from behind to pull your head even farther back. “Tell the camera what you’re doing.”
You choked on a sob, tears welling in your eyes.
“—Cheating,” you gasped, the word torn from your throat. “I’m cheating on him—fuck, fuck—please don’t stop—”
He groaned like he could’ve fucking died from how good that sounded.
“That’s it, baby. Say it again. Let the whole world know what a filthy little whore you are.”
You were already crying, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overstimulation, your body trembling as you struggled to hold yourself up on your elbows. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through you, your clit rubbing against the marble with every movement, building that pressure higher and higher.
“Say it again,” he growled, his cock buried deep inside you. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“—Cheating,” you whispered again, breathless, voice cracking. “I’m cheating on him.”
“Can’t hear you.”
“I’m cheating on my boyfriend,” you moaned, choked and messy, the shame in your voice only making it hotter. “Letting some stranger fuck me in his kitchen.”
He groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second, his grip tightening on your throat.
“God, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Say my name.”
You didn’t even think. The word fell from your lips like a prayer.
“Bucky—”
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the kitchen. Your body rocked against the marble with every brutal thrust, your tits sliding across the cold surface, nipples dragging against the stone, your breath fogging the counter in ragged clouds as he fucked you faster.
The hand on your throat dropped down your body to between your legs, metal fingers finding your clit with brutal precision. He rubbed you in rough, tight circles, no gentleness, just enough pressure to make your vision blur.
“Wanna cum again for me, baby?” he panted behind you. “Wanna cum on a stranger’s cock while your boyfriend’s out there probably textin’ you right now, askin’ if you’re okay?”
His fingers pinched your clit and you cried out.
“Answer me.”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
“Use me,” you begged, the words torn from somewhere deep, broken and desperate. “Please, just use me. I don’t care—I don’t care about anything—just fuck me—”
That did it.
He slammed in harder, faster, his groans turning into guttural snarls, his hips slapping against your ass with a force that left your skin stinging. His metal fingers on your clit were relentless. You were babbling words that made no sense, just sound and breath and need, your voice cracking as that third orgasm tore through you like lightning striking bone.
You clenched down so hard his rhythm stuttered.
“Oh fuck—fuck, doll—”
He pulled out suddenly, just in time, the loss of him leaving you gasping and empty. His hand left your clit and wrapped around his cock, jerking himself with messy, desperate strokes, the camera aimed down at the mess he’d made of you.
“On your knees,” he barked.
You dropped without hesitation.
Your knees hit the cold tile with a dull thud, your body limp and pliant and ruined. Your makeup was smudged into dark raccoon circles around your eyes. Your lipstick was blurred. Your thighs were still slick with your multiple releases, sticky and gleaming under the kitchen lights.
You looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, chest heaving, every inch of you screaming used.
He pointed the phone down at your face, capturing every detail.
“Jesus fuck—look at you,” he panted, his voice hoarse, wrecked. His grip on his cock was tight, the veins standing out against his skin. “Fucking look at you. Makeup ruined. Hair a mess. Cum drippin’ down your thighs. And you’re still lookin’ at me like you want more.”
You blinked up at him slowly, your tongue sliding across your lower lip, tasting the salt of your own sweat. The corner of your mouth lifted… just enough to tease. Just enough to let him know that yes, you wanted more. You wanted everything.
His breath hitched.
That was all it took.
He groaned deep from his chest, his hips snapping forward as he jerked himself harder… and then he came.
“Fuck—fuck—”
Thick, hot ropes hit your lips. Your cheek. Your tongue.
You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just let it land wherever he gave it, your mouth open like a fucking invitation, your eyes locked on his the entire time. One streak landed on your chin, another across your nose. You held still like a good girl.
He moaned like he was in pain, his chest heaving, his arm trembling as he kept the camera steady. His other hand milked the last drops out, stroking his tip right against your tongue, smearing the rest across your bottom lip.
“Gonna remember this forever,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “The way you look right now. On your knees. Covered in my cum.”
You swallowed what landed in your mouth. The taste of him, salt and heat and something musky, spread across your tongue.
You held eye contact… and then licked your lips. Slow. Sweet. Like you savoured every drop. Your tongue swept across the mess on your cheek, your chin, collecting every trace of him.
And then you smiled and winked at the camera.
He groaned again. His arm dropped. The phone nearly slipped from his fingers.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You’re unreal. You’re fucking unreal.”
He took a shaky step back, running his free hand through his hair, his chest still heaving.
“Get up,” he said, softer now. “C’mere. Let me kiss you.”
You were barely dried off when he dragged you into bed, still flushed in the cheeks, towel hanging low on his hips, clinging to the sharp cut of his waist. He flopped onto the mattress with a grunt that vibrated through the sheets and immediately reached for you like a heat-seeking missile.
You allowed him to wrap himself around you, his chest warm and damp against your back, arm tight across your middle, legs slotting in behind yours like puzzle pieces.
He was trying to hide. Burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing slow and deep like he could disappear into your skin. And despite being genuinely so fucked out after three orgasms, your thighs still aching and your core still humming, you couldn’t help yourself.
“‘Gonna remember this forever,’” you murmured, pitching your voice low and rough, mimicking him. You dragged the words out, dramatic and breathy. “God, baby. The drama. Are you sure you’re not secretly a director?”
He groaned The kind of groan that started in his chest and rolled out like thunder. He dragged the covers over both your heads, cocooning you in darkness and warmth, like it might smother the shame.
And you.
“Shut up,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your shoulder.
You laughed, the sound swallowed by the blanket fort. Your body shook against his, and he tightened his grip in response, pulling you impossibly closer.
“You were so into it,” you continued, turning your head just enough to speak into the darkness. “Like, really committed. Tell me, what are you gonna do with that video? Are you planning an OnlyFans debut? Get some extra cash to spoil me with?”
He squeezed your waist in warning,, deliberate press of his fingers into your soft skin. You ignored him completely.
“I personally think we’d make a lot of money,” you said, your tone almost dreamy. “With your dick and my tits, we’d be famous in no time. Think of the branding. Think of the content.”
He lifted his head just enough to find your ear. “Please,” he said, low and gruff, “shut up and let me spoon you into silence.”
You hummed, basking in victory.
“You were so serious,” you whispered into the quiet. “The dirty talk? You’re gonna start submitting audition tapes to PornHub next, aren’t you? I can see it now—‘James.B.B, 107, 6’2”, specializes in roleplay and cum facials.’”
He groaned again, but it was quieter now.
You could feel his smile against your skin. He was trying not to let it show,but you knew it was there. Just like the soft kiss he pressed behind your ear, his lips lingering.
“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” he muttered, his voice warm and entirely fond.
You turned in his arms, shifting until you faced him. The blanket still draped over your heads, cocooning you in shared heat and the faint scent of sex and soap. His whole body was relaxed in that way he only ever got after sex, the tension in his shoulders finally dissolved.
You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the stubble rough against your fingertips. You kissed his nose.
“Not a chance, stranger.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. And then he kissed you anyway, a kiss that tasted like contented surrender. His hand slid up your spine, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breath evening out.
You laid there for a long, quiet minute, his arm slung heavy across your stomach like an anchor, his breath slowing behind your ear into that deep, rhythmic cadence that meant he was drifting.
The warmth of his body curved around yours, the sheets tangled around your legs, the faint hum of the city through the window, it was almost enough to lull you under too.
Almost.
Which is exactly why you struck.
“Okay,” you said, your voice sweet as honey. “Give me your phone now.”
He tensed immediately. His arm tightened across your stomach, and you felt the shift in his breathing.
“...No.”
You twisted in his grip, frowning, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him.
“James.”
He sighed, like it physically pained him to hear his name on your lips in that tone. The sound dragged out, full of protest, and he pulled the pillow over his face.
You didn’t let up. You tore the blanket off both of you, sitting up fully, then turned to face him with the kind of look that told him exactly where this was going. A look that said I’m not asking.
“I just want to see how I looked,” you cooed, letting your voice go syrupy and coaxing. “For science.”
“You looked perfect,” he muttered from beneath the pillow. “You don’t need to see it.”
“Oh, but I do,” you teased, already reaching past him toward the nightstand where he’d abandoned the phone. “Because someone got real creative with angles tonight. I wanna see what Christopher Nolan-level filth you captured.”
He tried to pull you back down under the covers, his arm snaking around your waist, but you fought dirty. You squirmed, laughed, dug your elbow into his ribs until he grunted and loosened his grip. There was some wrestling until you finally managed to straddle his hips, pinning him down, and snatched the phone from the nightstand.
“Aha,” you declared, waving it like a trophy. “Siri, show me the porn.”
He groaned from beneath the pillow. “You’re a freak.”
“You love it.”
You unlocked the screen with his passcode, your birthday of course, and found the video right there in his most recent gallery. It wasn’t buried in a folder, wasn’t hidden behind a password.
“Jesus Christ, you didn’t even try to hide it,” you murmured.
You tapped play.
The sound alone was enough to make you both flinch.
Your own moan filled the room, echoing off the walls. The video opened on a shaky shot of the kitchen island, granite cool and sleek under the dim light, your legs splayed wide, his hand wrapped around your thigh.
You looked down at him slowly. His eyes were squeezed shut, the pillow still half-draped over his head, his cheeks flushed dark. For a guy who had fucked you within an inch of your life thirty minutes ago, he looked deeply, profoundly embarrassed.
“Oh my god,” you said, pausing the screen on his face. There he was… eyebrows furrowed in concentration, hair a wild mess, that filthy, knowing smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Who is he? Why is he so serious? Is this an Oscar campaign? A sizzle reel for his breakout role in Eat Pray Fuck?”
“Stop it,” Bucky mumbled.
But you kept going.
“Look at you. Sergeant Pornstar. All intense and broody. Grunting like you’re about to break the fourth wall and fuck the audience too.”
He peeked out just enough to glare at you, one blue eye visible above the edge of the pillow, very unamused. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“You’re so hot when you’re pretending not to be a freak.”
He huffed, but his ears were pink. The tips of them, visible above the pillow, turned the colour of a ripe strawberry.
You tapped further into the video, scrolling through the shots. Paused again. Leaned in closer to the screen.
“Wait—” You squinted. “Did you zoom while you were inside me?”
He huffed, and buried his face in the pillow like he could escape through the mattress.
“You did. Oh my god, you adjusted the focus on my ass. You framed the shot like it was a nature documentary.”
“Stop watching it,” he moaned.
“Never. I’m gonna turn this into a gif. A screensaver. My new phone background. Every time I get a text, I’ll see your constipated orgasm face.”
That did it.
He moved faster than you expected. The phone flew out of your hand, skidding across the bed, and he tackled you back down onto the mattress, his weight pressing you into the pillows.
It didn’t hurt. Not with him laughing into your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he tried to wrestle the phone out of your reach. His fingers fumbled against yours, and you shrieked as he pinned your wrist above your head, still laughing, still muttering, “You’re the fucking worst,” and “I hate you so much right now.”
He got the phone eventually.
And as he pinned you to the bed with both wrists above your head, his body draped over yours, sweat-slick and smiling, he leaned down and kissed your cheek. A whisper of lips against your skin.
“I’m deleting that video first thing tomorrow,” he mumbled, his voice fond.
You smiled up at him, your chest rising and falling against his.
“Sure you are, Sergeant,” you whispered, your eyes glinting in the dim light. “Right after you jack off to it one more time.”
He collapsed beside you with a huff, his body sinking into the mattress like it weighed twice what it did, limbs heavy and warm as he pulled you into his chest. His arm slung around your waist, fingers splaying across the curve of your hip, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he exhaled a long, tired breath.
The kind of breath that said finally, peace.
He was wrong.
“So,” you whispered against his collarbone, “since I let you pick this time, I get to choose the next roleplay.”
He sighed again
You ignored it completely.
“We could do the delivery guy thing,” you murmured, a yawn stealing the edge off your words. “Like, you show up with a package and I answer the door in just a towel, dripping wet, all innocent and flustered. And you’re just standing there, all stoic, but you have to fuck me on the spot. Right there against the doorframe. Package forgotten on the mat.”
He didn’t respond. His breathing was slow, like he was trying to will himself into unconsciousness.
So you kept going.
“Or—or we could do the ‘I’m your best friend’s girlfriend’ angle,” you said, your voice dropping into a dreamy cadence. “You’re not supposed to want me. But you catch me in the shower at a party. The bathroom door’s cracked open, and instead of leaving, you just… watch. Then you step inside, still fully dressed, and pin me to the tile.”
“No,” he mumbled, the word muffled against your skin.
Before you could continue, he rolled on top of you, his body a warm, solid weight pressing you into the mattress. His mouth found yours, a kiss that was clearly meant to shut you up. His tongue swept against your bottom lip, and for a moment you let yourself sink into it.
But only a moment.
You broke the kiss with a soft, teasing hum. “What about the corrupt cop thing?” you whispered, your lips still brushing his. “You pull me over on some empty road at midnight. I’m nervous, hands shaking as I hand you my license. And you shine your flashlight in my face, look me up and down, and tell me I was speeding. Then you lean down, voice low, and tell me there’s only one way I can get out of the ticket.”
He kissed you again. Harder this time. A grunt built in his throat, muffled against your mouth, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheek like he could physically hold your words in.
You chuckled against his lips.
“Ooooh. Or the one where I’m drunk and stumbling out of a party,” you said, your voice breathless. “You’re the older guy who tells me to get in the car. You drive me home in silence, but I fall asleep in the passenger seat, my head lolling against the window. So you carry me inside, and tuck me into.”
He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your pulse point, his lips pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “Go to sleep, please,” he muttered.
“—but I wake up,” you continued, your fingers threading into his hair, “and you’re standing in the doorway. Watching me. And I’m so grateful. So vulnerable. So willing—spread out on the bed in nothing but his oversized shirt, legs parted just enough, looking up at you with those sleepy, trusting eyes. And then you just… take what you want.”
His whole body shuddered against yours. His hips pressed into your thigh, and you felt the unmistakable stir of interest against your skin. His cock, already half-hard from the images you’d painted, twitched as if responding to your words directly.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, the words rough, as he pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.
You hummed, “I think you like it.”
He didn’t answer. He just pulled you tighter, his arm wrapping around your waist like a vise, his other hand sliding under your head to cup the base of your skull. He kissed your temple, then closed his eyes.
“No more talking,” he whispered.
You grinned against his chest. “Not even the professor one?” you teased. “Where I’m failing your class and you offer extra credit in the form of—“
“I will gag you.”
You snorted, the sound warm and muffled against his skin.
“That’s a yes, then.”
He groaned again, long and suffering. But you felt it, the curve of his lips pressed against your hair, the soft exhale of a smile he tried to hide.
And eventually you let him fall asleep. Wrapped around you, his body a shield of warmth and muscle, his breath evening out into the deep, slow rhythm of rest. His cock still twitched against your thigh every few minutes, a stubborn reminder of all the images you’d planted in his head.
You smiled into the dark, your fingers still tangled in his hair, and finally let yourself drift.
a/n | i fear i would let bucky barnes film me with an iphone 7 in a kitchen with bad lighting and call it art.
dad bucky who get's all cocky when you guys find out you're pregnant with multiples? thinks he really does have super sperm or something silly like that🐸
Bucky looked too damn smug walking into the doctor's office.
He wasn't nervous. Not emotional. Smug.
You were only eleven weeks along, fingers laced with his as you sat in the dim ultrasound room while the technician spread warm gel across your stomach. Your husband stood beside the table with the kind of confidence that made you narrow your eyes immediately.
“You’re awfully cocky for a man who nearly passed out buying the pregnancy tests,” you muttered.
Bucky grinned without shame, broad shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. “I didn’t pass out.”
“You sat on the pharmacy floor.”
“Strategically.”
“Mhm.”
The technician hid a smile behind her mask while turning toward the monitor. “Alright, let’s take a look at baby.”
Bucky’s entire demeanor softened instantly at the word baby.
God, you loved him like this.
The former assassin who could dismantle a gun in seconds and stare down world-ending threats without blinking had become ridiculously emotional the second you’d handed him a positive test three weeks ago. He kissed your stomach every morning. He downloaded three parenting apps. He’d cried in the cereal aisle because “our kid might like Froot Loops someday.”
But right now?
Right now he looked suspiciously self-satisfied.
His thumb rubbed over your knuckles. “I’m tellin’ you, doll. Barnes genes are elite.”
You snorted. “That is not how genetics work.”
“Says you.”
“Says science.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “Super soldier serum, baby.”
You laughed so hard the technician had to pause. “You are impossible.”
“No, seriously,” he continued. “Enhanced strength. Enhanced healing. Enhanced stamina—”
“Oh my God.”
“—enhanced fertility maybe.”
The technician made a tiny choking sound like she was trying not to laugh.
“You cannot be flirting with me while I have ultrasound goo on my stomach,” you informed him.
“Can and am.”
“Bucky.”
“What? You married me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Very fortunately.”
The machine crackled softly as the technician tilted the wand, eyes narrowing at the screen.
Then she blinked.
Paused.
Tilted it again.
“Oh,” she said.
You immediately went still. “Oh?” you repeated nervously.
Bucky straightened beside you. “What kinda oh?”
The technician’s smile widened slowly. “Well… there’s your baby.”
Relief flooded through you so fast your eyes burned.
Then she pointed at the monitor again.
“And there’s your other baby.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Your mouth fell open.
Beside you, Bucky whispered, “No fuckin’ way.”
The technician laughed outright now. “Congratulations. You’re having twins.”
You turned so fast to look at your husband you nearly got whiplash.
He looked stunned for exactly two seconds.
Then the most unbearable expression of triumph spread across his face.
You pointed at him immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Oh my God,” he breathed, staring at the screen like he’d personally accomplished the miracle of life through sheer determination. “Honey.”
“No.”
“Twins.”
“I see that.”
His blue eyes snapped to yours, horrifically smug. “SUPER sperm.”
The technician burst into laughter.
You groaned loud enough to echo through the room. “I’m divorcing you.”
---
“He can’t stop saying it,” you complained later that evening while Natasha nearly fell off the kitchen stool laughing.
Across the compound kitchen, Bucky stood proudly at the stove making grilled cheese sandwiches like a man who’d won an Olympic medal.
“Super sperm,” he repeated helpfully.
Sam looked physically exhausted already. “You’ve known for six hours.”
“And I’ve been right for six glorious hours.”
“You were not right,” you argued.
“I kinda was.”
“You made up fake science!”
“SCIENCE CAN’T EXPLAIN ME.”
Steve walked into the kitchen at the exact wrong moment. “Can’t explain what?”
Sam pointed immediately. “Don’t engage.”
Too late.
Bucky turned with the spatula still in hand. “We’re havin’ twins.”
Steve’s face lit up instantly. “Buck, that’s amazing.”
“And apparently,” Sam interrupted dryly, “the serum migrated directly into his balls.”
Steve nearly choked.
Natasha was openly crying laughing now.
Meanwhile your husband looked entirely too proud of himself.
“Look,” Bucky said, setting down the spatula. “You all laughed when I said I had enhanced fertility.”
“No one laughed,” Sam corrected. “We begged you to stop talking.”
“But was I wrong?”
“Yes,” you and Natasha said together.
Bucky ignored you completely. “Two babies at once. That’s efficiency.”
“You are never using the word efficiency about my uterus again.”
He rounded the counter immediately, grin softening as he came toward you. His hands settled carefully at your waist, all teasing disappearing beneath something warm and awestruck.
“Sorry,” he murmured, though he was clearly not sorry at all. “Just excited.”
Your irritation melted instantly because that was the real problem.
Bucky was impossible to stay annoyed at.
His eyes had gone glassy again — emotional, overwhelmed, so deeply happy it radiated from him.
“You happy?” you asked quietly.
His expression crumpled a little around the edges.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “I spent seventy years thinkin’ I’d never get any of this.” One hand slid gently over your stomach. “Now I get you… and two babies?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, smiling shakily. “I’m happy.”
Natasha immediately looked away to give you privacy.
Sam pretended to suddenly become fascinated by the fridge.
Bucky rested his forehead against yours carefully. “Though,” he added, voice turning smug again, “this is historic evidence that my genes are powerful.”
You burst out laughing.
“There he is.”
“C’mon, doll,” he teased. “You know it’s impressive.”
“You’re never letting this go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
And he didn’t.
---
He became exponentially worse over the following months.
Every tiny pregnancy symptom somehow became proof of his “super sperm.”
Morning sickness?
“Means the babies are strong.”
Craving pickles at two in the morning?
“Enhanced babies need fuel.”
The fact that your bump got big quickly?
“Two Barnes babies. Legendary.”
“You are literally making things up as you go,” you told him one night while he rubbed lotion carefully across your stomach.
Bucky looked up innocently from where he sat between your knees on the bed.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Counterpoint,” he said, kissing your belly gently, “twins.”
You rolled your eyes.
Then he grinned against your skin and whispered toward your stomach, “Daddy’s a medical marvel.”
You laughed so hard you snorted.
Bucky looked absolutely delighted with himself.
“Did you hear that?” he asked your stomach seriously. “Your mama thinks I’m funny.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me.”
Unfortunately, he was right about that too.
Especially later that night when you woke up half tangled in blankets and found Bucky already awake beside you, one large hand resting protectively over your stomach even in sleep.
His face looked softer these days.
Lighter.
Like every broken part of him had finally started healing the second he realized he’d get to be somebody’s dad.
Your heart swelled painfully as you watched him.
Maybe he was cocky.
Maybe he’d been insufferable for months.
Maybe if you heard the phrase super sperm one more time, you’d actually scream.
But the look on his face every time he talked about the babies?
pairings: pre civil war!bucky x fem!reader, congressman!bucky x mom!reader
summary: your life is forever changed after a tender night with your quiet, traumatised neighbour in bucharest. years later, you're living in brooklyn with your five year old daughter and run into congressman barnes. he's everything you remembered and more, and now he wants to be part of yours and jamie's lives.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, plot with porn, angst, fluff, mentions of nightmares, a lot of plum pie, slooow burn, tender soft sex, then not tender sex, accidental pregnancy, explicit detailed smut, protected and unprotected pnv, slight dom!bucky, praise kink, dirty talk (bucky is a bit feral), pregnancy/breeding kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), fingering, a lil spanking, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), reader cries during, love confessions, very few physical details of reader, reader's daughter has blue eyes and dark hair, no use of y/n (i'm trying something new), timeline inconsistencies (i tried tho), partly proofread, let me know if i missed anythingggg
word count: 19k (no but seriously can someone tell me to chill)
authors note: 2 fics for the price of 1! partly inspired by this post, partly inspired by @metal-armed-muse's second chances fic (dad congressman barnes has me weak in the knees). i needed a break from man on your mind and this just appeared like the sun through rainclouds (though it definitely put me in the trenches i won't lie). this is written from reader's pov, but might do some bucky pov blurbs if y'all are interested! reminder that i am a new writer so my style & formatting is ever evolving - ai will never be used in this household. please like, reblog, and comment :)
song inspo: river - zinadelphia
I’m somewhere in between
The things that I’ve lost
And the things I’ll gain from losing
Either way I will leave something behind
But I’m dying to do something different this time
June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania
Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks.
The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.
Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours.
It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums.
Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning.
The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door.
He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.
You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then.
Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States.
You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.
Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart.
In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.
You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show.
Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?
“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it.
Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.
“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that.
You were expecting the American accent even less.
He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win.
You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho.
You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome.
“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him.
He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.
He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”
He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.
You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile.
He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.
He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.
You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.”
“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile.
“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.
You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.
He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know.
In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.
His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”
He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats.
He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.
You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man.
He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.
Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”
Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time.
“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him.
You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.
Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.
You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him.
You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.
That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?
It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night.
You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.
“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.
You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands.
You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.
He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.
“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.
You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.
“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious.
Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands.
“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?”
His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion.
“…Why?”
“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”
He sighed at you thanking him again.
“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.”
Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.
You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”
His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”
You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.
“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.
He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”
You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress.
“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”
He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.”
You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”
He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster.
Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man.
“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”
His response was a small nod.
You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.
“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.
“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly.
You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.
Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.
“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.
You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him.
“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”
Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face.
“I’m glad.”
He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.
Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.
Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.
“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.
You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”
He grunted in response, displeased.
“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”
“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”
You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again.
“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.
He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”
That didn’t surprise you at all.
You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”
“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.”
You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward.
“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”
He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”
“Friday morning.”
“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”
Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment.
Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe.
“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’.
“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him.
That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory.
He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements.
He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment.
You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you.
You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.
“What?” Bucky asked curiously.
“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork.
“Do you not get those often?”
You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth.
“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.
He huffed out a small laugh.
“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response.
“You remind me of a cat.”
“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.
“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”
He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out.
“What kind of cat would I be?”
“A black cat, for sure.”
You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.
“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly.
“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!”
You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.
Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye.
You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face.
He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.
“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.
You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.
“They’re perfect.”
You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him.
You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”
You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red.
He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.”
“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”
“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly.
You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”
“Whatever you want.”
An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.
“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”
He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.
“I’m…gonna miss you.”
You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.
You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.
Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.
“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen.
“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.
You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously.
Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie.
“You really like plums.”
“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.
That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand.
“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes.
“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin.
His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”
You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.
“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”
His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion.
You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”
He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.
You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.
“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.
“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces.
You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart.
He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.
“…I can’t believe you’re real.”
You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning.
You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.
“Can I kiss you?”
He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths.
“You okay?” You asked softly.
His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”
He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach.
You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw.
“Let me help you feel good.”
He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind.
“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.
He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own.
“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.
You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.
He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.
“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own.
“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already.
You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face.
“Eager, are we?”
You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses.
“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.
“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.
You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.
He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity.
He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.
“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.
With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.
He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.
“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.
“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.
Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.
He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel human.”
You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them.
You were right
- Bucky
A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.
Oh, shit.
Present day - Brooklyn, New York
The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back.
“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!”
“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”
She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep.
“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.
You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.
“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.
She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own.
“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”
She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.
“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”
“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.”
The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.
You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.
He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even.
You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips.
Bucky Barnes, in the flesh.
Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.
“Mama?”
You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.
You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.
“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.
You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”
She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.
“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”
You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”
Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie?
You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank.
It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.
Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.
“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.
You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.
“You said a swear word!”
You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.
“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.
“Not a chance, peanut.”
After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other.
Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.
But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth.
Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.
Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.
When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.
Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button.
And there he was.
Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.
A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.
You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.
“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…”
You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.”
“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”
“Mom, I’m busy—“
“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple.
There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming.
“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?”
“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.
Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father.
You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone.
“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do.
Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.
You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.
In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.
Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts.
You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years.
You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you.
“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.
You blinked.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter.
“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.
“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure.
Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.
“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year.
Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.
“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”
Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms.
She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell.
Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.
Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!”
You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.
Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.
“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him.
“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second.
You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?
Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.
“…Is she—“
His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.
“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.
Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside.
Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”
You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“
“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”
“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”
She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.
The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.
“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.
Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.
Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.
You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.
You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.
“We need to talk.”
“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”
“I have my ways.”
He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.
“Look, I agree we need to talk—“
“Why did you run off?”
And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.
You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest.
“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.
“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”
The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face.
“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“
And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.
“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs.
Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore.
He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor.
He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man.
“Hi, I’m Bucky.”
You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off.
“Hi, I’m Jamie!”
The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him.
“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”
She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.
“Are you coming to my soccer game?”
That shocked both of you.
“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.
“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”
The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core.
There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.
Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.
The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring.
Bucky cleared his throat softly.
“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.
“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.”
He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.
He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.
“She looks like my sister.”
That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.
“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”
You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.”
He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.”
You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.
“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”
He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.
“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.
“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”
Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.
“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”
He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”
You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle.
“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile.
He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.
“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”
“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.”
You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you.
“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.”
“Good.”
You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.
“Where were you—“
“What does she know—“
You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”
“What does she know…about me?”
Yeah, you were expecting that.
“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”
His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice.
“How do we tell her?”
There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue.
“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?”
The look he shot you was deadly.
You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”
“I want to be there.”
Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.
His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.
“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”
And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.
“What happened to you? After Bucharest?”
He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.
“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”
You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive.
“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.
He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk.
“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”
Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you?
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly.
“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”
He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.
“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”
“Noted.”
“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”
“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.
“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless.
“Whatever you say, doll.”
You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping.
“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.
“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.
“Fine.”
“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”
Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back.
“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it.
“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.
She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”
“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter.
“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.
“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”
Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys.
You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”
Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”
You grinned at him. “Exactly.”
Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint.
You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.
“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“
“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.
“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.
“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.
You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.
“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.
The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.
“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.
Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”
Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.
“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.
“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.
“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?
Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully.
He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”
Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.
He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest.
Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.
“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.
He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”
By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”
“If I don’t have to be away for work.”
She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited.
You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own.
“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins.
You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart.
“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.
Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.
And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.
You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.
Then you watched the realisation hit her.
“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”
And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly.
“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”
Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”
You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours.
The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines.
“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.
Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.
“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”
“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.
You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.
This was not going to be easy on your heart.
A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away.
First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.
You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.
She called your name, looking at you expectantly.
“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.
“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.
You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.
Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”
You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“
But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”
“I’ll text you his details!”
There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.
Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.
“Hey,” you started. “You okay?”
“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.
You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete.
You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.
“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”
“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot.
“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.
“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.
“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.
“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”
Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.
You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”
You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him.
“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low.
You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.
You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?
“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.
“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.
He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.
“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”
Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.
“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it.
“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.”
You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you.
You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.
You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.
There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.
“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.
“Photos of what?”
“When you were pregnant.”
You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.
“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”
He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone.
“I want to see.”
“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”
“I’m not asking for those.”
You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.”
The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips.
“Good girl.”
Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction.
And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used.
The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.”
The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it.
“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover.
You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping.
“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.
“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.
He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”
You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.
“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper.
“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.”
Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.
Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.
“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.
“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.
Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.
“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.
He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”
He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.
Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.
“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”
Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.
A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey.
“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”
He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.
“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?”
Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force.
“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.”
His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.
“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time.
He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.
“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.
Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took.
“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.
“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.
“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.
“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.
“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.
The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.
“Yes,” you whispered.
He hummed, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting.
“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.”
His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.
Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper.
“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.”
You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.
He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”
That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about?
You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”
His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.
“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.”
You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar.
“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core.
His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.
“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear.
Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.
“Please,” you whispered desperately.
Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth.
His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.
“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.
You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs.
“Patience, doll.”
And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.
He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.
“So responsive.”
He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.
“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.
He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour.
“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.
He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck.
“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.
He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately.
His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.
“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.”
Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.
“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease.
His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.
He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”
He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.
You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.
“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in.
His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver.
He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.
He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher.
“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.
He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.
He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.
He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.
“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.
“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.
He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.
“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.
You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.
His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood.
“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.
He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body.
“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?”
“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.
He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.
“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob.
He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.
“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.
He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.
He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response.
“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?”
You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.
He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume.
“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.
Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.
“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.
“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”
More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.
“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”
Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.
pro-tip: your blog is about you. be self-indulgent, self-absorbed, and self-possessed. go all in on your obsessions. this is a work of self-expression, a living monument to your heart.
the feminine urge to quit my job, move to a coastal little town and work at a cafe or a bed&breakfast, become a local and just live a happy and peaceful life
pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
characters: harry castillo, fem!reader, and stevie
content warning(s): slight time jump, brief mention of pregnancy symptoms, wedding day themes - vows, description of reader's dress, reception, no use of y/n.
word count: 5k
a/n: so sorry again for the late post here guys and appreciate y'all for sticking around the last couple of chapters. anyway, tbh - i went back and forth between a lot of names for the baby and ultimately went with this one bc frank sinatra had always been one of my favorite artists growing up. hope y'all enjoy! we got a drabble coming up next week before pt 29 (which is when baby is due!!!). <3
song: the way you look tonight by frank sinatra
part 27. - part 29. | series masterlist.
“Okay, we have a list of names and nowhere near getting close to the one,” you sighed, leaning back against the couch.
“We’ll find the right one,” he said. “I’m not worried about it.”
“Why are you… so calm about everything?”
Harry smiled. He walked over to you and gently took the notebook and pen from your lap to set it on the coffee table behind him. He knelt down in front of you, hands now coming to rest on your belly. “Because we get married this weekend. That’s all I’m thinking about.”
You bit your lower lip and ran your hands carefully through his hair. “Harry…”
“The name will come to us,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“Then we flip a coin on the day she’s born?” Harry teased.
You rolled your eyes. “Harry—”
He chuckled. “I’m just teasing, baby.” He leaned in and lightly pecked your lips. “The perfect name will present itself. I have a feeling.”
“But we should come up with some backups…”
“We have.”
“I’m not sold on them.”
“Well, that’s why they’re backups,” he smiled. “We’ll figure it out,” he reassured you. “I promise.”
“Fine… I guess I really should be working on my vows anyway,” you teased, biting your lower lip.
Harry’s lips parted in surprise. “Are you telling me that you’re going to wait last minute to work on them?”
“… no.”
He narrowed his eyes and gently pushed you on your back on the couch, climbing atop of you with his hands resting above your head. “Liar.”
You gasped playfully. “Mr. Castillo, I never thought I’d see the day where you call me a liar.”
“And I never thought I’d see the day where you lie to me,” he chuckled, lowering his head to pepper kisses along your neck.
You giggled immediately, running your hands along his broad shoulders. “I already have them written down,” you said.
Harry smiled and pulled back to look down at you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you answered, moving one hand to his chest. “I talk about how much I love your singing,” you teased.
“Oh, you’re a smartass today, aren’t you?”
“I’m many things today…” you whispered, moving your hand down his chest and his abdomen. “But a smartass isn’t one of them.”
He cleared his throat when he felt your hand disappear into his shorts and just as you were about to take hold of him, the both of you heard the sounds of soft footsteps from the hallway.
“Oh, are you gonna get it later, baby,” he said, pulling away from you abruptly.
You grinned and licked your lower lip, trying to lift yourself up into a seating position.
“Need help?” Harry asked.
“Yes, please.”
He smiled and took your hands into his own, helping you sit upright. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” you said softly, leaning up to peck his lips. “Can’t believe we have just a little over two months until we get to meet her.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled in excitement. “I can’t wait.”
“And I hope we have a name picked out by then.”
He chuckled. “We will.”
“You’re so sure.”
“It’ll come to us,” he repeated. “When we least expect it.”
“Daddy!” Stevie exclaimed, running around the corner and towards the both of them. “Mama!”
“Stevie!” He said with the same excitement, chuckling quietly as he lifted her into his arms and moving to sit next to you.
“I’ve been practicing,” she said. “On being the flower girl.”
“Oh yeah?” You smiled, looking over at her. “Wanna show us?”
Stevie nodded and then scrambled off Harry’s lap to run at one of the living room. She took a deep breath and then pretended to hold a basket over her arm as she began walking.
You leaned against Harry and smiled, watching your little girl pretend to sprinkle flowers on the floor. She was taking her job as flower girl so seriously and it was cute—it was a memory you wouldn’t ever forget because you didn’t think you’d actually ever be here.
“I think you’re the best flower girl there is,” Harry grinned.
You glanced up at him. He was staring at Stevie with so much love and it made tears sting your eyes.
Because Harry had always seen Stevie as his own.
Had loved her as if he was her biological father.
And you didn’t even have to ask him either.
He had just done it.
Then, you felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once.
You started crying.
Stevie’s eyes widened once she got closer.
Harry looked over at you and concern was written all over his face.
“Baby?”
“Am I just that good, mama?” Stevie asked.
Then, you started laughing.
With tears still trickling down your cheeks.
Harry relaxed, but he rested a protective hand on your back.
Stevie walked closer to you. “Mama, are you okay?” She asked honestly.
“Baby,” you smiled, wiping the tears away from your face. “I’m okay. I’m happy.”
She grinned and then climbed onto the couch to sit between both you and Harry. She leaned against you and moved her small hand to rest on your belly. “Happy tears?”
“Happy tears,” you nodded.
Harry leaned over to kiss your temple before scooping Stevie into his arms and onto his lap. You glanced over at them both and smiled, one hand going to each of their cheeks.
“My family,” you whispered.
Harry turned his head to kiss the inside of your wrist. He caught a glimpse of your engagement ring and he felt his own wave of emotions overcome him. If someone had told him that he’d have the life he always dreamt of—that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love and a family to take care of—he wouldn’t believe it.
Because he had given up on this life long before you and Stevie came into the picture.
He had come to terms that he was going to spend the rest of his life alone and he was okay with it.
Until that one afternoon in the park.
“And then after the wedding,” Stevie said. “I get adopted!”
Harry smiled, cradling Stevie closer into his arms once your hands dropped from their cheeks. “By next week, we’re all finally going to be the Castillo’s.”
You smiled.
Stevie beamed.
“The Castillo’s.”
Harry had woken up so early on the day of your wedding. He sat up from bed and glanced over at you. You were already thirty weeks long now and your belly bigger than before.
He leaned over and lightly pressed his lips to your belly. Harry glanced over at you and felt you shift against him, a small smile lining his lips once he pulled away. He carefully climbed out of bed to pull on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before leaving the room. It was still dark out, but he walked to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee as his mind drifted.
He didn’t think this day would ever come. Harry had believed that after Lucy and the failed dates at Adore that he was just meant to be alone.
He had come to terms with it.
But meeting you and Stevie had changed everything.
When the coffee stopped brewing, he poured himself a cup and walked into his office. Harry had taken a seat at his desk, set his mug down and pulled out the notebook that he had begun writing his vows on.
He wished he could say that he had it all written down, but as he stated at the blank page, Harry wasn’t sure how he could put into words just how much you and Stevie meant to him.
And every time he tried to write something down, it just didn’t come out the way he wanted it to.
He had at least a few more hours before he had to start getting ready, and the only thing that Harry could think about were the words that Lucy had told him in his kitchen when she had broken up with him.
How was love was supposed to be easy.
And it had always been so easy with you.
For once, he finally understood what Lucy meant because he was lucky enough to know what that felt like now. You had shown him a different way of living—more simple, more present—than what he was used to, than what he had gotten comfortable with.
Work no longer consumed every minute of his life.
He made time for things that actually mattered.
And Harry always looked forward to coming home every afternoon to a home filled with love and laughter.
It was something he always dreamt of having.
So while he didn’t have multiple pages of his vows, he did manage to write just a couple of sentences that encompassed how he felt about you.
Love had always been difficult for me… until I met you. From then, it was the easiest thing in the world.
He smiled to himself.
Read it multiple times and then shut his notebook.
He knew you’d know what he meant, knew that you wouldn’t ask him to elaborate.
Harry glanced at the clock. Almost six in the morning.
He grabbed his mug and took a careful sip of his coffee. The wedding today would be small and intimate—just like you both wanted.
It was the reception that would be extravagant—something that you both wanted your parents to have.
He looked at his phone when it buzzed on his desk. It was a text from his mother. A simple good morning, a quick check in.
So instead of replying, he dialed her number, grabbed his mug and stepped out onto the balcony joining his office. The sun was rising slowly and all he could think about was getting to marry you today.
A few more rings continued before he heard his mother’s voice.
“You’re up,” she said.
“Too excited,” he answered. “You’re up too.”
“Also excited,” she laughed quietly. “You sleep okay?”
Harry took another sip of his coffee. “I did… I was just finishing up my vows.”
“On the day of the wedding?”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say… it was just that I didn’t know how to say it.”
Harry heard his mother laugh on the other end of the phone. “You’re trying to make it romantic.”
“Well… yeah…”
“Don’t,” she said. “Just speak from the heart. That’s the most romantic thing you can do.”
“I know.”
“So… you going to share what you wrote?”
He laughed. “You’ll find out later.”
He heard his mother let out a quiet chuckle again. “I’m proud of you, Harry. I knew your story wasn’t over yet.”
“Did you know that it was going to be her?” He asked teasingly.
“No,” she answered honestly. “But I hoped that it would be.”
Harry grinned. “I can’t wait to marry her.”
“I know,” she said softly. “And I think an intimate ceremony with a large reception is a great idea.”
Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully to himself. “Oh please, you wanted a big ceremony too.”
“Maybe… but I know that’s now who you both are.”
He smiled. “And the reception is mainly for you and her mom anyway.”
“What can we say? We like to party,” she laughed. “And what better way to have a party than to celebrate your love?”
“Good point,” he said. “Hey, mom?”
“Yeah, Harry?”
“Thank you,” he said into the phone. “For everything.”
She sighed. Harry could practically hear the smile on her lips as she replied, “I’d do it all over again, you know? All that struggle in the beginning? It was worth it.”
“It’s kinda how I feel too,” he added. “I’d let it happen all over again too as long as it leads me back to her,” Harry said. “I’d endure all that heartbreak and disappointment all over again if it meant that I’d end up here, with her and with Stevie.”
“See? Speaking from the heart—very romantic,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Things always happen for a reason, Harry. Some good, some bad, but we all end up where we’re meant to be.”
Harry looked out into the horizon now, the sun rising above the buildings. He started thinking about what he future would look like and he knew he didn’t want it to be at the penthouse.
No, Harry wanted a home.
With a front and backyard.
In a safe neighborhood with nice neighbors.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“We’ll see you guys in a few hours, okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” she said.
When the phone call ended, Harry pocketed his phone and leaned against the railing as he continued to watch the sunrise. The quiet only lasted a few minutes before he heard the door slide open. He turned his head to look at you, waddling slowly over to him.
You were barefoot and in a pair of sleep pants and an oversized hoodie to give way for your belly.
“Morning,” you yawned, leaning against him. “You’re up early.”
Harry smiled to himself and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head as you both looked out to watch the sun continue to rise.
“You are too,” he pointed out. “Figured you’d be asleep for another hour.”
“I’m excited,” you said honestly. “I get to marry you today,” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
Harry chuckled and then slowly turned to face you fully. He wrapped both arms around you as turned in his arms, your belly providing ample amount of space between you.
“I can’t wait,” he whispered, leaning down to lightly peck your lips. “How’d you sleep?”
“Got enough,” you answered, hands resting on his chest.
“Hmm,” he said softly. “Wasn’t the question.”
You laughed quietly. “I slept okay, Harry.”
“Need a foot rub?”
“We need to get ready,” you said softly, rolling your eyes. “And your daughter needs to get woken up soon.”
He grinned broadly. “My daughter,” he repeated. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”
“And your other daughter is already awake and kicking,” you smiled, taking one of his hands to rest on your belly. “I think she’s trying to tell me she wants some food.”
“Well, we can’t have her hungry,” he said, gently rubbing his thumb across your belly. “Let me make you some breakfast, then we’ll get ready.” Harry kissed your cheek and lingered when he pulled away, eyes taking you in from top to bottom. “Can’t wait to see you in your wedding dress, baby.”
“Let’s hope I can fit in it,” you teased.
Harry chuckled and led you back inside, shutting the door behind him. “Okay, what are we in the mood for?”
“Some fruit and eggs,” you said.
“I’ll make some pancakes for Stevie too,” he added. Harry helped you into the chair at the dining table, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. “Just sit there and look pretty for me.”
You smiled up at him. “You spoil me.”
“Yeah, I do,” he grinned. “And I’ll continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives.”
You laughed to yourself and rested both hands on your belly as you watched him move around the kitchen with ease.
In just a few hours, you would be saying I do to the man you never thought you’d ever end up with.
Harry had left before you and Stevie, something about not wanting to see you in your wedding dress before the ceremony—that it’d be bad luck. The scent of his cologne lingered in the bathroom as you were fixing Stevie’s hair, staring at her through the mirror with a small smile.
“You’re gonna look so beautiful, baby,” you smiled.
“You too, mama!”
She was already wearing her dress and flats, grinning up at you as you added the last few touches to her hair. She wanted flowers sprinkled in her hair, so you tried your best to get it to look like what she wanted—your little fashionista.
“Okay, I think that’s it, baby,” you said, smiling down at her and gently leaning down to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, Stevie.”
She grinned and climbed off her stool to twirl in her dress. “I’m gonna be the best flower girl!”
“Yeah, you will, baby,” you smiled. “Let me just put my dress on, okay? Grandma and grandpa will be here in a bit.”
“Okay, mama!” Stevie walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway to her bedroom.
You looked at yourself and removed the robe you were wearing, your hands coming over to rest on your belly. You already had your hair in a sleek bun, a few strands of hair just falling over your face naturally, and your makeup remaining light.
You looked over at the dress that was hanging from the door, biting your lower lip as your hands gently ran over the fabric. You didn’t think that you’d ever get married—having sworn men of after Dylan.
But Harry changed everything.
He had always been so persistent. When you allowed yourself to open up and to stop thinking about how different your lives were, a love that you had only seen from your parents blossomed.
You finally had the opportunity to love someone the way your parents loved each other.
Because you truly found yourself falling in love with Harry every single day.
You didn’t think that you’d ever be capable of loving someone like that.
You carefully slipped on your dress—albeit with a bit of difficulty—but when it finally fit perfectly, you looked at yourself and gasped quietly.
The dress was floor length, with a V-neckline and deep scoop back and spaghetti straps. When you attached the sheer chiffon cape over the front of your shoulders, it flowed naturally down the back of your dress into an effortless train.
You knew you couldn’t wear heels, but the dress was the perfect length and your baby bump—fully noticeable now—was the final touch.
Because it showed that there was another person in your growing family that would be part of this ceremony.
You slipped into your flats just in time to hear Stevie’s giggles, followed by your parents’ voices.
Carefully, you walked out of the bathroom and into the main hallway.
You followed their voices and as you rounded the corner, you saw the three of them look up at you with wide eyes and mouths parted.
Your dad had tears immediately in his eyes.
Your mom smiled, tears already trickling down her cheeks.
And Stevie giggled, jumping up and down excitedly.
“My baby,” your dad said first, stepping up to you and taking your hands in his. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks dad,” you whispered, your own tears now filling your eyes. “Okay, don’t make me cry, please,” you laughed, turning to your mom who immediately pulled you into her arms.
“Gorgeous,” she whispered. “So gorgeous, honey.”
“Daddy’s definitely going to cry,” Stevie grinned.
Your parents looked at each other and laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, he definitely is.”
“You ready to go, honey?” Your dad asked.
You nodded. “I’m ready. Can’t wait to see him.”
“Let’s get you married.”
Harry was already standing at the altar, dressed in a simple black and white tux. He was fidgeting with his hands, biting his lower lip as he looked around. It was a very small and intimate ceremony—your coworkers were there, some of his close family members too—but it wasn’t as big as Peter’s (thank god).
When his brother stepped up to let him know that you finally arrived, he straightened up. Harry could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He glanced at his mom who had nodded in his direction—a silent gesture for him to take a deep breath.
So, he did.
Took several deep breaths.
Until he heard the music playing.
Turned his head to look at the end of the aisle when everyone stood from their seats.
He saw Stevie first and felt himself relax immediately at the sight of her. There she was, as beautiful as ever, and as rehearsed, tossed flowers down the aisle. He winked over at her and she giggled—this was his Stevie girl.
Once she got closer to him, Harry knelt down and cupped her cheek.
“You look beautiful, Stevie girl,” he smiled. “Mama do your hair?”
Stevie grinned. “She did, do you like it?”
He chuckled. “Maybe she should teach me how to do it next time.”
“Well, you do learn fast,” she smiled. “You look good, daddy. Mama’s gonna be so happy to see you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. Go and take your seat, okay?” Harry kissed her cheek and then stood upright once more, watching the young girl walk over to his parents who scooped her into their arms like they had done so many times before.
He caught a glimpse of your mother walking down the aisle to take her seat too. He smiled at her before you rounded the corner with your arm hooked through your dad’s. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of you and he could feel the tears pool around his eyes.
You looked breathtaking.
Absolutely like a dream.
He felt the nerves settle immediately once your eyes met his.
Harry didn’t notice anyone else but you.
Each step you took meant that you were getting closer to him.
It took less than a minute until you were standing in front of him. You pulled your arm from your father’s, kissed his cheek and watched Harry shake his hand. Though, when you felt Harry take your hand in his, no one else around you mattered.
All you could see was him.
“You look…” Harry whispered, blinking back some tears but a few only trickled down his cheeks. “I’m going to remember this moment for the rest of my life.”
“I’d hope so,” you teased, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “You look so handsome, Harry.”
He leaned against your touch and then reached out with one of his hands to rest on your belly. “Can’t wait to call you my wife.”
“Well then,” the priest interjected with a smile. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Finally towards the end of the ceremony, you had volunteered to go first to say your vows. Harry watched you take out a piece of paper to read from and suddenly, he felt a bit conscious of the lack of writing he had on his.
“Harry,” you began, your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “I didn’t think I’d ever be in this position… pregnant again and marrying a man that I only ever dreamt about. When I say I’m the luckiest woman in the world, I really do mean that,” you squeezed his hand as you looked up at him briefly. “You’ve shown me what it’s like to be chosen every day, what it’s like to come home to such a warm and loving home… you always seem to know what I need before I even say it,” you smiled. “I never knew what love felt like until I met you. You show up every day, not only for me, but for Stevie too,” you continued, glancing over at your little girl. “I think I was just waiting for you, Harry.”
When a tear fell down your cheek, he was quick to wipe it away.
“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” you continued. “I know it’s going to be filled with so much laughter and so much love… There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with than you. I love you.”
Harry stepped closer and was about to lean in to kiss you until the priest interjected once more.
“Not yet, Harry,” he chuckled. “Do you have any vows prepared?”
Harry nodded and took out the piece of paper from his pocket. He looked down at it, only a few words written compared to the paragraphs that you had. He took a deep breath and focused his attention back on you.
“I—I had trouble putting into words just how much you and Stevie mean to me,” he began. “All I managed to write was that love had always been difficult for me… until I met you. From then, it was the easiest thing in the world.”
Harry then put the piece of paper back into his pocket and took a deep breath before continuing. “I think I was just waiting for you too. I replay that moment I first saw you in my head every day—how beautiful you looked, how carefree and happy you and Stevie were. I don’t think I would have had the courage to come up to you if you hadn’t done it first. And every day since, baby, I think about just how lucky I am that you chose me.”
He moved one hand to your belly and the other to your cheek, resting his forehead lightly against your own. “For once in my life, I’m excited for the future because I know that I’ll have you, I’ll have Stevie, and our little family… and I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”
You were about to kiss him too until the priest let out a quiet chuckle. After both your vows and saying I do, you and Harry now had respective rings sitting on each of your ring finger. Once the priest said it was finally time to kiss, Harry cupped the side of your neck and leaned in to press his lips against yours.
“I now present Mr. and Mrs. Castillo,” the priest said with a large smile.
The reception was much larger than you anticipated. You met new members of Harry’s family, shaking their hands and smiling in thanks to their congratulations. You could feel the aching in your lower back and feet, so about half an hour into the reception, you were already sitting at the table. Music blared from the speakers, your family and friends mixing in with Harry’s so easily that it made you feel foolish to even think that you wouldn’t have ever fit into his world.
Because you did.
Easily, at that too.
Harry had Stevie in his arms as they danced together on the dance floor, cradling her in his arms and you could hear her laughter even through the loud music. You put your hands on your belly and felt a small kick against one of your hands, a small smile lining your lips.
He spotted you immediately and stepped off the dance floor with Stevie still in his arms as he sat next to you.
“You okay?” Harry asked.
“Just resting my back and feet,” you answered, leaning against him. You caught a glimpse of the ring now sitting on his finger and you smiled. “I like seeing that on you.”
Harry chuckled, looking down at his hand. “I like wearing it.”
“Mama,” Stevie said, moving her hair away from her face. “I think you and daddy need to have a first dance right?”
“Maybe in a little bit, baby,” you smiled. “Mama’s feet hurt just a bit.”
“Okay,” she said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Can I go dance some more?”
Harry smiled and set her down on her feet. “Save me a dance later, Stevie girl.”
She giggled and nodded, running to the dance floor. Harry let out a contented sigh as he leaned into you. “And to think she was afraid of dancing before,” he chuckled, arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful?”
You smiled. “You did… almost every hour, at least,” you teased.
“Well, you do,” Harry said. “You look so fucking breathtaking… and as much as I want to take this dress off of you, you look so fucking amazing in it.”
You laughed quietly, looking up at him. “That all you think about, hm? Sex?”
“Where you’re concerned? Obviously,” he chuckled, hand moving up and down your arm. “Baby girl up?”
“She wants in on all of the fun,” you smiled. “Been pushing on my bladder for the last hour, though.”
The upbeat music shifted to something much more calmer as Stevie ran from the dance floor to her plate of food that she left on the table. You laughed quietly to yourself, watching her get along with her new found family of other kids around her age. Your gaze shifted to your parents who were on the dance floor, bodies close and eyes locked one one another as the song played.
Then, it dawned on you.
It must have dawned on Harry too because when you looked back up at him, he had a large grin already on his lips.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked.
You nodded.
“I think we figured out her name,” you smiled, moving your hand to your belly where you felt another soft kick in response.
Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft
There is nothing for me but to love you
And the way you look tonight
Harry grinned as the song continued. He briefly glanced over his shoulder to see his parents now joining yours on the dance floor.
Lovely ... Never, never change
Keep that breathless charm
Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight
He moved a hand to your belly and ran his thumb lightly along the fabric of your dress. He leaned in and pecked your lips lightly.
“Told you the name would come to us,” he said with a quiet laugh.
You rolled your eyes playfully and pulled back enough to look up at him. “Always right, aren’t you?”
“Hm, not always,” he smiled. “But about this one? Yeah,” he winked.
“So, her name’s Frankie.”
Harry grinned.
The both of you felt a small kick in response again.
summary: Harry is a man who always needs control. But when you come along, the lines between lust, obsession, and love start to blur, and he gets the urge to let go completely.
contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - fifty shades of grey vibes, AU, banter, playing hard to get, age gap (nearly 30 years… oops), Harry is a playboy, mentions of sex workers, longing, obsession, possessiveness and jealousy, dark romance (??), learning to love, one face slap, angst (i cannot be stopped), some description of reader (long enough hair to put up, sex on legs according to Harry), no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.
smut tags: m!masturbation, overstimulation, impure day dreams, dirty talk, dubcon (??), unprotected sex, a few ass slaps, rough sex, sex contract, exhibitionism, aftercare (kinda), the red room 😛, sex toys
wc: 9600+ (oops)
a/n: my entry for @time-for-my-weekly-spanking 's 2026 kinky challenge (i chose age gap for my husband Harry). biggg thank you to @mcthsman for proofreading and helping me edit this! love you lots 🤍 (more notes at the end)
᯽ part 2 | soundtrack | read on ao3
Harry Castillo is a man of power. He works for the private equity business that his mother started up when she was younger, and he owns the most businesses out of anyone there. Besides his mother of course.
The Castillos have never been afraid of money. Hell, they bathe in it every night. Because of this, Harry isn’t afraid to spend a pretty penny on a woman. Except he hasn’t found someone that actually deserved it.
Sure, he’s had his fair share of women — none that he’s ever been photographed with. A list extending from women he’s worked with to sex workers. But no one has interested him long enough for him to think about any type of future with them. He’s not necessarily proud of his ways, but it’s a big stress relief for him.
Control is a necessity in all parts of Harry’s life — including in the bedroom. These women willingly submit themselves to please him in whatever way he desires. Of course, Harry still respects them and makes sure they’re properly taken care of. After all, he’s not a dick. He just thinks with his.
Harry is currently on a phone call in his office. Something about a leak that was reported in a recent building he bought. To be honest, he tunes out the man on the other end about halfway into the conversation.
“Yeah, I’ll look into it,” he says, exasperated as he waits to end the phone call sooner rather than later.
“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Castillo. Have a good—“
The man’s voice dies out as Harry puts down the phone, effectively ending the conversation before the man could finish his thought. He slumps back in his chair, running a hand down his face.
Crown Castillo has been the busiest and biggest it’s ever been. The annual New Years gala is in a few weeks, and his mother wants him to have a date for it. Harry could get any woman he wants for it, really. But he has been getting tired of that life. He is well into his fifties and coming to terms with the fact that he might end up alone.
Just then, his assistant, Rick, knocks on his door. “Come in,” Harry calls out, sitting up straight in his chair.
The door slowly opens before Rick steps in, “Mr. Castillo, there’s a woman here to see you. Something about the photography at the gala.”
Confusion stretches across Harry’s face before he tells Rick to let her in. He wasn’t aware of any meetings with a photographer, but he’d see what they needed.
What Harry doesn’t expect is for you to walk in: younger, long hair that went down past your shoulders, soft skin, black blazer, black skirt that stopped at your mid thighs, and the expanse of your legs being covered by sheer stockings.
Fuck, you’re a sight.
Standing up, Harry buttons the middle of his suit jacket. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks with a small nod.
You wait for his assistant to close the door before you walk up to Harry’s desk. Extending out your hand, you introduce yourself. Your hand is practically swimming in his as he gives you a firm handshake.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he says before gesturing for you to sit in one of the chairs across from his desk.
“My business was called about taking pictures for your upcoming New Years gala. They sent me out to confirm with you. Make sure everything is exactly the way you want; the pictures you want taken of the venue, the people – the food even.”
Harry watches your lips move as you talk, subconsciously licking his own while he takes in your words. He hadn’t been aware that there would even be photographers at the gala this year, so this must’ve been his mother’s doing.
He clears his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I was made aware about any of this. You might’ve been looking for my parents, not me.”
You raise an eyebrow, “Your parents?”
“It’s a family business,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. As if Crown Castillo isn’t the wealthiest private equity firm in the U.S.
“Ah, I see,” you nod slowly, “So who do I speak to then?”
“Well,” he rounds his desk, moving to stand in front of you, “if you were looking for a ‘Mr. Castillo’, that would be my father: Emiliano.”
You nod once, taking in the information and correcting the form you brought in. As you build up the courage to ask, you place the end of your pen between your lips, drawing Harry’s gaze towards them once more.
His gaze darkens, hands tightening on the edge of his desk until his knuckles are nearly white.
“Do you mind showing me where your father’s office is then?” you finally ask, putting down your pen and meeting his eyes.
Harry would normally tell someone who asked for directions to ask his assistant, but something about you draws him towards you. His body craves a little more time with you, even if it’s just for five more minutes.
“Sure. This place is easy to get lost in,” he huffs out something close to a laugh.
He gestures for you to walk in front of him, getting a small whiff of your perfume. It’s something subtle, sexy and sophisticated, causing his slacks to feel a little tighter and uncomfortable. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so easily affected by a woman, let alone one he just met.
As he holds the door open for you, he allows his eyes to travel down the back of your body, getting a good view of your ass before he walks in front of you.
“Such a gentleman,” you tease him lightly as the two of you walk in unison.
Harry feels heat creep up his neck, wondering if you felt his heavy gaze on you or if you’re referring to his manners. “Yeah,” he says gruffly before he clears his throat, “I’m not as big of an asshole as they say I am in the press.”
Your brows knit in confusion at that, “The press?”
He freezes in his tracks, making you stop as well. The stare he’s giving you is almost like he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are narrowed, mouth slightly agape as he reads you.
Your pulse picks up under his intense stare. Chest rising and falling a bit faster before he speaks. “You don’t… know who my family is?” he asks in disbelief.
“Am I supposed to?”
“I… guess not,” he says quietly, brushing it off before he continues walking.
You stand there, trying to process what just happened before you trail behind him.
“Sorry if I offended you, Mr. Castillo, but I’m not really into the whole… business world of things. I’m sure you and your family have plenty of fame. I just don’t know anything about it.”
Immediately you realize how much you’re rambling when Harry doesn’t even bat another eye at you. His expression is stoic as he walks, keeping his eyes trained forward. You got a sense that you would ruin this deal if you kept talking, so you stayed quiet for the rest of the walk.
After another minute of walking past the most expensive and busiest people you’ve ever seen, the two of you stop in front of an office door that reads: Emiliano Castillo.
“Thanks for walking me here,” you murmur once he turns towards you.
There’s the faintest hint of a fire burning behind Harry’s eyes. So faint that you aren’t even sure if you’re really seeing it.
“Guess I’ll see you soon,” he states, his voice a little rougher than it was before.
You’re not too sure why, but your skin prickles at his tone. Goosebumps spread across your arms as you look up at him.
“See you soon, Mr. Castillo.”
With that, he walks away, leaving you alone to talk to his father.
Harry Castillo was a man of power, and he was slowly losing it with you. After leaving you, he makes his way to the men’s restroom, locking the door behind himself before he steps into a stall. The heavy ache between his thighs becomes too much, and his erection is noticeable. He needs to do something about it quickly.
The second the sound of him unbuckling his belt echoes within the four walls of the restroom, he knows he is going to regret this. He pulls out his throbbing cock with a small hiss before spitting on his hand and fisting himself.
He works his wrist at a steady pace, tipping his head back in ecstasy as his thoughts drift to you. He imagines hiking up your short skirt and bending you over his desk, or fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office.
God, he just knows you’d make the prettiest noises as he fucked you into oblivion. He’d make sure to drag his cock within the deepest depths of you, making you and your pussy sing.
Just the mere thought of it has him thrusting into his hand faster, fucking his fist until he creams all over it. He shudders through his orgasm, vision going a little blurry around the edges, causing him to place a hand on the stall door to keep his balance.
Harry doesn’t think he’s ever cum like that just from the thought of someone he barely had five minutes of interaction with. No, this is something entirely different, and he isn’t completely sure about what it was exactly.
After all of that, there’s one thing Harry knows for sure: You’re his, whether you know it or not.
Setting up the gala with the coordinator has been… eventful. You’re not even completely sure if he was actually listening to your advice or if he was just staring at your tits. Perhaps the dip of your dress was a little too far down your cleavage, but it isn’t your fault that men act like pigs around you.
The venue is beautifully decorated and you’re sure you are going to get some gorgeous shots. Diamonds dangle from the ceiling in forms of chandeliers, reflecting off of the tall walls covered in expensive art. You had an inkling that the Castillos were rich, you just didn’t know how rich.
Right at 7PM, guests start to pile in. Women wearing diamonds and gold around their necks, wrists, and fingers. You’re guaranteed that if you sold this building and the people in it alone, you’d make a lot of money. But you aren’t here to think hypothetically, you’re here to do your job, and you’re going to make sure the photographs are up to both your boss’ and Emiliano’s standards.
Guests mingle, drinking punch, eating the appetizers that were set out, some checking out the art, but the Castillos are still nowhere to be found. It’s nearing 8:30 and Gavin — another photographer — is starting to get antsy.
“We’re supposed to get a shot of them coming in,” Gavin says through his teeth, letting out an exasperated breath.
“They’ll be here,” you murmur, your eyes focused within the camera lens.
You’re watching the guests through your camera, always ready for the perfect shots. A happy couple smiling, the camera flashes. Guests looking up at the art, another flash.
When one head snaps towards the door, so does your camera, and you don’t hesitate to take the shot of the family walking in. The lens whirs as you zoom in on the parents alone, and then the brothers.
It’s almost automatic when Harry feels a camera on him. His gaze finds you in the crowd after the picture is taken, and you lower the camera just slightly to catch his eyes. His eyes travel down your body before he tips his head slightly towards you. Immediately, you feel your skin heat up.
He is clad in a tailored black suit, broad shoulders stretching out his suit jacket so much that you could hear the fabric begging for mercy from where you stand. A white handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket of his suit jacket, black slacks down his legs.
You could already tell he was a big and broad man. Probably manhandling every woman he’s ever been with.
“Did you get the shot?” Gavin asks, pulling your attention away from the man across the room.
“I got it,” you nod slowly, taking a few more just for good measure.
Harry’s gaze still hasn’t moved from you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is how mice feel underneath a microscope. Their little bodies squirming as they’re being examined and experimented on against their will.
“You better fucking have,” Gavin states before he walks away from you.
Ignoring his comment, you take more pictures of Anastasia and Emiliano walking up to the small makeshift stage by the speakers. A microphone stand sits idly on it, waiting to be used for announcements.
You may not be looking at Harry, but you can still feel his gaze on you. Briefly, you wonder what he’s thinking about, but then his father starts speaking.
“May I have your attention ladies and gentlemen. It is with great honor that I thank each and every one of you in this room tonight. My wife’s business would not be as successful as it is without the help of you all. We are extremely grateful for your commitment and dedication to the place we call home: Crown Castillo.
Friends, family, employees – all of you are important and valuable. All of our hands keep this place up and running, and that is what a found family is. I hope we all continue to have each other’s backs during the years to come. And please… enjoy yourselves tonight, and don’t forget that all the funds collected tonight are going towards charity.”
Emiliano and Anastasia raise their glasses of champagne before Ana continues, “To the Crown Castillo family.”
Everyone raises their glasses, repeating her words and going back to mingling. A handful of cameras flash, you and your coworkers getting hundreds of shots for the family and company. The more lively the photo, the better. You’ve learned over the years that these kinds of people appreciate the ‘vibe’ of the pictures more. If they look united, they’ll love the photos.
You lower your camera, checking all of the photos you’ve gotten so far before a man walks up to you. “Excuse me,” he says, placing a hand on your bicep to get your attention.
You look at his hand before you look up at him, “Can I help you, sir?”
He extends his hand out, introducing himself, “Lucas Taylor, Taylored Photography.”
Extending your hand out, you stare at him. He’s a recruiter, no doubt. With a company name that doesn’t even sound familiar to you, and you know all of the photography companies in New York. Emiliano didn’t tell you about another photographer being here, so you’re a little confused.
“I must say,” he puts his hands in his pockets, straightening his posture, “the photos you’ve taken thus far are beautiful.”
“How would you know?” you query, “You haven’t seen them… Lucas.”
He chuckles softly at your retort, nodding, “You’re right.” The heated look he’s giving you isn’t very subtle, and it makes you a bit uncomfortable. “I just wanted to tell you how breathtaking you look in that dress, miss…” Lucas trails off, trying to get you to tell him your name.
You press your lips into a fine line, getting ready to open your mouth, but Harry steps in next to you, placing a hand on your lower back. “You’re a little close, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I,” Lucas stammers, chuckling sheepishly, “I was just complimenting her on her-”
“I’d advise you to leave,” Harry states, his voice cold and calculated as he stares Lucas down.
Harry has a good few inches on Lucas, so he shrinks into his skin, murmuring something under his breath as he walks away. Immediately, you step away from Harry, the warmth of his hand leaving your back and sending a cold shiver up your spine.
“I didn’t need saving.”
“Really?” he draws out with a raised eyebrow, putting his hands in his pockets, “‘Cause it seemed like you were dying to be saved.”
His tease makes you narrow your eyes slightly, “I appreciate the act, but I can handle myself, Mr. Castillo—”
“Harry,” he corrects you, “I think we’re well past the formalities now, don’t you think?”
“What, because you ‘saved’ me?” you retort.
“That’s exactly why,” the corner of his lips tug up into a small smirk, making you roll your eyes.
“Look, I’m trying to do my job for your father. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it now.”
Harry chuckles fondly, watching you raise your camera back up to your eyes. You have a good work ethic, which he admires. But he also wonders if you ever took a break and truly winded down. There’s a huge chance that you don’t do anything remotely close to what he does to wind down, but he feels the need to push your boundaries.
Throughout the night, his gaze keeps landing on you. Watching you mingle with guests, take pictures, talk to his parents, and sip your own glass of champagne. There’s just something so intriguing about you and how you carry yourself. It’s not surprising that he’s thinking with his dick first, but he feels some sort of pull towards you. Like something within the both of you is calling out to each other.
It’s been weeks.
Harry hasn’t been able to get you off his mind. He doesn’t think he’s ever fucked his fist as often as he has lately. He’s done it at least four times today, and he’s painfully hard again, but he can’t wrap his hand around his cock without hissing.
You’re taking over his mind, and you haven’t even really done anything.
He’s looked up the photography company you work for to see if your number is anywhere on it, but the website only has the owner’s information on it.
Asking his parents would be the easy thing to do, but he doesn’t want to raise their suspicions. They already hassle him enough about finding someone to marry, and he doesn’t need more of it.
As if the Gods were blessing him, he looks up from his desktop just in time to see you walking by. A black portfolio folder is in your arms as you walk swiftly towards his father’s office. You’re probably here to drop off the pictures, but Harry knows that his parents are out on a lunch date.
Without really thinking it through, he leaves his office, walking past the many cubicles while keeping his eyes trained on you. You’re on the opposite side and have yet to notice him, but he catches up to you just before you make it to his father’s office door.
Just as you’re about to knock, Harry slides right in front of you, blocking the door with his broad frame. Your palm meets his chest instead of the door, causing warmth to bloom throughout his entire body.
“Hey you,” Harry says, putting his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t entirely in your way.
“Hi,” you reply tentatively, dropping your hand down to your side. “Is your dad here?”
“No, he’s out on lunch,” he averts your gaze for a moment, making eye contact with his assistant before he looks back down at you.
“Oh, I was told to drop off the pictures here,” you murmur, tucking your hair behind your ear as you take a step back. “I’ll just come back later—”
“I can look at them,” Harry says a little too quickly, clearing his throat and backing off the door, “I mean, this is my firm just as much as it is my parents’. Let me look at them.”
“Okay,” you draw out, handing him the portfolio, “Your dad can email me if you guys aren’t happy with the photos.”
“I’m sure we will be,” Harry states matter-of-factly, giving you a charming smile as he takes the folder from you. He holds it like it’s something sacred, “We can get this done now, if you want. Why waste more time on this?”
You ponder his request, biting the inside of your cheek. The instructions your boss gave you were to drop the photos off, get all information if changes needed to be made, get lunch, and come back to edit photos for another company. But with Emiliano gone, Harry is your best option right now.
Reluctantly, you agree, following him to his office. The look he and his assistant share isn’t lost on you as he closes the door, drawing the blinds as well, plunging the room in partial darkness as the sun spills in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The cool leather quietly squeaks as you sit down across from his desk, watching him sit in his own chair and open the folder. He carefully studies each photo, not saying anything yet, but his dark eyes meet yours every now and then over the photographs.
You shift under his heated gaze, crossing your leg over the other and sitting up straighter.
Harry smirks faintly at your reaction, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you. “These look amazing,” he compliments, putting down the photographs to make eye contact with you.
You murmur a small thank you, intertwining your hands in your lap. “I’ll send them over to your father this afternoon so you guys can… do whatever you please with them.”
“And then we’re done?” he asks.
“And then we’re done,” you confirm, slowly nodding.
“So,” Harry starts, standing up to round his desk, “you won’t be working for my company anymore, right?” he asks, sitting on the edge of his desk – directly in front of you.
You can hear the frantic pulse of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Though, you keep it strictly professional.
Harry’s eyes follow your movements as you stand, pressing his palms into his desk and looking at you with his big brown eyes.
“That’s correct,” you confirm, straightening your posture and adjusting your suit jacket. “We won’t ever have to see each other again, Mr. Castillo.”
“Harry,” he corrects you again, “And who said anything about not seeing each other anymore?”
“I did.”
Harry huffs, shaking his head slowly, “You can be very disobedient. Someone outta teach you a lesson.”
Your eyes narrow by a fraction, taken aback by the sudden statement that came tumbling out of his mouth. “Is that what you tell all the women you sleep with?”
“I—”
“Women aren’t on this earth for men’s pleasure. We are people, and we have feelings,” you scoff.
Suddenly he stands, towering over you with his broad frame. But you don’t back down, standing your ground and looking up at him with a defiant look.
“I never told you anything about my sex life,” he states, his voice low.
“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” you pout, “I know you didn’t. I like to know the people that I work for, and it wasn’t that hard to find out about your… extracurricular activities, Mr. Castillo. Maybe you should make sure the women that you fuck are more tightlipped than they let on—”
Harry’s hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against the warmth of his body. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, his lips slightly agape as he stares down at you.
“Say one more thing,” he warns, eyes flicking to your lips momentarily. “I’m used to getting what I want, when I want it.”
“That must get very boring,” you tease with a tilt of your head. “You want me? Then earn it,” that’s all you leave it at before you step back from him, heading towards his office door. “Tell your father I said thank you for the opportunity,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips, and then you’re gone.
Harry exhales harshly through his nose, running a hand through his curls as he’s left there: wanting you.
You gave him a challenge and he sure as hell isn’t going to back down.
Steam from your coffee mug curls around your laptop in lazy tendrils, patrons of the coffee shop chattering amongst themselves. The raised ceilings give the place a more open feel, the hissing of the espresso machines echoing throughout the building.
Your friend, Samantha, sits across from you, telling you about her latest hookup. It’s some guy she met at a party a few months ago. They’ve been talking back and forth for a while and only recently decided to just bite the bullet and fuck.
She waves her hands around as she speaks, telling you in grave detail about the fun night she had.
“I think I blacked out at some point,” she mentions, prompting you to raise your brows in surprise.
“Jesus, Sammy,” you breathe out, astonished by the statement.
As the conversation goes on, she tries to press you into telling her about the last person you worked for.
“Have you heard from Harry?” she casually asks, earning narrowed eyes from you.
“Why would I have heard from him?”
“Because,” she draws out, lifting her coffee mug to her lips, “he definitely wanted to fuck you and you totally shot him down!”
You bite the inside of your cheek, “He’s just like every other rich asshole, Sam. He thinks he can walk all over people and expect them to polish his Italian shoes with their tongues. I don’t need anything like that.”
“So?” she shrugs, placing her elbows on the wooden table, “I bet he fucks like an animal.”
“Samantha,” you deadpan.
“What?” she feigns innocence, “He is a man that screams dominance in the bedroom. If you won’t get under him, I will.”
Against your will, a fire of possessiveness begins to burn in your gut, prompting you to narrow your eyes at your friend. She continues to talk, oblivious to the uneasiness you’re beginning to feel.
“It’s a crazy feeling being with someone that dominant and kinky,” she pauses, thinking. “Oo, maybe he has a sex dungeon—”
“Sam,” you shake your head once, “Enough.”
“I’m just saying,” her tone switches to something lighter, “maybe you’re missing out on what’s right in front of you.”
“Or maybe I dodged a bullet,” you tilt your head to the side slightly. “He’s like… in his 50s, Sam. You do know that, right?”
She shrugs, “Just because the wrapper is wrinkled, doesn’t mean the candy isn’t sweet.”
You raise your brows, amusement spreading across your face as you let out an incredulous chuckle. “You did not just say that. Do I need to take your phone away from you?”
“Probably,” she grimaces, “But seriously, he wants you. I don’t think you should let that go to waste.”
You press your lips into a fine line, hearing the murmurs of the cafe die down. Everyone’s gazes collectively fall to a single person who walks in, reeking of luxury and money. Like a moth to a flame, Samantha’s eyes lift as well.
You bite into your toast, the crunch a lot more audible than it should be in a busy cafe in New York.
“Oh my God,” your friend murmurs, causing you to look up at her.
“What?” you ask, putting your hand over your mouth as you chew.
“Expensive looking hottie alert,” she states, nearly making you choke on your food.
You wipe the corner of your mouth, turning to look over your shoulder at who’s caught everyone’s attention. The world slows around you, Harry’s dark eyes locking onto yours as his signature smirk pulls at his lips.
“Wait, isn’t that—”
“Yes, it is,” you cut Sammy off, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as Harry begins to stalk towards you.
“Ladies,” Harry greets, nodding once towards your friend before his gaze locks onto yours. He crouches down to your level, so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Hi,” he murmurs to you, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
“Hi,” you repeat his words, narrowing your eyes at him. “How the hell did you find me?”
Harry nods towards Samantha again, “Your friend posts a lot on social media.”
Of course.
“Look—“
“I just wanted to personally invite you to the Crown Castillo Black & White Gala,” he speaks lowly for your ears only. “But…” he trails off, reaching for a manilla envelope from the inside of his suit jacket, “I’d like you to look over something for me.”
“Is it regarding the photos I took?” you ask steadily, not looking away from his deep espresso eyes.
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, drawing your eyes towards it. “Not necessarily, but it is business.”
You tilt your head to the side, “What—”
“Just think about it and have an answer by the night of the gala.” He hands you the envelope, standing up and straightening his suit jacket. “I look forward to doing business with you.”
The second you get to your apartment, the sound of the envelope ripping fills the empty space. You pull out a thick packet of white paper. The title page reads: “THE COMMENCEMENT DATE BETWEEN THE DOMINANT AND THE SUBMISSIVE”
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you blurt out immediately.
Your thoughts start to swarm as you glance through the pages, words like sex toys, gags, and whipping sticking out to you.
He wants you to be his sex slave?
Did he listen to a single word you told him in his office?
Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out without thinking. A new email pops up on your lock screen, Harry Castillo being the obvious name as the sender.
The packet hits your kitchen counter with a sharp thud as you unlock your phone, quickly opening the email he sent.
“Good afternoon, I hope this email finds you well.”
You narrow your eyes at the first line before you continue reading.
“I hope you consider reading over the packet I left with you. Whatever you aren’t willing to do, I will accept immediately and set up a meeting to change them. Please read over everything. All I need is your written consent.”
You scoff, placing your phone face down on the counter, hands gripping the edge of it until your knuckles are white. Darkness envelops you when you close your eyes, your breathing picking up as you attempt (and fail) to process whatever the fuck you just read.
There’s no way this is real life, right? People don’t actually do this outside of movies.
Right?
The thick packet taunts you when you open your eyes, sticking out like a sore thumb in your peripheral vision.
As the weeks go by, the contract sits untouched in your nightstand drawer. Harry emails you, but most of the time you don’t respond, earning desperate messages from him late at night.
You don’t know what to think about the situation. Honestly, you thought everything you found out about him were all lies, but this seems pretty fucking real to you.
The night before the gala, you build up the courage to show up at his office. You briskly walk past the security, the packet held tightly against your chest as you reach for the elevator, repeatedly pressing the button for his floor until the doors close.
You exhale in relief once the security guards faces are no longer in view, leaning back against the back wall. Briefly, you look down at the contract again, the word submissive staring back at you.
That isn’t who you are. Isn’t who you were going to be.
You refused to bend yourself to a man’s will just to please him. It goes against everything you stand for.
The elevator dinging pulls you out of your thoughts, the doors sliding open to reveal his floor. It’s dark and quiet, nothing like the other times you’ve been here. Your heels echo in the space as you step out.
Too loud.
Too final.
You turn back around to leave but the doors close too quickly, sealing your decision.
A familiar voice calls out your name, you looking over your shoulder to see Harry’s assistant, Rick, walking towards you.
“Sorry,” you call for the elevator again before turning around to face him, “I shouldn’t have come here. I was just leaving—”
“Mr. Castillo will see you now.”
That catches your attention, the doors sliding open behind you and revealing the two security guards. Rick holds up his hand, signaling them away. “We’re fine here. She has an appointment.”
The men share a look, deciding it’s best not to say anything.
“Please, right this way, miss,” Rick beckons you to follow him.
You glance back at the two brawly men, figuring that it’s best not to get in the elevator with them since you technically just snuck into the building. Against your better judgement and your body screaming at you not to, you follow Rick to Harry’s office.
There’s nobody on the floor. Not even a single janitor in sight. It’s like a ghost town, or one of those horror movies that start off with a vulnerable woman left alone in an office building. Nine times out of ten, she ends up dead in her car.
Rick knocks on Harry’s closed office door twice before opening it. “Have fun.”
“Wait, you aren’t staying?” you ask quietly, watching him shake his head.
“I don’t work overtime.” With that, he gathers his things and heads back towards the elevator, leaving you alone with a stranger that asked you to be his submissive through a packet of paper.
You walk in slowly, noting that his eyes immediately dart down to your bare legs as he stands. He says your name, nodding in greeting. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, shut the door.”
Hesitantly, you close the door behind yourself, feeling like you’re sealing a deal without signing your signature.
“Why were you expecting me?” you ask, walking deeper into his office. The skyline of New York City gleams behind him, like diamonds against a dark sky.
He shrugs faintly, placing his hands in his pockets. “Women usually come around to these sorts of things.”
The statement nearly gives you whiplash, your fingers tightening around the contract before you toss it onto his desk with a sharp thwack.
“Is that what you think? That women want to be your little plaything?”
“It’s not about that,” Harry claims, rounding his desk to stand in front of you. “It’s more about… testing your limits. Seeing how far you’ll go, learning what pleases you—”
You hold out your hand, “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Harry goes quiet, allowing you the space to speak freely, “You tell me one thing, but the contract says another.”
“So you read it?” he asks.
“No, I only read the title page,” you explain. “Sex shouldn’t be a business deal. A relationship shouldn’t be a business deal.”
Harry weighs your words, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “I prefer the term fucking.”
“I didn’t ask.”
He chuckles faintly, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting on the edge of his desk. “If you want to change things in the contract—”
“No, you don’t get it,” you cut him off again, stepping closer, “I didn’t want it in the first place. Did our conversation in this very office just fly over your head?”
“No, it didn’t,” he claims, shaking his head slowly, “but I can tell that you want more from me.”
Harry stands slowly, closing the last bit of space between the two of you until you have to tilt your chin up to look at him directly. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, “What is it that you want? Money? Jewelry—”
“You can’t buy me, Harry,” you interrupt him. “I won’t sign your sex contract and I don’t want to see your face again.”
He nods once, “You came to my office at 9PM just to tell me that? Something you could’ve emailed me or told me over the phone.”
You roll your eyes.
“I mean, it’s a little much, don’t you think?” he asks.
“No, you’re right,” you take a slow step back, “Goodbye, Mr. Castillo.”
You turn around, exhaling through your nose as you begin to head for his office door. Before you can get too far, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, spinning you around until you’re flush against his chest. The collision steals all the air from your lungs, hands instinctively coming up to steady yourself on his biceps.
Harry’s breath mingles with yours, one of his hands coming up to cup the nape of your neck before he crashes his lips against yours in a searing kiss.
A sound of surprise leaves you, and without thinking, you push at him just enough to jostle him before your hand flies across his face. Your hand stings from the force of it, causing you to shake off the pain. Harry keeps his head turned to the side for a moment, his gaze dark when he looks back at you.
What you don’t expect is for him to spin the both of you around, sending everything on his desk flying before he bends you over it.
“Is this what you wanted, princess?” he rasps, breath hot against your ear as he hikes up your skirt.
“Harry—” a low moan cuts you off when he sucks at your pulse point, the rapid flutter of your heartbeat quivering in between his teeth.
He slips his foot between your legs, kicking them apart before he delivers a harsh smack to your ass. You jolt forward upon impact, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. He soothes the plush skin, rubbing his hand along the red spot that’s started to bloom from the force of his palm.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs in your ear, the metallic rattle of his belt unbuckling filling the office.
“This is a bad idea,” you weakly protest. Though, you make absolutely no effort to move.
“Really?” he taunts, dropping his slacks and boxers in one go. “You’re saying one thing… but your body is saying another,” he repeats what you said in his own twisted way, peeling your lacy panties to the side.
The cool air hits your slick heat, sending a shiver throughout your body. You know this shouldn’t happen. Fuck, you shouldn’t have even shown up here tonight. But then he swipes the tip of his cock through your folds, parting them, smearing your slick as well as his precum.
His hand is steady on your hip, the other gripping the base of himself as he repeatedly stimulates your clit with his swollen tip until your knees nearly buckle.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re so pretty.”
“Just shut up and fuck me,” you quip.
Harry chuckles darkly, shoving himself in, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs as you both moan in unison. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his girth before he’s fucking you raw. The obscene slap of wet skin against each other fills the space of the office, his breathy grunts behind you stirring you on.
Push him back, you repeat in your head over and over again. It feels so right, like the Earth’s axis has finally shifted into place as your slick velvet walls greedily suck him in deeper. But you know this shouldn’t be happening – you worked for his family, he left a fucking sex contract with you, and he’s the most cocky son of a bitch you’ve ever met.
Not to mention, absolutely infuriating.
But he feels too good, angling his hips to reach parts of you that have never been touched before. You’ll get your fill just this once, you tell yourself, succumbing to the feeling of him splitting you open.
“Look at you,” he purrs, “taking my cock so well, baby.” Another gasp comes tumbling from your lips when he smacks the supple skin of your ass, watching it ripple with every deep thrust.
The ruthless pace has you mewling, arching your back until your arms are straight forward across the surface of his desk. Harry wraps your hair around his hand, using it to pull your head back and fuck you harder.
“Yesyesyes,” you chant, your jaw going slack, the sting of your hair being pulled, an odd but welcome sensation.
Harry’s other hand slides up to your waist, indenting his fingertips into your skin. “Is this how you like it?” he punctuates between thrusts, “I knew you’d be fucking perfect.”
For now, you ignore the comment, too focused on your pending orgasm and the roaring of your blood rushing in your ears. “Ohh, fuck,” you slur, feeling every ridge of his cock stimulate your sensitive spots perfectly – like it was made to ruin you specifically.
He groans, gritting his teeth as your walls squeeze his shaft. Without much warning, he hooks his forearm under you, lifting your upper body towards his. His hot breath fans over your ear, deep grunts telling you he’s just as affected as you are.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, tugging at your blouse until your tits spill free. Roughly, he takes one in his warm palm, massaging the soft skin and rolling your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
You lean your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when his hand leaves your waist to wrap around your throat. He squeezes gently, feeling the frantic pulse of your heartbeat under the pads of his fingers.
“Harry,” you whimper, heat pooling low in your abdomen as you near your peak.
“Shit,” he hisses, your walls pulsing and squeezing him just right. “You gonna come for me?” he rasps, slipping his hand between your legs to circle your swollen clit.
Your vision goes blurry around the edges, incoherent moans toppling out of your lips as shockwaves spark through your body in fast-rising surges. Blood roars in your ears, your body threatening to double over, but Harry holds you tightly to his heaving chest.
He lets out a ragged groan, bending you back over the desk and pulling out just in time to release his thick, hot, white spurts of cum. He shudders through his orgasm, fucking his fist until he has nothing left to give.
The room stills, both of you breathing heavily from your equally intense climaxes. Your heart pounds in your ears, mind a little hazy and not fully coherent as you lift yourself up, palms pressing into the desk.
Harry pulls up his boxers and slacks, grabbing the box of tissues on his desk to clean up the mess he made.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly when you don’t speak, watching you adjust your clothes and hair back into place.
“No,” you shake your head, turning around to face him, “it was good.”
He hums in acknowledgement, “So will I see you tomorrow night?”
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out just yet. Honestly, you hadn’t thought about whether or not you would go to the gala. What would you even do there besides accompany him and fulfill his… needs?
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Harry steps closer, closing the distance between the two of you and placing his hands on the desk behind you. This way, you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.
“You should go,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his plush lips to yours, giving you a tender kiss that you didn’t think he was capable of.
Despite yourself, warmth blooms in your chest, leaving you wanting more.
Everything feels wrong: your heels are too uncomfortable, dress too tight – too long, jewelry too heavy.
You felt completely out of place. This isn’t your crowd. You’re always the one in the back, a professional black dress and pumps on your body, camera in hand while you blend in with the wall.
You’ve never been in the sea of people you take pictures of.
The building is 24 stories, drowning in exquisite taste and class – something you definitely missed the lesson on in school. Chandeliers scream money, reflecting off the lights and the diamonds dangling from women's necks.
Soft jazz music fills the lobby, creating an alluring atmosphere that eases your nerves for the moment.
A worker offers to take your coat, hanging it up with the rest when you give it to him. You feel exposed, anxiety rising once more now that your dress is revealed. It was a black off-the-shoulder dress, the back of it stopping in the middle of your back.
Goosebumps sprinkle across your skin, shrinking you into your own warmth as you take cautious steps towards the grand double doors. Your heels clack on the marble floors, echoing in your ears.
Inside, classical music drifts through the air, strangers chatting too loudly and overlapping one another.
What the fuck were you doing here?
This isn’t your scene and you’re already going against your morals – stepping out of your comfort zone because a man asked you to.
On instinct, you stick close to the back wall, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but also not wanting to intrude.
Neither Harry or his family are anywhere to be seen, tempting you to leave before you’re noticed by anyone.
Servers pass by, not giving you a second glance as you practically hug the wall. One walks by holding glasses of champagne and you don’t hesitate to grab one, hoping the fizzy beverage will ease your racing heart.
It’s just a party, you tell yourself. Hell, not even a party, this could pass as someone’s fucking wedding reception.
Just before you burrow deeper into your inner turmoil, everyone goes silent – even the music. Someone on a microphone somewhere introduces the Castillo family and everyone claps. You look around for a moment, lost, before you tuck your clutch under your arm and clap along with them; careful of your glass of champagne.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Castillo!”
“Happy birthday, Ana!”
People begin shouting out, the older woman laughing and wrapping an arm around her husband.
Harry invited you to his mother’s birthday party and acted like it was just another annual gala.
Jesus Christ.
After a while, you manage to make your way to the bar, successfully ignoring Harry to the best of your abilities. You don’t move from your spot until he disappears into the crowd and you’re 100% sure he can’t see you.
You order a vodka martini, downing it pretty quickly before you pop the olive in your mouth. The sting tingles your throat, causing you to clear it into your hand, ordering another one.
“There you are,” a familiar voice says behind you, placing his forearms on the counter. “You’re avoiding me.”
You stand up straighter, rolling a toothpick in between your fingers. “Am I?” you query, tilting your head to the side. “You don’t even know how long I’ve–”
“I noticed you the second I walked in,” Harry cuts you off, rendering you speechless for a second.
He chuckles when you don’t respond, another glass being replaced with your empty one. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“A little, yeah,” you murmur, nodding before you sip on your drink.
Harry watches your throat work when you swallow, his mind going to more impure places. “You wanna get out of here?”
You raise your brows, “Isn’t this your mom’s party?” you pause, leaning in and lowering your voice. “Y’know, I don’t appreciate how you blindsided me with that, by the way. I would’ve brought a present.”
He chuckles, straightening up and looking down at you. “Now where would the fun be in that?” he asks, pausing before adding, “Plus, you didn’t need to. My mom already adores you.”
Surprise flashes across your face before you remember that you worked with her and her husband – not just Harry. “Well, she was lovely to work for,” you murmur.
“So what do you say?” he asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
Your skin tingles, not only from his tone of voice, but also from his proximity. In order to keep your sanity, you press your palm against his chest, pushing him just a bit. “Just because we had sex doesn’t mean that we’re together now.”
“Really?” he draws out, straightening up and placing his hands in his pockets. “So you’re not gonna go home with me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The city of New York twinkles below, reflecting in your irises. There hasn’t been a time where you’ve seen the city like this: so high up and a lot clearer.
“You can see most of the city from here,” you murmur to Harry once he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and turning you around.
“Wouldn’t you rather look at me?” he teases, earning an eye roll from you.
“You do that a lot,” he points out.
“Do what?”
“Roll your eyes at me.”
A small smirk tugs at your lips, “And you’ve deserved it every single time.”
Harry’s hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his body. “Have you thought about the contract anymore?”
Your expression falters, opening your mouth but nothing comes out. In your hasty escape from his office last night, you completely forgot about the contract. “No, because I don’t have it anymore. Plus, I already told you my answer.”
His eyes narrow by a fraction before he pulls you by your wrist, leading you up the stairs in his penthouse.
“Harry,” you try to get him to stop, but he tightens his grip on your wrist.
“I just need you to see,” he states, stopping in front of a locked door and fishing the key out of his pocket.
The lock clicks, your heart races, practically in your throat as he opens the door. Lights slowly turn on, reflecting off of the deep red of the walls. Harry gestures for you to go first, and your breath catches in your throat when you step inside.
“Oh, my God,” you whisper, your body going rigid, the shock evident on your face.
A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, gold hoops attached to the four bedposts. The walls look like a horrific murder scene, a wine red making everything seem more intense and unnerving.
“This is my playroom,” Harry announces.
Your eyes are wide, lips agape as you assess the sight in front of you. “Yeah, I can see that,” you breathe, “Jesus Christ, Harry–”
“Before you start,” he cuts you off, “just look around. Nothing in here can harm you, I promise.”
You glance at him sideways before he stands off to the side, giving you free reign to look around. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out what you’re looking at. Hesitantly, you put one foot in front of the other, heels clacking against the hardwood floor.
The wall on your right is lined with various paddles and sensory toys. A rack of items you’ve never seen before sits in front of the bed, and without really thinking, you run your fingers through the rough material.
“That’s called a flogger,” Harry informs you, moving to hover beside you.
You snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, suddenly remembering his reputation and the other women he’s most likely used this stuff on. Crossing your arms over your chest, you move on, examining the various cuffs and gag toys he has.
“Say something,” he murmurs, “Please.”
You take a deep breath, tilting your head back to look at the ceiling as you muster up the courage to even open your mouth again. Only, you realize that the expanse of the ceiling is covered in a metal grid system. Bondage is the first thing you think of.
You knew he was kinky, you just didn’t know how kinky… Until now, that is.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
This has never been something you’ve been remotely interested in, and now it is right in your face.
Finally, you look back at Harry. “You do this stuff to women?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.
“Yes,” he confirms, “but everyone walks away happy.”
“H-How?” you stammer, some of your willpower returning to your body. “You’re a sadist.”
“Dominant,” Harry corrects you, earning an eye roll from you. “That right there,” he points at you, “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.”
“Excuse me?” you chuckle breathlessly, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. “By definition, you are a sadist. You get off on people’s pain.”
“It’s not that,” he states, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I told you: it’s all about testing limits.”
“Why?” you shrug, “Why would you want to…” you gesture towards the dangling whips on the opposite wall, “use these kinds of things on people?”
“For pleasure,” he answers like it’s completely obvious.
You shake your head slowly, “You can’t just enjoy regular sex like everyone else?”
When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I sure as hell know that this isn’t a relationship.”
“I never said anything about a relationship.”
That’s what gets you. Your brows knit, an unfamiliar ache settling in your heart. “Then what the fuck are you doing with me?”
Instead of answering, he grabs a silk ribbon from a drawer, walking back over to you. “Hold out your wrists,” he instructs.
You glare up at him, and he senses your defiance. “I’m not gonna use them to force you into anything, I promise.”
To make sure he knows you don’t want to do this, you continue glaring at him as you slowly hold out both wrists. His signature smirk pulls at his lips, his hands deftly tying the red silk around you. Once tied, he tugs harshly, pulling a gasp from your lips.
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“No,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”
“All the fear is in your head,” he voices firmly, letting the silk slip from your wrists.
A thought pops into your mind as you drop your hands to your sides. “If you want to… continue having sex with me, then why can’t we be together?”
“This is the only kind of relationship I associate myself with.”
Confusion stretches across your face, your brows furrowing as you try to see through his facade. He’s telling you one thing, but the way he’s acting is the complete opposite. He almost seems… obsessed with you; he hasn’t left you alone for months, he tracked you down via Samantha’s Instagram stories, and now he is trying to force a contract on you to keep you.
To you, it seems like he enjoys the thrill of the chase rather than anything else.
“How many women have you done this with?”
All you know is what you and your friend could find on the internet, and honestly, it wasn’t much. News outlets are very vague when it comes to Harry Castillo’s personal relationships, and it makes you curious.
He tosses the ribbon onto the bed, placing his hands in his pockets. “Let’s not go there right now.”
“Why not?” you push gently, closing the distance between the two of you, only for him to suddenly take a step back.
Oh, is all you can think as you stare up at him, trying to read between the lines of what he’s not telling you.
“How many?” you repeat your question earnestly, keeping your place.
Harry rolls his tongue over his teeth, “Twenty.”
“Twenty?” you breathe, all of the air leaving your lungs at once. “Christ, Fabio,” you joke, deflecting the situation.
Your mind swims within multiple questions.
Who’s to say that there won’t be twenty more after you?
How has his dick not fallen off?
Do you need to get tested?
The two of you fucked raw on his desk. You should definitely get tested.
Harry doesn’t laugh at your joke, his face remains serious. “It’s the way I am.”
“Why?” you ask quietly, almost scared of the answer.
His lips press into a fine line, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Abruptly, he grabs you by your upper arm, leading you out of the room and locking up behind the two of you.
In the hallway, you can think clearly, not intimidated by the actual sex dungeon you were just in. You swallow thickly when he turns to face you, he seems steady but his eyes tell you otherwise. There’s the smallest hint of vulnerability in them, and it’s gone the moment you notice it.
“Be honest with me,” Harry says, “what are you thinking?”
You exhale sharply. What are you supposed to think after being shown that? It is the exact opposite of what you firmly stand on, but he seems set in his own ways.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, heading for the stairs. “That’s… a lot to take in,” you look over your shoulder, seeing that he’s following a few steps behind you.
“If you don’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he stops at the end of the hallway, looking down at you, “that’s completely fine.”
You know he’s not fine with it, but you appreciate the statement more than you’d ever let on. “I just,” you start, trying to find the right words as you process what he showed you, “I don’t think I can do that: bend to the will of someone else. That’s not me.”
He nods slowly, his eyes mimicking a puppy. It’s almost enough to make you change your mind.
Almost.
“I can’t be one of your girls – I won’t.”
part 2
a/n: i couldn't find anything like this so i wrote it myself 🌝 ive genuinely only been thinking about fifty shades since i watched it in december and Harry was the perfect character to write something related to those movies on. this isn't like anything else ive written so im stepping out of my comfort zone a bit here 😅 but i hope you enjoyed reading it. feedback is much appreciated! (part 2 soon i hope lmao)