Summary: He wants you to sit on his face for the first time. You're hesitant, cause you've never done it before, but you oblige.
Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI. Some Bucky feels (because it's me.) Face sitting. Slightly shy reader. A hint of weight-related insecurity. And he’s chatty about it, cause everybody loves a chatty sexy GIVER Bucky.
Author’s Note: I think people want sexy Bucky. And I figured there's little better than him worshipping you with his mouth. So here is some smut. Have at it. Enjoy. (Also, this started as a 1.1k porn without plot. Then I added plot. And more porn. You're welcome.)
Masterlist
The mattress dipped beneath your combined weight, springs giving a quiet sigh as he leaned back into the pillows. The room was dim, lit only by the low amber glow of the bedside lamp, its light soft enough to blur the hard edges of the world.
You were straddling his lap, close enough that he could feel the heat of you through the thin barrier of fabric, close enough that every shift of your breathing brushed against him. His hands rested on your hips, steady but careful.
He couldn’t stop looking at you.
There was a quiet inside him tonight, coiled low in his chest, tight and alive and focused entirely on you. Every nerve in his body felt tuned to your presence, to the rise and fall of your chest, to the softness beneath his palms, to the simple, staggering fact that you were his.
His thumb moved without conscious thought, tracing the curve of your side through your shirt, memorizing you.
He didn’t know if he’d ever stop needing to prove to himself that you were real.
His hands slid slowly up your thighs, deliberate, giving you time to feel every inch of the movement. He stopped when his fingers reached the bare strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up. The cool vibranium of his left hand met your warmth, and he felt a shiver move through you like a current.
He stilled. He wanted more, but he needed to be sure.
His eyes followed the line of your body, the way you held yourself, the small tells you probably didn’t even realize you gave him. He swallowed, his throat tight.
“There’s somethin’ I wanna do,” he said quietly.
The words felt heavier now that they were out. He forced himself to keep going.
“I’d like to pleasure you. With my mouth.” He paused, searching your face, giving you every opportunity to stop him. “With you riding my face.”
His fingers tightened just slightly on your thighs before he caught himself and eased the pressure.
“Only if you want it,” he added immediately.
He meant that more than anything else he’d ever said.
He watched hesitation ripple through you, the subtle shift in your breathing, the tension that crept into your shoulders. He froze completely, every instinct in him shifting from desire to attention.
“Hey,” he murmured, softer now. “Talk to me.”
You fidgeted with his shirt, your fingers twisting the fabric. He waited, patient as always with you.
“I’ve just… never…” you began, your words trailed off. “I’ve never done that before,” you finished, your voice quieter now, threaded with uncertainty.
His brows pulled together. For a moment, he thought he’d misunderstood.
“Never…?” he repeated, the word leaving him before he could stop it, disbelief in his tone.
You shook your head, your cheeks flushed, and he felt the sudden self-consciousness in you.
“Well, I’m not… small,” you admitted, embarrassment coloring your voice. “But I’m not saying I don’t want to,” you added softly.
His eyes snapped to yours, the words hitting him like a spark to dry tinder. He didn’t move, didn’t dare assume, but his breath came slower and deeper.
“So you will?” he asked, barely above a whisper, using all his willpower not to lick his lips in anticipation.
You swallowed, and he watched the motion with quiet intensity.
“I just don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
The confession settled into him, sweet and delicate all at once.
His flesh hand slid up your side slowly, giving you time to feel it coming, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. His thumb brushed lightly beneath your ribs, the touch almost hesitant.
“You could never hurt me,” he said.
And he meant it, not just physically, but in every way that mattered. Your softness and trust meant more to him than breath.
“And I’ll take care of you,” he added, his voice rough now, threaded with something deeper than desire. “You don’t have to do anything but sit.”
He said it with a smile and a cocked eyebrow, threading a bit of levity into his tone.
His metal hand rested on your thigh as he searched your face again.
He held himself still, even as want coiled tighter in his chest and every instinct urged him closer.
When you nodded, small, but certain, relief washed through him. His eyes closed briefly, his forehead nearly tipping forward as he exhaled in his restraint. When he looked at you again, his gaze was darker now, focused and devoted.
His hands slid more firmly to your hips, not pushing, just holding you there, needing to feel as much of you as possible.
“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, thick with restraint and need. “Lemme have you.”
*****
Bucky lay sprawled across the mattress, dark hair mussed against the pillow, broad shoulders sinking into rumpled sheets. The dim bedside lamp cast him in amber and shadow, turning his features softer and hungrier. His blue eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, heavy-lidded and fixed entirely on you, like there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to look.
His lips were parted slightly, waiting.
The intensity of it sent heat rushing up your chest, blooming across your skin until you felt flushed everywhere he could see.
You hesitated, your body hovering above his, thighs trembling faintly, your balance uncertain in more ways than one.
His hands held on your hips, steadying you.
“Doll,” he murmured. His voice was rough, low, and almost threaded with a plea, even as he tried to hide it. “Don’t make me beg.”
Your breath caught.
His thumbs moved against you in slow, absent circles, the cool metal of one hand and the warmth of the other creating a contrast that made your nerves spark beneath your skin.
“Please,” he coaxed gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “I want to. Been thinkin’ about this—about you, like this—for ages. It’s been drivin’ me crazy.”
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
“I don’t know if I’ll do it right,” you admitted quietly.
His expression softened instantly.
“There ain’t a wrong way,” he said. “Just you.”
The simplicity of it convinced you, so you sank down.
The first long lick of his tongue against your core stole the air from your lungs.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat before you could stop it, your fingers clutching weakly at his shoulders as sensation shot through you, bright and overwhelming. He groaned into you, greedy, like every inch of you was something he needed to worship with his mouth.
His hands came up, holding your hips steady, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t keep you there. His metal fingers flexed, solid and unyielding, while his flesh hand remained gentle, thumb brushing small, reassuring strokes into your skin.
You trembled from the very idea of what was happening. Every nerve in your body suddenly felt awake, hypersensitive to every movement, every breath, every point of contact between you.
“Bucky—” you whispered, your voice breaking on his name.
He answered with another groan against you, the vibration sending a shock of sensation through your core that made your hips move on their own.
Overwhelmed, you tried to lift yourself, instinctively retreating from the intensity.
“No,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but firm.
He gripped harder, not trapping, but pleading.
His tongue lapped like he was chasing salvation, dragging long and slow, then circling tight and deliberate until your whole body trembled. The wet sounds of him feasting on you filled the room, shameless and hungry, and heat flooded your face at the realization that he wasn’t holding anything back.
He wasn’t embarrassed or hesitant; he was devoted.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned against you, voice muffled but full of desperate reverence.
The words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening on his shoulder without thinking.
You felt his breath against you, warm and uneven.
“Can’t get enough of you, sweetheart. Sit on my face,” he murmured. “Make me drown in you.”
Your breath hitched.
“I’ll crush you,” you whispered weakly, the vulnerability of the admission spilling out before you could stop it.
He huffed a quiet, almost disbelieving sound against you, like the idea itself was absurd.
“Please,” he said.
The need in that one word cracked your last bit of resolve, and you sank down onto his mouth, actually letting your weight rest on him fully, your muscles trembling as you surrendered that last fragile thread of hesitation.
The sound he made was nothing short of reverent, a guttural groan that vibrated through you.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, the words barely more than air.
His tongue moved like he wanted to memorize every inch, first dragging slow and savoring, tracing your folds in a way that made your thoughts scatter, before spearing into you with a hunger that made your body seize.
Your hips jerked involuntarily again, your body reacting faster than your mind could keep up.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped. The sound of his voice, muffled and rough, sent another wave of sensation rolling through you. “God, you’re perfect—so soft, so fuckin’ sweet.”
Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you needed something to hold onto, something to remind yourself this was actually happening to you.
“You know I could stay right here forever?” he continued, his voice thick with want. “My tongue buried in you, breathin’ you in?”
A broken whimper escaped you before you could stop it.
His reaction was immediate, a groan pulled from somewhere deep inside him, like your pleasure was his undoing.
Your thighs quivered against his cheeks, but Bucky only made an eager sound like he wanted to be smothered in you. His metal hand slid to the small of your back, firm and steady, urging you closer without force, while his other hand stroked your thigh in slow passes.
His tongue flattened and dragged upward in one slow, unhurried stroke, from your entrance up to your clit. The sensation was so intense it made your breath catch in your chest.
You gasped, as he hummed against you and the vibration sent sparks shooting through your nerves.
“Best thing I ever tasted,” he breathed.
Your name sat on the tip of his tongue, unspoken but present in the way he held you, in the way he refused to rush.
“Gonna ruin me, doll,” he murmured. “I swear, I’ll never want anything else.”
He did it again, slower this time, letting the broad expanse of his tongue lap at you like he was savoring honey. Then he shifted, his tongue teasing your clit until your hips rolled helplessly.
“Bucky—” you whispered again, your voice trembling.
You didn’t even know what you were asking for, and your hands fisted in his hair before you even realized you’d moved. You clung to him instinctively, like you needed something solid to hold onto while he devoured you.
He looked up at you through dark lashes, his eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown so large they nearly swallowed the blue. There was raw, unguarded hunger in his gaze.
He looked lost in you.
“There you go,” he murmured against you.
The vibration of his voice sent a tremor through your spine, your hips grinding before you could stop them. His hands tightened reflexively on your hips.
“Ride me, sweetheart,” he coaxed softly. “Don’t be shy. Wanna feel you lose yourself on my mouth.”
Your breath hitched.
“I don’t—” you started, your voice breaking as another wave of sensation rolled through you. “I don’t know how—”
A quiet sound of reassurance hummed against you, low and soothing.
“You do,” he whispered. “Just listen to your body.”
It was impossible not to.
Every movement of his tongue was deliberate, intentional in a way that made your thoughts scatter. Sometimes slow, dragging through you with unbearable patience, like he was savoring every second. Other times quicker, precise flicks that made your thighs tense.
“Oh—” you gasped, the sound escaping you before you could stop it.
Heat coiled low in your stomach, tightening with every shift of his mouth. He alternated between soft, lingering pressure and sharper, focused attention that made your hips move helplessly, chasing a high you now desperately needed.
He groaned when you moved, not muffled or restrained, but eager and unashamed.
“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his grip tightening when your instincts made you pull away even slightly, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm building inside you. “Stay right here. Please, doll. I need it. Need to feel you fall apart for me.”
“I’m trying,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“You’re doin’ perfect,” he murmured.
The desperation in his voice shattered through the last fragile barrier of your self-consciousness.
His tongue pressed harder now, more insistent, and your entire body jerked at the sensation. Your muscles tensed, as his tongue flicked against your clit with quick, relentless strokes before flattening to soothe the overstimulation. The contrast had your whole body teetering between surrender and restraint.
“Bucky,” you breathed, your voice fragile, almost pleading. “I—”
Your fingers began tugging his hair without meaning to, and the growl he gave in response vibrated straight through you.
He answered by plunging his tongue inside you, slow at first, then thrusting deeper, firmer, filling you in a way that made your breath catch. The sensation was overwhelming and intimate enough to make your thoughts dissolve completely.
He fucked you with his tongue, groaning every time you clenched around him. The sound made heat bloom low in your stomach all over again.
And he didn’t stop. He just pulled back to suck your clit deep into his mouth again.
“Don’t hold back from me,” he pleaded, tone low and rough now, desperation bleeding through the worship. “I need it, doll. Need you to use me, sit pretty and just—fuck—just let me taste every drop. You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, your entire body trembling as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter, pulling you toward your inevitable high.
His eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp, as he devoured you with renewed fervor. His expression was almost peaceful despite the intensity, like he’d found exactly where he was meant to be.
He moaned into you, shameless, the sound vibrating through your core until your thighs clamped around his head. He only groaned louder, gripping your hips metal and flesh equally gentle, equally certain, like if he could just hold you there long enough he’d find salvation in the way you broke apart against his tongue.
Your hips were moving helplessly now, chasing the sensation he was building inside you.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped.
The question sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly.
His eyes opened again, locking onto yours.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, breaking away just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Give it to me. Let me have it.”
The words shattered your last bit of control. The hot, slick pull of your clit into his mouth and the desperate reverence in his voice pushed you over the edge and the pressure burst all at once.
Your cry tore from your throat as your entire body tensed, thighs trembling violently around his head as wave after wave rolled through you, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything except the overwhelming sensation of him holding you together while you fell apart.
Bucky moaned into your core, deep and wrecked, his mouth drinking down your juices, his grip unyielding as he held you through it, as if he needed to feel every second of it as much as you did.
You shook, your fingers loosening in his hair as the intensity slowly began to ebb, leaving you weightless, unsteady, and very sensitive.
He didn’t stop immediately.
When the aftershocks had you twitching and overstimulated, his mouth softened. He slowed his tongue to gentle, soothing licks, pressing light delicate kisses to your swollen clit like it was the most sacred part of you.
The change made you clench around nothing, your breath catching.
“Bucky,” you murmured weakly.
He pulled back just enough to press soft, lingering kisses to your thighs, reverent and careful.
“Good girl,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse and reverent. “So beautiful when you come for me. You have no idea what you do to me, doll. No idea.”
Your face burned at the words, but beneath the embarrassment was wonder at him.
His mouth was wet, his jaw glistening in the low light, his hair mussed from your hands. But it was his soft, open, and ruined eyes that stole your breath.
You swallowed, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“You really… enjoyed that?”
His answering expression was immediate and unguarded.
“Enjoyed it?” he repeated softly.
His thumbs stroked gentle circles on your hips.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice full of quiet certainty. “I’m gonna be counting the seconds til we do it again.”
And you knew without question that Bucky Barnes had loved every single second of being underneath you.
Summary: He wants you to sit on his face for the first time. You're hesitant, cause you've never done it before, but you oblige.
Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI. Some Bucky feels (because it's me.) Face sitting. Slightly shy reader. A hint of weight-related insecurity. And he’s chatty about it, cause everybody loves a chatty sexy GIVER Bucky.
Author’s Note: I think people want sexy Bucky. And I figured there's little better than him worshipping you with his mouth. So here is some smut. Have at it. Enjoy. (Also, this started as a 1.1k porn without plot. Then I added plot. And more porn. You're welcome.)
Masterlist
The mattress dipped beneath your combined weight, springs giving a quiet sigh as he leaned back into the pillows. The room was dim, lit only by the low amber glow of the bedside lamp, its light soft enough to blur the hard edges of the world.
You were straddling his lap, close enough that he could feel the heat of you through the thin barrier of fabric, close enough that every shift of your breathing brushed against him. His hands rested on your hips, steady but careful.
He couldn’t stop looking at you.
There was a quiet inside him tonight, coiled low in his chest, tight and alive and focused entirely on you. Every nerve in his body felt tuned to your presence, to the rise and fall of your chest, to the softness beneath his palms, to the simple, staggering fact that you were his.
His thumb moved without conscious thought, tracing the curve of your side through your shirt, memorizing you.
He didn’t know if he’d ever stop needing to prove to himself that you were real.
His hands slid slowly up your thighs, deliberate, giving you time to feel every inch of the movement. He stopped when his fingers reached the bare strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up. The cool vibranium of his left hand met your warmth, and he felt a shiver move through you like a current.
He stilled. He wanted more, but he needed to be sure.
His eyes followed the line of your body, the way you held yourself, the small tells you probably didn’t even realize you gave him. He swallowed, his throat tight.
“There’s somethin’ I wanna do,” he said quietly.
The words felt heavier now that they were out. He forced himself to keep going.
“I’d like to pleasure you. With my mouth.” He paused, searching your face, giving you every opportunity to stop him. “With you riding my face.”
His fingers tightened just slightly on your thighs before he caught himself and eased the pressure.
“Only if you want it,” he added immediately.
He meant that more than anything else he’d ever said.
He watched hesitation ripple through you, the subtle shift in your breathing, the tension that crept into your shoulders. He froze completely, every instinct in him shifting from desire to attention.
“Hey,” he murmured, softer now. “Talk to me.”
You fidgeted with his shirt, your fingers twisting the fabric. He waited, patient as always with you.
“I’ve just… never…” you began, your words trailed off. “I’ve never done that before,” you finished, your voice quieter now, threaded with uncertainty.
His brows pulled together. For a moment, he thought he’d misunderstood.
“Never…?” he repeated, the word leaving him before he could stop it, disbelief in his tone.
You shook your head, your cheeks flushed, and he felt the sudden self-consciousness in you.
“Well, I’m not… small,” you admitted, embarrassment coloring your voice. “But I’m not saying I don’t want to,” you added softly.
His eyes snapped to yours, the words hitting him like a spark to dry tinder. He didn’t move, didn’t dare assume, but his breath came slower and deeper.
“So you will?” he asked, barely above a whisper, using all his willpower not to lick his lips in anticipation.
You swallowed, and he watched the motion with quiet intensity.
“I just don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
The confession settled into him, sweet and delicate all at once.
His flesh hand slid up your side slowly, giving you time to feel it coming, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. His thumb brushed lightly beneath your ribs, the touch almost hesitant.
“You could never hurt me,” he said.
And he meant it, not just physically, but in every way that mattered. Your softness and trust meant more to him than breath.
“And I’ll take care of you,” he added, his voice rough now, threaded with something deeper than desire. “You don’t have to do anything but sit.”
He said it with a smile and a cocked eyebrow, threading a bit of levity into his tone.
His metal hand rested on your thigh as he searched your face again.
He held himself still, even as want coiled tighter in his chest and every instinct urged him closer.
When you nodded, small, but certain, relief washed through him. His eyes closed briefly, his forehead nearly tipping forward as he exhaled in his restraint. When he looked at you again, his gaze was darker now, focused and devoted.
His hands slid more firmly to your hips, not pushing, just holding you there, needing to feel as much of you as possible.
“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, thick with restraint and need. “Lemme have you.”
*****
Bucky lay sprawled across the mattress, dark hair mussed against the pillow, broad shoulders sinking into rumpled sheets. The dim bedside lamp cast him in amber and shadow, turning his features softer and hungrier. His blue eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, heavy-lidded and fixed entirely on you, like there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to look.
His lips were parted slightly, waiting.
The intensity of it sent heat rushing up your chest, blooming across your skin until you felt flushed everywhere he could see.
You hesitated, your body hovering above his, thighs trembling faintly, your balance uncertain in more ways than one.
His hands held on your hips, steadying you.
“Doll,” he murmured. His voice was rough, low, and almost threaded with a plea, even as he tried to hide it. “Don’t make me beg.”
Your breath caught.
His thumbs moved against you in slow, absent circles, the cool metal of one hand and the warmth of the other creating a contrast that made your nerves spark beneath your skin.
“Please,” he coaxed gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “I want to. Been thinkin’ about this—about you, like this—for ages. It’s been drivin’ me crazy.”
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
“I don’t know if I’ll do it right,” you admitted quietly.
His expression softened instantly.
“There ain’t a wrong way,” he said. “Just you.”
The simplicity of it convinced you, so you sank down.
The first long lick of his tongue against your core stole the air from your lungs.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat before you could stop it, your fingers clutching weakly at his shoulders as sensation shot through you, bright and overwhelming. He groaned into you, greedy, like every inch of you was something he needed to worship with his mouth.
His hands came up, holding your hips steady, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t keep you there. His metal fingers flexed, solid and unyielding, while his flesh hand remained gentle, thumb brushing small, reassuring strokes into your skin.
You trembled from the very idea of what was happening. Every nerve in your body suddenly felt awake, hypersensitive to every movement, every breath, every point of contact between you.
“Bucky—” you whispered, your voice breaking on his name.
He answered with another groan against you, the vibration sending a shock of sensation through your core that made your hips move on their own.
Overwhelmed, you tried to lift yourself, instinctively retreating from the intensity.
“No,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but firm.
He gripped harder, not trapping, but pleading.
His tongue lapped like he was chasing salvation, dragging long and slow, then circling tight and deliberate until your whole body trembled. The wet sounds of him feasting on you filled the room, shameless and hungry, and heat flooded your face at the realization that he wasn’t holding anything back.
He wasn’t embarrassed or hesitant; he was devoted.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned against you, voice muffled but full of desperate reverence.
The words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening on his shoulder without thinking.
You felt his breath against you, warm and uneven.
“Can’t get enough of you, sweetheart. Sit on my face,” he murmured. “Make me drown in you.”
Your breath hitched.
“I’ll crush you,” you whispered weakly, the vulnerability of the admission spilling out before you could stop it.
He huffed a quiet, almost disbelieving sound against you, like the idea itself was absurd.
“Please,” he said.
The need in that one word cracked your last bit of resolve, and you sank down onto his mouth, actually letting your weight rest on him fully, your muscles trembling as you surrendered that last fragile thread of hesitation.
The sound he made was nothing short of reverent, a guttural groan that vibrated through you.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, the words barely more than air.
His tongue moved like he wanted to memorize every inch, first dragging slow and savoring, tracing your folds in a way that made your thoughts scatter, before spearing into you with a hunger that made your body seize.
Your hips jerked involuntarily again, your body reacting faster than your mind could keep up.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped. The sound of his voice, muffled and rough, sent another wave of sensation rolling through you. “God, you’re perfect—so soft, so fuckin’ sweet.”
Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you needed something to hold onto, something to remind yourself this was actually happening to you.
“You know I could stay right here forever?” he continued, his voice thick with want. “My tongue buried in you, breathin’ you in?”
A broken whimper escaped you before you could stop it.
His reaction was immediate, a groan pulled from somewhere deep inside him, like your pleasure was his undoing.
Your thighs quivered against his cheeks, but Bucky only made an eager sound like he wanted to be smothered in you. His metal hand slid to the small of your back, firm and steady, urging you closer without force, while his other hand stroked your thigh in slow passes.
His tongue flattened and dragged upward in one slow, unhurried stroke, from your entrance up to your clit. The sensation was so intense it made your breath catch in your chest.
You gasped, as he hummed against you and the vibration sent sparks shooting through your nerves.
“Best thing I ever tasted,” he breathed.
Your name sat on the tip of his tongue, unspoken but present in the way he held you, in the way he refused to rush.
“Gonna ruin me, doll,” he murmured. “I swear, I’ll never want anything else.”
He did it again, slower this time, letting the broad expanse of his tongue lap at you like he was savoring honey. Then he shifted, his tongue teasing your clit until your hips rolled helplessly.
“Bucky—” you whispered again, your voice trembling.
You didn’t even know what you were asking for, and your hands fisted in his hair before you even realized you’d moved. You clung to him instinctively, like you needed something solid to hold onto while he devoured you.
He looked up at you through dark lashes, his eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown so large they nearly swallowed the blue. There was raw, unguarded hunger in his gaze.
He looked lost in you.
“There you go,” he murmured against you.
The vibration of his voice sent a tremor through your spine, your hips grinding before you could stop them. His hands tightened reflexively on your hips.
“Ride me, sweetheart,” he coaxed softly. “Don’t be shy. Wanna feel you lose yourself on my mouth.”
Your breath hitched.
“I don’t—” you started, your voice breaking as another wave of sensation rolled through you. “I don’t know how—”
A quiet sound of reassurance hummed against you, low and soothing.
“You do,” he whispered. “Just listen to your body.”
It was impossible not to.
Every movement of his tongue was deliberate, intentional in a way that made your thoughts scatter. Sometimes slow, dragging through you with unbearable patience, like he was savoring every second. Other times quicker, precise flicks that made your thighs tense.
“Oh—” you gasped, the sound escaping you before you could stop it.
Heat coiled low in your stomach, tightening with every shift of his mouth. He alternated between soft, lingering pressure and sharper, focused attention that made your hips move helplessly, chasing a high you now desperately needed.
He groaned when you moved, not muffled or restrained, but eager and unashamed.
“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his grip tightening when your instincts made you pull away even slightly, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm building inside you. “Stay right here. Please, doll. I need it. Need to feel you fall apart for me.”
“I’m trying,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“You’re doin’ perfect,” he murmured.
The desperation in his voice shattered through the last fragile barrier of your self-consciousness.
His tongue pressed harder now, more insistent, and your entire body jerked at the sensation. Your muscles tensed, as his tongue flicked against your clit with quick, relentless strokes before flattening to soothe the overstimulation. The contrast had your whole body teetering between surrender and restraint.
“Bucky,” you breathed, your voice fragile, almost pleading. “I—”
Your fingers began tugging his hair without meaning to, and the growl he gave in response vibrated straight through you.
He answered by plunging his tongue inside you, slow at first, then thrusting deeper, firmer, filling you in a way that made your breath catch. The sensation was overwhelming and intimate enough to make your thoughts dissolve completely.
He fucked you with his tongue, groaning every time you clenched around him. The sound made heat bloom low in your stomach all over again.
And he didn’t stop. He just pulled back to suck your clit deep into his mouth again.
“Don’t hold back from me,” he pleaded, tone low and rough now, desperation bleeding through the worship. “I need it, doll. Need you to use me, sit pretty and just—fuck—just let me taste every drop. You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, your entire body trembling as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter, pulling you toward your inevitable high.
His eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp, as he devoured you with renewed fervor. His expression was almost peaceful despite the intensity, like he’d found exactly where he was meant to be.
He moaned into you, shameless, the sound vibrating through your core until your thighs clamped around his head. He only groaned louder, gripping your hips metal and flesh equally gentle, equally certain, like if he could just hold you there long enough he’d find salvation in the way you broke apart against his tongue.
Your hips were moving helplessly now, chasing the sensation he was building inside you.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped.
The question sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly.
His eyes opened again, locking onto yours.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, breaking away just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Give it to me. Let me have it.”
The words shattered your last bit of control. The hot, slick pull of your clit into his mouth and the desperate reverence in his voice pushed you over the edge and the pressure burst all at once.
Your cry tore from your throat as your entire body tensed, thighs trembling violently around his head as wave after wave rolled through you, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything except the overwhelming sensation of him holding you together while you fell apart.
Bucky moaned into your core, deep and wrecked, his mouth drinking down your juices, his grip unyielding as he held you through it, as if he needed to feel every second of it as much as you did.
You shook, your fingers loosening in his hair as the intensity slowly began to ebb, leaving you weightless, unsteady, and very sensitive.
He didn’t stop immediately.
When the aftershocks had you twitching and overstimulated, his mouth softened. He slowed his tongue to gentle, soothing licks, pressing light delicate kisses to your swollen clit like it was the most sacred part of you.
The change made you clench around nothing, your breath catching.
“Bucky,” you murmured weakly.
He pulled back just enough to press soft, lingering kisses to your thighs, reverent and careful.
“Good girl,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse and reverent. “So beautiful when you come for me. You have no idea what you do to me, doll. No idea.”
Your face burned at the words, but beneath the embarrassment was wonder at him.
His mouth was wet, his jaw glistening in the low light, his hair mussed from your hands. But it was his soft, open, and ruined eyes that stole your breath.
You swallowed, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“You really… enjoyed that?”
His answering expression was immediate and unguarded.
“Enjoyed it?” he repeated softly.
His thumbs stroked gentle circles on your hips.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice full of quiet certainty. “I’m gonna be counting the seconds til we do it again.”
And you knew without question that Bucky Barnes had loved every single second of being underneath you.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on a03!✦
✦pairing/tags: Bucky Barnes x female!reader✦
✦Author's Note: Request from @allyourfavesinoneblog! i might be going feral✦
“Mine.”
Bucky bites at your neck, sucking on the soft skin as he pounds into your weeping pussy. You’re a fucked out, dizzy and drunken mess below him. Your eyes are unfocused, your mouth hanging in a little O as Bucky drives every single thought out of your head.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, kissing up your jaw. “Just mine. No one else gets you like this, do they. No one else gets to feel the tight, wet pussy.”
You moan, back arching as Bucky hits that sweet spot inside of you, over and over again. His lips move back over yours, but he’s just hovering. Teasing, his hand playing with your breath and his eyes locked onto yours.
“Say it.” He grunts. “Say it doll, tell me who you belong to-“
“You.” You moan shamelessly, heat fluttering around his cock. “Just you, Bucky, just you- Oh-“
He pinches your clit, starting to rub it in fast, tight circles. Your eyes roll back in your head, nails scraping against his metal arm. Your orgasm slams through you, leaving you twice as sensitive, but Bucky doesn’t stop. He kisses you deep into the mattress, his thrust becoming rougher. More demanding.
“Bucky- Bucky-“
“That’s it.” He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. “That’s a good girl, calling my name. I’m the only one you ever gotta fuckin’ call for, you know that. You know what I’d do for you, you know I’m yours, and you still-“ He slams his cock forward, and you cry out as it hits your cervix. “Go hittin’ on other men.”
“It- It was for the mission.” You gasp, tears of pleasure pricking at your eyes. “I- I was just getting information- Fuck-“
Bucky angles you higher below him, hitting at a deeper angle than before. Your words fall into a helpless moan, your head too high in the clouds to remember to argue with him. To remember to even speak.
And you know Bucky knows it was just for information. Just like you knew, that if you just went a little too far, the night would end like this.
Bucky’s a good boyfriend. A gentleman. He gets you gifts and brings you flowers. He’s more respectful of you than any past boyfriend has ever been. No pressure for sex, no eyeing a more revealing outfit, no sexual jokes at your expense.
But he still can’t stand the idea of you choosing someone over him. Of being left behind, your second choice, the one you’re only with until you find a way out.
You tell him over and over, that there will never be anyone else. He believes you, because he loves you so deeply you can sometimes feel it, whenever he so much as glances in your direction. You don’t toy with him. He deserves better than that.
It’s just not helped, by the fact that he fucks you like he’s possessed when he does get jealous.
You’ve been taken over his knee and spanked until you were dripping on his hands. Put on your knees and looked at him under fluttering lashes, sucking on his cock like he was your favorite candy. Once he pinned you to a wall and teased you until your were sobbing, and many more times he’s mounted you on his face, strong arms keeping your pussy against his hungry mouth until you were a limp mess above him.
Tonight, he hadn’t even bothered to pretend this wasn’t going to end with you like this. A drooling, cock-drunk mess, and all his.
Just how you both like it.
“Look at you,” he coos, grabbing your jaw. Your eyes are forced onto his, and you blink at him stupidly, mouth hanging open.
Bucky smirks, and slides his thumb into your mouth. Your lips close immediately around him, and you hum happily, sucking on the finger as he drags you back up to the edge.
“So beautiful.” He grunts, rolling his hips in the way he knows drives you wild. “Bet you wanted this. Wanted me to fuck you stupid, goddamn tested me to get what you want.”
You moan, an open confession, and Bucky smirks.
“Oh, baby, I’m not lettin’ up until you’re covered in me.” He presses a mockingly sweet kiss to your lips. “Gonna stuff up this pretty fuckin’ pussy, make you leak for goddamn day. Cum all over these breasts,” his mouth wanders down, and you gaps when he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking until you’re right at the edge.
“Bucky- Bucky-“
“You know how long I can go,” he rasps, pressing one last kiss to your breast before sitting up. “You know how much I can give you, baby doll. Gonna make sure everyone knows. How good I fuck you.” He slams roughly into your cunt, stealing the breath from you lungs. “How you beg for me, how you’re mine.”
You moan, almost flying off the bed as you cum again. Bucky goes over with you this time, and your eyes roll back as you feel his hot release filling you up. It drips out of where you’re connected, when there’s no more space. Down your ass, coating the base of Bucky’s dick.
But he’s not done.
You’re so full you almost can’t take it, but Bucky’s not done.
“Fuck- Fuck-“ You sob with desire, your body a live wire he’s using to make fireworks. “Bucky- Fuck-“
“I know, dirty girl.” He mutters, kissing you long and soft as he fucks his come into you, still playing with your swollen clit. “You can take it. Fuckin’ take it.”
You moan, and it feels good. So good you almost see stars, when Bucky returns to your breasts. You’re a wreck below him, just as he likes it.
“Say it again.” He grunts, already approaching another release. “Say it, say it-“
“Yours!” You cry, clinging to him as another aftershock orgasms shivers through you. “Bucky, I’m yours, please-“
He pulls out at the last second. Pumps himself until he’s paining over your stomach and breasts, before diving right back down and slamming inside.
You cry out, but still drag him closer. By the time he’s done, you won’t be able to walk for a week. You’ll use that week, to remind him how much you love him.
But right now, you just let his desire and love spill all over you. His.
You’re his.
And he’s never going to let you forget it.
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“So beautiful.” He grunts, rolling his hips in the way he knows drives you wild. “Bet you wanted this. Wanted me to fuck you stupid, goddamn tested me to get what you want.”
Summary: Mr. Barnes goes from thinking he’s going to be alone the rest of his life to being a permanent fixture in your apartment practically overnight - and ever since your third date, he just can’t stop thinking about getting you off…
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, smut, fingering, oral sex (both m! and f! receiving), cum eating, rough sex, doggy, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, slight praise kink, nicknames (doll, darling, sweetheart)
Noble Notes: Porn with a very small sliver of plot (more like a backstory). Happy Friday the 13th! Lace dividers are by @cursed-carmine !
Bucky wasn’t great at modern dating, and he would be the first to admit to it if asked under oath. He had tried the apps, and made very lame attempts at meeting someone “organically.” At this point, he was fairly certain that he was destined to be single for the rest of his very prolonged existence. That was, until he met you.
It had been one of the warmer days of early spring, D.C beginning to come to life with the beauty of the cherry blossoms, buzzing bees, and chirping birds. You had been working your morning shift, per usual, at the florist shop downtown. You saw all the regulars - the event planners packing large orders into vans, the little old ladies fetching their weekly bouquets for the kitchen centerpiece, and the elderly gentleman - affectionately known as Old Man Jones - coming by to pick out something pretty to take to his ailing wife. It was just any normal day to you.
For Bucky, he was late for a meeting at the café a few storefronts down from the florist. He wore dress pants, a button-up, a simple red silk tie - Congressman stuff. He was walking, with quite the purpose, up the sidewalk when you caught his eye. In the midst of his haste, he paused, observing. There was something about the ease with which you interacted with the locals, your smile lighting up what seemed to be the entire block. He felt a draw towards you, and that alone was a weird sensation for him.
You happened to glance up from where you were wrapping a bouquet of delicate pink roses, your eyes immediately noticing Bucky as he stood just outside the storefront door. “Congressman!” you called sweetly, throwing him that smile that was already causing his mind to buffer. “Can I interest you in any flowers this fine morning?” It was actually a rare occasion for you, recognizing a political figure. Politics wasn’t really your vibe, but plants and florals were.
Bucky stayed frozen for perhaps an awkward moment too long before regaining control of himself and clearing his throat. “No, thanks! Just passing by!” He gave you a short wave, and then he continued down the sidewalk silently cursing himself. This was exactly why he just couldn’t spark with anyone - he always seemed to shut them down. Politely, of course, and not always intentionally.
The hours passed on. You tended to some event orders for an upcoming gala, chatted with more customers, and took inventory (arguably your least favorite task if you had to choose one). Bucky attended his meeting, pretending to listen and to care about some bill regarding shower heads and water flow. Honestly, who gave a fuck?
Following his meeting, he consciously decided to drag himself back to your place of work, making it past the front door this time. You heard the entryway bell chime, indicating a customer. You walked out from behind the counter, wiping water off your hands onto the front of the soil-covered apron that kept your modest clothing looking presentable. “Welcome back,” you said with another one of those damn smiles. Bucky could have melted right then and there, but he fought for composure. “Change your mind?”
He felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Was he…Blushing? Oh my god, he was. He ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “I…Uhh…Well,” he began, seeming to be at a loss for the right words. “No,” he continued. “At least with the flowers. Actually, I changed my mind about somethin’ else.”
You tilted your head out of curiosity. “Care to share?” you asked, leaning back against the counter.
“I…Well…I’d like to ask you on a date, if uhh…If that’s alright,” he said, throwing a sheepish smile in an attempt to seem even just the slightest fraction as open and sunny as you were.
And that’s where it all started, with you saying yes to that date. You had shown up, skin-tight little black dress and heels to match. Bucky was in his own personal heaven the moment he saw you. “Wow, doll. Wasn’t expectin’ this.”
You know what else he hadn’t expected? That six months down the line, you’d still be here and he’d be an almost permanent fixture in your tiny studio apartment. He was on the couch, a book in hand. He had on his usual lounge attire that you’d grown accustomed to - white tank top, dark gray sweats.
It was a warm evening, golden sunlight casting a heavenly glow upon the kitchen as you finished washing the last cookie sheet. You let out a tired sigh, leaning back against the sink and gazing across the room at Bucky. He was adorable when he was lost in a book, brow furrowed with concentration and his foot tapping up and down impatiently once the plot got good. “Ya know, we really made a mess here tryna make these cookies,” you said, giggling. “But it’s all clean now. After what? Two hours?” You raised an eyebrow.
Bucky glanced up at you from his book, throwing you a soft smile before he placed a bookmark (a torn-up takeout menu) in his novel and set it aside. He stood, stretched, then sauntered over to you with that easy confidence that had you swooning. “Don’t know how much time has passed, doll. But I got another five chapters down.” He placed his hands gently on your hips, pulling you in as he planted a kiss to your forehead. Then, his lips trailed down to your cheek, your lips, then behind your ear and down your neck, carving out a delicate trail of affection.
You giggled, gently pushing him away - or at least trying to. He was pretty much an immovable wall of muscle. “What’re you doin’, Barnes? I just got done cleaning.”
He pouted when you tried to push him away, mischief dancing in those irresistible baby-blues. “But, sweetheart, everything’s clean except for my thoughts.” He smirked.
You rolled your eyes. “Good one, sir.” It wasn’t that you didn’t want his cock eight inches deep in you right this very second, you just liked to give him a hard time.
He backed you up against the sink, his grip on your hips tightening in a possessive manner that practically had you already in a puddle. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he began, ignoring your protests and leaning back in to press more kisses to your neck. “I’ve been thinkin’ about how pretty you look when you cum for me,” he whispered, your breath hitching as his teeth gently nipped your delicate skin. “Been thinkin’ this whole time about gettin’ ya off…Whatcha think, doll?” He was working a love bite into the crook of your neck, drawing you closer.
You groaned, your mind turning to mush at the sound of his voice, like honey and gravel combined. “I think that sounds great,” you agreed breathily, that familiar heat beginning to pool in your panties. You could feel him grin against your neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive mark he’d left before taking a step back.
He grabbed your hand, like a schoolboy eagerly leading you onto the dance floor at prom. There was something so youthful and playful about him when he got like this - you loved it. He led you over to the “bedroom” which was unfortunately just a direct extension of the living room. Oh well, who really cared?
He pressed you up against the cool brick wall, immediately connecting your lips in a hungry, passionate kiss. Clearly, he’d been thinking about this for a little while. You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and heavy and straining against the fabric of his sweats. You slid a hand down his softly sculpted physique, fingers sliding under the elastic waistband to take him into your palm. He groaned into the kiss, deepening it as you stroked him lazily.
After what felt like only an electrifying few seconds, he broke the kiss to press his forehead to yours, already breathless. “You feel what you do to me? What you’ve been doing to me? I feel like I’m hard all the fucking time,” he murmured, his voice edging towards a soft growl.
You smirked coyly, using your free hand to guide cold, smooth metal fingers down to touch the lacy panties beneath your oversized shirt, having soaked right through them. “And this is what you do to me.”
He groaned, taking over control and pushing the panties aside, running cool vibranium over your throbbing, soaked core that had you feeling like you were burning up. “Fuck-“ he hissed, taking in just how slick and ready you already were. “I fucking need it.”
In what felt like a sudden whirlwind of desperation, you found that you were no longer stroking him beneath his sweats. Instead, clothes were being peeled off and tossed in every direction. First to go was your shirt, then his. In between the frenzy, he took a pause to cup his flesh hand around your breast, playing with it and admiring it like it was a work of art. He gave your nipple a teasing squeeze before it was off with your panties and off with his sweats. You don’t quite remember the steps it took you to get there, but now you were on your back, in the middle of the bed with Bucky settling himself between your thighs - his favorite place to be.
His fingers delicately parted your folds, a soft whimper escaping his lips. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispered, the glimmering blue of his iris’ nearly being drowned by blown-out lust as he gazed upon you. “She looks so pretty, so inviting…” He slowly slipped his middle digit past your entrance, working you in slow, steady motions. “So fucking tight, like she was made just for me…” He added another thick, calloused finger, curling them up so that you saw stars.
“F-Fuck,” you moaned out, hips instantly lifting up off the mattress. You didn’t just want more - you needed more.
“No, darlin’. Stay still, you hear?” he drawled, his metal palm now splayed across your abdomen and pinning you there torturously.
You whimpered in protest, wanting nothing more than to grind down desperately against his fingers as they continued their steady, punishing assault. You could already feel the heat coiling tightly in your belly, building and building with the delicious rhythm he had fallen into.
“Doin’ so well, sweetheart. That’s my good girl,” he praised softly, causing your mind to officially go numb.
He leaned down, licking a slow stripe up your heat before his kiss-bitten lips closed around your clit. As he began to suck at the sensitive bud, you could have sworn you were levitating off the plush blankets beneath you as your hands shot down to tangle your fingers amongst his dark locks, fists tugging at them gently. “Mmm…Mmhm…” he hummed in satisfaction, the vibrations nudging you closer and closer.
You barely noticed the absence of his fingers as he began devouring you like he was starving and this was his last meal - both of his hands were violently gripping your thighs as he hungrily dipped his tongue past your entrance and then moved it up to tease your clit with playful kitten-licks over and over until you were begging for more.
“P-Please, Buck…Fuck…Please,” you mewled pathetically, trying with no avail to grind against his face, his stubble rubbing you raw in a way that enhanced the pleasure times infinity. “I wanna cum…Please…” Your grip on his hair tightened, attempting desperately to pull him closer.
As much as he would have loved to keep you on the edge, he just couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of jumping straight to his favorite part. His lips fervently wrapped around your sensitive bundle of nerves once again, and this time he wasn’t stopping.
Your moans grew louder, something so obscene and borderline pornographic paired with the sucking noises from below you. But Bucky was drinking in every moan, whine, and whimper like it was the fountain of youth. And suddenly, you snapped. Waves of intense pleasure washed over you, white-hot and unrelenting, painting his tongue and lips with a fresh wave of slick that had him groaning at the sweet taste.
You collapsed into the mattress, boneless, breathing uneven and remaining shattered as he took this opportunity to flatten his tongue against your core, slowly licking up it and gathering all he could into his mouth - he was savoring it, savoring you. “Mmm…Absolutely delicious, doll,” he breathed, pressing one last kiss to your swollen clit, chuckling as your hips bucked up in reaction. “I could eat you all fuckin’ day.”
You groaned, the only intelligible noise you could muster as you were still floating through your high. It was so damn hot how absolutely crazy he was about you, how so in-love and hopelessly devoted he was. You watched, eyes heavy, as he sat up, your wetness glistening on his lips, his chin, his salt-and-pepper cheeks. He wore you like a prize, proud of himself.
As you basked in the afterglow, you slowly peeled your gaze away from his face, eyes trailing down every ridge and valley of his body until they came to rest at his cock, heavy and standing at attention against his abdomen with every vein painfully straining. His tip was swollen, angry at the lack of attention and leaking a bead of pre-cum. “Come here, baby,” you cooed, giving him a slight pouty lip. “Lemme take care of you now.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. He was already clamoring over you, quick to situate himself over your chest with his knees on either side of your shoulders. You gazed up at him wide-eyed and in awe, hands massaging the backs of his thighs in anticipation. You realized in that moment that you’d likely never get over seeing just the sheer size and girth of him, looming over you like his cock owned you. It was the absolute definition of the lust and sin and filth they warned about at church, and you were more than ready to worship it.
You leaned up, tongue flattening against the throbbing bottom vein, licking him slowly from root to tip. He hissed, earning a smirk from you as you teasingly licked the bead of pre-cum from his slit.
“Fuck, doll. The things you do to me…” he groaned, his head falling back as you finally took him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you gathered him in inch by inch.
He was patient at first, restrained and relishing in the pleasure. You could feel his thighs beginning to tremble. “You take me so well,” he breathed, gazing down at you and gently brushing your hair back from your eyes. “So pretty, laying there with my cock stuffing your mouth.” He shifted his hips forward, slow and controlled, to push himself further to the back of your throat.
You whimpered around him, tears just beginning to well in your eyes as you held back a gag. The stretch was so intense, and this wasn’t even all of him. You put slight pressure on his thighs, wordlessly begging him to move forward - you wanted him to fuck your throat.
No, want didn’t exist anymore. Everything was a need.
He grinned. “Dirty, dirty doll,” he purred, hesitating not even a second before he eased the rest of himself into your mouth, his tip sliding down your throat and causing you to contract around him in a gag. “Shh,” he shushed, “Just take it all in, darlin’. I know you can. I know you can be a good girl for your Sergeant.”
He knew just how to make you fucking melt.
He started to thrust his hips, pornographic pandemonium coming alive in the room around you. Your mouth made obscene sounds of wetness with every stroke of his cock, gags echoing from the back of your throat and drool spilling from the corners of your lips. You looked absolutely ruined, tears running down your cheeks from the delicious pain and stretch of him hitting the back of your throat over and over again.
You could soon tell from how ragged his breathing was getting, how hungry his groans were becoming, that he was getting close. His pace was growing brutal, almost too much to handle. “Almost…Almost there, doll,” he grunted, head thrown back in pleasure. “Doin’ s’good…” His hips were beginning to stutter. “Just a little more…Little mo- Fuck!” He suddenly stalled at the back of your throat, his orgasm reaching a peak and crashing over him as he came in thick, hot pulses. He watched, blue eyes blown, as you took every drop. “Good girl,” he whispered, leaning over you and brushing your flushed cheek with his vibranium hand.
You groaned around him and then gagged. He quickly withdrew, chuckling. “No one ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” he teased, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips as a stray bead of cum dripped down your chin.
“Mmm…Can’t waste any of that.” He ran a thumb delicately across your chin, gathering the sticky, warm liquid and bringing it to your lips. “Open, sweetheart.”
You obeyed, parting your lips and sucking the very last drop of his cum from his thumb, pulling off with a satisfied ‘pop’. “M’sorry I didn’t get it all,” you mumbled in a fake, bashful apology, batting your eyelashes at him.
He planted a sloppy kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, darlin’,” he assured, his grin then turning to something dark, something lustful and sinister. “But I ain’t done with you yet, pretty girl. Not until I fill up that pretty pussy of yours.”
You groaned, his dirty words sending electric shockwaves straight to your core. You were already breathless, dizzy with pleasure, feeling well-spent. But, who were you to deny him a second round?
A small squeak of surprise slipped past your lips as he flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, hands roughly gripping your hips as he brought them up towards him, putting you on full display just for his viewing pleasure. You were practically dripping, wetness coating your thighs and your pussy throbbing with how much you wanted him buried deep inside you.
He got himself positioned behind you, beginning to teasingly run his swollen tip up and down your soaked slit, gathering your wetness on his length. “God, doll…Do you really love sucking cock that much?” he breathed in question.
“Only when it’s yours,” you shot back, giggling.
He groaned softly at your words, lining his tip up at your entrance and slowly pushing in.
You moaned into the crumpled bedsheets, savoring the delightful, burning stretch. Your walls fluttered around him, like you were trying to draw him in deeper…Inch by thick, punishing inch. You felt like you could feel him in your throat by the time he bottomed out, his hands taking a moment to smooth over and admire your ass before he began to move.
His knees already felt weak just by looking at the sight before him - your ass in the air for him and your glistening lips gripping deliciously at his cock as he pumped in and out. Desire took him over, rewiring his brain as he picked up the pace, thrusting into you rough and deep.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he moaned, each word punctuated by a thrust and his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of skin slapping skin. “So tight…So wet…So perfect…So mine.”
You were reduced, yet again, to a boneless, moaning mess beneath him. Words were hard to find in that mushy brain of yours, and whatever you managed to babble was just a lazily weaved mess of “fuck”, “so big”, “feels so good, sir”.
“Sir, huh?” he grunted, coaxing a yelp from you as his hand came down on your ass.
“Y-Yes, sir!” you cried out, whimpering as he adjusted his angle so that his tip was repeatedly driving into that spot inside you that turned you to jello.
“Who’s fucking you this good?” he growled, picking up his pace. You could tell he was starting to chase down his high.
“Y-You, sir,” you whimpered.
“Mmm…Not good enough. Who?” he demanded, smacking your ass again.
“You, Sergeant!” you squeaked out. “Sarge, p-please…I’m so close…”
He growled, fucking into you harder and reaching his flesh hand around to rub relentless figure eights on your clit. “Come for me, doll,” he whispered, leaning over you so his voice was right behind your ear, his warm breath sending shivers up your spine. “Let it all go. Just for me.”
And that’s all you needed to hear as your orgasm came ripping through you, a guttural moan slipping past your lips as your walls contracted rhythmically around him.
He quickly followed suit, his hips stuttering and coming to a halt as he buried himself balls-deep, painting your insides with hot, white ropes as you milked him with your high. He collapsed against your back, barely holding his own weight in an attempt to avoid crushing you. “Fuck,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “You did so good, darlin’…That was so amazing…”
He pressed several soft kisses to your spine before gathering you in his arms and laying you both down on the ruined bed, holding you close from behind as he was still inside you. “Thank you, doll. Thank you for making me feel so good.”
Your head was still spinning, pulse pounding loud in your head. The calm of the afterglow had yet to set in, but you found yourself melting into his arms. “Was no problem,” you mumbled, boneless and breathless and drunk off your high.
You managed a soft whimper as you felt him slip out of you, naturally going soft and letting the warm liquid spill lusciously down your thighs. You felt so satisfied, so full of him. It was a feeling you wished could last forever.
“Is your mind clean now, baby?” you murmured, shifting your body slightly to gaze back at him.
He gave you a soft chuckle, a smile ghosting over his lips. “I think it is, sweetheart. But not for very long.”
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on a03!✦
✦summary: Bucky keeps you secret from his team, but your effect on his life might not be something he can hide.✦
✦warnings/tags: thunderbolts!bucky, wife!reader, no use of y/n, soft Bucky Barnes, no description of reader, shenanigans, tooth-rotting fluff, he's so down bad for you it's crazy ✦
✦wc: 6.1k✦
✦Author's Note: request from anon! i love letting him be happy like he'd be such a wife guy trust me✦
Bucky Barnes has been bringing a lunchbox on missions.
It’s not a sparkly lunchbox. Nothing flashy that grabs attention—like Yelena’s bedazzled, personalized lunchbox and it’s three hundred rhinestones, required to stay in the jet no matter how much she insists upon it being an asset—but everyone notices anyway.
Not because of the lunchbox itself, made of smooth black metal and could easily be mistaken for just another part of the jet. Because of it’s contents.
Strawberries.
Heart-shaped strawberries, put in a baby blue Tupperware and arranged neatly in a little circle around some honey.
“You dip fruit in honey, Bucky Barnes?” Alexei asked when he saw it.
Bucky had only shrugged. “It tastes good.”
“Would be sweet, no? Very sweet. Like cream.”
“It’s not like cream.”
“No, not cream, cream.”
Bucky had stared at him incredulously, and Alexei had sighed, snapping his fingers.
“Yelena, what is word for cream in English.”
“Cream is word for cream.” Yelena hadn’t looked up from her phone, and Alexei had sigh.
“No, cream is word cream. This is other cream. White and fluffy like cat. Soft, like baby’s bottom, sweet like world between woman’s legs-“
“Jesus, man.” Walker had groans. “Are you talking fucking whipped cream?”
Alexei had clapped his hands with a grin, everyone had started groaning, and Bucky and his strawberries had gone unnoticed for the rest of the flight.
But the next one, it was Yelena asking if he bought them, or cut them himself. Walker wanted to know if Bucky liked strawberries because they were girl fruit, and Yelena punched him in the face. Bob nervously asked to taste one, and Bucky had handed it over because he was the only one not being an ass about this. Even Ava teased that if he could do heart, he must do other shapes, and everyone distracted themselves coming up with what other form the strawberries could be cut into.
They seemed to be entertained by the thought of Bucky eating strawberries cut in the shape of dicks, and Bucky had let them laugh. It didn’t bother him all that much, when he was the one eating them, they tasted perfect—you’d done something with cinnamon that he didn’t understand, but was as amazing as you were—and he knew the answer to all their questions, no matter how mocking they were.
“Why honey?” He’d asked you while you cut them, leaning over your body with his chin on the top of your head.
“Because it goes with cinnamon.” You’d hummed, and Bucky had grunted.
“Well, why cinnamon.”
“Because it tastes good, James.”
“Why.”
“Because.” You’d leaned back, giving him an amused look. “You’re like a toddler, you know that?”
Bucky had smiled—the small, secret smile he saved only for you—and leaned down to press a deep, sweet kiss to your lips.
“Only for you.” He’d murmured, and you’d smiled, looking back to the strawberries with a pretty flush.
He loved standing like this. Where you were wrapped tight in his arms, and he could pretend he was never going to have to let go. He could bury his nose in your hair and smell the shea butter you made him use as well, but always just smelled better on you. He could rub his hands on your sides and feel you squirm, just press his face into your neck and feel your every word vibrate through his body.
Bucky would stand like this forever, if he could.
But he did have a job. A job he had to go do, soon.
So you made him lunch, to tide him over until he saw you again. A little reminder that he was loved, that someone as good as you loved him. The rest of the team could have their jokes, because Bucky was loved.
Loved by a woman who he might’ve been able to woo in his best years—before he was missing a damn arm and woke up in the middle of the night fighting ghosts—but who he’d never even dared to dream of having a chance with now.
He didn’t like strawberries before you liked them. He didn’t care to bring lunch to work—he didn’t even need it, if he had a large breakfast—before you started volunteering to make it for him.
“I don’t want you to get hungry.” You’d said, pouting up at him, and he’d have to be a fool to tell you no.
Not when you take so much time to make it, just for him. Not when you can do other shapes—stars and moons and flowers and even a damn snowflake, and probably a dick if Bucky asked, although you might start giggling so much it wouldn’t be safe to let you near a knife—but you do hearts just for Bucky.
Because somehow, you’re something that’s just for Bucky.
A secret, good thing that he doesn’t have to share with the team.
Love that isn’t caught up in politics or old fights that bleed through time. Just you, and Bucky, and heart-shaped strawberries.
He lets the team keep teasing.
It’s hard to mind, when he’s the one who gets to eat the strawberries in the end.
Yelena notices it first.
They’re in the truck on some mission in Alaska, with no wifi for streaming and the truck rattling so loud it gives her a headache. She asks Bucky to put on the radio while he drives. He says no. She keeps asking, over and over, until he caves and turns it on with a scowl.
And she’s happy with it. It’s just a top 100 station—some good, some bad, depending on taste—but Yelena likes it plenty, and it’s enough to calm her brain down.
Once her brain is calm, she starts to notice things.
Things like Bucky’s hand tapping on the wheel. Like his mouth, moving silently along with the lyrics of a few songs.
How his nose scrunches when some songs start—like he knows they’re going to be bad—but he smiles to himself for others. His knee bounces with some baselines. His head bobs along with the music.
He knows the songs.
“You like pop music?” Yelena asked, and Bucky started slightly. Like he forgot she was there.
“No.” He grunted, and Yelena scoffed.
“Really.”
“Yeah. We’ve had this conversation. I like-“
“40s music. I’ve heard.” Yelena narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully. “You seem to know the radio songs.”
His jaw ticked. “I have ears. I remember things.”
“Impressive, since you are a million years old.”
Bucky gave her a tired look. “I’m a hundred.”
“Most people have no minds by a hundred. But you- Look at you. You enjoy Lady Gaga.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
He was lying through his damn teeth, and they both knew it, but Bucky was pretty sure he had the upper hand. Yelena could accuse him all she wanted, she’d never guess why Bucky already knew all the songs. Never be able to work out that he listened them so he’d know what you liked. That he liked certain ones more than others because he’d think of you singing them in the shower. That he hated certain ones because you hated them, and you knew more than he did.
Bucky would sit at your feet and listen to you ramble about racist country singers for the rest of his damn life, if he could. He’d listen to you talk about anything, because you were passionate about everything, and you never looked prettier than when you cared.
You’d get all flushed, your nose would wrinkle, your hands would wave around as you gestured, and Bucky didn’t understand half of the actual words you were using—what a stan was, how idol seemed to have a meaning very different that he remembered, or what the hell a fandom was—but he liked how you said them. Like how you’d just pet his head sometimes while you spoke, and how happy you’d look when he repeated something you said a few days later, to prove he’d been listening.
So he’d learned all the words to your favorite songs, because it made you happy. Just like you’d learned how to dance to 40s music with him in the kitchen, even if you stepped on his shoes and mostly just stared at him with shining eyes while he led you around.
He didn’t mind doing that, either. It felt like heaven to have you in his arms. And you’d always giggle when he spun you around, and ask him questions about the 40s he only would ever give you the answers to. You’d smile at all his stories. You’d ask to watch the movies he liked, read the books he’d enjoyed, listen to more of his music.
The least he could do was memorize a few songs. It made you smile.
And Bucky felt like a real good husband, when he made you smile.
Nobody needed to know that the Winter Soldier enjoyed pop music. That didn’t strike fear in the hearts of adversaries, and people would probably want to know his opinions, when they were just yours echoed.
He did sing along to the next song, though. Under his breath, but audible. Just to mess with Yelena.
She gaped at him. “You- You are singing-“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky drawled, smirking at the road.
Yelena narrowed her eyes. Turned down the radio and leaned forward, scanning over Bucky’s face.
He gave her a bored look, brows raised in amusement.
Yelena leaned closer.
“You are strange, Bucky Barnes.” She muttered, and Bucky snorted.
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”
“Stranger than usual.” Yelena continued, like she hadn’t heard him at all. “Very strange.”
Bucky just shrugged, and Yelena hummed.
“I am onto you. I will figure out what strange music secrets you keep.”
Bucky laughed again. “You do that.”
“I will.”
“Alright.”
“Alright.” Yelena mocked, slumping back into her seat. “What do you think of Rihanna, Bucky Barnes?”
Bucky knew what you thought of Rihanna. Knew that you wished she’d make more music, something he actually agreed with. The woman had good beats, and used a lot of real instruments. Those had been some of the easier songs to get through.
“I don’t know who that is.” He repeated, but probably after pausing for too long.
Yelena huffed like she didn’t believe him. Bucky was probably playing with fire, by not shutting this down firmly. But he really couldn’t bring himself to care.
He wouldn’t stop listening to the songs. And it wasn’t his fault they were so damn catchy.
He did wish Yelena could hear you sing along to them, though. You did it a hell of a lot better than he did.
And Bucky got lost in thought about you again. He didn’t feel his grin, pulling at his face from the thought of you.
Yelena narrowed her eyes.
Something was up with Bucky Barnes. Music and strawberries. Soft things, for soft people, which he was not. Maybe he had been kidnapped, and this was a clone. Yelena could fight a clone. That would be quite easy.
But the easy thing was rarely the answer. Which was annoying.
It didn’t matter.
Yelena would figure out what Bucky was hiding.
And if it was something that let her fight a clone, well. Worse, stranger things have happened.
Bob and Ava realize next.
They’ve known about the strawberries. Everyone has known about the strawberries. Only Bob knows about the music—Yelena told him—but Ava’s noticed things as well.
Liking Bucky smiling at his phone. Going to bed before everyone else, and waking up before them as well. And it shouldn’t be strange that a solider goes to bed early, but it’s how he goes to bed.
Bucky makes a big show of it. He stands up, announces that not to bother him unless someone is dying, and still try to handle that yourselves, then marches off to his room.
Ava walked past it last week. And she knows she’s not supposed to—something about privacy—but Bucky had a book she’d wanted, and doors are just suggestions that people think keep them safe anyway.
She phased through the wall, and found the room empty. Completely and totally empty. No noise from the bathroom, no lump in the sheets. Nothing.
The book had been on the nightstand. She’d taken it and gone, but wondered.
If the room was always empty.
If Barnes was up to something.
Bob just thought the music thing was nice.
“Maybe he just likes pop music?” He’d offered to Yelena, who’d shaken her head.
“No. Bucky Barnes does not like this.”
“I- That can’t be true-“
“It is.”
“He likes some books.” Bob had said, a little desperately. “And… Sam Wilson’s his friend. They have to do something together.”
“They fix boats.”
“See! That’s liking something-“
“This is not a boat, Bob.” Yelena had snapped. “This is music. It is important, because Bucky likes it, and he does not like things.”
And that wasn’t entirely true.
Bucky didn’t like most things. He didn’t like crowds, or snow, or most movies until you liked them and suddenly he understood what everyone was making such a big deal about. He didn’t like planes or trains, and boats were fine, and he hated going most anywhere until you’d started riding on the motorcycle with him. He didn’t like resting, or eating, or the dark, but then you made him do spa nights with him and suddenly all those things were fine.
“Your hair is better than mine.” You’d murmurs, running your fingers through it, and he’d sighed.
“That’s not true, doll.”
“It is.”
“Nothin’ I got is better than you.”
You’d hummed, smiling to yourself as you started to braid on of the thicker locks. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He’d sighed, like he was pained you didn’t believe him. “I don’t sneak around for just anyone y’know.”
“Well, you don’t have to sneak around for me-“
Bucky had said your name, rolling onto his back with a sigh.
You’d given him an innocent look, and he’d swallowed. Reached up to trace your features, his voice low and serious.
“You know I can’t risk something happenin’ to you. I don’t like hiding either, but-“
“I know.” You’d kissed the inside of his wrist. “I’m just reminding you. Just in case.”
You’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled slowly back. His eyes shining with that quiet, relaxed awe that was yours, and yours alone.
The world could have Bucky in whatever role they made him play. He always went along with it, as long as he was helping, no matter how many times you casually floated the idea of him retiring. There was always another reason he had to keep going. Another part of him they wanted to take away from you.
But this, the peace and silent, but immeasurably powerful love that radiated off of him, it was all yours.
“I love you.” He’d murmured, and you’d brushed a little hair from his face.
“I know.”
He’d frowned. “You’re not gonna say it back?”
“You know I love you-“
“Yeah, but I like hearin’ you say it, doll-“
“I love you, James, I love you so much-“
Bucky had rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just bein’ mean to me.”
You’d giggled, leaning down until you were hovering only inches away. “You like it,” you’d whispered. “Gives you an excuse for later.”
Bucky’s eyes had flashed, his hand slowly sliding down around your neck, and you’d laughed again. Sat back up and gently nudged his shoulder.
“I love you, old man.” You’d pushed a little harder. “Flip over, I’m braiding your hair.”
He’d groaned, but still flipped back onto his stomach. His face had been pressed into your thigh, one arm around your middle and the other rubbing up and down your calves as you braided. When you’d finished, you’d tied it, and he’d dove for you like an animal.
The braid had somehow survived the night, even if you couldn’t really walk.
And Bucky had kept it in. It was a little under the thicker top layer of his hair, so no one would see it, and if he couldn’t wear his ring at work he wanted something that was made of you.
Then the hair tie would got lost in a fight, and the braid came almost completely undone. He used to go back to you, and sheepishly ask you to redo it. And you always would with a smile and no complaints, and Bucky could never hate time he got to spend at your feet, but he also liked learning things.
Braids were good for ropes. They could busy his hands, if he was stuck on the jet too long and no one was looking at him.
If you ever had daughters together, he’d need to know how to do them, the exact way you did.
So he asked, and you taught him.
And Bob and Ava are in the common room talking about the Baby Shark song with Ava tries to braid her hair, but she’s not all that good at it. She usually just keeps it inside the suit.
Bob offers to help. He’s worse.
They’re seconds from going to grab Yelena when Bucky walks in with a bored expression, and finds Bob’s hands in Ava’s hair, both of them looking like they just got caught doing something wrong.
“What’s wrong with you two.”
“Bob can’t braid hair.” Ava says plainly, and Bob frowns.
“Well I- I’m trying- But it’s- There’s so much of it-“
“Yeah, I got it.” Bucky sighs, then frowns at Ava. “Can’t you braid your own hair?”
Ava sniffs, raising her chin. “I never learned. But thank you, for reminding me of that childhood norm I missed out on-“
“Christ, it’s not like I’m all sunshine and-“ Bucky had sighed, ran a hand over his face, then nodded to himself. “Alright. Bob, move.”
Bob had moved, hands in the air like a surrender, and Bucky had taken his place.
He’d worked fast. Very fast. Fast and neat, because he’d been practicing on himself and you, and he was pretty damn good at it now.
That was a good braid. Bucky stood back with his hands on his hips, nodded, and marched out without another word.
Bob and Ava sat there for a moment. Bob stared, and Ava reached back carefully to touch the braid.
It felt alright. There weren’t stray hairs, and the pattern was tight.
Which meant Bucky had given her a braid of… Above average quality.
Ava looked at Bob, and found his mouth open. Their eyes met, neither really sure what to say other than-
“What the fuck was that?”
Alexei notices next.
He doesn’t know it, but the rest of them have a running bet. Yelena told Bob about her theory, Bob pulled Ava into the room, and they all put a week of chores on the line for who’s going to realize last.
Yelena thinks it’s going to be Bucky, not picking up on the fact that everyone is onto him. Ava thinks it’s John, his head too far up his ass to make such observations. Bob thinks it’s Alexei, simply because no one else had money on Alexei, and he wasn’t allowed to simply not participate.
For a while, it seems that they’re all on even footing. Bucky keeps coming and going, smiling at his phone and suddenly knowing how face masks and baking and different soaps work, and no one else seems to be picking up on anything odd.
Then Alexei asks Bucky to go out with him.
“Night on the town, Bucky Barnes.” Alexei claps his shoulder with a wide grin. “We will find many beautiful woman, all looking for attention from great Red Guardian and Winter Soldier!”
Bucky grunts. “I’m good, thanks.”
“I know, you enjoy moping around Watchtower, why am I so alone, where is love- It is because you hide, I will help you stop hiding-“
“I’m not-“ Bucky sighs, and shakes his head. “Maybe next week. I’ve got plans tonight.”
He walks away, leaving Alexei frozen in the middle of the room.
Bucky Barnes does not have plans. He does not do plans. He’s dragged places by his neck, then returns to sulking in mysterious places around the tower. Usually when Alexei asks him to go out, he gets a very similar no, but then he asks again and gets a grumbled fine.
Alexei doesn’t want to go out anymore anyway. There is no better drinking partner than Bucky Barnes. His moody, handsome face pulls in attention, and Alexei gets to swoop in and charm everyone that Bucky turns down with tight words and a half apology. It’s a perfect system.
Bucky is messing with the perfect system.
“Yelena.” He stomps into the living area with a scowl. “Something is wrong with Bucky Barnes.”
Bob groans. He’s the first person to lose the bet.
Alexei doesn’t believe it at first, when they lay it out for him. Strawberries and pop music are not evidence of having a woman. Hair is not either. Alexei can braid hair. He used to do it for Yelena and Natasha, all the time.
“Mother taught you how.” Yelena points out, and that is a fair point. He’d leave it in knots before Melina showed him how not to.
But he would have noticed, if Bucky Barnes had a girlfriend. He lives in the tower. Alexei is Guardian, he knows who comes in and out of their home. If Barnes was hiding secret girl, he would have been the first to realize.
“Or she doesn’t live in the tower.” Ava drawls. “Bucky has been hiding an awful lot, lately. Maybe he goes to her.”
Alexei thinks this is insane. Why would one ever leave the Watchtower? It has magic robots, a kitchen with two ovens, and a pool. America is beautiful country. Robots. Ovens. Pools.
But Ava is exactly right.
The first few months of your relationship, Bucky had still been staying at the Watchtower. He’d entertain Alexei’s outings, knowing he was just there for—as you say it—eye candy. He’d drink and mope about not being with you, maybe call you and tell you how pretty you are, then stumble home and dream about being in your arms. Sometimes he would end up in your arms, managing to drink enough that it actually effected him, thinking home when he got in the Taxi, and ending up swaying on your doorstep.
You’d smile at him, when you opened the door.
“Did you drink the whole bar?”
“Only half.” He’d mumble, leaning against your door. “I love you.”
You’d giggle. He loved your giggle. It was a sound of pure joy, almost like the songs his Ma used to make him sing in church.
He understands church more, now that he has you. He’d build a whole house in your name, and make sure it was even half as beautiful as you were. He talks to you every day, texting even when he knows you won’t respond for hours, the chance of your attention worth every bit of his time.
“I love you too.” You’d say, flushing and beaming at him. You’d get bashful and nervous, the first times he’d say it. Like you weren’t sure it was real.
And back then, he’d have to linger like a street dog at your door, staring at you hopefully under you asked him inside.
Now he has a key. He takes off from the Watchtower while no one is paying attention. Stops at the corner store to get you chocolate and flowers—he does this every time, you’re considering opening a shop—before heading to the other side of town.
To you.
He has a key to your apartment now. It’s his apartment too.
Houses are the kind of thing you have to share, when you’re married.
“You’re an hour early.” You say when he opens the door, and he chuckles.
“Can’t be early to my damn home, doll-“
“Bucky-“
He turns from closing the door, and his jaw almost falls off his face.
He is very early.
You’re in one of those thin, lacy things you get yourself to try and give him a damn heart attack. Sheer and tight, highlighting curves and making you somehow more than naked. There’s still the small robe, but it doesn’t hide anything at all.
But your hair isn’t done, your face clear of makeup for him to ruin.
Part of him likes it more. You look like an angel.
And it would be a shame for him to make you waste all your fancy products and put in so much effort, when he’s going to wreck you no matter what.
“I’m early.” He rasps, and you cross your arms.
“You have to go out. I’m not ready yet-“
“You look pretty ready to me, doll.”
You flush under his heated, almost rabid gaze. You’re already getting sore between your thighs, and he’s just standing across the room.
Setting down the flowers and rolling up his sleeves. Waiting patiently for you to beckon him over, tongue darting over his lips as his gaze rakes over your body, and your knees are getting weak.
“I’m trying to give you something nice.” You squeak, and Bucky laughs.
“You are giving me somethin’ nice-“
“Well, it- It’s going to be better than this-“
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
You breathe sharply, and Bucky raises his brows.
He’d been ravenous before you were married. Somehow, now, it’s even more than before. He touches you like he’s trying to leave a mark. To remind you that even when he can’t be home, there isn’t a single moment you’re not on his mind.
“Green light?” He mutters.
You nod, then remember the rule.
Words.
“Yes. Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
And outside, Yelena, Ava, Bob, and Alexei, frown up at the series of windows, trying to figure out which one Bucky disappeared into. It was Alexei’s idea to follow. He wanted to prove Bucky was simply sick, rather than leaving him to try and pick up women alone.
Right now, his odds aren’t looking good. Bucky doesn’t buy chocolate and flowers for himself.
“Maybe he’s on the other side of the building?” Bob suggests, after almost an hour of staring at Bucky-less windows.
The words are barely out of his mouth before Yelena spots it.
Bucky and a strange woman, stumbling into a room, their mouths practically attached. His shirt is gone. She’s wearing something that looks like it used to be lingerie. Bucky tosses her onto the bed, kisses her ankle, then moves to the window.
He closes the blinds, leaving the team gaping up on the street, all thinking the same thing.
Bucky Barnes has a secret girlfriend.
John notices last.
They’re on a mission in some small city, and it’s fast. Clean. No slip-ups—for once—which means no extra paperwork to file. Yelena makes them go to the mall. They have a Petco, five makeup stores, and a cinnabun. There’s never going to be another chance like this.
It’s in one of the makeup stores that John finally gets clued in. Yelena doesn’t like any of the perfumes she’s looked at—and made everyone else look at, because they should all stop smelling like sweet and damp ass—and Bucky points out that she hasn’t been cleansing her nose after each one with the coffee.
He suggests a specific perfume. It’s not overly floral and sweet like what Yelena’s been trying. He thinks she’d like it, and she does.
And John is suspicious.
“Barnes has a wife.” He hisses to Ava, and she snorts.
“Aren’t you late.”
“What does that mean-“
“It means we’ve all known he has a girlfriend for months, you’re the last person to-“
“No. I didn’t say girlfriend. If he’s with someone, it’s a wife.”
Ava pauses. Looks over her shoulder, to where Bucky is staring at this phone, lost to the world.
He smiles at something on the screen, then looks up like he’s checking nobody saw.
“Why do you think it’s a wife.” She says slowly, and John shrugs.
“He knew perfumes.” Walker says loftily. “You don’t learn perfumes for a girlfriend. That’s wife shit.”
Ava frowns. His logic is flawed. Downright incorrect.
But he did reach the right conclusion, even with the wrong equation.
Bucky learned perfumes for you before you were even engaged. Before he got a key to your apartment, or you talked about a future, or he bought the ring. And he’d gotten that ring fairly early, too.
Right after he spent three hours before your anniversary, researching perfumes to figure out the exact kind you’d like as a gift. He’d gone to stores, looked up guides on line, even sneakily asked Yelena questions to figure out what she liked, how it related to her personality, then apply his findings to you.
He’d been nervous when he’d made his choice. He didn’t get nervous anymore, but his palms had been sweating, his thoughts racing at what might happen if you hated the gift. You were too sweet to break up with him over just a perfume, but Bucky knows how small things can crumble a whole foundation. A good gift showed you he cared. That he’d been paying attention. It build trust, and grew affection. With that, he’d be showing you how serious he was about this. If you knew he was serious, that opened a million more doors that he’d only been holding as fantasies.
Moving in together, sharing a life. Marriage. Maybe partial retirement, removal from the public eye. Being allowed to go out with you in public without having to be so damn careful. Eventually getting a house. Maybe a cat—he liked cats—and, if you wanted it, one or two kids.
But none of that would happen if you didn’t know he was serious. If he’d already messed up by getting you the wrong perfume.
He’d played it super normal, when he’d given you the bag. Collected and suave, not sweating out of his ass, certainly not praying to the whole universe that you’d at least not hate it-
“Bucky.” You’d gasped, holding the bottle with delicate hands, like it was made of crystal. Like it was his heart, rather than some glass. “You didn’t have to-“
“Wanted to.” He’d grunted. “Do you-“
“I love it. I- I’ve wanted this one for a while, actually, but- James, I know how much this costs-“
Bucky had kissed your cheek, letting the prideful, golden feeling in his chest bloom.
“You’re worth it.” He’d muttered, and your smile had been worth more than a whole damn store of perfumes.
He’d gotten the ring that Monday, before he went back to the tower. Spent every moment apart from you that weekend researching cuts and carats, just like he had the perfumes.
When he’d proposed, he’d told you that he’d been half a man before you.
You’d told him that even if that was true, you would’ve fallen in love with him if he was a tenth of a man. That just a sliver of him was easier to love than every other man on the planet combined.
They’re all dancing around it. How to tell Bucky they know about his girlfriend—or wife, as John keeps loudly insisting.
A few times, Alexei tries to start a conversation about what kind of women Bucky likes. Bucky stares at him, giving only grunts as answers, and Alexei gives up fast. Yelena asks if he’d want to go on a vacation to the Bahamas with anyone, and he just shrugs. Ava’s taken to stalking him through the tower, trying to catch a slip-up that gives her the perfect moment for confrontation. Walker has been talking about jewelry and perfume so much, Bucky asks if he’s getting back together with his ex.
Bob doesn’t really want a part of any of this. He thinks that if Bucky wants this to be a secret, they should respect that.
Everyone else thinks that’s boring.
They’ve pooled their time, to manipulate the perfect way to reveal that they know. It’s a needlessly elaborate plan, with far too many uses of a t-shirt gun, a blimp, and a pure-bred horse.
But it will work. They’ve spent months getting it right. By the end of the week, Bucky will admit he has a girlfriend—or wife—and they can start teasing him about it, as is their right.
The plan will be implemented tomorrow. They’ve prepared. Nothing will go wrong.
Then, in the middle of a meeting about some organization either having too many automatic rifles—or not enough, but none of them are really paying attention—there’s a knock on the door.
Everyone freezes. There’s not a single person in the building, who doesn’t know the rule. Never interrupt Valentina. Not even if the world is ending. You wait until she’s ready to hear about the apocalypse, then you speak.
She’s scowling at the head of the table, but waves a tight hand for Mel to answer the door.
When she does, everyone cranes their head to see who’s about to get fired. But it’s not an employee or agent, standing in the hallway.
It’s a beautiful, anxious looking woman holding a smooth lunchbox. She’s shifting on her feet, wearing a thick coat and diamond ring, looking around like the walls are the tallest thing she’s ever seen, and-
She’s the girl from the window.
Wearing a ring.
John would be smug, if he wasn’t trying to wrap his head around how that was Bucky’s wife. But it’s not just him.
You’d looked pretty from the window. Up close, it’s no wonder Bucky wanted to keep you to himself. You might’ve been able to defeat Thanos with a smile.
“Hi,” your voice is soft, your expression like a doe in headlights. “I- Um- Bucky forgot his lunch.”
You hold up the black box, and Valentina clears her throat.
“And you’re who exactly?”
“Um-“
“An assistant?” She shoots Bucky a glare. “I don’t see why you should get an assistant, James, you barely even do anything-“
“Bucky does things.” You stand a little taller, eyes narrowing on Valentina. “He does a lot of things, and- You don’t even give him pet insurance-“
“He doesn’t need pet insurance-“
“Yeah, because my boss is a nice person-“
“Darling.” Bucky stands up quickly, moving to block you from Valentina’s venomous glare. “You didn’t tell me you were coming, I would’ve met you downstairs-“
“I wanted to surprise you.” You mumble, lips pulling into a pout. “Sorry.”
“’S alright.” He glances over his shoulder, to everyone’s aghast, almost offensively shocked expression. “I gotta finish this meeting, you know where my room is?”
You nod, still looking too damn sad, and Bucky sighs. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, keeping his voice low enough only you’ll hear.
“I coulda gotten something from the café, y’know.”
“Yeah, but- You’d forget to.”
Bucky chuckles, squeezing your waist gently. “You’re too good to me, doll.”
“Hm.” Your smile returns, paired with a pretty flush. “I don’t think I am.”
You touch his arm, leaning forward to press a tiny, quick kiss to his lips. It takes everything Bucky has, not to drag you back and make out until you’re both dizzy. The only thing that manages to stop him is the eyes of his teammates, glaring daggers into his back.
You walk away with one last smile over your shoulder, and Bucky waves with a foolish grin.
Then he turns, braces his hands on his hips, and sighs.
“We’re gonna do this now, aren’t we?”
Valentina scoffs. “Do what, make you explain why you’re bringing your little civilian into the tower without approval-“
“She is approved.” Bucky grunts. “She’s my emergency contact, that grants her automatic access.”
Bob’s eyes widens. “Wow, it’s- You’re that serious? Not that you wouldn’t be, just- I didn’t know girlfriends could be emergency contacts. I always thought it was, um- Family. Only?”
“Anyone can be a contact.” Bucky grunts. “And- Jesus-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face.
There’s no point lying about it now. Might as well get it over with.
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my wife.”
Walker shouts I knew it. Yelena starts demanding her winnings from Ava, and Alexei starts grumbling about not being invited to the wedding.
But none of them are all that surprised.
“Did you all… Know?” Bucky snaps, and Yelena rolls her eyes.
“Of course. You were obvious, like dog after bone.”
“I was not, and- That doesn’t make sense-“
“We all knew, Bucky.” Ava shrugs. “But it makes sense. She’s beautiful.”
At that, Bucky grins. He’ll be angry at them later.
Right now, he’s just standing tall with pride.
“Yeah. She is.”
✦End note: deeply upsetting that we're probably only going to get the one Thunderbolts movie I was 50 of them like the Avengers.✦
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pairing: fwb bucky barnes x reader | 1.3k
warnings: explicit content 18+, fwb dynamic, accidental confession during sex, pinning, rougher sex, praise, messy emotions, creampie mention, slight angst w/ soft ending
summary: an accidental confession mid-thrust ruins your fwb rules
a late contribution to day 10 of galentines with the lovely @wildflowersandvibranium and @pinksplace.
read day one, day four, & day seven here!
--------
You don’t realize you’ve made a terrible, irreversible mistake until Bucky’s thrusts falter.
One second, he’s fucking you into the mattress the way he always does, rough, steady, focused like the world starts and ends between your legs, and the next, everything stops.
Well. Almost everything.
His chest is still heaving.
Your nails are still clawed into his shoulders.
His cock is still buried to the hilt inside you, pulsing like he’s seconds from coming.
And your voice is still echoing in the room, the words hanging in the air like smoke, like a match you shouldn’t have struck.
“Bucky—fuck—don’t stop, I love you—”
You want to die. Or flee. Or burst into flames. Anything but lie here under him while his brain tries to reboot.
Because this is not part of the deal.
Friends-with-benefits.
No strings.
No feelings.
No messy emotional shit that could blow the whole thing up.
Just bodies and orgasms and late-night texts that start with you up? and end with don’t catch feelings, doll.
Except you just did the exact opposite of that last rule.
You said it.
Out loud.
To his face.
While he was splitting you open.
“Say something,” you whisper, voice small, humiliated, breathless.
His eyes—blue, blown, touch-starved—snap to yours. And the look there? It’s not disgust or panic.
It’s devastation.
“Don’t,” he rasps, thumb brushing your cheek even though he shouldn’t be touching you like that. “Don’t ask me to talk right now.”
“Bucky…”
“You didn’t mean it.” His voice cracks. Actually cracks. “It was just the heat of the moment. People say shit when they come.”
“I wasn’t coming,” you shoot back, mortified and somehow offended on behalf of your own orgasm. “You stopped before I could.”
His jaw clenches.
His cock twitches inside you.
His breath shudders.
And his eyes—the way his eyes drag over your face like he’s memorizing it—makes your stomach flip.
“You didn’t mean it,” he says again, lower this time, almost pleading. “Please tell me you didn’t mean it.”
You swallow hard.
Your heart is doing its own version of cardio death.
Your legs are still wrapped around his waist because you don’t know what else to do with them.
“Bucky… I—”
He shakes his head, forehead pressing to yours. “Don’t. Don’t break me with something you didn’t mean.”
You freeze.
Because that?
That didn’t sound like a man who doesn’t want you.
That sounded like a man who’s terrified you don’t want him.
Your voice is barely a breath. “What if I did mean it?”
Everything stops again.
This time, it’s not because he’s pulling away.
It’s because he grabs your wrists—gentle but firm—and pins them above your head, pushing you into the pillows like he’s trying to anchor himself to the world.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
Your heart slams into your ribs. “Bucky—”
“Say it.” The words are almost broken. “If you mean it, doll… say it looking at me. Not while I’m fucking you senseless. Right now.”
You shouldn’t.
This is everything you promised you wouldn’t do.
This is how these situations implode.
But he’s looking at you like he wants to believe you.
Like he’s desperate to.
Like he’s been waiting for this without letting himself hope.
Your chest rises with a trembling inhale.
“I love you.”
Bucky makes a sound—deep, guttural, wrecked—and it punches through you harder than any thrust he’s ever given.
And then he kisses you.
Not like a friend.
Not like a mistake.
Not like something temporary.
He kisses you like the word you just said tore him open.
His mouth claims yours, hot and hungry, his tongue sliding against yours like he’s starving for the taste of you. His hands roam—your jaw, your waist, your thighs—touches you like you’re something precious he’s terrified to break.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters against your lips, breath ragged. “You don’t get to say that and look at me like that.”
“Why not?” you whisper, arching into him.
“Because—” He thrusts once, shallow and shaky, like he can’t help himself. “Because I’ve been trying so goddamn hard not to fall for you.”
Your breath leaves your lungs in a shattered rush.
“Bucky…”
“No.” His metal hand slides under your knee, pushing your leg higher, opening you up for him until you gasp. “You’re not gonna say it and then look surprised when I lose my fucking mind over you.”
You moan, pathetic and needy, because when he moves again, there’s nothing hesitant about it.
Slow.
Deep.
Intentional.
The kind of thrusts that mean something.
Your hands grip his back again, dragging down his skin, and he groans like you’ve awakened something he kept locked up.
“Say it again,” he demands softly, hips snapping just enough to make your voice wobble.
“I—fuck—Bucky—”
“Say it.”
“I love you,” you breathe, the words spilling out easier this time, truer, louder.
His head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin. “God, doll. You’re gonna ruin me.”
He starts moving faster—not rough, not punishing, but hungry. Each thrust hits deeper, harder, sending heat crawling up your spine. Your nails dig into him and he whimpers—an honest-to-god whimper—before catching your wrists again and pinning them to the mattress.
“I can’t be gentle if you keep saying it,” he warns, voice thick with need.
“Then don’t be gentle.”
He growls.
Actually fucking growls.
And then he fucks you like he’s been holding back for months.
Your head tips back, a cry ripping from your throat as he pounds into you, each thrust messy, desperate, overwhelming. His lips find your neck, then your jaw, then your mouth, kissing you like he can’t catch his breath without you.
“Look at me,” he pants, nudging your chin up with his metal hand. “Wanna see your eyes when you come.”
“Bucky—”
“I love you.”
The words burst out of him like he can’t stop them.
Like they’ve been fighting their way to the surface for too long.
You gasp, your entire body arching.
His stare is blazing. “Yeah. I fucking love you. Been trying not to but you—” He thrusts harder, filling you so deeply you swear the world whites out. “—you make it impossible.”
Your orgasm hits without warning, sharp and consuming, your cry breaking into pieces as your body clamps around him. You feel him shudder, feel him bury himself impossibly deep, feel him come with a guttural moan that sounds like surrender.
He collapses onto you, breath shaking, heart racing against your chest.
Neither of you speak for a long time.
Finally, he lifts his head, eyes soft in a way you’ve never seen on him.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
You laugh breathlessly. “Pretty sure you rewired my whole nervous system.”
He grins—really grins—and it makes something warm bloom in your chest.
Then his expression turns serious.
“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly. “All of it?”
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing the flush there.
“Yes.”
His shoulders drop, relief flooding him like a wave he’s been drowning under.
“Thank fuck,” he whispers, kissing you again—slow this time, tender, like the kind of kiss that belongs to something real. “Because I meant it. Every word. Even the ones I shouldn’t have said while I was inside you.”
You snort. “Pretty bold time to confess.”
He shrugs, still hovering above you, still connected to you in every way that matters.
“Well,” he says with a smirk, “you fucked the truth outta me.”
And when he kisses you again—soft and certain—you know there’s no going back.
Not to casual.
Not to pretending.
Not to just friends.
Not after an accidental I love you that wasn’t accidental at all.
pairing: loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader
synopsis: You didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with Loki—who would?—yet while everybody knew he was the god of mischief, to you, he's your jealous god.
The first sign something is off is the smell of petrichor in the living-room. You’d left the windows shut, but there it is: the scent of rain on stone, the signature Loki’s magic often leaves behind when he appears or, more ominously, when he’s been brooding. You round the corner and find him lounging on your couch, boots on the cushions, one arm draped over the back like a cat who’s caught the red dot and now wonders what to do with it.
“Evening,” he purrs, voice all velvet knives. “Did you have fun at Stark’s little soirée?”
You shrug out of your jacket, the lining still warm from Stark Tower’s overheated ball-room, and drape it over the brocade armchair by the hearth. A faint metallic tang of repulsor exhaust still clings to the fabric—a souvenir of Tony’s annual “low-impact” fireworks display.
“Fun enough,” you say, massaging the crick in your neck. “Tony’s birthday parties feature far fewer homicidal drones these days—small mercies—but it would’ve been considerably more enjoyable if my favorite god hadn’t ghosted before dessert.”
Loki’s smile thins. “Your dance card appeared congested.”
The archaic phrasing is deliberate, a rapier flick from a prince raised on court formalities. You know exactly which name hides behind the euphemism: Peter Parker, cheeks redder than Stark’s armor, tugging at a too-tight bowtie while begging you for “just one dance.” When FRIDAY obligingly queued a crackling waltz from 1912, you’d accepted to save the poor kid from spontaneous combustion and to keep Natasha from collecting wagers on whether he’d faint.
“Peter’s pulse only spikes to dangerous levels when I’m near,” you remind Loki gently, toeing off your shoes. “Because he’s nineteen, Loki—”
“Twenty,” Loki interjects, tone glacial. “I checked the records.”
“—fine, twenty. He idolizes everyone with an Avengers passcode. Our waltz lasted 90 seconds and ended with him apologizing for stepping on my feet.”
“Yet long enough for you to laugh,” Loki murmurs, verdant eyes darkening. The words carry neither accusation nor injury—something colder, older, like frost creeping across glass. Outside the window lightning flickers, though the forecast promised clear skies.
You cross to him, letting your hand skim his shoulder until frost becomes warmth. “One laugh, one spin, no hearts stolen. You, darling, occupy all available real estate here.” You tap your sternum.
Loki’s lips curl in a silken crescent, but the flicker behind his lashes is anything but serene. Emerald irises catch the lamplight, bright as storm-lit seawater—an omen you’ve learned to read the way sailors read cloud fronts.
You plant your hands on your hips. “Loki,” you say, drawing out every syllable like a sharpening stone, “what did you do?”
He splays a hand across his chest in wounded theater. “Must you presume mischief every time I inhale?”
“Yes.”
A beat. His shoulders slump in an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I may have redirected young Parker’s web-shooters.”
“Redirected how?”
“Up.”
“Loki!”
He waves a dismissive hand, as though you’ve merely noted the weather. “Midgardian gravity is pathetic. The boy dangled for what?—fifty two seconds before Rogers hauled him in. Perfectly safe.”
Your glare could etch glass. “And the glitter bomb that detonated on Clint?”
A flick of irritation crawls up Loki’s brow ridge—caught, again. You press on.
“I was having a perfectly calm chat with him about Lucky adjusting to farm life,” you remind him, tone sharpened to surgical steel. “Clint was mid-sentence—something about the dog finally not chasing tractors—when this puff of emerald smoke swallowed him whole. Next thing I know, he’s radioactive-pink from head to tactical boots.”
A half-smile curls Loki’s mouth, wicked as a fox in the henhouse. “Yes. I refined the pigment with bifrost dust—gives it that delightful day-glow sheen.”
“Which is now ground permanently into SHIELD-issue Kevlar.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I leave you alone for two hours—”
“You left me alone with them.”
The soft snarl on “them” tells the truth: Loki never felt comfortable in the Avengers’ tower, tolerated largely because of you. Their wary stares scratch old wounds he pretends have healed. Tonight, seeing you laugh—actually laugh—with the people who once hunted him? Salt in the fracture.
You exhale and join him on the couch, prying his booted feet off the cushions. They thunk to the floor. “Talk.”
“Must we?” His gaze flicks to the ceiling, expression somewhere between tragic poet and sullen teenager. “You looked radiant. They ogled you like magpies. I grew irritated.”
“Jealous.”
He scoffs, but the word loosens him. “Yes. Jealous. There. I despise how it feels—like being chained again, only the shackles are inside my ribs.”
Your annoyance softens. You catch Loki’s chin, turning his face until emerald meets your gaze. “If you need reassurance, ask. Don’t rig equipment or hex people. Use your words.”
His lips quirk. “I have many words. Most of them sharp.”
“Then learn soft ones.” You brush your thumb across his lower lip. “Tell me the truth instead of setting glitter‐traps and letting innocent people hang from the ceiling.”
A silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of Manhattan traffic. Finally, Loki exhales the breath he has been hoarding for pride.
“Very well. The truth: I watched you toss your head back laughing at Clint's joke and it felt like frostbite. I wanted that sound kept for me alone. I imagined Parker’s mask cracking under illusion spiders; I pictured Stark’s suit misfiring champagne across his face. I thought of a dozen vicious things, all because you smiled.”
You let the confession settle. His jealousy is a thunderstorm—beautiful from afar, dangerous when you’re underneath. But storms can be guided.
“You’re allowed to want,” you say slowly, “and I’m allowed friends. The line is harm, Loki. Pranks that bruise bodies or egos cross it.”
He leans in, voice low. “I will try. But understand: my nature is not serenity. It is wind and wildfire. I can shape it for you, but extinguish it? Never.”
You press a kiss to his forehead—just there, where the crown would sit if he still wore one. “I don’t want it extinguished. Just channeled.”
His shoulders relax, mischief dimming to ember. “Then give me a target suitable for such channeling.”
“I have one. The dishwasher’s broken again.” You gesture toward the kitchen. “If you must hex something, hex the water jets. Make them behave.”
It earns you a surprised laugh, warm and genuine. “Very well, my love. I will wage war upon domestic inconveniences.” Loki rises, cloak swirling into existence with theatrical flare. “But first—”
He snaps his fingers. A soft pop sounds behind you. You turn to see a potted hydrangea now placed in the middle of the coffee table. Petals the deepest green—the exact shade of his eyes. A peace offering formed from silent magic instead of spite.
“Soft words,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath fans your ear. “And softer deeds.”
You twine your fingers with his. “Keep practicing, Mischief-Prince. I’m a patient teacher.”
He smirks. “And I, an attentive student—provided the lessons are interactive.” You roll your eyes but tug him toward the kitchen nonetheless. Behind you, the hydrangea’s petals shimmer, shedding a faint glitter that—mercifully—stays on the plant.
summary : welcome to the buckyverse— a collection of bucky barnes au fics written by insane fucking idiots that spent the past two+ weeks gooning in a discord chat. please enjoy!
warnings: minors do not interact. be sure to read all content warnings listed on each fic prior to indulging. please remember that fiction cannot hurt you! if you don't like what you see, please exit. as always, you are responsible for your own media consumption.
all writing and work belongs to their respective writers. as a collective, the writers tagged in this post do not give their consent for their work to be redistributed to other platforms to be reposted, translated, or re-worked by any means. we do not give consent for our work to be used in any form of artificial intelligence (ai) training.
*also known as bouncy white ass
❝ p*rnstar ❞ by @superbassbuck — 08.30.25
⇢ cam!bucky x reader
you’ve never had sex before, still untouched and completely inexperienced. But when you stumble across bucky’s porn channel—you quickly become his number one fan. you’re always in his comments, always in his chats, and never expecting it to go anywhere beyond the screen.
luckily for bucky, your social media is linked to your account, making it easy for him to find you.
❝ cabernet ❞ by @blowingbarnes — 08.31.25
⇢ virgin!bucky x reader
you decided to raid your mom’s wine cabinet and your feet took you to the fire escape right outside of bucky’s room. when everyone is home.
❝ intoxicated ❞ by @its-in-the-woods — 09.01.25
⇢ stalker!bucky x reader
old habits are hard to break. when bucky finds himself in a new place, looking to start over, he reaches for an old comfort. he thinks he won't cross that line again, won't become infatuated with you. but what happens when you want him too?
❝ white coat syndrome ❞ by @firingstars — 09.02.25
⇢ doctor!bucky x patient!reader
a phenomenon exists where a person’s blood pressure will rise when measured in a clinical setting, but is recorded as normal when measured at home or elsewhere. you’ve never been the type to feel anxious in medical establishments, but with your pcp retiring and transferring your care to her trusted colleague, you end up visiting your new doctor’s office more times in the last three months than you’ve ever had in the past year.
❝ hot to go ❞ by @opheliabbarnes — 09.03.25
⇢ firefighter!bucky x reader
what melts the cold firefighter? hint, it's not the fire.
the brush of a sundress against his arm. maybe even a pool cue hitting his chest repeatedly, held by a woman half his age. it's being seen, not looked at. it's a warmth that doesn't burn, but just thaws, enough to show love can be found in the most unexpected places. the sound of a story about something small and fussy and loved.
❝ the merger ❞ by @chateaubarnes — 09.04.25
⇢ ceo!bucky x reader
thunderbolt records is the number one music label in the country, and bucky barnes is its founder. you, his loyal assistant, have worked under him for years, doing your best to hide your growing feelings for him, which is made harder due to the fact that he spoils you with lavish gifts constantly for a job well done. you try to brush it off as nothing more than a generous boss showing appreciation for his staff, but when the presents keep piling up on your desk, you finally decide to confront him. what you expect to be a simple, professional conversation takes an unexpected turn when he looks you in the eye and says: “you’re my girl. i don’t need excuses to spoil my girl.”
❝ five-oh! ❞ by @barnesonly — 09.05.25
⇢ cop!bucky x reader
small town life always felt suffocating, but nothing could prepare you for sheriff james buchanan barnes showing up at your door. everyone in town knows he owns it—owns you, too, if he decides to.
❝ smoke screens and sweet saccharine things ❞ by @flockoff-featherface — 09.06.25
⇢ mob!bucky x reader
bucky barnes, known mob boss, has been hiding a secret, just a little too long for even his own liking.
❝ sugar tits ❞ by @54nboo — 09.07.25
⇢ chef!bucky x waitress!reader
chef james barnes doesn’t like when the waitress parades around the restaurant for tips, and he really doesn’t like it when she lets the men think they have a chance with her.
❝ interrogation tactics ❞ by @heldbybarnes — 09.08.25
⇢ mean!bucky x reader
bucky doesn’t want mission intel—he wants your secrets. tied up and trembling, you confess every filthy thought as he edges you mercilessly, smirking, “guess you don’t want it that bad.” one orgasm is all he gives you—and you thank him for it.
❝ touchdown ❞ by @earthsmightiestbenders — 09.09.25
⇢ football!bucky x reader
The Liberty Knights—Brooklyn Western Academy's all-star football team—are on a winning streak. Not that you care. Except that you're forced to be at every. single. game. It doesn't help that your lab partner—Bucky Barnes—is the number one linebacker in the state. And that you have to play the school song after every touchdown he makes. And maybe you can't help but stare at his ass when he's bent over…
❝ wild about you ❞ by @wildflowersandvibranium — 09.10.25
⇢ zookeeper!bucky x reader
what’s wilder than a zoo, filled with twenty 2nd graders? the unexpected sparks that arise between their teacher and the charming zookeeper.
❝ operator, put your clothes back on ❞ by @rosesaints — 09.11.25
⇢ phone sex operator!bucky x reader
thank you for calling the stark naked hotline, where discretion is guaranteed and satisfaction is expected. our operators are trained to meet your every need—conversational or otherwise—and our private line is always open, especially after dark.
this isn’t your typical customer service experience. but then again, bucky barnes isn’t your typical employee.
alternatively: press 3 if you’re already wet.
❝ cherry on top ❞ by @iamthatonefangirl — 09.12.25
⇢ enemies with benefits!bucky x reader
you and bucky barnes have always been… complicated, to say the least.
but it’s really not complicated at all: you hate his guts with a passion, and he hates yours.
maybe that’s why you started sleeping together—to take out your hatred on one another in the most efficient way plausible.
it’s just the cherry on top that he’s hopelessly in love with you.
❝ the vocal economy ❞ by @houseofhyde — 09.13.25
⇢ rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader
after a chance encounter at paris fashion week, you find yourself entangled in a web of sex, lies, and watchful eyes alongside the drummer beloved rock band the howling commandos. a problematic boyfriend is a rite of passage for every pop-girlie… but bucky barnes is not your boyfriend, he’s your drug. no matter how hard you try, can you truly quit him?
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
gummygunk
2087
areudirty
yousharknotpass
