here, i manifest my machinations of romance about the fictional men i’m currently obsessed with - both for my own self-indulgence, and the perversion of others. all content is related to marvel comics. i do not claim to own the rights to any of the characters i write about that are not specifically labeled as my original characters. please heed the tags, dark content may appear here at times.
So, I’m starting the outline for my new little Bucky one-shot ‘Stevie Doesn’t Know’ (yes, based on Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustra because you can pry my song-inspired fics from my cold, dead hands) and I’m quickly realizing this is gonna be so SO filthy. I am so excited to write this, YA’LL DON’T EVEN KNOW…
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You know your boss likes you. His gestures go well beyond the normal professional relationship, but he’ll deny it all the way to the damn bank. That is, until you play a little game and see just how far you can push him…
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, kinda angst, smut, pretty much PWP, there’s some plot but it’s negligible, NSFW (literally), politics but it’s brief, age gap (reader in her 20s, Bucky is ancient), age-related references (Bucky calls you ‘kid’ once and you internally refer to him as ‘old man’), nicknames (‘doll’, mostly), taboo relationship, mirror-play, fingering & oral (f!receiving), inappropriate use of a desk, high heel kink if you squint, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie (why not), Bucky is sorta mean but also a gentleman, makeshift gag, decryphilia for like a second, semi-public sex, big dick!Bucky, rough sex, reader’s clothes are described, slight objectification of reader, and maybe coercion???
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: A delayed thank you for 400 followers!! This is kind of a rewrite of a prior fic of mine, or at least it started that way. Really just needed to scratch that Congressman Barnes itch. I spent so much time on this and scrapped it like three times. Beta credit to @laufeydottirs-writings . Uhh…And if this flops I’ll just never post again. :) Cheers!
Divider credit goes to @/cursed-carmine!
It wasn’t like you really tried to fall head over heels for your boss, who also just so happened to be one of the hottest politicians in D.C. Seriously, who would do that? Okay, maybe a few people came to mind - but, you swore that you weren’t one of them!
You were fresh out of college and in need of a job - really any job - and he was…Well…Lifetimes ahead of you comparatively. But, lately, he was becoming increasingly less subtle about his preference for you - and, it was kind of hard to ignore. Of course, he wouldn’t come out and say it to your face because Congressman Barnes wasn’t a man of very many words, but it was the little gestures that did all that sweet-talking for him.
It was the way he smiled at you so warmly when you brought his coffee straight to his desk each morning - just a splash or two of cream and a dash of sweetener was how he liked it. It was the way his sparkling baby-blues would flit across your silhouette like a lion sizing up prey - especially when he particularly enjoyed your outfit that day. And, if you were lucky enough, he’d give you a short, “Lookin’ sharp, kid. How are those surveys coming?” And the intense glint in his eyes as he spoke with that low Brooklyn drawl is what gave away the true infatuation hidden beneath his words.
That’s how it all started. Small gestures that were just barely noticeable, unless you were around him as often as someone in your position was - you were, after all, his personal assistant. His one, true tether to the Earth. And, given adequate time, these small gestures appeared to escalate.
A year into your humble employment, it developed into a subtle brush of his warm, calloused hand against yours while you were trying to explain something important. It became the way that same large palm would find the small of your back with such ease and his fingers began to splay across the fabric of your blouse possessively as he started walking you to your car each evening. You quickly realized he wasn’t doing any of it for you - he was doing it for himself. To make sure you were safe because if he didn’t try hard enough, then he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
If you’d been having a particularly hard day, he’d excuse himself a little early for lunch and then return an hour afterwards with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers from the florist just down the street, and your latte made exactly how you liked it. He often referred to it as a ‘morale boost’, but you saw through that excuse after it became less of an occasional treat and more of a frequent one.
You were slowly coming to the realization that this grumpy old man didn’t go out of his way for very much, but he certainly went above and beyond if it involved you.
“Late night, huh?” His gruff voice startled you, even though the only thing you could think about was how the words on your laptop screen were beginning to blur into a mess. Cohesive thoughts and bright ideas had left your brain a few hours before.
You blinked, glancing to your left where he’d entered his office in that scarily quiet way he had a habit of doing.
He’d noticed when you flinched, and he laughed softly. “Sorry, doll. I know. Need to get better ‘bout announcing myself.”
You smiled, tight but polite. “By now I think I should know you have a habit of materializing out of thin air, Houdini,” you teased.
You let out a heavy breath, one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and closed your laptop with a soft ‘click’ - having a short break from the screen would surely do you some good. “Also, it’s not a late night until it’s past midnight, remember? It’s only eleven.”
Bucky’s gaze darted up to the standard-issue clock ticking away just above his desk. “And so it is,” he confirmed, shooting you a half-smile before he walked over to inspect the numerous files you’d left atop his desk. “You still shouldn’t be here so late, you know. You never know who’s roaming these halls.”
You rolled your eyes. “Well, your speeches aren’t going to write themselves, and I certainly don’t think anyone nefarious is sneaking about a heavily-secured government office. Unless you’re talking about yourself.”
That squeezed yet another dry laugh out of him. “The only thing nefarious about me right now is my appetite,” he admitted, picking up one of the various navy blue folders you’d set atop the polished mahogany throughout the evening. His eyebrows furrowed and his tongue jutted out just past his blushed lips as he fanned through the top document.
His look of absolute concentration was so amusing to you, especially since most of the time you still needed to explain all of the political jargon to him. But, you appreciated his efforts to learn, in the very least. “There’s something you should take note of on page five,” you piped up.
The stiff papers rustled as Bucky flipped back through the pages, and he appeared even more confused. “Am I blind or…?”
“Oh!” You quickly shifted your laptop onto the coffee table across from you as you jumped to your plush-socked feet. You grabbed a sticky note and pen from the table before flitting over to his side. “My bad, it’s been a crazy day…”
You were wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized tourist shirt you’d picked up from a girls trip to Vegas. You were casual on these late-night stints - and, as long as you got your job done, Bucky didn’t really seem to mind.
You gently plucked the file from his hands and hunched down over his desk as you skimmed through the bill to find the clause you wanted to highlight. As your finger danced over the black ink, your hand was visibly shaking from the sheer amount of caffeine you needed to drink in order to stay awake as long as you had.
You immediately froze when you felt his hand slide up against your lower back - steady, warm, heavy - and then heard his voice, something low and soft that you had maybe only ever heard once before. “You’re shaking, doll. I think it’s time to call it a night.”
You swallowed thickly - your tongue suddenly felt too big for your mouth and your heart was skipping beat after beat…And it certainly wasn’t from the caffeine this time. “I’m fine,” you assured him curtly, trying to keep some level of professionalism alive between you two - but, that was becoming increasingly difficult under the weight of his piercing blue stare.
He hummed, like he was thinking it over but not really. “I’m sure whatever it is can wait another seven hours for you to come back in the morning.”
You sighed, slapping the sticky note down onto the paper and then scribbling out a small notation for him. “There,” you said, like he hadn’t just given you his explicit blessing to stop. You glanced up towards him - his eyes were still boring into yours.
“I’m being serious,” he murmured, his gaze momentarily flicking down to the file and then back up to yours again. “That’s an order. Go home.”
Coming from literally anyone else, you likely would have been offended at how strongly he was coming off. But, this was Bucky. This was…Kind of normal.
You chewed on your bottom lip, pulse hammering loud in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, he was pressed so damn close to you - and the direct touch of his palm was hot enough to melt away the icy chill of the office on that autumn’s night. Finally, you gave up - you nodded and closed the file. “Alright.”
You turned to gather your laptop and your bag, but he was already doing it for you. You felt your cheeks flush hot. “Sir, really. You don’t have to-“
“Sir?” he interrupted with another laugh - wow, three in one evening. You were on a roll. “Aren’t we way past the formalities?” He cocked an eyebrow as he held your coat out to you.
Neck, cheeks, and ears dusted pink and on fire, you took the coat and shrugged it on before you reached for your bag. “Uh-uh,” he tutted with a small smile. “Let me carry this for you and I’ll walk you out to your car.”
Right. Once again, anyone else and this would have been plain creepy. But no, this was just good, old-fashioned Bucky Barnes who couldn’t stand to let chivalry die.
“Fine. But just so you know, I’m coming in early in the morning just to spite you,” you muttered, giving him a quick once-over.
If you had to be honest, he looked as if he’d just wrestled with a bear and lost. Your lips gravitated into a frown as you took a quick step towards him. You reached up, not hesitating to take the delicate, blue silk of his tie between your fingers. “Did you try to redo this yourself?” Your eyes flicked up to meet his. This pitiful knot certainly wasn’t your workmanship.
Right then, you swore that in the dim, golden light of the ancient desk lamp, you saw dark pink bloom across the apples of his cheeks. “Perhaps…” he mumbled, jaw ticking as he glanced off to the side.
You worked the tie off with ease, and you could feel your heartbeat racing under the influence of his constant stare. He definitely had a problem with that, the whole staring thing. But, you’d learned to not mind it so much. “Next time, come to me first,” you said quietly, making quick work of fixing the knot and then taking a step back to admire your work.
Bucky, who was trying very hard not to be visibly flustered by the gesture, just nodded. “Noted.”
The next morning, your heels were clicking against the polished marble as you marched your way back towards Bucky’s office. The gray light of the dawn was beginning to seep through the dusty window panes, painting the halls in a pale glow.
You weren’t much of a high heel girl yourself, but today was a rather important press conference and you knew that the Congressman always gave you a few more glances than usual when you wore them. Just for the satisfaction of making him hot and bothered, you were willing to set aside your personal qualms with one of the most heinous footwear designs ever invented.
You paused at his door, knocking exactly three times so he knew it was you - this was something you’d agreed upon within your first week once you learned he had a habit of ignoring just about anyone who bothered to knock. “Come in!” You heard faintly through the aged, wooden entrance.
You turned the tarnished, brass knob and shouldered the creaky door open all while balancing his coffee and yours, along with several binders and your purse and laptop bag. You weren’t afraid of multitasking - no, multitasking was afraid of you.
You tossed him a polite, cheery little smile. “G‘Mornin’, Congressman,” you chirped, tossing your purse and laptop bag down on an ornate armchair before you piled the binders high on his desk and promptly held his coffee out to him. “You can take the girl out of work, but not the work out of the girl,” you said as he huffed in annoyance at the binders.
“I take it that you didn’t sleep?” He took the coffee from you as his eyes searched your face for signs of adequate rest - or, the lack thereof.
You shook your head. “Not until a few hours ago. I was really engrossed in those speeches…” You pouted and perched yourself up on the edge of the solid mahogany desk. You crossed your legs over one another out of politeness only, since you were wearing a short, black pencil skirt.
You couldn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the satiny flow of your midnight blouse, or the way they followed the gentle curve of your body downwards to how the skirt hugged your ass so nicely and the lace of your stockings peeked out from just underneath the skin-tight fabric. They settled on your heels, a sharp exhale coming from his nose before his eyes flicked back up to your face.
You tilted your head. “Yes?”
His jaw ticked because he knew he couldn’t say anything. Well, he could but he was risking an HR complaint if he did. “Nothing. You look ready for the press.”
You beamed. “Oh! Do I?” You giggled. “I tried my best. You know I always do.” Your voice was honey and velvet and everything so sweet and tempting to him…
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat and then pushing the new pile of binders aside. “I was reading over the press conference address this morning…”
You cocked an eyebrow in silent question.
“Am I…It doesn’t feel right to be taking this harsh of an opposing stance to something that feels…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. Once again, political jargon was not his forte.
“Mostly bipartisan?” You interrupted with that sickly-sweet smile.
He nodded. “Yes, that.”
You took a rather pensive sip of your coffee. “Bipartisan doesn’t always translate to ‘good’, Congressman,” you quipped, and then reached across to flip through the speech pages yourself.
“Mmm, you see here?” You quickly pointed to a clause on the bill he’d be opposing. “This right here is some pretty…Sneaky business.”
He hummed, his gaze flicking between your delicate finger, the words on the paper, and your glossy lips. The tension that settled in the air between you two felt thick enough to cut with a knife…And that’s when you were rudely interrupted by your first phone call of the day.
“Congressman Barnes’ office, how may I direct your call?” you answered, sliding off the desk. Teasing him would have to wait, although as you glanced back over your shoulder to check, you could see his eyes were still making a meal out of you and your little skirt.
The press conference was a whirlwind as you’d expected it to be.
Before all the lights and the cameras, you’d stood behind him in the mirror, smoothing down the sleeves of his suit jacket with careful attention. You could tell from his stiff expression that he was uncomfortable with the level of professionalism he needed to maintain as your hands just so casually ran along his biceps. “I think navy is more your color than black,” you muttered, stepping around in front of him as you moved to fasten his cuff links in place.
He was trying to look anywhere but directly at you, but it was so hard when you looked so pretty and the aroma of your perfume was dancing dreamily about the air. “Are you saying I wear too much black?” he asked, still staring straight ahead.
You shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not your stylist. I’m just the one who buffs out the rough edges before it’s showtime.”
You straightened his tie and then took a step back. “Go on and get ‘em, Bucky.” With a satisfied grin, you gave him a little wink and the most chaste, polite peck on the cheek you could give. Then, you left him standing there as you made your way to the media room.
In his office, Bucky stood in a silence that felt too heavy to breathe in. He was…Stunned. Every nerve in his body felt alive and buzzing with electricity - and it wasn’t because of the televised address. No, it was because he could still feel the softness of your lips lingering against his stubbled cheek; and, he could kick himself for just letting you leave after that.
During the conference, you tried to ignore the way he was staring at you more than the cameras, but he was making that awfully hard. You crossed your legs, one atop the other, and squeezed your thighs together as you desperately wished you could disappear. And, before you could even think about making a clean escape from the media room, a gloved vibranium hand was wrapped around your wrist and tugging you back from the double doors. “Prep room. Now.”
He didn’t leave room for protest as he nearly dragged you along to the back briefing room. Once the door clicked shut, he let go of your wrist, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ like he’d realized he was being a bit too rough. “What was that?” he questioned.
You blinked. “What was what?”
He sighed. “Before the conference?”
“I…Adjusted your tie?”
“No. You kissed my cheek.”
You couldn’t help the way your cheeks turned crimson and sold you out before you even had a chance to defend yourself. He took that as enough of an answer, beginning to pace the length of the room.
“I should fire you for that,” he said, hands clasped behind his back and his eyebrows furrowed in thought as his gaze stayed glued to the government-issued blue carpeting.
You leaned back against the conference table and crossed your arms over your chest. “But you won’t.”
That stopped him in his tracks, mid-stride. His eyes snapped over to you, piercing and icy. But the threat fell flat. “How do you know?” he huffed.
“Because if you were really pissed enough, I wouldn’t be standing here alone with you. You have a team that handles anything and everything you could need, myself being one of them. I’d have been sent home from the audience if you so wished.”
Bucky’s jaw ticked. He knew you were right. He didn’t really tolerate nonsense, in fact there wasn’t much he did tolerate. A few people. Select members of the press. Last you’d heard he was still struggling to accept therapy. He didn’t deal with things that he didn’t want to deal with, not since being freed from the mental prison of being the Winter Soldier - which, you knew very little about but just enough.
“You’re not one for a power-trip, but you also don’t put up with bullshit,” you continued, eyes meeting his as you cocked an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question about the flowers. The lattes. Walking me to my car-“
“That’s just called bein’ nice, doll,” he said, tongue darting out across his bottom lip.
“Not when your hand is on my back. Not when I can feel you practically eye-fucking me every time I wear something nice. Which, news flash, is almost every day in this industry,” you argued back.
You watched as big, bad super soldier Bucky Barnes’ cheeks turned pink. Bright pink. And there was that tick of his jaw again.
You pushed yourself off the conference table and grabbed him by his tie, tugging him down so close you could smell the coffee and wintergreen mint on his breath. His eyes widened. “You could tell me to stop,” you whispered. “But I know damn well you won’t.”
You released the hold on his tie and walked back towards the briefing room door. “You have thirty minutes before the vote. I suggest you get going,” you called over your shoulder, smile in your voice as you flung the door open and - once again - left Bucky Barnes too stunned to speak.
The days that followed were…Long and dull and irritating. The old man was somehow grumpy all the time, seemingly moping about how you’d called him out on his little stunts. No flowers, no coffees, no offers to walk you out.
The routine was simple - you’d hand him his coffee and he’d grunt out a very half-hearted ‘thanks’. His eyes - the same ones that used to shamelessly stare - would avoid you at all costs, even if it meant gazing into blank space. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, and you continued to do your work on your laptop while quietly nestled in the armchair across from him. The tension was heavy.
Finally, you’d had enough. You turned up to work on a gloriously sunny Friday morning in your very best dress, tights, and godforsaken high heels. You appeared to be dressed for the most important press conference of your life, except not even a low-level briefing was scheduled for that day. In fact, nothing was scheduled for that day and that was exactly the point.
You set the paper coffee cup down on his desk, fingers lingering around the cardboard sleeve before retreating. “G’Mornin’, Congressman,” you greeted in your usual cheery tone, not like it mattered that much recently.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, reaching for the cup. And as he did, his eyes caught sight of your dress. For the first time in nearly a week, he gave you a quick once-over that ended in an expression of confusion. “Did I miss something on my itinerary?”
You smiled sweetly and shook your head. “Oh, no,” you assured with a little shrug, batting your eyelashes.
His brows furrowed. “Then…What is all of this?” he questioned, gesturing to your outfit.
You looked down at yourself, playing stupid even though you knew exactly what you were doing. “This?” you asked with a small laugh. “Oh, I have a lunch date. Figured I’d get a little dressed up.”
You watched with satisfaction as his jaw ticked. You’d struck a nerve. His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“First date.”
“Lunch for a first date?”
“Why not?”
“That’s not a very good impression.”
“And what is?”
Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, annoyance flickering behind his eyes. “I think a nice dinner would be suitable,” he muttered, and then hunched back over his desk as he pretended to shuffle some papers around. “What’s he like?”
You were a little taken aback that he was so invested in your lie, but you supposed it helped to sell the point. “He’s older. Stubborn. A little hard to talk to, but he’s hot so…”
He huffed. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”
Oh, yeah. You’d definitely need it…
Your lunch date ended up being between yourself and a disgustingly healthy salad from the cafe across the street, eaten quietly in the comfort of your car as you watched an episode of a sitcom.
Once the hour had gone and passed, you returned to Bucky’s office. And the second you sat back in the armchair and reached for your laptop, he was questioning you. Prying.
“How was the date?”
“It was…Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Eh…Men. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”
His piercing blue gaze was boring into you, you could practically feel it. But you paid him no direct attention as you navigated to a spreadsheet. “Oh, I’m sure. Just like I’m sure you didn’t actually go on a date.”
You felt your mouth run dry and your heart skip a beat. Your eyes flicked up from your laptop. You cocked an eyebrow. “And how are you so sure about that, Barnes? Don’t think I’ve got a line of suitors a mile long?” You really didn’t, but he definitely didn’t know that.
He chuckled, something dark and low and gravelly - honey flowing over jagged stone. “Doll,” he drawled. If you hadn’t been seated, you were sure your knees would have buckled beneath you. “I’m sure you do. But we need to start being honest with ourselves.”
You tried incredibly hard to play it cool, but you were losing it - especially over the fact he was turning this into a ‘we’ situation instead of a ‘me’ situation. You’d long since accepted that you were in love with him - it was he who needed to be honest with himself.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped back, arms folding across your chest defensively. “I’m not the one wallowing in denial.”
Bucky’s jaw did that little tick-and-set that you knew damn too well and had become awfully acquainted with over the last week in particular. Except, this wasn’t a tick of defiance. You could see it in his eyes - his resolve was crumbling, slowly but surely.
“It’s not right.”
His words sat in the air for a moment, heavy and hard to ignore. Of course he’d be obsessed over thinking through whether something was right or wrong…You knew him. He wanted to do whatever was right.
“Just because it’s not right, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you replied. “Plenty of wrong things exist that we can’t just ignore and push away.”
He sighed, closing the folder he had opened before tossing it aside on his desk and scrubbing a hand down his face. He looked…Exhausted. Clearly you meant something to him in a way he couldn’t control, and the lack of control was eating him alive.
You closed your laptop, slowly unfolded your legs like you were giving yourself an extra second to back out, and then you made your way over to his desk. You propped yourself up against the corner, a finger hooking just beneath the Congressman’s chin and gently bringing his gaze to yours.
“What do you want?” you murmured, searching his face for answers. “Tell me…”
You didn’t expect it. Not in the very least - not with how conflicted he seemed. But he stood up from his chair, towering over you and leaving your hand hanging in the negative space. Then, his palms were on your cheeks - large, warm, calloused…Comforting. And he stooped down, lips colliding with yours.
He didn’t even need to use words - the kiss expressed it all. It was firm, confident. Reverent and gentle like you were a precious treasure for the taking. He pulled back just briefly, just long enough to whisper, “You.”
His lips were back on yours before you even had a chance to react - rough, claiming, and messy. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time, devouring every bit of you that he could. The kiss suffocated you and gave you life in the very same breath, and everything that followed was uncoordinated chaos.
Without breaking the kiss, his hands reached behind you and shoved everything off the desk - he sent papers, pens, binders, folders, paper clips…Everything tumbling to the floor. Luckily, the carpet muffled most of the sound.
His tongue was slipping into your mouth now, entangling itself with your own as you both moaned into the kiss. His hands grabbed roughly at your waist, picking you up and setting you down on the dead center of his desk - cold mahogany bit at the backs of your thighs through your stockings as he impatiently nudged his chair out of the way with his hip.
Although reluctant, he finally broke the kiss and knelt between your legs - he wasted no time rucking your tight dress up over your thighs. He couldn’t help himself - Lord knows he tried. He audibly groaned just at the sight of the silver garter clips biting into the delicate, black lace frill of your stockings, and how they squeezed at the plump flesh of your upper thighs just slightly. “Smart girl,” he murmured, tongue darting across his bottom lip as his eyes traced gradually upwards to where you were already soaking through your matching lacy panties. “You know what I like, don’t you?”
Your cheeks flushed dark crimson - guilty as charged! And you figured you didn’t need to actually answer that question seeing as you were already wearing the bastard child of all the clothing items that had ever gotten his attention.
Looking up for just a moment, breath hitching in your throat, you noticed the full-length mirror set just behind Bucky’s desk - the exact one you’d convinced him to get so he could keep better tabs on his appearance. And, right now, reflected back at you was a most scandalous image of yourself with Congressman Barnes nestled between your legs and your red-bottom heels dangling over his broad, muscled shoulders.
He noticed the way your breath caught and how you tensed beneath his touch, and his gaze followed your awe-struck stare to the reflective surface. A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Mmm…I see,” he said, plotting. “Wanna watch while I make a mess of you?” His voice was low, quiet.
You nodded, coming off more eager than you’d intended. “Y-Yes…” you managed to stammer out, brain still stuck two minutes ago on the kiss and the confession.
He hummed in approval, and then you felt his fingers hooking into the lace of your panties - you began to feel the soft, slow drag of the thin fabric as he guided them down your legs and left them hanging off the pointy toe of your left heel - it was like he was displaying a trophy, soaking wet and glistening in the dim light.
You watched as he shifted himself barely off to the side and tugged you closer to the edge of the desk. Now, displayed proudly in the mirror, was your dripping heat. You swallowed hard, throat running dry as Bucky watched your reaction through reflection. “She’s pretty, huh?” he cooed, bringing his flesh hand up and gently spreading your folds apart with two fingers - he was touching you like glass, something fragile.
You saw how you clenched around nothing at just his words - needy and involuntary like your body knew exactly what and who it wanted - no, needed. “She’s cryin’ f’me already,” he drawled, voice slurred in lustful wonder. “Beggin’ for somethin’…Don’t ya think?” He tilted his head, stormy blues flicking up towards you. “Look at me and answer me, doll.” He was almost pleading.
You managed to peel your gaze away from the mirror and gaze directly down at him, seeing those once icy orbs turning dark as blown pupils swallowed nearly all signs of brilliant color. “Y-Yes,” you whispered. “N-Need it…”
“Need what?”
You could feel a shameful heat blooming up your neck and across your cheeks to the tips of your ears. “Y-You…Y-Your fingers…”
“Mouth too?”
You whined and nodded, so eager yet again.
“Greedy…” he muttered, but he didn’t protest any further as he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your exposed cunt.
You shuddered at his delicate touch, his breath fanning warm against your skin as he circled the tip of his tongue teasingly along your clit and then trailed back down to your entrance. You gasped, hands flying up and finding purchase in that perfect raven hair.
You hung your head back and then felt him pull away, drawing a whimper of protest from you. “Want you lookin’ over there f’me,” he said, nodding towards the mirror. “Don’t you be closing those pretty little eyes on me now.”
He leaned up and kissed you, soft and chaste but just long enough to get a good taste of yourself on his lips. And, as he sat back, you felt him slowly push a finger inside you. You moaned - soft and breathy - while glancing into the reflection across from you and watching as his digit slowly disappeared inside you. Your legs trembled a little as you felt him crook that finger up, burying even deeper against your fluttering walls. “Fuck…” you sighed out.
“That’s it, doll. Beautiful. Think you can handle one more?” he murmured, kissing at the side of your neck - wet and sloppy - as he slowly moved his finger in and out in a rocking motion that was borderline hypnotic.
“Mmm…Mmhm,” you whined, gasping as you felt him immediately slip a second finger in right beside the first. You continued to watch the obscenities play out in the mirror as his fingers stretched you open, pumping in and out of your weeping cunt - slow and deep.
“Got a tight little pussy…She’s greedy, not wantin’ to let me go…” he teased, and you swore you saw stars as he shoved them in even deeper and curled them up right against that soft, spongy spot that had your back arching towards him. He seemed pleased with that reaction. “Is that it? That where ya need me, doll?”
You nodded almost frantically, crying out as he started to bully his fingers into that spot over and over and over. “Yes! Yes! Buck-“ He quickly clapped his metal hand down over your mouth.
“Quiet, doll,” he warned, shaking his head, “Don’t wanna get caught…”
You swallowed hard, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from the blinding hot pleasure building inside you. “B-Bucky…” you mumbled against his hand, watching as his fingers fucked in and out of you, curling deep and scissoring apart to stretch you open for him.
“Atta girl…C’mon…Just let go f’me…” he encouraged, pupils blown as he glanced between you and the mirror. “Let me see how gorgeous you are when you cum f’me…”
And so you did, screaming out against the cold vibranium vice across your mouth as you felt yourself clench down tight around his fingers. The rolling tide of your orgasm washed over you - a warm, electric wave that left you breathless and panting and pulsing around his digits.
After coaxing you through your high, Bucky slipped his fingers out and held them up in front of him as he watched your glistening slick drip down the length of them. He licked his lips. “Look at that,” he breathed, not breaking eye contact as he popped the soaked digits in his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.
You whimpered. God, he was so fucking hot. The salt and pepper of his beard was also coated in you, shining golden in the lamplight. Watching how his eyes fluttered shut as he savored the taste of you on his skin…
He pulled his fingers out, wiping them dry on your dress before diving in head-first and beginning to lap up all the sweet release that coated your cunt.
“A-Ah~! B-Bucky…” you gasped out, chewing down hard on your bottom lip as he made the most obscene sounds while he licked and sucked you clean - devouring you like it was his last meal.
“Sweetest little pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbled against you, voice sending vibrations straight through your ruined core.
As he stood back up, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the way he was absolutely towering over you. You were entirely in his shadow and at his mercy.
He shrugged his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the nearby chair and then he slipped off his tie, balling it up in his fist. He looked at you with dark eyes, but there was a softness peeking through that contrasted so heavily with the words he spoke. “Open up, doll,” he drawled, low and slow. “Gotta make sure the whole of Congress doesn’t hear ya now.”
You obediently parted your lips, mouth almost being shoved open as he stuffed the balled-up silk into your mouth. You tried to moan, just to see how you’d sound. It was muffled, but just loud enough that he could still get the satisfaction of hearing it.
Then, metal clinked softly against metal as he slowly undid his belt and threw it over the chair where his jacket lay discarded. He popped open the button on his dress slacks, pulled down the fly, and then unfurled himself from inside his boxers. He wasn’t trying to put on a show, but that didn’t stop you from staring the entire time.
You weren’t sure you’d ever seen such a delicious sight in your life, let alone the glaring fact that he was huge. His cock stood, curved slightly at attention and flushed red - aching and already leaking incessantly at the thought of being buried inside your tight cunt.
Bucky took a step towards you, almost completely closing the gap between his pelvis and yours, save the length of his throbbing dick. Flesh hand wrapping around the base, he teasingly guided the fat tip of his cock up and down your folds, lubing himself up before just notching himself at your entrance.
You whined through the gag, the corners of your eyes already damp with tears.
“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch that, doll,” he murmured as he began to push himself inside inch by agonizing inch.
And it wasn’t agonizing in the sense that it hurt. No, it was agonizing because all you wanted was his entire cock sheathed between your walls, but all he was doing was feeding it to you little by little. The stretch burned, but in a way that once again had your back arching off the damn desk and your toes curling in your heels as you locked your ankles around his waist.
Once he bottomed out, hips pressed flushed to yours, his hands roughly gripped at the flesh of your thighs as he carefully pulled out and then slammed his hips back against yours. You moaned out, voice muffled by the tie. Your eyes screwed shut, tears of pleasure tracking black trails of mascara down your cheeks.
“Uh-Uh,” he grunted. “C’mon, sweet thing. Open those pretty eyes f’me again. Don’t close ‘em now…”
You whimpered at his words, but obeyed like your life depended on it - like you were tethered to him and existing there just to grant his every lustful plea. Your eyelids, although heavy, fluttered back open and you gazed up at him through wet lashes.
The pace he set was brutal and breathtaking, and it had you moaning and sputtering around the makeshift gag as he dragged out to his tip and then slammed back in so your body was flush to his. You could feel the way his cock so perfectly nudged against that soft spot inside of you, leaving your thighs trembling in his grasp.
“Perfect little pussy is takin’ me so well,” he breathed out, head dropping down by your shoulder and soft grunts falling from his lips as he continued to pound into you. “Want me to fill ya up? Hmm?” he growled. “C-Cum f’me, doll. I can feel it…Know ya want to…”
Every merciless intrusion of his cock sent sharp, white-hot sparks of pleasure straight to your core. And it didn’t take very long before you were trying - and failing - to scream his name through the spit-dampened tie. Drool was running down the corners of your mouth and dribbling onto your tits from your chin - and, your cunt clenched down around his cock as your body shook and your fingers white-knuckled the edges of the desk.
Bucky followed shortly afterwards, your name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly and entangled in sweet praises. “That’s it, doll…Mmph~ Give it all to me…” He buried himself in as deep as he could, his cock throbbing and filling you up completely with his thick, warm release.
After a moment where the two of you were catching your breaths in the electrified silence, he suddenly slipped out and tucked himself back into his slacks. You squeaked a little in shock when you felt your combined releases leaking all over the dark mahogany of the desk in pearlescent, white streaks.
Bucky looped his belt back on and then reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve a large, embroidered handkerchief - of course he had one of those. “You made such a mess, doll,” he scolded softly, taking a corner of the soft, cotton square and dabbing up your hot, inky tears and pathetic drool before folding the hanky over itself and wiping up the cum that was still lazily dripping from your entrance.
Once you were clean enough, he retrieved your panties from the toe of your heels and helped you slip them back on. Only then did he take the tie back from your mouth.
“I expect you to have that speech done by six,” he said, like he hadn’t just fucked you right there in his office. “And then I want you to go home. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
You were shaking as you wobbled on your heels and tried your best to fix your mussed dress and hair.
As you turned to walk back to the armchair, head still floaty and fuzzy and warm in the afterglow, his hand caught your shoulder and you turned around.
“But don’t forget to let me walk you out tonight, okay?”
You could almost laugh. Bucky Barnes, always a goddamn gentleman.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Dex begs for you to fuck him. Sorry, folks. No fancy, zinger openers here. That’s literally it. I’m horny and I’m (not) sorry.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, sub!Dex, dom!reader, Dex being pathetic, reader is a freak on his level, begging, slight worship? of reader, little pet names (baby boy, good boy, babydoll), slight praise kink, hair pulling, knife play, small blood kink (I will not apologize), sorta alludes to a toxic relationship dynamic but it’s really not that deep.
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: This is meant to be a short lil’ somethin’ and I won’t apologize for any of this mess and if this flops I’ll just blame @laufeydottirs-writings who beta’d this and said it was good :) Also my first time writing Dex because his character intimidates me lmao This may or may not also be kind of a teaser to a longer fic I’m editing hehe…
Credit to @/cursed-carmine for the dividers!
There weren’t very many moments when Benjamin Poindexter relinquished control. So, when he’s on his knees and begging for a taste of you, you can’t help but feel the scales are tipping more in your favor. You were, after all, perhaps the only person who ever had the privilege of seeing Dex this vulnerable - because he didn’t need to pretend. He could be whatever he wanted…Whatever you wanted. And you’d love him all the same.
He looked especially pretty like this, praying to you like an idol who could save him. Only, you didn’t want to save him - you wanted to see just how far you could make him crumble. The way his gray sweatpants did nothing to hide the way he was achingly hard for you. The way his scarred chest was already glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. The way he looked absolutely wrecked as he gazed up at you through wet eyelashes as the calloused pads of his fingers pressed bruises into the meat of your thighs.
“Please - babydoll…I…I need it,” he pleaded softly, voice still deep and gravelly but losing all sense of command.
As you stood there in your panties, admittedly soaked just from the sight of him, he leaned in and pressed three soft kisses to your lower stomach before pressing his forehead there as if gentle reverence was the key to what he craved. And it almost was - except, you were having a little too much fun to give in so easily.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, reaching down and letting your fingers drag through his soft, blond locks. He whimpered, visibly shuddering at the sensation of your nails scraping along his scalp. “Look at you, baby boy. On your knees f’me? Beggin’?” You couldn’t hide the smirk that was tugging at the corners of your lips - something almost cruel and oh-so pleased.
Dex groaned, lolling his head back to gaze up at you again like a starved puppy. He nodded, his trembling palms squeezing at your thighs once…Twice…Thrice - like he was trying to ground himself. “Beggin’ for ya,” he echoed, one of his hands sliding up the frame of your body and reaching towards your breast.
“You gonna be good f’me, baby?” you breathed, body shivering from the electric charge of his touch and betraying you just slightly. “If you can be good, you can have it…” You let your palm rest against his cheek, thumb rubbing across the deep scar that resided there. You traced it once…Twice…Thrice. And you could feel him all but melt into your touch.
“Gonna be so good, baby. Please - I…I really…” You watched as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground, desperate and craving more of your touch like a bad habit he couldn’t quit. And it was bad - you made him soft. Made him weak. Took control.
A laugh escaped you, soft but sudden - amused. “Like it when ya say ‘please’ f’me like that,” you drawled, fingers snaking back into his hair and gripping at the very crown of his head and tugging it back roughly. He grunted, a slight pleased smirk sliding onto his lips.
Your other hand reached towards the waistband of your panties, pulling a pointy little combat knife from where it had been neatly tucked in the lace. You pressed the blade to his throat and his eyes fell closed. “Mmm…What’s that, baby doll?” he rumbled, low and slow. “You playin’ with my toys again?”
As you pressed the tip of the blade in just hard enough to nick him, a small drop of blood pooled around the silvery metallic point. He hissed at the bite of the blade, but you watched as his cock twitched in his sweats. You bit your lip, eyes flicking between his cock and the small wound several times before you answered. “Like playin’ with your things,” you murmured, and then tugged up on his hair. “Get on the damn bed.”
You watched his cock jump again at your demand, and you slowly lowered the blade. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man move quicker than him in the heat of the moment. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man more obedient. “L-Like this?” he asked - laid out on the mattress like an offering - looking to you for approval.
Nodding, you crawled onto the bed and over his broad, muscled frame. You let the knife drop onto the tightly tucked sheets and then leaned down to lap at the small bit of blood on his neck. You shuddered at the taste - something like copper, sugar, and the salt of his skin - and he moaned.
“Now,” you whispered, breath ghosting warmly across the shell of his ear. “Be a good boy and let me play with my toy~”
And I’m still blown away by the reception of this little number too because it was my first time writing Dex and I was soooo nervous 🥹 Thank you guys 💙
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Ouch! Your boyfriend cheated on you! What’s there to do other than day drink and text stale Hinge dates? That is, until your best friend’s dad enters the picture (accidentally) and shows you how a real man should treat a lady.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, alcohol use, bad decisions in general, kinda proofread and kinda not, porn with some plot, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Bucky is 40s) Rogers!reader (on accident), kinda dbf!Bucky too???, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie, mating press, kinda belly bulge for just a second, brief choking, some overstimulation, slight praise kink, Bucky is a gentleman, and (of course) big dick!Bucky
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I have been lost to the void for two months and only recently felt the urge to let the muses take over me once again. Thanks to Sabrina for the MBF album because honestly I’m obsessed and need to write a fic for every song but we all know that won’t happen. Enjoy whatever the fuck this is and I guess I’m back?? Thanks to my wifey @laufeydottirs-writings for beta reading part of this because I am insecure in my writing abilities and crave validation - ily <3.
Divider credit to @/cursed-carmine & @/squirrelstone!
You honestly couldn’t blame yourself for sending the text. After all, you were already buzzed off a few dirty martinis and it was only 10 A.M. What else were you supposed to do when Gossip Girl reruns no longer held your attention and your vibrator just wasn’t doing it for you?
You had scrolled through the backed-up list of numbers in your phone, most not even named and countless stale conversations having died after a horrendous first date. You never actually expected to receive a text back from any of them - so, when your phone finally buzzed against the stained wood of the coffee table, a fistful of popcorn halfway to your mouth, you froze.
The fluffy, white kernels slowly fell back in the bowl as you set it aside and you leaned forward to grab your phone. Your hand was shaking, and your heart was pounding. Who in the hell was crazy enough to text you back?
Someone horny enough, you supposed.
You sighed, opening your texts and staring at the grey bubble longer than you needed to, the white letters slurring together from the excess of alcohol.
Everything okay?
You laughed - like, actually laughed aloud. The sound, sharp and sudden, echoed off your living room walls. Why the fuck did this man care if everything was okay? You were looking for a hookup, not therapy. You texted back, autocorrect doing the heavy lifting for you.
I just asked if you wanted to come over. Could use the company.
It marked ‘read’ instantly and your heart stopped for just a second. And then he was typing…For a long damn time. Finally, a little ‘whoosh’ came across as his response popped into the chat.
Why don’t I, instead, take you to dinner while Becca is at volleyball practice?
You blinked. Your brain was running on booze and a crippling fear of meeting God. You had to reread it a few times. Becca…Becca…Becca…What the hell did your best friend have to- Oh. Oh no. No, no, and hell no. You panicked, instantly sobering up at least halfway. Your fingers were quick to type.
Oh! Wrong number, sorry!
Okay. Deep breaths. Maybe that would work. Ping. Or not.
What’s going on, doll? You and Becca not friends anymore? She was just talking about you the other day and finals…
Oh god. Yeah. No way to ‘wrong number’ this one. Okay, no problem. Just another deep fucking breath…Ping.
I insist. Dinner. I’ll pick you up. You still live just off campus? Birch and 44th?
You let out the bundle of oxygen you’d been hoarding in your lungs. You had just wanted a good time and now your best friend’s dad was offering to take you out. On what? A date? How old was he again?
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard so long your screen shut off. You looked at yourself in the dark reflection of the glass - hair messy, cheeks tear-stained, eyes puffy and dark. Fuck. Maybe you did just need to get out of the house for a little while.
You tapped your screen back awake.
Yeah, that’s still the address. What time?
Your finger was shaking as you hit ‘send’.
He started to type.
Be ready by 6 P.M. Make yourself feel pretty :)
Your heart fluttered a little. Oh. He wanted you to make yourself look pretty. Well…Alright then! You had quite a lot of work to do so you switched off the TV and headed straight for your bedroom. It was time to put yourself first and have a hell of a time doing it.
6 P.M. rolls around. A steady knock on the door.
You were just securing your final diamond earring and slipping on your last heel. You felt very…Nice. Cocktail dress, stockings, heels, and the only diamond set you owned. Makeup and hair done to the nines with a spritz of your favorite perfume. As you grabbed your clutch, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a little too much.
You opened the door, eyes widening a little as Becca’s father, Bucky, stood there just outside the doorway looking mighty damn fine. Gray slacks, white dress shirt unbuttoned in a casual yet polished manner. Gray sport jacket slung over his shoulder and that beautiful salt-and-pepper hair brushed back. You’d never really given him much of a second thought before - I mean, how could you? He was your best friend’s dad, and you and Becca had been friends since senior year of high school.
But, you just couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on every part of him - his strong facial features, stunning blue eyes, and the way his stubble danced along his chiseled jaw. Then there was the way his dress shirt clung to his chest and arms in a way that should have been a sin - tight in all the right places to show off the work he’d always put into his body since his Army days. It felt a little aggressive to say, but you wanted to chew on this man.
“Hi there, doll,” he said, voice sweet and low with something you’d never heard before. Something akin to the floral sweetness of honey dripping across cragged gravel.
You tried not to melt right then and there as he held out his hand to take yours. “Are you ready or do you need a minute?” He smiled and you felt your world tilt and your stomach churn. No one had the right to be that attractive. No one had the right to look this good and smile at you like that.
“O-Oh I…I’m ready,” you said, clearing your throat a little before giving him a polite smile and daintily placing your hand in his. His palm was practically twice the size of yours and you had to really put effort into not thinking about how good they’d feel inside you right about now…
The thing about Bucky, which had always been the thing about Bucky, was that he was a proper gentleman through and through. You often thought about how Becca ended up with much better men than you did - and it was probably because she was raised by such an exemplary man to begin with. He was the ultimate blueprint.
He walked you to his car, never a pace ahead nor a hair behind until he took a few strides in front of you to open the passenger side door for you. Your dress was a little on the short side, so as you dipped into his car, he used his sport jacket to shield you from prying eyes - he even looked away himself. How chivalrous!
The ride to the restaurant, itself, was great. A little awkward considering how the situation had manifested, but he was skilled at moving the small-talk along and making you feel like the center of attention. You discussed the weather, finals, and after-college plans with the ease of someone who’d done it a million times over with someone his age. It was the typical experience, just with far less lecturing and more mutual understanding than you’d come to expect.
Once you were pulled up to the valet, it wasn’t the valet worker who opened your door for you. No, it was Bucky shielding you again with that damn sport coat until you’d adjusted yourself and grabbed your clutch off the seat. You wobbled a little in your heels against the uneven cobblestone ground and his hand left the car door to catch your waist.
Your breath hitched, his touch so gentle and warm. Your gaze immediately flitted up to his face where he smiled in amusement. “Careful there, doll. Ground’s got teeth,” he murmured, making sure you were steady before he closed the car door and then slipped his sport coat on before offering you his arm. Of course, you obliged.
He lead you to up the little stone pathway to the restaurant door - the inside was dimly lit but you found yourself met with opulence beyond anything you’d experienced before. Crystal chandeliers gleaming and twinkling against candlelight that buzzed from the white clothed tables. You swallowed thickly. This place was expensive and you weren’t so sure you were worthy of it.
“Table for two, should be reserved under James Barnes,” you heard him say to the hostess at the stand.
“Says here you’d prefer the balcony view. Is that still correct?” the hostess inquired.
Your brows furrowed a little as you looked up at him. That sounded…Pricey. Exclusive. “Bucky…” you started to protest.
In the most polite way possible, he shushed you and spoke instead to the hostess. “Yes, please. Should you have anything available.” He gave you a sideways glance, one that silently read as ‘shut up and watch’. Watch what?
The hostess lead the two of you to a semi-private table on a balcony overlooking the city. It looked beautiful from this far away - so quiet and so peaceful. The air was crisp, but not at all too cold and the fireplace lit beside the table added a nice bit of coziness.
Bucky pulled your chair out and you took a seat after only a moment of hesitation. You weren’t used to this kind of treatment and couldn’t recall the last time a man ever gave this much of a shit about chivalry. He pushed you in close to the table and then seated himself politely across from you. That was just the thing wasn’t it? He was so polite.
The hostess left you two the wine menu and the prix-fixe menu detailing the night’s exclusive offerings before disappearing back inside the main restaurant. Outside, it was just you, Bucky, and one other couple seated several feet away. For the most part it was…Quiet. Peaceful. All except for the incessant pounding of your heart.
You picked up the wine menu, still trembling. He cocked an eyebrow as he glanced up at you over the top of his menu. “Why don’t you order a bottle, sweetheart? Seems like your nerves could use it.”
Your eyes flicked up from the tiny booklet, cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m not nervous,” you defended.
“Mmm…” he hummed, blue eyes focusing back on the menu. He was reading it for far too long for something so short. It seemed maybe he was nervous too.
“Mmm what?” you asked, setting the wine menu down and then mirroring his prior expression - cocked brow and a sharp gaze.
He didn’t look back up at you as he answered. “You’re awfully shaky. It’s like you’ve never had a real man take you on a proper date.”
You scoffed. “I’ve been on plenty of proper dates.”
He chuckled. “Doll, Olive Garden doesn’t count and neither does splitting the check.”
Your cheeks continued to bloom red. “In my defense, I’m a broke college student. We all are.” You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flicked down towards the prix-fixe menu.
Bucky finally set his own menu aside and leaned forward, his large, warm palms finding your forearms and resting there. You looked up. His gaze was almost too much and not enough in the same breath. “And that’s why we’re here tonight,” he said, voice low again in that tone that sent heat pooling straight between your thighs. Shamefully.
“So that I can show you how a real man treats a lady.”
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down towards his hands and the only thing you could think of was how he could easily hold both your wrists above your head with no issue. Back pressed to the wall. His lips on yours. Fuck, where was your goddamn mind at?
He smirked. “Doll, where’s your head at?” Like you were an open book and he was reading it faster than you could write it.
You about choked. You cleared your throat. “Nothin’ just…You’re right. You’re right, I’ve never been on a proper date,” you mumbled, still avoiding contact with those beautiful blues that had you feeling like you were losing your mind - which, in your defense, you sort of were.
To your relief, your waitress for the night appeared to take your drink orders. For him, it was a glass of scotch. For you, it was a bottle of rosé because he’d insisted. She ran you two quickly through the courses on the menu before whisking away to work on the drink orders. And then there was an awkward silence that fell between the two of you. Him staring at you and you fidgeting with the bottom hem of your cocktail dress like if you rubbed the ruby fabric enough times it would send you home.
“You’re staring,” you muttered, deciding it was time to say something. Anything.
He laughed. “People tell me I’ve got a problem with it,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. You could feel his gaze boring into you. It was like you could sense he was on the verge of saying something but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.
Hell, was any of this appropriate at all? Probably not. The age gap screamed very much not. But, part of you really wanted this. The older man. The experience. Someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.
“So, why are you trying to hook up with your best friend’s father?” His voice cut through your thoughts - the dreaded question that you’d been waiting for him to ask.
You blinked. “I’m sorry?” You tried to play dumb.
He smirked again. A slight tug at the corner of his lips but it was there. “You heard me, doll,” he said, voice dripping sinful honey that had your tongue feeling too big for your mouth and your thoughts racing beyond a speed you could comprehend.
“I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t know it was you,” you choked out.
Bucky’s expression turned puzzled. “You didn’t know it was me?” He almost sounded offended. Well, at least the night had gone halfway perfect.
You sighed. “I was just…I was buzzed. Okay, maybe a little drunk…”
“Uh huh…”
“And I…Well…I just texted a bunch of numbers hoping someone would answer…”
He hummed, expression still puzzled like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of your confession. His voice was…Concerned, though. As he spoke again, “Why are you drunk at ten in the damn morning and texting men who you don’t even know who they are?”
And then it all came crumbling down and the only thing left to do was pray your mascara was going to hold on tight. “Brad…I…I caught Brad cheating on me last week…” you said quietly, your eyes beginning to water. You fanned yourself with the menu, hoping you could hold it together and not seem like an absolute mess.
Bucky’s expression softened. All he could do was reach out across the table, palms up and inviting your own to meet his. Slowly, you set the menu down and placed your palms in his. Once again, his hands were twice the size of yours, practically swallowing them whole as he held them firm and gentle.
You sniffled, a tear falling down one cheek and then the other. Oh great. The waterworks. How lovely. But…He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled one hand away, grabbed the linen napkin from across his lap, and brought it up to gently dab the tears away.
“Doll…” he started slowly, softly. “That doesn’t mean you go searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and texting men who aren’t any better for you than him…”
As if on cue, the waitress brings back your bottle of wine in a bucket filled with ice. She places a glass on the table, thin and dainty and made for sparkling wines. She popped open the bottle and poured your first glass to a perfect height. “Enjoy. The first course will come out shortly,” she said, leaving Bucky’s scotch at the end of the table before whisking off again.
Once she was gone, you blinked. “But…But you’re better than him.”
He laughed as he swirled the scotch around in the beveled crystal - amused. “Oh, I know I am. But what if one of those other boys had responded, hmm? Where would you be at now?”
You sighed. Not at a fancy dinner, that’s for sure. Probably getting drunk in your apartment and letting Jake from Hinge hit it from the back. And this was far better than that.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, voice breaking through your loud, mess of a mind. “Now, let me show you how a real man should treat you, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt like this, doll. You’re too good for that.”
And so, you sat across from him and let Becca’s dad, Bucky Barnes, show you how wining and dining really worked. You let him lead the pleasant conversation. He complimented you tastefully, reaching across the table to brush a hand across your cheek but not daring to move an inch lower. His gaze was respectable, kind. The warmth of the rosé was flowing through your veins and while you tried to flirt with him, he was always so polite. So reserved.
When it came time for dessert, a stunning display of comforting bananas foster, you two had decided to share the course. His spoon would clink against yours occasionally, a red flush covering your cheeks and your heart doing somersaults like a high school girl on a first date.
You hadn’t even noticed, but some of the caramel sauce that had come atop the ice cream was dribbling down your chin after a misguided, wine-drunk bite. He was quick to the rescue before it soiled your ruby dress.
He carefully leaned across the table, napkin outstretched in his hand as he very gingerly wiped the caramel from the corner of your mouth with a gentle smile upon his lips. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty little dress.” You felt like you could swoon, like your eyes would turn to hearts at any given second.
Bucky hovered there for a moment, over the table, hand outstretched and his face just close enough to smell the warm scotch and the sweet caramel on his breath. Your eyes flicked down to his lips and then back up to those piercing blue eyes that you swore would be the death of you.
You watched as his eyes mirrored yours now, flicking down once and then up almost too quick to catch. But then he was retreating, sitting back in his chair and quickly throwing up his hand as the waitress passed by. “Check please, ma’am?”
Bucky drove you home. He made sure to shield you again from prying eyes, although you caught it this time when he glanced down once to see the curve of your ass peek out from beneath your dress as you lowered yourself into his car.
He walked you up to the door, taking you by one hand and leading your waist with the other as you were very clearly drunk. Once you got to the door, you fumbled in your clutch for your keys, fingers trembling and causing you to drop them onto the welcome mat.
You moved to stoop down, but he stopped you with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, if you bend down right now, I’m not gettin’ ya back up off that concrete.” Yeah, he probably had a point there.
He bent down and grabbed the key - and, as he stood, his shoulder brushed against your arm and your breath hitched. Bucky’s eyes met yours, inches away from your face, and he took the key and pressed into your palm with a close-lipped smile. “Careful, doll.”
You felt like a deer caught in headlights for a good fifteen seconds, although those seconds felt like years. You blinked and then turned your attention back to the lock.
The world was spinning as you lined the key up and pushed it in, turning it over with a thump that nearly echoed the frantic pulse of your heart in your ears. You pushed the door open and he stuck one foot in to follow before you turned around, shocked.
He tilted his head. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just makin’ sure you make it past the threshold. Honest,” he said with a light chuckle.
And you let him. You let Bucky Barnes walk you to your couch and sit you down. You watched as he kneeled in front of you and very carefully guided your heels off your blistered feet - in your defense, you didn’t wear heels often.
Bucky fluffed up one of your decorative pillows that had seen better days, and then gently helped you lay down. The ceiling was swirling around and around, and in the same breath it felt like your body was on a boat rocking back and forth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling ten seconds away from turning green.
The next thing you felt was the weight of his sport coat as he laid it across you, a makeshift blanket to ensure you didn’t go cold - or, a cruel souvenir for you to remember him by. For you to stare at every day from now on and think about his face. The way he bit his lip if he stared you up and down for a moment too long. The way you could feel his lips linger, dying to leave a kiss on your cheek, but then retreating cowardly.
“I gotta leave, doll,” you hear him say through the fog. “Next time, call me.”
And the click of the door closing behind him was the very last thing you heard before you blacked out.
The grey morning light is what woke you, streaming in through the sliding glass door all cheery and bright as if you weren’t currently crawling your way out of rock bottom. You groaned, the weight of his sport coat still on your body. The scent of him lingered there on the woven fabric. Sharp, woodsy, masculine. Driftwood and gunmetal.
You slowly sat up, bringing the collar of the coat to your face and inhaling deeply. Had you not had this tangible piece of evidence, you would have thought the prior night was nothing more than a drunken dream fueled by a bottle of Malibu.
You saw your clutch placed on the coffee table and you opened it, pulling your phone out. No new texts. You sighed.
You moved to start the routine you’d gotten in the habit of the over the last week. Tylenol, number one. Shower, second. Booze, third. Except, as your head pounded and your stomach growled with the craving of something other than liquor, you could hear Bucky’s voice in the back of your head. The one telling you not to drown your feelings in a bottle. The one telling you to call him.
So, you put the bottle of vodka down and picked up your phone instead. You tapped on his contact, which you made sure to actually label that morning, and called him. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you waited for him to pick up…
No answer.
You huffed and threw your phone down onto the table. Not like you expected an answer anyway. Just then, you heard a knock at the front door. Brows furrowed in confusion, you quietly padded over and peeked through the peep hole. All you saw was a rather stout man holding what had to be an entire bush of bright red roses.
You opened the door and the man set the bunch of roses down on the ground. They were in their own little golden vase, fanned out and pretty for display. “Got a delivery here from a Mr. Barnes,” the man said with a smile, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope. “Enjoy your morning, miss.”
You ran your fingertips across the heavy weight of the cardstock envelope, a gold wax seal holding closed all its secrets. You hauled the roses inside before sitting at your kitchen table and fumbling with the envelope as your fingers trembled.
You slipped out a short letter, hand-written with a good pen, paper, and ink. Thoughtful.
Doll, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night. Take care and I’ll see you tonight at 8:00 P.M. You don’t need to be fancy, and you know the address.
Your heart stopped dead in your chest for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only a second or two. Your head was reeling now. Why did he want to meet you at his house? Your best friend’s house? Was she even going to be gone this evening?
You quickly checked your texts. Becca had been fairly MIA for her finals, which tracked considering she took her schooling so seriously. You scrolled up, glanced at the date on your calendar, and then your cheeks flushed crimson. Becca would be gone. Most of the night, actually. Her boyfriend, Cole, had his last baseball game of the school season and it didn’t start until seven.
Was he inviting you over for…? No. No, he couldn’t be. Even with the tension between you two the night before, you knew Bucky. You knew he wasn’t like that. You knew he didn’t think of you like that. Not at all.
As you folded the letter back up and tucked it neatly inside its envelope, you turned to take in the magnificent sight of the multiple dozens of roses that were bloomed as red as your cheeks as they sat there on the kitchen counter like a neon invitation. An invitation to see how far you could push Mr. Barnes that evening.
The house wasn’t anything special. A quaint little brownstone in Brooklyn that screamed home sweet home in the midst of corporate chaos and brightly lit billboards that never slept. The street was quiet, lined with old street lamps that gave it a sort of charm that felt captured in a different time.
You knocked at the deep red door, nervous as you tugged your coat in tight around you. You heard the deadbolt unlatch and then the door creaked open. There was Bucky, in blue jeans and a blue Henley with his hair messier than the night before - he looked much more lived-in and casual and less like a posh Ken doll fresh from the box.
“Come on in,” he invited warmly with a smile, stepping aside.
You gave him a curt, polite nod and a mirrored smile as you ascended the last two steps and crossed over the threshold. You were immediately greeted by the sobering smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of the TV playing the local news at a low volume. You jumped slightly when you felt his hand rest against the small of your back as he came around your left flank. “Can I offer you some coffee?” he asked, glancing down at you with irises that reminded you of endless blue skies on a clear June afternoon.
You glanced nervously between him and the television a few times before you decided you were much too jittery to drink any level of caffeine - so, you declined. “No, thanks,” you said quietly.
Your eyes widened as he moved to take your coat off for you. A red-hot blush flooded your cold cheeks with crimson as his hands brushed along your arms - the cool autumn air didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against the heat of your own embarrassment. “O-Oh I-“ you stuttered, watching as he placed your coat on the rack just beside the door.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘thank you’?” Bucky quipped teasingly, beckoning for you to follow him into the kitchen.
You followed, leaning against the kitchen island while he poured himself a cup of coffee into one of those cheesy ‘World’s #1 Dad’ mugs. He leaned back against the dark granite countertop across from you, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the brim of his mug as he took a sip of the piping hot liquid.
You cocked an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you didn’t summon me here with a bush of roses just for me to watch you drink coffee,” you said, breaking the tensioned silence that had fallen between you.
He laughed a little, setting the mug to the side. “Guilty as charged,” he said, half-heartedly throwing up his hands before his expression shifted to something more serious.
“I asked you over because I wanted to tell you, in person, that this-“ he gestured from himself to you “-cannot be a…A thing.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his jaw ticked, clearly nervous.
You laughed. “Bucky, this was never meant to be a thing,” you said, mirroring him as he crossed his arms over his chest. You got the feeling he was backpedaling, like he realized something at the restaurant the night before and was now trying to build a wall to keep it out. “I was looking for a hookup, not a boyfriend.”
“Well, maybe since you’ve seen how a proper man treats a lady, perhaps you’ll rethink that.”
“I’m really not ready to get back in the dating scene…”
“Then wait.”
You paused. This was your life. Not his. Why in the hell did he care so much? “What’s it matter to you if I wait or not?”
His jaw ticked and his eyes briefly darted to the side, fixating on a point in space you couldn’t quite locate. “I don’t want you playing with fire so much you burn yourself,” he muttered, gaze going downtrodden.
“Why do you care?”
“Seeing you hurt, hurts me.”
“And why do you care that fucking much?”
Your question lands on him like a bullet to the chest. He picks up his coffee, mug trembling a little, and takes a sip like it’ll magically cure the ache in his chest. “It’s what Steve would have wanted me to encourage you to do.”
You sighed. Steve was your father, a military vet and close friend of Bucky’s who’d been killed in action many moons ago. You only found out about their connection to each after about a year of being close friends with Becca - at your high school graduation when Bucky gifted you a letter your father had left for you.
“He isn’t here and he doesn’t get to dictate what I do,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze because it’d only remind you that he was doing this to isolate himself.
“But I can still try to fulfill his wishes,” Bucky said, taking a couple steps forward and inserting himself into the awkward little bubble you’d built. It felt like he was taking up too much personal space but not enough at the same time.
Your breath hitched as he reached forward and pressed his metal palm to your cheek, something cold and shocking against the constant flush that reddened your skin. “And it’s so I no longer want what I can’t have.”
Your heart was pounding. You. He meant you. You were what he couldn’t have. You were the guilty pleasure, the reason he probably answered your text in the first place. And you were right - he was trying to build a wall. A wall between your heart and his.
You nuzzled against his palm, eyes fluttering shut. The touch felt holy. “What if I want it too?” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking up at him. “What about my own wishes?”
“It’s not the right thing to do…”
“I don’t want to do the right thing, Bucky!” you exclaimed, frustrated. You pushed yourself off the counter, standing closer to him now - almost chest to chest. “You don’t understand that all I want right now is something wrong! I want to feel something, Bucky. Anything. Anything other than this pain.” Your voice was beginning to crack and those beautiful blues of his were starting to well up with tears.
“I…” Bucky’s hand lingered on your cheek. You could tell by the way his fingers twitched that he was thinking. That he was trying to figure out if he had the strength to go against his own morals. “I…I can’t…”
You reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek with your own palm, thumb running along the plane of his cheekbone. “You can.”
He looked like he was about to break, about to shatter completely. The tension was thick enough to feel, heavy and suffocating. His eyes flicked from yours and down to your lips. Back up to your eyes. Back down to your lips. “This isn’t a good idea…” he murmured, leaning in close enough now that you could smell the mix of coffee and whiskey and mint on his breath.
You took a shuddering breath, eyes closing again because you couldn’t stand the weight of his gaze. “I don’t want it to be good. I just want to feel…” you breathed, shaky hand coming to rest against his muscled chest. “I just want to feel you.”
You could see it in the way his jaw ticked - you could feel it in the way he wasn’t sure if your hand burned him or comforted him. Bucky was trying so hard to resist the temptation in front of him. “Please, doll…I can’t,” he pleaded brokenly, but it was weak and he made no attempt to pull away from your touch.
You leaned up, nose nudging his and lips so close to brushing as you murmured, “Then why are you still here?”
It could be heard in his chest, something deep and guttural and longing all pulled together into a groan he couldn’t hold back. And suddenly, both of his hands were holding your face - one metal, one flesh. The way his lips smashed into yours would be forever imprinted in your mind. You could only imagine how long he’d waited to have this. To have you.
The kiss was everything - teeth, tongue, breath, and heat. He nipped playfully at your bottom lip and you growled, which elicited a deep chuckle you’d never heard before - amused and pleased. His tongue explored your mouth like it was trying to map it, and yours did the very same to his. Nothing about this was normal. But you didn’t want it to be.
When he broke the kiss, it was only because one of you needed to fucking breathe or you’d both be dead on the floor. Panting, he whispered, “Is that what you wanted?”
You nodded wordlessly and pulled him right back in, trying to drown him under the weight of how much you craved him. His hands found your hips and gripped at the soft flesh, picking you up like you weighed nothing and perching you atop the granite.
His flesh hand snaked its way up your blouse, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease that shouldn’t have turned you on but it did. He pulled the garment off and tossed it on the kitchen floor, the silk of your blouse cascading in cool puddles across your tits. You shivered, only cold for a moment before his palm was kneading at the mounds of flesh like he’d been dreaming of how good they’d feel.
You moaned out, breaking the kiss as you tossed your head back when his thumb and forefinger began to tease and roll your nipple between calloused skin. “Fuck,” you groaned, hands scrambling from purchase at the edge of the countertop.
You barely had time to react before Bucky was ripping your blouse from your torso, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. “Bucky!” you scolded, but he remained unbothered and on a mission.
“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, stooping down and taking your neglected breast into his mouth as his hand continued to work the other.
The feel of his hot, wet mouth and tongue across your nipple was enough to have you keening up off the counter and further into his touch. It felt so fucking good that you were convinced you’d cum just from the way he worshipped your tits.
He pulled back, lips glistening with saliva and pupils blown as he glanced up at you. He looked feral - hungry and ready to feast. You watched as he dropped to his knees and rucked up your pencil skirt to reveal the lacy panties that clung to your dripping wet core.
“This what I do to ya, doll?” he breathed, practically drooling at the smell of your arousal as it assaulted his senses. He just needed to taste you. Devour you.
You whimpered and nodded. “Y-Yes,” you nearly whispered, brain short-circuiting as you felt his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties and peel them away.
He watched, mesmerized by how your glistening folds clung to the lace, groaning as he could now see how drenched and pretty you were for him. He tossed the panties somewhere in the same direction as your bra, and then his hands were prying you open to make way for his head as he leaned in and licked a slow, warm stripe straight up the center of your heat.
You felt your toes curls and your back bow a little as the tip of his tongue traced devastating circles around your clit before diving back down and straight past your entrance.
“Bucky!” you gasped out, head thrown back as your hands found purchase in that gorgeous salt-and-pepper mane of his. “Fuck-“ you groaned, listening as the sounds he made were so obscene they had you blushing. Licking, slurping, sucking…He was like a man starved and you were the best damn meal he could’ve been served.
Bucky hummed against your core, sending vibrations straight through your clit as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and began to suck. You were already trembling from the overload of pleasure, but that wasn’t enough for him. No, he needed you screaming for his mercy.
You felt as he teased your entrance with his forefinger, just barely pushing it in and then retreating. Nothing he could’ve done in that moment would have prepared you for when he plunged two fingers deep inside you and curled them with such ease it was almost second nature.
You could feel yourself clench around his digits with his name on your lips as you let out a whorish moan. Between his mouth and tongue working your clit and his fingers quite literally beckoning you to cum for him, you were in pure, blissful heaven.
That burning coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind tighter and tighter, and he could tell. He hummed in approval, fingers bullying into your g-spot now with a precision that was, frankly, unfair.
“C’mon, doll,” he urged as he lapped at your clit. “Cum f’me. Lemme have it all…” The way his voice was so deep, so smooth…It was like silk over gravel. And it had you coming undone the second he begged for you like that.
Your body arched forward as you moaned his name, nails digging into his scalp as your toes curled and your entire body felt like it was trying to levitate off the damn counter. But he didn’t stop - even as you pulsed and gushed around him, he kept on fucking going.
“B-Bucky,” you whimpered out as it was bordering on overstimulation. “B-Buck please…” You were pleading with a man who was too damn happy with where he was. If you’d let him, he’d live there between your thighs and die a very satisfied man.
“One more f’me…Please,” he begged softly, warm breath ghosting across your core before he dove back in and began sucking at your clit again.
You could feel tears blurring the edges of your vision, and you weren’t even sure if your first orgasm had ended before the second begun - but, you still felt it all the same. The overwhelming tidal wave of bliss that caused your body to clench around his fingers like your cunt was trying to trap him there. You let out something between a moan and a sob, grip faltering on his hair as your body collapsed back against the shockingly cold granite.
Your head was spinning, vision blurred and hearing muffled. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum so hard in your whole goddamn life.
“So, so good f’me, doll,” you heard him praise you through the haze. He slowly pulled his fingers out, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing at the absence of him. He gladly lapped at the slick release you’d rewarded him with, earning a very fucked-out groan from you. “Tastes like heaven and ya sound like it too when you’re cummin’ f’me like that,” he drawled, getting to his feet.
As he rose, you could see just how hard he was against the stiff denim of his jeans, and that only filled you with a new wave of want - of craving.
A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips when he noticed you were staring - not that you were trying to stare, it was just there. “Not right here, doll,” he murmured like he could read your mind, a finger hooking under your chin and gently bringing your lips up to his as he kissed you with the remnants of your release still glistening on his skin. The taste of you and him combined was intoxicating, a drug that you only wanted more of…
But then he was pulling away and you were left pouting. “Hey, don’t you pull that with me,” he teased, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead before you found yourself being lifted into his arms - bridal style - like you weighed no more than a feather. “You’ll get what you want. Just gotta be patient, sweetheart.”
The sickly sweet kindness in his smile was almost cruel in this scenario, but you silently snaked your arms around his neck as he carried you through the narrow foyer and up the short staircase to the second floor. The house wasn’t cramped, necessarily. But, with him carrying you through the tight halls, it felt rather cozy with just the two of you alone.
His foot nudged the door open to the master bedroom, old brass hinges creaking softly. You found yourself being laid so gingerly onto the mattress you could almost feel the tears welling again in your eyes. He treated you like something special, something fragile. It made your heart swell a little.
“May I?” he asked, nodding to your skirt. It was your last remaining article of clothing. You nodded back in permission, cheeks flushed crimson in the low lamplight that streamed through the window and illuminated everything in a heavenly, golden glow.
Bucky shimmied your skirt gently down your legs and tossed it aside before he made zero show about stripping down himself - but, it was a delicious sight to you all the same.
Watching as the layers of clothing were peeled away, revealing nothing but rippling muscles and silvery scars. The scar where metal met man was particularly bad, but still beautiful it’s own devastating rite. His dress shirt the night before hadn’t left much to your imagination, but even then, this was far beyond what your mind had conjured - he had the appearance that God himself carved him from the finest marble. An aged artwork that only grew finer with the weather and the years.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured lowly, crawling over top of your body and caging you in with solid forearms and beefy biceps you swore one day you’d take a bite of.
Heat rushed across your cheeks and you brought your hands up to rest against his biceps, fingers gripping flesh one side and brushing across whirring metal plates on the other. “I’m just admiring what you’ve been keeping from me,” you whispered.
“Well, it’s not polite to stare, doll,” he said, dipping down so your lips were brushing dangerously close.
“It’s not polite to keep a girl waiting,” you quipped back, feeling your breath hitch a little just feeling his bare chest pressed so intimately to your own.
“See? You’re learning,” he chuckled softly, ducking down and beginning to kiss and suck at the suppleness of your neck. “Good girl,” you heard him mumble against your skin.
You arched up into his feather-light touch, lips trailing from neck to collarbone to breasts to torso as soft purple bruises began to bloom in his wake. And then he was sitting back on his knees and you took another unashamed moment to fully appreciate him. To admire his cock, impossibly hard and gorgeously flushed, leaking precum like he’d been edged for hours.
He opened his mouth and you interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah. Staring again. I get it, Barnes. Just let me eye-fuck you, yeah?” you muttered, and that got an actual laugh from him.
Reaching his flesh hand down, he gripped himself at the base and started to stroke his aching length. “You like what you see?” he breathed, angling his hips a little so his precum dripped along your thighs like a sinful, pearlescent trail that lead to your core. “You imagining what it can do to ya, doll?”
You nodded, more than eager. “Wanna feel it inside me…Please,” you pleaded, practically drooling as you watched him rub the head of his cock through your slick folds. “Please…”
“Mmm…Please who?” he asked, gaze flicking up to your face as it was contorted in desperation for him.
It took you a split second to think about what he might’ve been asking. And then it popped into your mind and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “You’re a dirty man, Barnes,” you purred, only to feel the grip of metal meet your throat. Your eyes went wide.
“I asked you a question,” he growled, and the gravelly rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt as your walls fluttered around nothing.
“Yes, Sergeant,” you said, pushing your throat up further into his hand and smirking.
Bucky groaned, swearing in the back of his mind that you were going to be the death of him. He squeezed at your throat one last time before posting the same vibranium palm right beside your head. “That’s right, doll,” he muttered, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull as you felt him begin to push inside you.
The stretch burned, but the way he so perfectly filled and dominated every inch of space was immaculate - let alone the way you could feel every pulsing vein and soft ridge brushing along your walls as he eased in inch by brutal inch. He paused about halfway, concerned by how your features were twisted. “Doin’ okay there, doll?” he asked, flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. The way his thumb ran along the high plane of your cheekbone was tender, loving.
You nodded, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes and wet eyelashes. “More than fucking okay,” you managed to choke out with a small laugh. It was hard to put into words just how good he felt buried so deep inside you that you swore he was pushing the very oxygen from your lungs.
Bucky let out a soft grunt once he was fully sheathed, already appearing wrecked. “Fuck, doll,” he breathed, nearly panting as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight, ya know that? Squeezin’ me…Milkin’ me dry already and I haven’t even started…” He let out a small, breathless chuckle.
You let out a laugh just as breathless as his. “Sounds like you’re not gonna last very long, old man,” you jeered playfully.
His cheeks flushed bright red, but he didn’t reply. He only slowly began to pull out, groaning raggedly as he felt the way his cock dragged along your walls - the way your body was actively trying to pull him back and keep him in.
He pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed himself back in all at once. You moaned so loudly when he bottomed out that you were certain the neighbors three doors down heard you. And that wasn’t the last time they would, unfortunate enough as it was for them. Because he pulled out and then pushed back into you again, forcing the same exact whorish moan past your lips before you could catch it.
“You like what I do to ya, doll? Like when I give it all to ya? When I bury my cock so deep ya feel it here?” he drawled, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as his flesh hand pressed down against a small bulge in your lower abdomen and you just about levitated off the goddamn bed.
The pace he set was steady and calculated. One that allowed for him to achieve the same depth of penetration each and every time - the same devastating attention to making sure he hit all the right spots. It wasn’t brutal because it was fast - no, it was brutal because he took his time and holy fuck it was a borderline religious experience.
It felt as though you had no idea where your body ended and his begun as he rucked your legs up over his shoulders and you found yourself with nails raking down his back as your ankles were pushed back damn near close to the sides of your head. The position was passionate, intimate. Sweat began to pool where your bodies were melded, chest to chest and forehead to shoulder. You couldn’t help the way you moaned his name, and he couldn’t help the way he panted yours like he was begging for mercy.
“Takin’ me s’well…Atta girl,” he breathed out, his praises sending sparks of red-hot pleasure straight to your cunt. “Gonna fill ya up, doll…Claim ya…Make ya mine like I shoulda done a long time ago…”
You whimpered at his words, nails digging crescents into the tops of his shoulders as you clung on for dear life. “B-Bucky~” you moaned out weakly, head fuzzy as your mind was actively being fucked stupid. “Please…” you begged, pulling at him and trying to encourage him to go faster. Harder.
“You sure, doll?”
“If you don’t fuck me into this goddamn mattress-“
He cut you off with a sharp snap of his hips. Then another. And another. You could feel the head of his cock bullying into that soft, spongy spot inside you and you cried out. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” you exclaimed with each thrust, eyes lolling shut and your head hitting the pillow as the pleasure began conjuring stars across your vision.
Bucky groaned, something deep, guttural, and primal - something you hadn’t expected from someone who seemed so…Quiet. “It’s like you were made f’me, doll,” he whimpered, his rhythm beginning to falter. “Ya gonna cum f’me? Can feel ya grippin’ me…Know you’re close, sweetheart. Need ya to give it to me…”
He was begging for you in the same way someone would pray for forgiveness - reverent and wrecked and desperate. You could feel that coil in your lower abdomen tightening, pulling taut until your orgasm snapped through your body unyielding and violent.
“B-Bucky! A-Ah~!” you barely managed to squeak out as you felt your spine arch off the mattress and your body seize beyond your control. He groaned again as your cunt clenched down around him, and you could feel as he began to throb and pulse ropes of white, hot cum inside you at the exact same time.
“Shit-“ he grunted out, stilling inside you and partially collapsing his weight on top of you as his chest heaved and gleamed with sweat.
Your head was fuzzy, warm. The afterglow rolled over your body like something soft and comforting - floaty like you were resting on a cloud of your own pleasure. “Mmm…Bucky?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“Is that how a man should fuck me proper?”
He laughed, turning his head to pepper soft kisses on your cheek. “Yeah, doll. I’d say so.”
He slowly pulled out and then flopped onto the bed beside you. The loss of him inside you felt almost great enough to mourn, but his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close quickly filled that void. “And now I’ve ruined you for all the boys,” he teased, kissing your forehead before gathering you in close to his chest - he was like a furnace, and he held you like his greatest treasure.
You giggled. “S’okay,” you mumbled against his skin, lazily tangling your legs with his. “‘M yours now anyway.”
Bucky smiled to himself, squeezing you tight. “That’s right, doll. All mine.”
Still can’t believe the love for this fic - still pinching myself every day that I get to share my silly little hobby here and receive so much positivity 🫶🏻🩵
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You know your boss likes you. His gestures go well beyond the normal professional relationship, but he’ll deny it all the way to the damn bank. That is, until you play a little game and see just how far you can push him…
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, kinda angst, smut, pretty much PWP, there’s some plot but it’s negligible, NSFW (literally), politics but it’s brief, age gap (reader in her 20s, Bucky is ancient), age-related references (Bucky calls you ‘kid’ once and you internally refer to him as ‘old man’), nicknames (‘doll’, mostly), taboo relationship, mirror-play, fingering & oral (f!receiving), inappropriate use of a desk, high heel kink if you squint, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie (why not), Bucky is sorta mean but also a gentleman, makeshift gag, decryphilia for like a second, semi-public sex, big dick!Bucky, rough sex, reader’s clothes are described, slight objectification of reader, and maybe coercion???
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: A delayed thank you for 400 followers!! This is kind of a rewrite of a prior fic of mine, or at least it started that way. Really just needed to scratch that Congressman Barnes itch. I spent so much time on this and scrapped it like three times. Beta credit to @laufeydottirs-writings . Uhh…And if this flops I’ll just never post again. :) Cheers!
Divider credit goes to @/cursed-carmine!
It wasn’t like you really tried to fall head over heels for your boss, who also just so happened to be one of the hottest politicians in D.C. Seriously, who would do that? Okay, maybe a few people came to mind - but, you swore that you weren’t one of them!
You were fresh out of college and in need of a job - really any job - and he was…Well…Lifetimes ahead of you comparatively. But, lately, he was becoming increasingly less subtle about his preference for you - and, it was kind of hard to ignore. Of course, he wouldn’t come out and say it to your face because Congressman Barnes wasn’t a man of very many words, but it was the little gestures that did all that sweet-talking for him.
It was the way he smiled at you so warmly when you brought his coffee straight to his desk each morning - just a splash or two of cream and a dash of sweetener was how he liked it. It was the way his sparkling baby-blues would flit across your silhouette like a lion sizing up prey - especially when he particularly enjoyed your outfit that day. And, if you were lucky enough, he’d give you a short, “Lookin’ sharp, kid. How are those surveys coming?” And the intense glint in his eyes as he spoke with that low Brooklyn drawl is what gave away the true infatuation hidden beneath his words.
That’s how it all started. Small gestures that were just barely noticeable, unless you were around him as often as someone in your position was - you were, after all, his personal assistant. His one, true tether to the Earth. And, given adequate time, these small gestures appeared to escalate.
A year into your humble employment, it developed into a subtle brush of his warm, calloused hand against yours while you were trying to explain something important. It became the way that same large palm would find the small of your back with such ease and his fingers began to splay across the fabric of your blouse possessively as he started walking you to your car each evening. You quickly realized he wasn’t doing any of it for you - he was doing it for himself. To make sure you were safe because if he didn’t try hard enough, then he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
If you’d been having a particularly hard day, he’d excuse himself a little early for lunch and then return an hour afterwards with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers from the florist just down the street, and your latte made exactly how you liked it. He often referred to it as a ‘morale boost’, but you saw through that excuse after it became less of an occasional treat and more of a frequent one.
You were slowly coming to the realization that this grumpy old man didn’t go out of his way for very much, but he certainly went above and beyond if it involved you.
“Late night, huh?” His gruff voice startled you, even though the only thing you could think about was how the words on your laptop screen were beginning to blur into a mess. Cohesive thoughts and bright ideas had left your brain a few hours before.
You blinked, glancing to your left where he’d entered his office in that scarily quiet way he had a habit of doing.
He’d noticed when you flinched, and he laughed softly. “Sorry, doll. I know. Need to get better ‘bout announcing myself.”
You smiled, tight but polite. “By now I think I should know you have a habit of materializing out of thin air, Houdini,” you teased.
You let out a heavy breath, one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and closed your laptop with a soft ‘click’ - having a short break from the screen would surely do you some good. “Also, it’s not a late night until it’s past midnight, remember? It’s only eleven.”
Bucky’s gaze darted up to the standard-issue clock ticking away just above his desk. “And so it is,” he confirmed, shooting you a half-smile before he walked over to inspect the numerous files you’d left atop his desk. “You still shouldn’t be here so late, you know. You never know who’s roaming these halls.”
You rolled your eyes. “Well, your speeches aren’t going to write themselves, and I certainly don’t think anyone nefarious is sneaking about a heavily-secured government office. Unless you’re talking about yourself.”
That squeezed yet another dry laugh out of him. “The only thing nefarious about me right now is my appetite,” he admitted, picking up one of the various navy blue folders you’d set atop the polished mahogany throughout the evening. His eyebrows furrowed and his tongue jutted out just past his blushed lips as he fanned through the top document.
His look of absolute concentration was so amusing to you, especially since most of the time you still needed to explain all of the political jargon to him. But, you appreciated his efforts to learn, in the very least. “There’s something you should take note of on page five,” you piped up.
The stiff papers rustled as Bucky flipped back through the pages, and he appeared even more confused. “Am I blind or…?”
“Oh!” You quickly shifted your laptop onto the coffee table across from you as you jumped to your plush-socked feet. You grabbed a sticky note and pen from the table before flitting over to his side. “My bad, it’s been a crazy day…”
You were wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized tourist shirt you’d picked up from a girls trip to Vegas. You were casual on these late-night stints - and, as long as you got your job done, Bucky didn’t really seem to mind.
You gently plucked the file from his hands and hunched down over his desk as you skimmed through the bill to find the clause you wanted to highlight. As your finger danced over the black ink, your hand was visibly shaking from the sheer amount of caffeine you needed to drink in order to stay awake as long as you had.
You immediately froze when you felt his hand slide up against your lower back - steady, warm, heavy - and then heard his voice, something low and soft that you had maybe only ever heard once before. “You’re shaking, doll. I think it’s time to call it a night.”
You swallowed thickly - your tongue suddenly felt too big for your mouth and your heart was skipping beat after beat…And it certainly wasn’t from the caffeine this time. “I’m fine,” you assured him curtly, trying to keep some level of professionalism alive between you two - but, that was becoming increasingly difficult under the weight of his piercing blue stare.
He hummed, like he was thinking it over but not really. “I’m sure whatever it is can wait another seven hours for you to come back in the morning.”
You sighed, slapping the sticky note down onto the paper and then scribbling out a small notation for him. “There,” you said, like he hadn’t just given you his explicit blessing to stop. You glanced up towards him - his eyes were still boring into yours.
“I’m being serious,” he murmured, his gaze momentarily flicking down to the file and then back up to yours again. “That’s an order. Go home.”
Coming from literally anyone else, you likely would have been offended at how strongly he was coming off. But, this was Bucky. This was…Kind of normal.
You chewed on your bottom lip, pulse hammering loud in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, he was pressed so damn close to you - and the direct touch of his palm was hot enough to melt away the icy chill of the office on that autumn’s night. Finally, you gave up - you nodded and closed the file. “Alright.”
You turned to gather your laptop and your bag, but he was already doing it for you. You felt your cheeks flush hot. “Sir, really. You don’t have to-“
“Sir?” he interrupted with another laugh - wow, three in one evening. You were on a roll. “Aren’t we way past the formalities?” He cocked an eyebrow as he held your coat out to you.
Neck, cheeks, and ears dusted pink and on fire, you took the coat and shrugged it on before you reached for your bag. “Uh-uh,” he tutted with a small smile. “Let me carry this for you and I’ll walk you out to your car.”
Right. Once again, anyone else and this would have been plain creepy. But no, this was just good, old-fashioned Bucky Barnes who couldn’t stand to let chivalry die.
“Fine. But just so you know, I’m coming in early in the morning just to spite you,” you muttered, giving him a quick once-over.
If you had to be honest, he looked as if he’d just wrestled with a bear and lost. Your lips gravitated into a frown as you took a quick step towards him. You reached up, not hesitating to take the delicate, blue silk of his tie between your fingers. “Did you try to redo this yourself?” Your eyes flicked up to meet his. This pitiful knot certainly wasn’t your workmanship.
Right then, you swore that in the dim, golden light of the ancient desk lamp, you saw dark pink bloom across the apples of his cheeks. “Perhaps…” he mumbled, jaw ticking as he glanced off to the side.
You worked the tie off with ease, and you could feel your heartbeat racing under the influence of his constant stare. He definitely had a problem with that, the whole staring thing. But, you’d learned to not mind it so much. “Next time, come to me first,” you said quietly, making quick work of fixing the knot and then taking a step back to admire your work.
Bucky, who was trying very hard not to be visibly flustered by the gesture, just nodded. “Noted.”
The next morning, your heels were clicking against the polished marble as you marched your way back towards Bucky’s office. The gray light of the dawn was beginning to seep through the dusty window panes, painting the halls in a pale glow.
You weren’t much of a high heel girl yourself, but today was a rather important press conference and you knew that the Congressman always gave you a few more glances than usual when you wore them. Just for the satisfaction of making him hot and bothered, you were willing to set aside your personal qualms with one of the most heinous footwear designs ever invented.
You paused at his door, knocking exactly three times so he knew it was you - this was something you’d agreed upon within your first week once you learned he had a habit of ignoring just about anyone who bothered to knock. “Come in!” You heard faintly through the aged, wooden entrance.
You turned the tarnished, brass knob and shouldered the creaky door open all while balancing his coffee and yours, along with several binders and your purse and laptop bag. You weren’t afraid of multitasking - no, multitasking was afraid of you.
You tossed him a polite, cheery little smile. “G‘Mornin’, Congressman,” you chirped, tossing your purse and laptop bag down on an ornate armchair before you piled the binders high on his desk and promptly held his coffee out to him. “You can take the girl out of work, but not the work out of the girl,” you said as he huffed in annoyance at the binders.
“I take it that you didn’t sleep?” He took the coffee from you as his eyes searched your face for signs of adequate rest - or, the lack thereof.
You shook your head. “Not until a few hours ago. I was really engrossed in those speeches…” You pouted and perched yourself up on the edge of the solid mahogany desk. You crossed your legs over one another out of politeness only, since you were wearing a short, black pencil skirt.
You couldn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the satiny flow of your midnight blouse, or the way they followed the gentle curve of your body downwards to how the skirt hugged your ass so nicely and the lace of your stockings peeked out from just underneath the skin-tight fabric. They settled on your heels, a sharp exhale coming from his nose before his eyes flicked back up to your face.
You tilted your head. “Yes?”
His jaw ticked because he knew he couldn’t say anything. Well, he could but he was risking an HR complaint if he did. “Nothing. You look ready for the press.”
You beamed. “Oh! Do I?” You giggled. “I tried my best. You know I always do.” Your voice was honey and velvet and everything so sweet and tempting to him…
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat and then pushing the new pile of binders aside. “I was reading over the press conference address this morning…”
You cocked an eyebrow in silent question.
“Am I…It doesn’t feel right to be taking this harsh of an opposing stance to something that feels…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. Once again, political jargon was not his forte.
“Mostly bipartisan?” You interrupted with that sickly-sweet smile.
He nodded. “Yes, that.”
You took a rather pensive sip of your coffee. “Bipartisan doesn’t always translate to ‘good’, Congressman,” you quipped, and then reached across to flip through the speech pages yourself.
“Mmm, you see here?” You quickly pointed to a clause on the bill he’d be opposing. “This right here is some pretty…Sneaky business.”
He hummed, his gaze flicking between your delicate finger, the words on the paper, and your glossy lips. The tension that settled in the air between you two felt thick enough to cut with a knife…And that’s when you were rudely interrupted by your first phone call of the day.
“Congressman Barnes’ office, how may I direct your call?” you answered, sliding off the desk. Teasing him would have to wait, although as you glanced back over your shoulder to check, you could see his eyes were still making a meal out of you and your little skirt.
The press conference was a whirlwind as you’d expected it to be.
Before all the lights and the cameras, you’d stood behind him in the mirror, smoothing down the sleeves of his suit jacket with careful attention. You could tell from his stiff expression that he was uncomfortable with the level of professionalism he needed to maintain as your hands just so casually ran along his biceps. “I think navy is more your color than black,” you muttered, stepping around in front of him as you moved to fasten his cuff links in place.
He was trying to look anywhere but directly at you, but it was so hard when you looked so pretty and the aroma of your perfume was dancing dreamily about the air. “Are you saying I wear too much black?” he asked, still staring straight ahead.
You shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not your stylist. I’m just the one who buffs out the rough edges before it’s showtime.”
You straightened his tie and then took a step back. “Go on and get ‘em, Bucky.” With a satisfied grin, you gave him a little wink and the most chaste, polite peck on the cheek you could give. Then, you left him standing there as you made your way to the media room.
In his office, Bucky stood in a silence that felt too heavy to breathe in. He was…Stunned. Every nerve in his body felt alive and buzzing with electricity - and it wasn’t because of the televised address. No, it was because he could still feel the softness of your lips lingering against his stubbled cheek; and, he could kick himself for just letting you leave after that.
During the conference, you tried to ignore the way he was staring at you more than the cameras, but he was making that awfully hard. You crossed your legs, one atop the other, and squeezed your thighs together as you desperately wished you could disappear. And, before you could even think about making a clean escape from the media room, a gloved vibranium hand was wrapped around your wrist and tugging you back from the double doors. “Prep room. Now.”
He didn’t leave room for protest as he nearly dragged you along to the back briefing room. Once the door clicked shut, he let go of your wrist, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ like he’d realized he was being a bit too rough. “What was that?” he questioned.
You blinked. “What was what?”
He sighed. “Before the conference?”
“I…Adjusted your tie?”
“No. You kissed my cheek.”
You couldn’t help the way your cheeks turned crimson and sold you out before you even had a chance to defend yourself. He took that as enough of an answer, beginning to pace the length of the room.
“I should fire you for that,” he said, hands clasped behind his back and his eyebrows furrowed in thought as his gaze stayed glued to the government-issued blue carpeting.
You leaned back against the conference table and crossed your arms over your chest. “But you won’t.”
That stopped him in his tracks, mid-stride. His eyes snapped over to you, piercing and icy. But the threat fell flat. “How do you know?” he huffed.
“Because if you were really pissed enough, I wouldn’t be standing here alone with you. You have a team that handles anything and everything you could need, myself being one of them. I’d have been sent home from the audience if you so wished.”
Bucky’s jaw ticked. He knew you were right. He didn’t really tolerate nonsense, in fact there wasn’t much he did tolerate. A few people. Select members of the press. Last you’d heard he was still struggling to accept therapy. He didn’t deal with things that he didn’t want to deal with, not since being freed from the mental prison of being the Winter Soldier - which, you knew very little about but just enough.
“You’re not one for a power-trip, but you also don’t put up with bullshit,” you continued, eyes meeting his as you cocked an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question about the flowers. The lattes. Walking me to my car-“
“That’s just called bein’ nice, doll,” he said, tongue darting out across his bottom lip.
“Not when your hand is on my back. Not when I can feel you practically eye-fucking me every time I wear something nice. Which, news flash, is almost every day in this industry,” you argued back.
You watched as big, bad super soldier Bucky Barnes’ cheeks turned pink. Bright pink. And there was that tick of his jaw again.
You pushed yourself off the conference table and grabbed him by his tie, tugging him down so close you could smell the coffee and wintergreen mint on his breath. His eyes widened. “You could tell me to stop,” you whispered. “But I know damn well you won’t.”
You released the hold on his tie and walked back towards the briefing room door. “You have thirty minutes before the vote. I suggest you get going,” you called over your shoulder, smile in your voice as you flung the door open and - once again - left Bucky Barnes too stunned to speak.
The days that followed were…Long and dull and irritating. The old man was somehow grumpy all the time, seemingly moping about how you’d called him out on his little stunts. No flowers, no coffees, no offers to walk you out.
The routine was simple - you’d hand him his coffee and he’d grunt out a very half-hearted ‘thanks’. His eyes - the same ones that used to shamelessly stare - would avoid you at all costs, even if it meant gazing into blank space. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, and you continued to do your work on your laptop while quietly nestled in the armchair across from him. The tension was heavy.
Finally, you’d had enough. You turned up to work on a gloriously sunny Friday morning in your very best dress, tights, and godforsaken high heels. You appeared to be dressed for the most important press conference of your life, except not even a low-level briefing was scheduled for that day. In fact, nothing was scheduled for that day and that was exactly the point.
You set the paper coffee cup down on his desk, fingers lingering around the cardboard sleeve before retreating. “G’Mornin’, Congressman,” you greeted in your usual cheery tone, not like it mattered that much recently.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, reaching for the cup. And as he did, his eyes caught sight of your dress. For the first time in nearly a week, he gave you a quick once-over that ended in an expression of confusion. “Did I miss something on my itinerary?”
You smiled sweetly and shook your head. “Oh, no,” you assured with a little shrug, batting your eyelashes.
His brows furrowed. “Then…What is all of this?” he questioned, gesturing to your outfit.
You looked down at yourself, playing stupid even though you knew exactly what you were doing. “This?” you asked with a small laugh. “Oh, I have a lunch date. Figured I’d get a little dressed up.”
You watched with satisfaction as his jaw ticked. You’d struck a nerve. His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“First date.”
“Lunch for a first date?”
“Why not?”
“That’s not a very good impression.”
“And what is?”
Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, annoyance flickering behind his eyes. “I think a nice dinner would be suitable,” he muttered, and then hunched back over his desk as he pretended to shuffle some papers around. “What’s he like?”
You were a little taken aback that he was so invested in your lie, but you supposed it helped to sell the point. “He’s older. Stubborn. A little hard to talk to, but he’s hot so…”
He huffed. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”
Oh, yeah. You’d definitely need it…
Your lunch date ended up being between yourself and a disgustingly healthy salad from the cafe across the street, eaten quietly in the comfort of your car as you watched an episode of a sitcom.
Once the hour had gone and passed, you returned to Bucky’s office. And the second you sat back in the armchair and reached for your laptop, he was questioning you. Prying.
“How was the date?”
“It was…Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Eh…Men. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”
His piercing blue gaze was boring into you, you could practically feel it. But you paid him no direct attention as you navigated to a spreadsheet. “Oh, I’m sure. Just like I’m sure you didn’t actually go on a date.”
You felt your mouth run dry and your heart skip a beat. Your eyes flicked up from your laptop. You cocked an eyebrow. “And how are you so sure about that, Barnes? Don’t think I’ve got a line of suitors a mile long?” You really didn’t, but he definitely didn’t know that.
He chuckled, something dark and low and gravelly - honey flowing over jagged stone. “Doll,” he drawled. If you hadn’t been seated, you were sure your knees would have buckled beneath you. “I’m sure you do. But we need to start being honest with ourselves.”
You tried incredibly hard to play it cool, but you were losing it - especially over the fact he was turning this into a ‘we’ situation instead of a ‘me’ situation. You’d long since accepted that you were in love with him - it was he who needed to be honest with himself.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped back, arms folding across your chest defensively. “I’m not the one wallowing in denial.”
Bucky’s jaw did that little tick-and-set that you knew damn too well and had become awfully acquainted with over the last week in particular. Except, this wasn’t a tick of defiance. You could see it in his eyes - his resolve was crumbling, slowly but surely.
“It’s not right.”
His words sat in the air for a moment, heavy and hard to ignore. Of course he’d be obsessed over thinking through whether something was right or wrong…You knew him. He wanted to do whatever was right.
“Just because it’s not right, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you replied. “Plenty of wrong things exist that we can’t just ignore and push away.”
He sighed, closing the folder he had opened before tossing it aside on his desk and scrubbing a hand down his face. He looked…Exhausted. Clearly you meant something to him in a way he couldn’t control, and the lack of control was eating him alive.
You closed your laptop, slowly unfolded your legs like you were giving yourself an extra second to back out, and then you made your way over to his desk. You propped yourself up against the corner, a finger hooking just beneath the Congressman’s chin and gently bringing his gaze to yours.
“What do you want?” you murmured, searching his face for answers. “Tell me…”
You didn’t expect it. Not in the very least - not with how conflicted he seemed. But he stood up from his chair, towering over you and leaving your hand hanging in the negative space. Then, his palms were on your cheeks - large, warm, calloused…Comforting. And he stooped down, lips colliding with yours.
He didn’t even need to use words - the kiss expressed it all. It was firm, confident. Reverent and gentle like you were a precious treasure for the taking. He pulled back just briefly, just long enough to whisper, “You.”
His lips were back on yours before you even had a chance to react - rough, claiming, and messy. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time, devouring every bit of you that he could. The kiss suffocated you and gave you life in the very same breath, and everything that followed was uncoordinated chaos.
Without breaking the kiss, his hands reached behind you and shoved everything off the desk - he sent papers, pens, binders, folders, paper clips…Everything tumbling to the floor. Luckily, the carpet muffled most of the sound.
His tongue was slipping into your mouth now, entangling itself with your own as you both moaned into the kiss. His hands grabbed roughly at your waist, picking you up and setting you down on the dead center of his desk - cold mahogany bit at the backs of your thighs through your stockings as he impatiently nudged his chair out of the way with his hip.
Although reluctant, he finally broke the kiss and knelt between your legs - he wasted no time rucking your tight dress up over your thighs. He couldn’t help himself - Lord knows he tried. He audibly groaned just at the sight of the silver garter clips biting into the delicate, black lace frill of your stockings, and how they squeezed at the plump flesh of your upper thighs just slightly. “Smart girl,” he murmured, tongue darting across his bottom lip as his eyes traced gradually upwards to where you were already soaking through your matching lacy panties. “You know what I like, don’t you?”
Your cheeks flushed dark crimson - guilty as charged! And you figured you didn’t need to actually answer that question seeing as you were already wearing the bastard child of all the clothing items that had ever gotten his attention.
Looking up for just a moment, breath hitching in your throat, you noticed the full-length mirror set just behind Bucky’s desk - the exact one you’d convinced him to get so he could keep better tabs on his appearance. And, right now, reflected back at you was a most scandalous image of yourself with Congressman Barnes nestled between your legs and your red-bottom heels dangling over his broad, muscled shoulders.
He noticed the way your breath caught and how you tensed beneath his touch, and his gaze followed your awe-struck stare to the reflective surface. A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Mmm…I see,” he said, plotting. “Wanna watch while I make a mess of you?” His voice was low, quiet.
You nodded, coming off more eager than you’d intended. “Y-Yes…” you managed to stammer out, brain still stuck two minutes ago on the kiss and the confession.
He hummed in approval, and then you felt his fingers hooking into the lace of your panties - you began to feel the soft, slow drag of the thin fabric as he guided them down your legs and left them hanging off the pointy toe of your left heel - it was like he was displaying a trophy, soaking wet and glistening in the dim light.
You watched as he shifted himself barely off to the side and tugged you closer to the edge of the desk. Now, displayed proudly in the mirror, was your dripping heat. You swallowed hard, throat running dry as Bucky watched your reaction through reflection. “She’s pretty, huh?” he cooed, bringing his flesh hand up and gently spreading your folds apart with two fingers - he was touching you like glass, something fragile.
You saw how you clenched around nothing at just his words - needy and involuntary like your body knew exactly what and who it wanted - no, needed. “She’s cryin’ f’me already,” he drawled, voice slurred in lustful wonder. “Beggin’ for somethin’…Don’t ya think?” He tilted his head, stormy blues flicking up towards you. “Look at me and answer me, doll.” He was almost pleading.
You managed to peel your gaze away from the mirror and gaze directly down at him, seeing those once icy orbs turning dark as blown pupils swallowed nearly all signs of brilliant color. “Y-Yes,” you whispered. “N-Need it…”
“Need what?”
You could feel a shameful heat blooming up your neck and across your cheeks to the tips of your ears. “Y-You…Y-Your fingers…”
“Mouth too?”
You whined and nodded, so eager yet again.
“Greedy…” he muttered, but he didn’t protest any further as he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your exposed cunt.
You shuddered at his delicate touch, his breath fanning warm against your skin as he circled the tip of his tongue teasingly along your clit and then trailed back down to your entrance. You gasped, hands flying up and finding purchase in that perfect raven hair.
You hung your head back and then felt him pull away, drawing a whimper of protest from you. “Want you lookin’ over there f’me,” he said, nodding towards the mirror. “Don’t you be closing those pretty little eyes on me now.”
He leaned up and kissed you, soft and chaste but just long enough to get a good taste of yourself on his lips. And, as he sat back, you felt him slowly push a finger inside you. You moaned - soft and breathy - while glancing into the reflection across from you and watching as his digit slowly disappeared inside you. Your legs trembled a little as you felt him crook that finger up, burying even deeper against your fluttering walls. “Fuck…” you sighed out.
“That’s it, doll. Beautiful. Think you can handle one more?” he murmured, kissing at the side of your neck - wet and sloppy - as he slowly moved his finger in and out in a rocking motion that was borderline hypnotic.
“Mmm…Mmhm,” you whined, gasping as you felt him immediately slip a second finger in right beside the first. You continued to watch the obscenities play out in the mirror as his fingers stretched you open, pumping in and out of your weeping cunt - slow and deep.
“Got a tight little pussy…She’s greedy, not wantin’ to let me go…” he teased, and you swore you saw stars as he shoved them in even deeper and curled them up right against that soft, spongy spot that had your back arching towards him. He seemed pleased with that reaction. “Is that it? That where ya need me, doll?”
You nodded almost frantically, crying out as he started to bully his fingers into that spot over and over and over. “Yes! Yes! Buck-“ He quickly clapped his metal hand down over your mouth.
“Quiet, doll,” he warned, shaking his head, “Don’t wanna get caught…”
You swallowed hard, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from the blinding hot pleasure building inside you. “B-Bucky…” you mumbled against his hand, watching as his fingers fucked in and out of you, curling deep and scissoring apart to stretch you open for him.
“Atta girl…C’mon…Just let go f’me…” he encouraged, pupils blown as he glanced between you and the mirror. “Let me see how gorgeous you are when you cum f’me…”
And so you did, screaming out against the cold vibranium vice across your mouth as you felt yourself clench down tight around his fingers. The rolling tide of your orgasm washed over you - a warm, electric wave that left you breathless and panting and pulsing around his digits.
After coaxing you through your high, Bucky slipped his fingers out and held them up in front of him as he watched your glistening slick drip down the length of them. He licked his lips. “Look at that,” he breathed, not breaking eye contact as he popped the soaked digits in his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.
You whimpered. God, he was so fucking hot. The salt and pepper of his beard was also coated in you, shining golden in the lamplight. Watching how his eyes fluttered shut as he savored the taste of you on his skin…
He pulled his fingers out, wiping them dry on your dress before diving in head-first and beginning to lap up all the sweet release that coated your cunt.
“A-Ah~! B-Bucky…” you gasped out, chewing down hard on your bottom lip as he made the most obscene sounds while he licked and sucked you clean - devouring you like it was his last meal.
“Sweetest little pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbled against you, voice sending vibrations straight through your ruined core.
As he stood back up, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the way he was absolutely towering over you. You were entirely in his shadow and at his mercy.
He shrugged his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the nearby chair and then he slipped off his tie, balling it up in his fist. He looked at you with dark eyes, but there was a softness peeking through that contrasted so heavily with the words he spoke. “Open up, doll,” he drawled, low and slow. “Gotta make sure the whole of Congress doesn’t hear ya now.”
You obediently parted your lips, mouth almost being shoved open as he stuffed the balled-up silk into your mouth. You tried to moan, just to see how you’d sound. It was muffled, but just loud enough that he could still get the satisfaction of hearing it.
Then, metal clinked softly against metal as he slowly undid his belt and threw it over the chair where his jacket lay discarded. He popped open the button on his dress slacks, pulled down the fly, and then unfurled himself from inside his boxers. He wasn’t trying to put on a show, but that didn’t stop you from staring the entire time.
You weren’t sure you’d ever seen such a delicious sight in your life, let alone the glaring fact that he was huge. His cock stood, curved slightly at attention and flushed red - aching and already leaking incessantly at the thought of being buried inside your tight cunt.
Bucky took a step towards you, almost completely closing the gap between his pelvis and yours, save the length of his throbbing dick. Flesh hand wrapping around the base, he teasingly guided the fat tip of his cock up and down your folds, lubing himself up before just notching himself at your entrance.
You whined through the gag, the corners of your eyes already damp with tears.
“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch that, doll,” he murmured as he began to push himself inside inch by agonizing inch.
And it wasn’t agonizing in the sense that it hurt. No, it was agonizing because all you wanted was his entire cock sheathed between your walls, but all he was doing was feeding it to you little by little. The stretch burned, but in a way that once again had your back arching off the damn desk and your toes curling in your heels as you locked your ankles around his waist.
Once he bottomed out, hips pressed flushed to yours, his hands roughly gripped at the flesh of your thighs as he carefully pulled out and then slammed his hips back against yours. You moaned out, voice muffled by the tie. Your eyes screwed shut, tears of pleasure tracking black trails of mascara down your cheeks.
“Uh-Uh,” he grunted. “C’mon, sweet thing. Open those pretty eyes f’me again. Don’t close ‘em now…”
You whimpered at his words, but obeyed like your life depended on it - like you were tethered to him and existing there just to grant his every lustful plea. Your eyelids, although heavy, fluttered back open and you gazed up at him through wet lashes.
The pace he set was brutal and breathtaking, and it had you moaning and sputtering around the makeshift gag as he dragged out to his tip and then slammed back in so your body was flush to his. You could feel the way his cock so perfectly nudged against that soft spot inside of you, leaving your thighs trembling in his grasp.
“Perfect little pussy is takin’ me so well,” he breathed out, head dropping down by your shoulder and soft grunts falling from his lips as he continued to pound into you. “Want me to fill ya up? Hmm?” he growled. “C-Cum f’me, doll. I can feel it…Know ya want to…”
Every merciless intrusion of his cock sent sharp, white-hot sparks of pleasure straight to your core. And it didn’t take very long before you were trying - and failing - to scream his name through the spit-dampened tie. Drool was running down the corners of your mouth and dribbling onto your tits from your chin - and, your cunt clenched down around his cock as your body shook and your fingers white-knuckled the edges of the desk.
Bucky followed shortly afterwards, your name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly and entangled in sweet praises. “That’s it, doll…Mmph~ Give it all to me…” He buried himself in as deep as he could, his cock throbbing and filling you up completely with his thick, warm release.
After a moment where the two of you were catching your breaths in the electrified silence, he suddenly slipped out and tucked himself back into his slacks. You squeaked a little in shock when you felt your combined releases leaking all over the dark mahogany of the desk in pearlescent, white streaks.
Bucky looped his belt back on and then reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve a large, embroidered handkerchief - of course he had one of those. “You made such a mess, doll,” he scolded softly, taking a corner of the soft, cotton square and dabbing up your hot, inky tears and pathetic drool before folding the hanky over itself and wiping up the cum that was still lazily dripping from your entrance.
Once you were clean enough, he retrieved your panties from the toe of your heels and helped you slip them back on. Only then did he take the tie back from your mouth.
“I expect you to have that speech done by six,” he said, like he hadn’t just fucked you right there in his office. “And then I want you to go home. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
You were shaking as you wobbled on your heels and tried your best to fix your mussed dress and hair.
As you turned to walk back to the armchair, head still floaty and fuzzy and warm in the afterglow, his hand caught your shoulder and you turned around.
“But don’t forget to let me walk you out tonight, okay?”
You could almost laugh. Bucky Barnes, always a goddamn gentleman.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Dex begs for you to fuck him. Sorry, folks. No fancy, zinger openers here. That’s literally it. I’m horny and I’m (not) sorry.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, sub!Dex, dom!reader, Dex being pathetic, reader is a freak on his level, begging, slight worship? of reader, little pet names (baby boy, good boy, babydoll), slight praise kink, hair pulling, knife play, small blood kink (I will not apologize), sorta alludes to a toxic relationship dynamic but it’s really not that deep.
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: This is meant to be a short lil’ somethin’ and I won’t apologize for any of this mess and if this flops I’ll just blame @laufeydottirs-writings who beta’d this and said it was good :) Also my first time writing Dex because his character intimidates me lmao This may or may not also be kind of a teaser to a longer fic I’m editing hehe…
Credit to @/cursed-carmine for the dividers!
There weren’t very many moments when Benjamin Poindexter relinquished control. So, when he’s on his knees and begging for a taste of you, you can’t help but feel the scales are tipping more in your favor. You were, after all, perhaps the only person who ever had the privilege of seeing Dex this vulnerable - because he didn’t need to pretend. He could be whatever he wanted…Whatever you wanted. And you’d love him all the same.
He looked especially pretty like this, praying to you like an idol who could save him. Only, you didn’t want to save him - you wanted to see just how far you could make him crumble. The way his gray sweatpants did nothing to hide the way he was achingly hard for you. The way his scarred chest was already glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. The way he looked absolutely wrecked as he gazed up at you through wet eyelashes as the calloused pads of his fingers pressed bruises into the meat of your thighs.
“Please - babydoll…I…I need it,” he pleaded softly, voice still deep and gravelly but losing all sense of command.
As you stood there in your panties, admittedly soaked just from the sight of him, he leaned in and pressed three soft kisses to your lower stomach before pressing his forehead there as if gentle reverence was the key to what he craved. And it almost was - except, you were having a little too much fun to give in so easily.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, reaching down and letting your fingers drag through his soft, blond locks. He whimpered, visibly shuddering at the sensation of your nails scraping along his scalp. “Look at you, baby boy. On your knees f’me? Beggin’?” You couldn’t hide the smirk that was tugging at the corners of your lips - something almost cruel and oh-so pleased.
Dex groaned, lolling his head back to gaze up at you again like a starved puppy. He nodded, his trembling palms squeezing at your thighs once…Twice…Thrice - like he was trying to ground himself. “Beggin’ for ya,” he echoed, one of his hands sliding up the frame of your body and reaching towards your breast.
“You gonna be good f’me, baby?” you breathed, body shivering from the electric charge of his touch and betraying you just slightly. “If you can be good, you can have it…” You let your palm rest against his cheek, thumb rubbing across the deep scar that resided there. You traced it once…Twice…Thrice. And you could feel him all but melt into your touch.
“Gonna be so good, baby. Please - I…I really…” You watched as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground, desperate and craving more of your touch like a bad habit he couldn’t quit. And it was bad - you made him soft. Made him weak. Took control.
A laugh escaped you, soft but sudden - amused. “Like it when ya say ‘please’ f’me like that,” you drawled, fingers snaking back into his hair and gripping at the very crown of his head and tugging it back roughly. He grunted, a slight pleased smirk sliding onto his lips.
Your other hand reached towards the waistband of your panties, pulling a pointy little combat knife from where it had been neatly tucked in the lace. You pressed the blade to his throat and his eyes fell closed. “Mmm…What’s that, baby doll?” he rumbled, low and slow. “You playin’ with my toys again?”
As you pressed the tip of the blade in just hard enough to nick him, a small drop of blood pooled around the silvery metallic point. He hissed at the bite of the blade, but you watched as his cock twitched in his sweats. You bit your lip, eyes flicking between his cock and the small wound several times before you answered. “Like playin’ with your things,” you murmured, and then tugged up on his hair. “Get on the damn bed.”
You watched his cock jump again at your demand, and you slowly lowered the blade. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man move quicker than him in the heat of the moment. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man more obedient. “L-Like this?” he asked - laid out on the mattress like an offering - looking to you for approval.
Nodding, you crawled onto the bed and over his broad, muscled frame. You let the knife drop onto the tightly tucked sheets and then leaned down to lap at the small bit of blood on his neck. You shuddered at the taste - something like copper, sugar, and the salt of his skin - and he moaned.
“Now,” you whispered, breath ghosting warmly across the shell of his ear. “Be a good boy and let me play with my toy~”
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Ouch! Your boyfriend cheated on you! What’s there to do other than day drink and text stale Hinge dates? That is, until your best friend’s dad enters the picture (accidentally) and shows you how a real man should treat a lady.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, alcohol use, bad decisions in general, kinda proofread and kinda not, porn with some plot, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Bucky is 40s) Rogers!reader (on accident), kinda dbf!Bucky too???, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie, mating press, kinda belly bulge for just a second, brief choking, some overstimulation, slight praise kink, Bucky is a gentleman, and (of course) big dick!Bucky
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I have been lost to the void for two months and only recently felt the urge to let the muses take over me once again. Thanks to Sabrina for the MBF album because honestly I’m obsessed and need to write a fic for every song but we all know that won’t happen. Enjoy whatever the fuck this is and I guess I’m back?? Thanks to my wifey @laufeydottirs-writings for beta reading part of this because I am insecure in my writing abilities and crave validation - ily <3.
Divider credit to @/cursed-carmine & @/squirrelstone!
You honestly couldn’t blame yourself for sending the text. After all, you were already buzzed off a few dirty martinis and it was only 10 A.M. What else were you supposed to do when Gossip Girl reruns no longer held your attention and your vibrator just wasn’t doing it for you?
You had scrolled through the backed-up list of numbers in your phone, most not even named and countless stale conversations having died after a horrendous first date. You never actually expected to receive a text back from any of them - so, when your phone finally buzzed against the stained wood of the coffee table, a fistful of popcorn halfway to your mouth, you froze.
The fluffy, white kernels slowly fell back in the bowl as you set it aside and you leaned forward to grab your phone. Your hand was shaking, and your heart was pounding. Who in the hell was crazy enough to text you back?
Someone horny enough, you supposed.
You sighed, opening your texts and staring at the grey bubble longer than you needed to, the white letters slurring together from the excess of alcohol.
Everything okay?
You laughed - like, actually laughed aloud. The sound, sharp and sudden, echoed off your living room walls. Why the fuck did this man care if everything was okay? You were looking for a hookup, not therapy. You texted back, autocorrect doing the heavy lifting for you.
I just asked if you wanted to come over. Could use the company.
It marked ‘read’ instantly and your heart stopped for just a second. And then he was typing…For a long damn time. Finally, a little ‘whoosh’ came across as his response popped into the chat.
Why don’t I, instead, take you to dinner while Becca is at volleyball practice?
You blinked. Your brain was running on booze and a crippling fear of meeting God. You had to reread it a few times. Becca…Becca…Becca…What the hell did your best friend have to- Oh. Oh no. No, no, and hell no. You panicked, instantly sobering up at least halfway. Your fingers were quick to type.
Oh! Wrong number, sorry!
Okay. Deep breaths. Maybe that would work. Ping. Or not.
What’s going on, doll? You and Becca not friends anymore? She was just talking about you the other day and finals…
Oh god. Yeah. No way to ‘wrong number’ this one. Okay, no problem. Just another deep fucking breath…Ping.
I insist. Dinner. I’ll pick you up. You still live just off campus? Birch and 44th?
You let out the bundle of oxygen you’d been hoarding in your lungs. You had just wanted a good time and now your best friend’s dad was offering to take you out. On what? A date? How old was he again?
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard so long your screen shut off. You looked at yourself in the dark reflection of the glass - hair messy, cheeks tear-stained, eyes puffy and dark. Fuck. Maybe you did just need to get out of the house for a little while.
You tapped your screen back awake.
Yeah, that’s still the address. What time?
Your finger was shaking as you hit ‘send’.
He started to type.
Be ready by 6 P.M. Make yourself feel pretty :)
Your heart fluttered a little. Oh. He wanted you to make yourself look pretty. Well…Alright then! You had quite a lot of work to do so you switched off the TV and headed straight for your bedroom. It was time to put yourself first and have a hell of a time doing it.
6 P.M. rolls around. A steady knock on the door.
You were just securing your final diamond earring and slipping on your last heel. You felt very…Nice. Cocktail dress, stockings, heels, and the only diamond set you owned. Makeup and hair done to the nines with a spritz of your favorite perfume. As you grabbed your clutch, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a little too much.
You opened the door, eyes widening a little as Becca’s father, Bucky, stood there just outside the doorway looking mighty damn fine. Gray slacks, white dress shirt unbuttoned in a casual yet polished manner. Gray sport jacket slung over his shoulder and that beautiful salt-and-pepper hair brushed back. You’d never really given him much of a second thought before - I mean, how could you? He was your best friend’s dad, and you and Becca had been friends since senior year of high school.
But, you just couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on every part of him - his strong facial features, stunning blue eyes, and the way his stubble danced along his chiseled jaw. Then there was the way his dress shirt clung to his chest and arms in a way that should have been a sin - tight in all the right places to show off the work he’d always put into his body since his Army days. It felt a little aggressive to say, but you wanted to chew on this man.
“Hi there, doll,” he said, voice sweet and low with something you’d never heard before. Something akin to the floral sweetness of honey dripping across cragged gravel.
You tried not to melt right then and there as he held out his hand to take yours. “Are you ready or do you need a minute?” He smiled and you felt your world tilt and your stomach churn. No one had the right to be that attractive. No one had the right to look this good and smile at you like that.
“O-Oh I…I’m ready,” you said, clearing your throat a little before giving him a polite smile and daintily placing your hand in his. His palm was practically twice the size of yours and you had to really put effort into not thinking about how good they’d feel inside you right about now…
The thing about Bucky, which had always been the thing about Bucky, was that he was a proper gentleman through and through. You often thought about how Becca ended up with much better men than you did - and it was probably because she was raised by such an exemplary man to begin with. He was the ultimate blueprint.
He walked you to his car, never a pace ahead nor a hair behind until he took a few strides in front of you to open the passenger side door for you. Your dress was a little on the short side, so as you dipped into his car, he used his sport jacket to shield you from prying eyes - he even looked away himself. How chivalrous!
The ride to the restaurant, itself, was great. A little awkward considering how the situation had manifested, but he was skilled at moving the small-talk along and making you feel like the center of attention. You discussed the weather, finals, and after-college plans with the ease of someone who’d done it a million times over with someone his age. It was the typical experience, just with far less lecturing and more mutual understanding than you’d come to expect.
Once you were pulled up to the valet, it wasn’t the valet worker who opened your door for you. No, it was Bucky shielding you again with that damn sport coat until you’d adjusted yourself and grabbed your clutch off the seat. You wobbled a little in your heels against the uneven cobblestone ground and his hand left the car door to catch your waist.
Your breath hitched, his touch so gentle and warm. Your gaze immediately flitted up to his face where he smiled in amusement. “Careful there, doll. Ground’s got teeth,” he murmured, making sure you were steady before he closed the car door and then slipped his sport coat on before offering you his arm. Of course, you obliged.
He lead you to up the little stone pathway to the restaurant door - the inside was dimly lit but you found yourself met with opulence beyond anything you’d experienced before. Crystal chandeliers gleaming and twinkling against candlelight that buzzed from the white clothed tables. You swallowed thickly. This place was expensive and you weren’t so sure you were worthy of it.
“Table for two, should be reserved under James Barnes,” you heard him say to the hostess at the stand.
“Says here you’d prefer the balcony view. Is that still correct?” the hostess inquired.
Your brows furrowed a little as you looked up at him. That sounded…Pricey. Exclusive. “Bucky…” you started to protest.
In the most polite way possible, he shushed you and spoke instead to the hostess. “Yes, please. Should you have anything available.” He gave you a sideways glance, one that silently read as ‘shut up and watch’. Watch what?
The hostess lead the two of you to a semi-private table on a balcony overlooking the city. It looked beautiful from this far away - so quiet and so peaceful. The air was crisp, but not at all too cold and the fireplace lit beside the table added a nice bit of coziness.
Bucky pulled your chair out and you took a seat after only a moment of hesitation. You weren’t used to this kind of treatment and couldn’t recall the last time a man ever gave this much of a shit about chivalry. He pushed you in close to the table and then seated himself politely across from you. That was just the thing wasn’t it? He was so polite.
The hostess left you two the wine menu and the prix-fixe menu detailing the night’s exclusive offerings before disappearing back inside the main restaurant. Outside, it was just you, Bucky, and one other couple seated several feet away. For the most part it was…Quiet. Peaceful. All except for the incessant pounding of your heart.
You picked up the wine menu, still trembling. He cocked an eyebrow as he glanced up at you over the top of his menu. “Why don’t you order a bottle, sweetheart? Seems like your nerves could use it.”
Your eyes flicked up from the tiny booklet, cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m not nervous,” you defended.
“Mmm…” he hummed, blue eyes focusing back on the menu. He was reading it for far too long for something so short. It seemed maybe he was nervous too.
“Mmm what?” you asked, setting the wine menu down and then mirroring his prior expression - cocked brow and a sharp gaze.
He didn’t look back up at you as he answered. “You’re awfully shaky. It’s like you’ve never had a real man take you on a proper date.”
You scoffed. “I’ve been on plenty of proper dates.”
He chuckled. “Doll, Olive Garden doesn’t count and neither does splitting the check.”
Your cheeks continued to bloom red. “In my defense, I’m a broke college student. We all are.” You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flicked down towards the prix-fixe menu.
Bucky finally set his own menu aside and leaned forward, his large, warm palms finding your forearms and resting there. You looked up. His gaze was almost too much and not enough in the same breath. “And that’s why we’re here tonight,” he said, voice low again in that tone that sent heat pooling straight between your thighs. Shamefully.
“So that I can show you how a real man treats a lady.”
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down towards his hands and the only thing you could think of was how he could easily hold both your wrists above your head with no issue. Back pressed to the wall. His lips on yours. Fuck, where was your goddamn mind at?
He smirked. “Doll, where’s your head at?” Like you were an open book and he was reading it faster than you could write it.
You about choked. You cleared your throat. “Nothin’ just…You’re right. You’re right, I’ve never been on a proper date,” you mumbled, still avoiding contact with those beautiful blues that had you feeling like you were losing your mind - which, in your defense, you sort of were.
To your relief, your waitress for the night appeared to take your drink orders. For him, it was a glass of scotch. For you, it was a bottle of rosé because he’d insisted. She ran you two quickly through the courses on the menu before whisking away to work on the drink orders. And then there was an awkward silence that fell between the two of you. Him staring at you and you fidgeting with the bottom hem of your cocktail dress like if you rubbed the ruby fabric enough times it would send you home.
“You’re staring,” you muttered, deciding it was time to say something. Anything.
He laughed. “People tell me I’ve got a problem with it,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. You could feel his gaze boring into you. It was like you could sense he was on the verge of saying something but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.
Hell, was any of this appropriate at all? Probably not. The age gap screamed very much not. But, part of you really wanted this. The older man. The experience. Someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.
“So, why are you trying to hook up with your best friend’s father?” His voice cut through your thoughts - the dreaded question that you’d been waiting for him to ask.
You blinked. “I’m sorry?” You tried to play dumb.
He smirked again. A slight tug at the corner of his lips but it was there. “You heard me, doll,” he said, voice dripping sinful honey that had your tongue feeling too big for your mouth and your thoughts racing beyond a speed you could comprehend.
“I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t know it was you,” you choked out.
Bucky’s expression turned puzzled. “You didn’t know it was me?” He almost sounded offended. Well, at least the night had gone halfway perfect.
You sighed. “I was just…I was buzzed. Okay, maybe a little drunk…”
“Uh huh…”
“And I…Well…I just texted a bunch of numbers hoping someone would answer…”
He hummed, expression still puzzled like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of your confession. His voice was…Concerned, though. As he spoke again, “Why are you drunk at ten in the damn morning and texting men who you don’t even know who they are?”
And then it all came crumbling down and the only thing left to do was pray your mascara was going to hold on tight. “Brad…I…I caught Brad cheating on me last week…” you said quietly, your eyes beginning to water. You fanned yourself with the menu, hoping you could hold it together and not seem like an absolute mess.
Bucky’s expression softened. All he could do was reach out across the table, palms up and inviting your own to meet his. Slowly, you set the menu down and placed your palms in his. Once again, his hands were twice the size of yours, practically swallowing them whole as he held them firm and gentle.
You sniffled, a tear falling down one cheek and then the other. Oh great. The waterworks. How lovely. But…He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled one hand away, grabbed the linen napkin from across his lap, and brought it up to gently dab the tears away.
“Doll…” he started slowly, softly. “That doesn’t mean you go searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and texting men who aren’t any better for you than him…”
As if on cue, the waitress brings back your bottle of wine in a bucket filled with ice. She places a glass on the table, thin and dainty and made for sparkling wines. She popped open the bottle and poured your first glass to a perfect height. “Enjoy. The first course will come out shortly,” she said, leaving Bucky’s scotch at the end of the table before whisking off again.
Once she was gone, you blinked. “But…But you’re better than him.”
He laughed as he swirled the scotch around in the beveled crystal - amused. “Oh, I know I am. But what if one of those other boys had responded, hmm? Where would you be at now?”
You sighed. Not at a fancy dinner, that’s for sure. Probably getting drunk in your apartment and letting Jake from Hinge hit it from the back. And this was far better than that.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, voice breaking through your loud, mess of a mind. “Now, let me show you how a real man should treat you, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt like this, doll. You’re too good for that.”
And so, you sat across from him and let Becca’s dad, Bucky Barnes, show you how wining and dining really worked. You let him lead the pleasant conversation. He complimented you tastefully, reaching across the table to brush a hand across your cheek but not daring to move an inch lower. His gaze was respectable, kind. The warmth of the rosé was flowing through your veins and while you tried to flirt with him, he was always so polite. So reserved.
When it came time for dessert, a stunning display of comforting bananas foster, you two had decided to share the course. His spoon would clink against yours occasionally, a red flush covering your cheeks and your heart doing somersaults like a high school girl on a first date.
You hadn’t even noticed, but some of the caramel sauce that had come atop the ice cream was dribbling down your chin after a misguided, wine-drunk bite. He was quick to the rescue before it soiled your ruby dress.
He carefully leaned across the table, napkin outstretched in his hand as he very gingerly wiped the caramel from the corner of your mouth with a gentle smile upon his lips. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty little dress.” You felt like you could swoon, like your eyes would turn to hearts at any given second.
Bucky hovered there for a moment, over the table, hand outstretched and his face just close enough to smell the warm scotch and the sweet caramel on his breath. Your eyes flicked down to his lips and then back up to those piercing blue eyes that you swore would be the death of you.
You watched as his eyes mirrored yours now, flicking down once and then up almost too quick to catch. But then he was retreating, sitting back in his chair and quickly throwing up his hand as the waitress passed by. “Check please, ma’am?”
Bucky drove you home. He made sure to shield you again from prying eyes, although you caught it this time when he glanced down once to see the curve of your ass peek out from beneath your dress as you lowered yourself into his car.
He walked you up to the door, taking you by one hand and leading your waist with the other as you were very clearly drunk. Once you got to the door, you fumbled in your clutch for your keys, fingers trembling and causing you to drop them onto the welcome mat.
You moved to stoop down, but he stopped you with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, if you bend down right now, I’m not gettin’ ya back up off that concrete.” Yeah, he probably had a point there.
He bent down and grabbed the key - and, as he stood, his shoulder brushed against your arm and your breath hitched. Bucky’s eyes met yours, inches away from your face, and he took the key and pressed into your palm with a close-lipped smile. “Careful, doll.”
You felt like a deer caught in headlights for a good fifteen seconds, although those seconds felt like years. You blinked and then turned your attention back to the lock.
The world was spinning as you lined the key up and pushed it in, turning it over with a thump that nearly echoed the frantic pulse of your heart in your ears. You pushed the door open and he stuck one foot in to follow before you turned around, shocked.
He tilted his head. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just makin’ sure you make it past the threshold. Honest,” he said with a light chuckle.
And you let him. You let Bucky Barnes walk you to your couch and sit you down. You watched as he kneeled in front of you and very carefully guided your heels off your blistered feet - in your defense, you didn’t wear heels often.
Bucky fluffed up one of your decorative pillows that had seen better days, and then gently helped you lay down. The ceiling was swirling around and around, and in the same breath it felt like your body was on a boat rocking back and forth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling ten seconds away from turning green.
The next thing you felt was the weight of his sport coat as he laid it across you, a makeshift blanket to ensure you didn’t go cold - or, a cruel souvenir for you to remember him by. For you to stare at every day from now on and think about his face. The way he bit his lip if he stared you up and down for a moment too long. The way you could feel his lips linger, dying to leave a kiss on your cheek, but then retreating cowardly.
“I gotta leave, doll,” you hear him say through the fog. “Next time, call me.”
And the click of the door closing behind him was the very last thing you heard before you blacked out.
The grey morning light is what woke you, streaming in through the sliding glass door all cheery and bright as if you weren’t currently crawling your way out of rock bottom. You groaned, the weight of his sport coat still on your body. The scent of him lingered there on the woven fabric. Sharp, woodsy, masculine. Driftwood and gunmetal.
You slowly sat up, bringing the collar of the coat to your face and inhaling deeply. Had you not had this tangible piece of evidence, you would have thought the prior night was nothing more than a drunken dream fueled by a bottle of Malibu.
You saw your clutch placed on the coffee table and you opened it, pulling your phone out. No new texts. You sighed.
You moved to start the routine you’d gotten in the habit of the over the last week. Tylenol, number one. Shower, second. Booze, third. Except, as your head pounded and your stomach growled with the craving of something other than liquor, you could hear Bucky’s voice in the back of your head. The one telling you not to drown your feelings in a bottle. The one telling you to call him.
So, you put the bottle of vodka down and picked up your phone instead. You tapped on his contact, which you made sure to actually label that morning, and called him. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you waited for him to pick up…
No answer.
You huffed and threw your phone down onto the table. Not like you expected an answer anyway. Just then, you heard a knock at the front door. Brows furrowed in confusion, you quietly padded over and peeked through the peep hole. All you saw was a rather stout man holding what had to be an entire bush of bright red roses.
You opened the door and the man set the bunch of roses down on the ground. They were in their own little golden vase, fanned out and pretty for display. “Got a delivery here from a Mr. Barnes,” the man said with a smile, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope. “Enjoy your morning, miss.”
You ran your fingertips across the heavy weight of the cardstock envelope, a gold wax seal holding closed all its secrets. You hauled the roses inside before sitting at your kitchen table and fumbling with the envelope as your fingers trembled.
You slipped out a short letter, hand-written with a good pen, paper, and ink. Thoughtful.
Doll, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night. Take care and I’ll see you tonight at 8:00 P.M. You don’t need to be fancy, and you know the address.
Your heart stopped dead in your chest for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only a second or two. Your head was reeling now. Why did he want to meet you at his house? Your best friend’s house? Was she even going to be gone this evening?
You quickly checked your texts. Becca had been fairly MIA for her finals, which tracked considering she took her schooling so seriously. You scrolled up, glanced at the date on your calendar, and then your cheeks flushed crimson. Becca would be gone. Most of the night, actually. Her boyfriend, Cole, had his last baseball game of the school season and it didn’t start until seven.
Was he inviting you over for…? No. No, he couldn’t be. Even with the tension between you two the night before, you knew Bucky. You knew he wasn’t like that. You knew he didn’t think of you like that. Not at all.
As you folded the letter back up and tucked it neatly inside its envelope, you turned to take in the magnificent sight of the multiple dozens of roses that were bloomed as red as your cheeks as they sat there on the kitchen counter like a neon invitation. An invitation to see how far you could push Mr. Barnes that evening.
The house wasn’t anything special. A quaint little brownstone in Brooklyn that screamed home sweet home in the midst of corporate chaos and brightly lit billboards that never slept. The street was quiet, lined with old street lamps that gave it a sort of charm that felt captured in a different time.
You knocked at the deep red door, nervous as you tugged your coat in tight around you. You heard the deadbolt unlatch and then the door creaked open. There was Bucky, in blue jeans and a blue Henley with his hair messier than the night before - he looked much more lived-in and casual and less like a posh Ken doll fresh from the box.
“Come on in,” he invited warmly with a smile, stepping aside.
You gave him a curt, polite nod and a mirrored smile as you ascended the last two steps and crossed over the threshold. You were immediately greeted by the sobering smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of the TV playing the local news at a low volume. You jumped slightly when you felt his hand rest against the small of your back as he came around your left flank. “Can I offer you some coffee?” he asked, glancing down at you with irises that reminded you of endless blue skies on a clear June afternoon.
You glanced nervously between him and the television a few times before you decided you were much too jittery to drink any level of caffeine - so, you declined. “No, thanks,” you said quietly.
Your eyes widened as he moved to take your coat off for you. A red-hot blush flooded your cold cheeks with crimson as his hands brushed along your arms - the cool autumn air didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against the heat of your own embarrassment. “O-Oh I-“ you stuttered, watching as he placed your coat on the rack just beside the door.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘thank you’?” Bucky quipped teasingly, beckoning for you to follow him into the kitchen.
You followed, leaning against the kitchen island while he poured himself a cup of coffee into one of those cheesy ‘World’s #1 Dad’ mugs. He leaned back against the dark granite countertop across from you, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the brim of his mug as he took a sip of the piping hot liquid.
You cocked an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you didn’t summon me here with a bush of roses just for me to watch you drink coffee,” you said, breaking the tensioned silence that had fallen between you.
He laughed a little, setting the mug to the side. “Guilty as charged,” he said, half-heartedly throwing up his hands before his expression shifted to something more serious.
“I asked you over because I wanted to tell you, in person, that this-“ he gestured from himself to you “-cannot be a…A thing.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his jaw ticked, clearly nervous.
You laughed. “Bucky, this was never meant to be a thing,” you said, mirroring him as he crossed his arms over his chest. You got the feeling he was backpedaling, like he realized something at the restaurant the night before and was now trying to build a wall to keep it out. “I was looking for a hookup, not a boyfriend.”
“Well, maybe since you’ve seen how a proper man treats a lady, perhaps you’ll rethink that.”
“I’m really not ready to get back in the dating scene…”
“Then wait.”
You paused. This was your life. Not his. Why in the hell did he care so much? “What’s it matter to you if I wait or not?”
His jaw ticked and his eyes briefly darted to the side, fixating on a point in space you couldn’t quite locate. “I don’t want you playing with fire so much you burn yourself,” he muttered, gaze going downtrodden.
“Why do you care?”
“Seeing you hurt, hurts me.”
“And why do you care that fucking much?”
Your question lands on him like a bullet to the chest. He picks up his coffee, mug trembling a little, and takes a sip like it’ll magically cure the ache in his chest. “It’s what Steve would have wanted me to encourage you to do.”
You sighed. Steve was your father, a military vet and close friend of Bucky’s who’d been killed in action many moons ago. You only found out about their connection to each after about a year of being close friends with Becca - at your high school graduation when Bucky gifted you a letter your father had left for you.
“He isn’t here and he doesn’t get to dictate what I do,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze because it’d only remind you that he was doing this to isolate himself.
“But I can still try to fulfill his wishes,” Bucky said, taking a couple steps forward and inserting himself into the awkward little bubble you’d built. It felt like he was taking up too much personal space but not enough at the same time.
Your breath hitched as he reached forward and pressed his metal palm to your cheek, something cold and shocking against the constant flush that reddened your skin. “And it’s so I no longer want what I can’t have.”
Your heart was pounding. You. He meant you. You were what he couldn’t have. You were the guilty pleasure, the reason he probably answered your text in the first place. And you were right - he was trying to build a wall. A wall between your heart and his.
You nuzzled against his palm, eyes fluttering shut. The touch felt holy. “What if I want it too?” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking up at him. “What about my own wishes?”
“It’s not the right thing to do…”
“I don’t want to do the right thing, Bucky!” you exclaimed, frustrated. You pushed yourself off the counter, standing closer to him now - almost chest to chest. “You don’t understand that all I want right now is something wrong! I want to feel something, Bucky. Anything. Anything other than this pain.” Your voice was beginning to crack and those beautiful blues of his were starting to well up with tears.
“I…” Bucky’s hand lingered on your cheek. You could tell by the way his fingers twitched that he was thinking. That he was trying to figure out if he had the strength to go against his own morals. “I…I can’t…”
You reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek with your own palm, thumb running along the plane of his cheekbone. “You can.”
He looked like he was about to break, about to shatter completely. The tension was thick enough to feel, heavy and suffocating. His eyes flicked from yours and down to your lips. Back up to your eyes. Back down to your lips. “This isn’t a good idea…” he murmured, leaning in close enough now that you could smell the mix of coffee and whiskey and mint on his breath.
You took a shuddering breath, eyes closing again because you couldn’t stand the weight of his gaze. “I don’t want it to be good. I just want to feel…” you breathed, shaky hand coming to rest against his muscled chest. “I just want to feel you.”
You could see it in the way his jaw ticked - you could feel it in the way he wasn’t sure if your hand burned him or comforted him. Bucky was trying so hard to resist the temptation in front of him. “Please, doll…I can’t,” he pleaded brokenly, but it was weak and he made no attempt to pull away from your touch.
You leaned up, nose nudging his and lips so close to brushing as you murmured, “Then why are you still here?”
It could be heard in his chest, something deep and guttural and longing all pulled together into a groan he couldn’t hold back. And suddenly, both of his hands were holding your face - one metal, one flesh. The way his lips smashed into yours would be forever imprinted in your mind. You could only imagine how long he’d waited to have this. To have you.
The kiss was everything - teeth, tongue, breath, and heat. He nipped playfully at your bottom lip and you growled, which elicited a deep chuckle you’d never heard before - amused and pleased. His tongue explored your mouth like it was trying to map it, and yours did the very same to his. Nothing about this was normal. But you didn’t want it to be.
When he broke the kiss, it was only because one of you needed to fucking breathe or you’d both be dead on the floor. Panting, he whispered, “Is that what you wanted?”
You nodded wordlessly and pulled him right back in, trying to drown him under the weight of how much you craved him. His hands found your hips and gripped at the soft flesh, picking you up like you weighed nothing and perching you atop the granite.
His flesh hand snaked its way up your blouse, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease that shouldn’t have turned you on but it did. He pulled the garment off and tossed it on the kitchen floor, the silk of your blouse cascading in cool puddles across your tits. You shivered, only cold for a moment before his palm was kneading at the mounds of flesh like he’d been dreaming of how good they’d feel.
You moaned out, breaking the kiss as you tossed your head back when his thumb and forefinger began to tease and roll your nipple between calloused skin. “Fuck,” you groaned, hands scrambling from purchase at the edge of the countertop.
You barely had time to react before Bucky was ripping your blouse from your torso, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. “Bucky!” you scolded, but he remained unbothered and on a mission.
“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, stooping down and taking your neglected breast into his mouth as his hand continued to work the other.
The feel of his hot, wet mouth and tongue across your nipple was enough to have you keening up off the counter and further into his touch. It felt so fucking good that you were convinced you’d cum just from the way he worshipped your tits.
He pulled back, lips glistening with saliva and pupils blown as he glanced up at you. He looked feral - hungry and ready to feast. You watched as he dropped to his knees and rucked up your pencil skirt to reveal the lacy panties that clung to your dripping wet core.
“This what I do to ya, doll?” he breathed, practically drooling at the smell of your arousal as it assaulted his senses. He just needed to taste you. Devour you.
You whimpered and nodded. “Y-Yes,” you nearly whispered, brain short-circuiting as you felt his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties and peel them away.
He watched, mesmerized by how your glistening folds clung to the lace, groaning as he could now see how drenched and pretty you were for him. He tossed the panties somewhere in the same direction as your bra, and then his hands were prying you open to make way for his head as he leaned in and licked a slow, warm stripe straight up the center of your heat.
You felt your toes curls and your back bow a little as the tip of his tongue traced devastating circles around your clit before diving back down and straight past your entrance.
“Bucky!” you gasped out, head thrown back as your hands found purchase in that gorgeous salt-and-pepper mane of his. “Fuck-“ you groaned, listening as the sounds he made were so obscene they had you blushing. Licking, slurping, sucking…He was like a man starved and you were the best damn meal he could’ve been served.
Bucky hummed against your core, sending vibrations straight through your clit as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and began to suck. You were already trembling from the overload of pleasure, but that wasn’t enough for him. No, he needed you screaming for his mercy.
You felt as he teased your entrance with his forefinger, just barely pushing it in and then retreating. Nothing he could’ve done in that moment would have prepared you for when he plunged two fingers deep inside you and curled them with such ease it was almost second nature.
You could feel yourself clench around his digits with his name on your lips as you let out a whorish moan. Between his mouth and tongue working your clit and his fingers quite literally beckoning you to cum for him, you were in pure, blissful heaven.
That burning coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind tighter and tighter, and he could tell. He hummed in approval, fingers bullying into your g-spot now with a precision that was, frankly, unfair.
“C’mon, doll,” he urged as he lapped at your clit. “Cum f’me. Lemme have it all…” The way his voice was so deep, so smooth…It was like silk over gravel. And it had you coming undone the second he begged for you like that.
Your body arched forward as you moaned his name, nails digging into his scalp as your toes curled and your entire body felt like it was trying to levitate off the damn counter. But he didn’t stop - even as you pulsed and gushed around him, he kept on fucking going.
“B-Bucky,” you whimpered out as it was bordering on overstimulation. “B-Buck please…” You were pleading with a man who was too damn happy with where he was. If you’d let him, he’d live there between your thighs and die a very satisfied man.
“One more f’me…Please,” he begged softly, warm breath ghosting across your core before he dove back in and began sucking at your clit again.
You could feel tears blurring the edges of your vision, and you weren’t even sure if your first orgasm had ended before the second begun - but, you still felt it all the same. The overwhelming tidal wave of bliss that caused your body to clench around his fingers like your cunt was trying to trap him there. You let out something between a moan and a sob, grip faltering on his hair as your body collapsed back against the shockingly cold granite.
Your head was spinning, vision blurred and hearing muffled. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum so hard in your whole goddamn life.
“So, so good f’me, doll,” you heard him praise you through the haze. He slowly pulled his fingers out, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing at the absence of him. He gladly lapped at the slick release you’d rewarded him with, earning a very fucked-out groan from you. “Tastes like heaven and ya sound like it too when you’re cummin’ f’me like that,” he drawled, getting to his feet.
As he rose, you could see just how hard he was against the stiff denim of his jeans, and that only filled you with a new wave of want - of craving.
A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips when he noticed you were staring - not that you were trying to stare, it was just there. “Not right here, doll,” he murmured like he could read your mind, a finger hooking under your chin and gently bringing your lips up to his as he kissed you with the remnants of your release still glistening on his skin. The taste of you and him combined was intoxicating, a drug that you only wanted more of…
But then he was pulling away and you were left pouting. “Hey, don’t you pull that with me,” he teased, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead before you found yourself being lifted into his arms - bridal style - like you weighed no more than a feather. “You’ll get what you want. Just gotta be patient, sweetheart.”
The sickly sweet kindness in his smile was almost cruel in this scenario, but you silently snaked your arms around his neck as he carried you through the narrow foyer and up the short staircase to the second floor. The house wasn’t cramped, necessarily. But, with him carrying you through the tight halls, it felt rather cozy with just the two of you alone.
His foot nudged the door open to the master bedroom, old brass hinges creaking softly. You found yourself being laid so gingerly onto the mattress you could almost feel the tears welling again in your eyes. He treated you like something special, something fragile. It made your heart swell a little.
“May I?” he asked, nodding to your skirt. It was your last remaining article of clothing. You nodded back in permission, cheeks flushed crimson in the low lamplight that streamed through the window and illuminated everything in a heavenly, golden glow.
Bucky shimmied your skirt gently down your legs and tossed it aside before he made zero show about stripping down himself - but, it was a delicious sight to you all the same.
Watching as the layers of clothing were peeled away, revealing nothing but rippling muscles and silvery scars. The scar where metal met man was particularly bad, but still beautiful it’s own devastating rite. His dress shirt the night before hadn’t left much to your imagination, but even then, this was far beyond what your mind had conjured - he had the appearance that God himself carved him from the finest marble. An aged artwork that only grew finer with the weather and the years.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured lowly, crawling over top of your body and caging you in with solid forearms and beefy biceps you swore one day you’d take a bite of.
Heat rushed across your cheeks and you brought your hands up to rest against his biceps, fingers gripping flesh one side and brushing across whirring metal plates on the other. “I’m just admiring what you’ve been keeping from me,” you whispered.
“Well, it’s not polite to stare, doll,” he said, dipping down so your lips were brushing dangerously close.
“It’s not polite to keep a girl waiting,” you quipped back, feeling your breath hitch a little just feeling his bare chest pressed so intimately to your own.
“See? You’re learning,” he chuckled softly, ducking down and beginning to kiss and suck at the suppleness of your neck. “Good girl,” you heard him mumble against your skin.
You arched up into his feather-light touch, lips trailing from neck to collarbone to breasts to torso as soft purple bruises began to bloom in his wake. And then he was sitting back on his knees and you took another unashamed moment to fully appreciate him. To admire his cock, impossibly hard and gorgeously flushed, leaking precum like he’d been edged for hours.
He opened his mouth and you interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah. Staring again. I get it, Barnes. Just let me eye-fuck you, yeah?” you muttered, and that got an actual laugh from him.
Reaching his flesh hand down, he gripped himself at the base and started to stroke his aching length. “You like what you see?” he breathed, angling his hips a little so his precum dripped along your thighs like a sinful, pearlescent trail that lead to your core. “You imagining what it can do to ya, doll?”
You nodded, more than eager. “Wanna feel it inside me…Please,” you pleaded, practically drooling as you watched him rub the head of his cock through your slick folds. “Please…”
“Mmm…Please who?” he asked, gaze flicking up to your face as it was contorted in desperation for him.
It took you a split second to think about what he might’ve been asking. And then it popped into your mind and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “You’re a dirty man, Barnes,” you purred, only to feel the grip of metal meet your throat. Your eyes went wide.
“I asked you a question,” he growled, and the gravelly rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt as your walls fluttered around nothing.
“Yes, Sergeant,” you said, pushing your throat up further into his hand and smirking.
Bucky groaned, swearing in the back of his mind that you were going to be the death of him. He squeezed at your throat one last time before posting the same vibranium palm right beside your head. “That’s right, doll,” he muttered, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull as you felt him begin to push inside you.
The stretch burned, but the way he so perfectly filled and dominated every inch of space was immaculate - let alone the way you could feel every pulsing vein and soft ridge brushing along your walls as he eased in inch by brutal inch. He paused about halfway, concerned by how your features were twisted. “Doin’ okay there, doll?” he asked, flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. The way his thumb ran along the high plane of your cheekbone was tender, loving.
You nodded, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes and wet eyelashes. “More than fucking okay,” you managed to choke out with a small laugh. It was hard to put into words just how good he felt buried so deep inside you that you swore he was pushing the very oxygen from your lungs.
Bucky let out a soft grunt once he was fully sheathed, already appearing wrecked. “Fuck, doll,” he breathed, nearly panting as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight, ya know that? Squeezin’ me…Milkin’ me dry already and I haven’t even started…” He let out a small, breathless chuckle.
You let out a laugh just as breathless as his. “Sounds like you’re not gonna last very long, old man,” you jeered playfully.
His cheeks flushed bright red, but he didn’t reply. He only slowly began to pull out, groaning raggedly as he felt the way his cock dragged along your walls - the way your body was actively trying to pull him back and keep him in.
He pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed himself back in all at once. You moaned so loudly when he bottomed out that you were certain the neighbors three doors down heard you. And that wasn’t the last time they would, unfortunate enough as it was for them. Because he pulled out and then pushed back into you again, forcing the same exact whorish moan past your lips before you could catch it.
“You like what I do to ya, doll? Like when I give it all to ya? When I bury my cock so deep ya feel it here?” he drawled, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as his flesh hand pressed down against a small bulge in your lower abdomen and you just about levitated off the goddamn bed.
The pace he set was steady and calculated. One that allowed for him to achieve the same depth of penetration each and every time - the same devastating attention to making sure he hit all the right spots. It wasn’t brutal because it was fast - no, it was brutal because he took his time and holy fuck it was a borderline religious experience.
It felt as though you had no idea where your body ended and his begun as he rucked your legs up over his shoulders and you found yourself with nails raking down his back as your ankles were pushed back damn near close to the sides of your head. The position was passionate, intimate. Sweat began to pool where your bodies were melded, chest to chest and forehead to shoulder. You couldn’t help the way you moaned his name, and he couldn’t help the way he panted yours like he was begging for mercy.
“Takin’ me s’well…Atta girl,” he breathed out, his praises sending sparks of red-hot pleasure straight to your cunt. “Gonna fill ya up, doll…Claim ya…Make ya mine like I shoulda done a long time ago…”
You whimpered at his words, nails digging crescents into the tops of his shoulders as you clung on for dear life. “B-Bucky~” you moaned out weakly, head fuzzy as your mind was actively being fucked stupid. “Please…” you begged, pulling at him and trying to encourage him to go faster. Harder.
“You sure, doll?”
“If you don’t fuck me into this goddamn mattress-“
He cut you off with a sharp snap of his hips. Then another. And another. You could feel the head of his cock bullying into that soft, spongy spot inside you and you cried out. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” you exclaimed with each thrust, eyes lolling shut and your head hitting the pillow as the pleasure began conjuring stars across your vision.
Bucky groaned, something deep, guttural, and primal - something you hadn’t expected from someone who seemed so…Quiet. “It’s like you were made f’me, doll,” he whimpered, his rhythm beginning to falter. “Ya gonna cum f’me? Can feel ya grippin’ me…Know you’re close, sweetheart. Need ya to give it to me…”
He was begging for you in the same way someone would pray for forgiveness - reverent and wrecked and desperate. You could feel that coil in your lower abdomen tightening, pulling taut until your orgasm snapped through your body unyielding and violent.
“B-Bucky! A-Ah~!” you barely managed to squeak out as you felt your spine arch off the mattress and your body seize beyond your control. He groaned again as your cunt clenched down around him, and you could feel as he began to throb and pulse ropes of white, hot cum inside you at the exact same time.
“Shit-“ he grunted out, stilling inside you and partially collapsing his weight on top of you as his chest heaved and gleamed with sweat.
Your head was fuzzy, warm. The afterglow rolled over your body like something soft and comforting - floaty like you were resting on a cloud of your own pleasure. “Mmm…Bucky?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“Is that how a man should fuck me proper?”
He laughed, turning his head to pepper soft kisses on your cheek. “Yeah, doll. I’d say so.”
He slowly pulled out and then flopped onto the bed beside you. The loss of him inside you felt almost great enough to mourn, but his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close quickly filled that void. “And now I’ve ruined you for all the boys,” he teased, kissing your forehead before gathering you in close to his chest - he was like a furnace, and he held you like his greatest treasure.
You giggled. “S’okay,” you mumbled against his skin, lazily tangling your legs with his. “‘M yours now anyway.”
Bucky smiled to himself, squeezing you tight. “That’s right, doll. All mine.”
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Dex begs for you to fuck him. Sorry, folks. No fancy, zinger openers here. That’s literally it. I’m horny and I’m (not) sorry.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, sub!Dex, dom!reader, Dex being pathetic, reader is a freak on his level, begging, slight worship? of reader, little pet names (baby boy, good boy, babydoll), slight praise kink, hair pulling, knife play, small blood kink (I will not apologize), sorta alludes to a toxic relationship dynamic but it’s really not that deep.
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: This is meant to be a short lil’ somethin’ and I won’t apologize for any of this mess and if this flops I’ll just blame @laufeydottirs-writings who beta’d this and said it was good :) Also my first time writing Dex because his character intimidates me lmao This may or may not also be kind of a teaser to a longer fic I’m editing hehe…
Credit to @/cursed-carmine for the dividers!
There weren’t very many moments when Benjamin Poindexter relinquished control. So, when he’s on his knees and begging for a taste of you, you can’t help but feel the scales are tipping more in your favor. You were, after all, perhaps the only person who ever had the privilege of seeing Dex this vulnerable - because he didn’t need to pretend. He could be whatever he wanted…Whatever you wanted. And you’d love him all the same.
He looked especially pretty like this, praying to you like an idol who could save him. Only, you didn’t want to save him - you wanted to see just how far you could make him crumble. The way his gray sweatpants did nothing to hide the way he was achingly hard for you. The way his scarred chest was already glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. The way he looked absolutely wrecked as he gazed up at you through wet eyelashes as the calloused pads of his fingers pressed bruises into the meat of your thighs.
“Please - babydoll…I…I need it,” he pleaded softly, voice still deep and gravelly but losing all sense of command.
As you stood there in your panties, admittedly soaked just from the sight of him, he leaned in and pressed three soft kisses to your lower stomach before pressing his forehead there as if gentle reverence was the key to what he craved. And it almost was - except, you were having a little too much fun to give in so easily.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, reaching down and letting your fingers drag through his soft, blond locks. He whimpered, visibly shuddering at the sensation of your nails scraping along his scalp. “Look at you, baby boy. On your knees f’me? Beggin’?” You couldn’t hide the smirk that was tugging at the corners of your lips - something almost cruel and oh-so pleased.
Dex groaned, lolling his head back to gaze up at you again like a starved puppy. He nodded, his trembling palms squeezing at your thighs once…Twice…Thrice - like he was trying to ground himself. “Beggin’ for ya,” he echoed, one of his hands sliding up the frame of your body and reaching towards your breast.
“You gonna be good f’me, baby?” you breathed, body shivering from the electric charge of his touch and betraying you just slightly. “If you can be good, you can have it…” You let your palm rest against his cheek, thumb rubbing across the deep scar that resided there. You traced it once…Twice…Thrice. And you could feel him all but melt into your touch.
“Gonna be so good, baby. Please - I…I really…” You watched as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground, desperate and craving more of your touch like a bad habit he couldn’t quit. And it was bad - you made him soft. Made him weak. Took control.
A laugh escaped you, soft but sudden - amused. “Like it when ya say ‘please’ f’me like that,” you drawled, fingers snaking back into his hair and gripping at the very crown of his head and tugging it back roughly. He grunted, a slight pleased smirk sliding onto his lips.
Your other hand reached towards the waistband of your panties, pulling a pointy little combat knife from where it had been neatly tucked in the lace. You pressed the blade to his throat and his eyes fell closed. “Mmm…What’s that, baby doll?” he rumbled, low and slow. “You playin’ with my toys again?”
As you pressed the tip of the blade in just hard enough to nick him, a small drop of blood pooled around the silvery metallic point. He hissed at the bite of the blade, but you watched as his cock twitched in his sweats. You bit your lip, eyes flicking between his cock and the small wound several times before you answered. “Like playin’ with your things,” you murmured, and then tugged up on his hair. “Get on the damn bed.”
You watched his cock jump again at your demand, and you slowly lowered the blade. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man move quicker than him in the heat of the moment. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a man more obedient. “L-Like this?” he asked - laid out on the mattress like an offering - looking to you for approval.
Nodding, you crawled onto the bed and over his broad, muscled frame. You let the knife drop onto the tightly tucked sheets and then leaned down to lap at the small bit of blood on his neck. You shuddered at the taste - something like copper, sugar, and the salt of his skin - and he moaned.
“Now,” you whispered, breath ghosting warmly across the shell of his ear. “Be a good boy and let me play with my toy~”
I just want to say thank you to everyone for 300 followers! I never imagined I’d get 1, let alone 299 more! I know that’s so cliche to say, but I really do mean it.
I came back on here after literally 10 years, back in January, when I was dealing with some shit and needed to get creative about it. Falling back in love with art and with writing has been an incredible journey. I’ve met some amazing people, most notably @snowleopardkisses who encouraged me so much in the beginning and @laufeydottirs-writings who has become my best friend and greatest support especially as I just went through a two-month period of terrible writer’s block and sub-zero motivation - but our RP threads kept me with one foot in the door and flexing that creative muscle until I felt good about my writing again.
In the last few months, I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD - and living with that has both answered questions and created them. One thing I’ve found that’s kept me grounded is Tumblr. Writing, creating, reading. Even when I’ve felt lost otherwise, coming back here always leaves me with a sense of belonging and acceptance and validation. And the fact that people have loved my writing so much, means the world to me.
Anyway, thanks again. To everyone who’s been here from the beginning before I archived my prior works. To everyone who’s just now joining the ride on a fresh slate. I hope to continue to create for as long as possible and to inspire others to do the same! It just takes one post. One leap of faith. There’s someone out there (and possibly multiple someone’s) who will love and appreciate your work! Just believe in it!
✿ Hairstyle: Long with loose curls, falls to her lower mid-back - she has an undercut to help with the heaviness/heat during the summer months.
✿ Body Build: Curvy, plus-size
✿ Distinguishing Marks: Freckles along her face and body. A very faint, splotchy, red birthmark in the middle of her forehead. It used to be much brighter and is more noticeable in her baby photos.
✿ Jewelry / Accessories: Wears larger square-framed glasses daily. Has a gold ring with a small daisy made of diamonds that she wears on her right hand - it was a parting gift from her grandmother.
✿ Greatest Vulnerability: She’s very easy to manipulate and take advantage of.
✿ Favorite Color(s): Yellow & Orange
✿ Least Favorite Color(s): Black
✿ Favorite Food: Salad - something light and summery with fruits and nuts and a tangy dressing. She also enjoys pasta - carbs are her best friend.
✿ Most Prized Possession: Possum stuffie that she’s had since birth - she still sleeps with him every night and is very keen on keeping him in good condition.
✿ Nervous Tics: Hums to herself, bounces her leg while sitting (if she’s forced to be still), chews at the side of her thumb if she is really anxious sometimes
✿ Optimist or Pessimist?: Optimist
✿ Introvert or Extrovert?: Extrovert
✿ Daredevil or Cautious?: Cautious
✿ Logical or Emotional?: Logical
✿ Disorderly and Messy OR Methodical and Neat?: Methodical & Neat
✿ Prefers Working or Relaxing?: Working 100%
✿ Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Willow is usually fairly confident in herself and is proud of all she’s accomplished in life - she’s satisfied with where she’s at and feels as if it’s where she belongs.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Ouch! Your boyfriend cheated on you! What’s there to do other than day drink and text stale Hinge dates? That is, until your best friend’s dad enters the picture (accidentally) and shows you how a real man should treat a lady.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ / ᴛᴀɢꜱ: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, alcohol use, bad decisions in general, kinda proofread and kinda not, porn with some plot, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Bucky is 40s) Rogers!reader (on accident), kinda dbf!Bucky too???, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie, mating press, kinda belly bulge for just a second, brief choking, some overstimulation, slight praise kink, Bucky is a gentleman, and (of course) big dick!Bucky
ɴᴏʙʟᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I have been lost to the void for two months and only recently felt the urge to let the muses take over me once again. Thanks to Sabrina for the MBF album because honestly I’m obsessed and need to write a fic for every song but we all know that won’t happen. Enjoy whatever the fuck this is and I guess I’m back?? Thanks to my wifey @laufeydottirs-writings for beta reading part of this because I am insecure in my writing abilities and crave validation - ily <3.
Divider credit to @/cursed-carmine & @/squirrelstone!
You honestly couldn’t blame yourself for sending the text. After all, you were already buzzed off a few dirty martinis and it was only 10 A.M. What else were you supposed to do when Gossip Girl reruns no longer held your attention and your vibrator just wasn’t doing it for you?
You had scrolled through the backed-up list of numbers in your phone, most not even named and countless stale conversations having died after a horrendous first date. You never actually expected to receive a text back from any of them - so, when your phone finally buzzed against the stained wood of the coffee table, a fistful of popcorn halfway to your mouth, you froze.
The fluffy, white kernels slowly fell back in the bowl as you set it aside and you leaned forward to grab your phone. Your hand was shaking, and your heart was pounding. Who in the hell was crazy enough to text you back?
Someone horny enough, you supposed.
You sighed, opening your texts and staring at the grey bubble longer than you needed to, the white letters slurring together from the excess of alcohol.
Everything okay?
You laughed - like, actually laughed aloud. The sound, sharp and sudden, echoed off your living room walls. Why the fuck did this man care if everything was okay? You were looking for a hookup, not therapy. You texted back, autocorrect doing the heavy lifting for you.
I just asked if you wanted to come over. Could use the company.
It marked ‘read’ instantly and your heart stopped for just a second. And then he was typing…For a long damn time. Finally, a little ‘whoosh’ came across as his response popped into the chat.
Why don’t I, instead, take you to dinner while Becca is at volleyball practice?
You blinked. Your brain was running on booze and a crippling fear of meeting God. You had to reread it a few times. Becca…Becca…Becca…What the hell did your best friend have to- Oh. Oh no. No, no, and hell no. You panicked, instantly sobering up at least halfway. Your fingers were quick to type.
Oh! Wrong number, sorry!
Okay. Deep breaths. Maybe that would work. Ping. Or not.
What’s going on, doll? You and Becca not friends anymore? She was just talking about you the other day and finals…
Oh god. Yeah. No way to ‘wrong number’ this one. Okay, no problem. Just another deep fucking breath…Ping.
I insist. Dinner. I’ll pick you up. You still live just off campus? Birch and 44th?
You let out the bundle of oxygen you’d been hoarding in your lungs. You had just wanted a good time and now your best friend’s dad was offering to take you out. On what? A date? How old was he again?
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard so long your screen shut off. You looked at yourself in the dark reflection of the glass - hair messy, cheeks tear-stained, eyes puffy and dark. Fuck. Maybe you did just need to get out of the house for a little while.
You tapped your screen back awake.
Yeah, that’s still the address. What time?
Your finger was shaking as you hit ‘send’.
He started to type.
Be ready by 6 P.M. Make yourself feel pretty :)
Your heart fluttered a little. Oh. He wanted you to make yourself look pretty. Well…Alright then! You had quite a lot of work to do so you switched off the TV and headed straight for your bedroom. It was time to put yourself first and have a hell of a time doing it.
6 P.M. rolls around. A steady knock on the door.
You were just securing your final diamond earring and slipping on your last heel. You felt very…Nice. Cocktail dress, stockings, heels, and the only diamond set you owned. Makeup and hair done to the nines with a spritz of your favorite perfume. As you grabbed your clutch, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a little too much.
You opened the door, eyes widening a little as Becca’s father, Bucky, stood there just outside the doorway looking mighty damn fine. Gray slacks, white dress shirt unbuttoned in a casual yet polished manner. Gray sport jacket slung over his shoulder and that beautiful salt-and-pepper hair brushed back. You’d never really given him much of a second thought before - I mean, how could you? He was your best friend’s dad, and you and Becca had been friends since senior year of high school.
But, you just couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on every part of him - his strong facial features, stunning blue eyes, and the way his stubble danced along his chiseled jaw. Then there was the way his dress shirt clung to his chest and arms in a way that should have been a sin - tight in all the right places to show off the work he’d always put into his body since his Army days. It felt a little aggressive to say, but you wanted to chew on this man.
“Hi there, doll,” he said, voice sweet and low with something you’d never heard before. Something akin to the floral sweetness of honey dripping across cragged gravel.
You tried not to melt right then and there as he held out his hand to take yours. “Are you ready or do you need a minute?” He smiled and you felt your world tilt and your stomach churn. No one had the right to be that attractive. No one had the right to look this good and smile at you like that.
“O-Oh I…I’m ready,” you said, clearing your throat a little before giving him a polite smile and daintily placing your hand in his. His palm was practically twice the size of yours and you had to really put effort into not thinking about how good they’d feel inside you right about now…
The thing about Bucky, which had always been the thing about Bucky, was that he was a proper gentleman through and through. You often thought about how Becca ended up with much better men than you did - and it was probably because she was raised by such an exemplary man to begin with. He was the ultimate blueprint.
He walked you to his car, never a pace ahead nor a hair behind until he took a few strides in front of you to open the passenger side door for you. Your dress was a little on the short side, so as you dipped into his car, he used his sport jacket to shield you from prying eyes - he even looked away himself. How chivalrous!
The ride to the restaurant, itself, was great. A little awkward considering how the situation had manifested, but he was skilled at moving the small-talk along and making you feel like the center of attention. You discussed the weather, finals, and after-college plans with the ease of someone who’d done it a million times over with someone his age. It was the typical experience, just with far less lecturing and more mutual understanding than you’d come to expect.
Once you were pulled up to the valet, it wasn’t the valet worker who opened your door for you. No, it was Bucky shielding you again with that damn sport coat until you’d adjusted yourself and grabbed your clutch off the seat. You wobbled a little in your heels against the uneven cobblestone ground and his hand left the car door to catch your waist.
Your breath hitched, his touch so gentle and warm. Your gaze immediately flitted up to his face where he smiled in amusement. “Careful there, doll. Ground’s got teeth,” he murmured, making sure you were steady before he closed the car door and then slipped his sport coat on before offering you his arm. Of course, you obliged.
He lead you to up the little stone pathway to the restaurant door - the inside was dimly lit but you found yourself met with opulence beyond anything you’d experienced before. Crystal chandeliers gleaming and twinkling against candlelight that buzzed from the white clothed tables. You swallowed thickly. This place was expensive and you weren’t so sure you were worthy of it.
“Table for two, should be reserved under James Barnes,” you heard him say to the hostess at the stand.
“Says here you’d prefer the balcony view. Is that still correct?” the hostess inquired.
Your brows furrowed a little as you looked up at him. That sounded…Pricey. Exclusive. “Bucky…” you started to protest.
In the most polite way possible, he shushed you and spoke instead to the hostess. “Yes, please. Should you have anything available.” He gave you a sideways glance, one that silently read as ‘shut up and watch’. Watch what?
The hostess lead the two of you to a semi-private table on a balcony overlooking the city. It looked beautiful from this far away - so quiet and so peaceful. The air was crisp, but not at all too cold and the fireplace lit beside the table added a nice bit of coziness.
Bucky pulled your chair out and you took a seat after only a moment of hesitation. You weren’t used to this kind of treatment and couldn’t recall the last time a man ever gave this much of a shit about chivalry. He pushed you in close to the table and then seated himself politely across from you. That was just the thing wasn’t it? He was so polite.
The hostess left you two the wine menu and the prix-fixe menu detailing the night’s exclusive offerings before disappearing back inside the main restaurant. Outside, it was just you, Bucky, and one other couple seated several feet away. For the most part it was…Quiet. Peaceful. All except for the incessant pounding of your heart.
You picked up the wine menu, still trembling. He cocked an eyebrow as he glanced up at you over the top of his menu. “Why don’t you order a bottle, sweetheart? Seems like your nerves could use it.”
Your eyes flicked up from the tiny booklet, cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m not nervous,” you defended.
“Mmm…” he hummed, blue eyes focusing back on the menu. He was reading it for far too long for something so short. It seemed maybe he was nervous too.
“Mmm what?” you asked, setting the wine menu down and then mirroring his prior expression - cocked brow and a sharp gaze.
He didn’t look back up at you as he answered. “You’re awfully shaky. It’s like you’ve never had a real man take you on a proper date.”
You scoffed. “I’ve been on plenty of proper dates.”
He chuckled. “Doll, Olive Garden doesn’t count and neither does splitting the check.”
Your cheeks continued to bloom red. “In my defense, I’m a broke college student. We all are.” You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flicked down towards the prix-fixe menu.
Bucky finally set his own menu aside and leaned forward, his large, warm palms finding your forearms and resting there. You looked up. His gaze was almost too much and not enough in the same breath. “And that’s why we’re here tonight,” he said, voice low again in that tone that sent heat pooling straight between your thighs. Shamefully.
“So that I can show you how a real man treats a lady.”
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down towards his hands and the only thing you could think of was how he could easily hold both your wrists above your head with no issue. Back pressed to the wall. His lips on yours. Fuck, where was your goddamn mind at?
He smirked. “Doll, where’s your head at?” Like you were an open book and he was reading it faster than you could write it.
You about choked. You cleared your throat. “Nothin’ just…You’re right. You’re right, I’ve never been on a proper date,” you mumbled, still avoiding contact with those beautiful blues that had you feeling like you were losing your mind - which, in your defense, you sort of were.
To your relief, your waitress for the night appeared to take your drink orders. For him, it was a glass of scotch. For you, it was a bottle of rosé because he’d insisted. She ran you two quickly through the courses on the menu before whisking away to work on the drink orders. And then there was an awkward silence that fell between the two of you. Him staring at you and you fidgeting with the bottom hem of your cocktail dress like if you rubbed the ruby fabric enough times it would send you home.
“You’re staring,” you muttered, deciding it was time to say something. Anything.
He laughed. “People tell me I’ve got a problem with it,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. You could feel his gaze boring into you. It was like you could sense he was on the verge of saying something but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.
Hell, was any of this appropriate at all? Probably not. The age gap screamed very much not. But, part of you really wanted this. The older man. The experience. Someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.
“So, why are you trying to hook up with your best friend’s father?” His voice cut through your thoughts - the dreaded question that you’d been waiting for him to ask.
You blinked. “I’m sorry?” You tried to play dumb.
He smirked again. A slight tug at the corner of his lips but it was there. “You heard me, doll,” he said, voice dripping sinful honey that had your tongue feeling too big for your mouth and your thoughts racing beyond a speed you could comprehend.
“I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t know it was you,” you choked out.
Bucky’s expression turned puzzled. “You didn’t know it was me?” He almost sounded offended. Well, at least the night had gone halfway perfect.
You sighed. “I was just…I was buzzed. Okay, maybe a little drunk…”
“Uh huh…”
“And I…Well…I just texted a bunch of numbers hoping someone would answer…”
He hummed, expression still puzzled like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of your confession. His voice was…Concerned, though. As he spoke again, “Why are you drunk at ten in the damn morning and texting men who you don’t even know who they are?”
And then it all came crumbling down and the only thing left to do was pray your mascara was going to hold on tight. “Brad…I…I caught Brad cheating on me last week…” you said quietly, your eyes beginning to water. You fanned yourself with the menu, hoping you could hold it together and not seem like an absolute mess.
Bucky’s expression softened. All he could do was reach out across the table, palms up and inviting your own to meet his. Slowly, you set the menu down and placed your palms in his. Once again, his hands were twice the size of yours, practically swallowing them whole as he held them firm and gentle.
You sniffled, a tear falling down one cheek and then the other. Oh great. The waterworks. How lovely. But…He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled one hand away, grabbed the linen napkin from across his lap, and brought it up to gently dab the tears away.
“Doll…” he started slowly, softly. “That doesn’t mean you go searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and texting men who aren’t any better for you than him…”
As if on cue, the waitress brings back your bottle of wine in a bucket filled with ice. She places a glass on the table, thin and dainty and made for sparkling wines. She popped open the bottle and poured your first glass to a perfect height. “Enjoy. The first course will come out shortly,” she said, leaving Bucky’s scotch at the end of the table before whisking off again.
Once she was gone, you blinked. “But…But you’re better than him.”
He laughed as he swirled the scotch around in the beveled crystal - amused. “Oh, I know I am. But what if one of those other boys had responded, hmm? Where would you be at now?”
You sighed. Not at a fancy dinner, that’s for sure. Probably getting drunk in your apartment and letting Jake from Hinge hit it from the back. And this was far better than that.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, voice breaking through your loud, mess of a mind. “Now, let me show you how a real man should treat you, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt like this, doll. You’re too good for that.”
And so, you sat across from him and let Becca’s dad, Bucky Barnes, show you how wining and dining really worked. You let him lead the pleasant conversation. He complimented you tastefully, reaching across the table to brush a hand across your cheek but not daring to move an inch lower. His gaze was respectable, kind. The warmth of the rosé was flowing through your veins and while you tried to flirt with him, he was always so polite. So reserved.
When it came time for dessert, a stunning display of comforting bananas foster, you two had decided to share the course. His spoon would clink against yours occasionally, a red flush covering your cheeks and your heart doing somersaults like a high school girl on a first date.
You hadn’t even noticed, but some of the caramel sauce that had come atop the ice cream was dribbling down your chin after a misguided, wine-drunk bite. He was quick to the rescue before it soiled your ruby dress.
He carefully leaned across the table, napkin outstretched in his hand as he very gingerly wiped the caramel from the corner of your mouth with a gentle smile upon his lips. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty little dress.” You felt like you could swoon, like your eyes would turn to hearts at any given second.
Bucky hovered there for a moment, over the table, hand outstretched and his face just close enough to smell the warm scotch and the sweet caramel on his breath. Your eyes flicked down to his lips and then back up to those piercing blue eyes that you swore would be the death of you.
You watched as his eyes mirrored yours now, flicking down once and then up almost too quick to catch. But then he was retreating, sitting back in his chair and quickly throwing up his hand as the waitress passed by. “Check please, ma’am?”
Bucky drove you home. He made sure to shield you again from prying eyes, although you caught it this time when he glanced down once to see the curve of your ass peek out from beneath your dress as you lowered yourself into his car.
He walked you up to the door, taking you by one hand and leading your waist with the other as you were very clearly drunk. Once you got to the door, you fumbled in your clutch for your keys, fingers trembling and causing you to drop them onto the welcome mat.
You moved to stoop down, but he stopped you with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, if you bend down right now, I’m not gettin’ ya back up off that concrete.” Yeah, he probably had a point there.
He bent down and grabbed the key - and, as he stood, his shoulder brushed against your arm and your breath hitched. Bucky’s eyes met yours, inches away from your face, and he took the key and pressed into your palm with a close-lipped smile. “Careful, doll.”
You felt like a deer caught in headlights for a good fifteen seconds, although those seconds felt like years. You blinked and then turned your attention back to the lock.
The world was spinning as you lined the key up and pushed it in, turning it over with a thump that nearly echoed the frantic pulse of your heart in your ears. You pushed the door open and he stuck one foot in to follow before you turned around, shocked.
He tilted his head. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just makin’ sure you make it past the threshold. Honest,” he said with a light chuckle.
And you let him. You let Bucky Barnes walk you to your couch and sit you down. You watched as he kneeled in front of you and very carefully guided your heels off your blistered feet - in your defense, you didn’t wear heels often.
Bucky fluffed up one of your decorative pillows that had seen better days, and then gently helped you lay down. The ceiling was swirling around and around, and in the same breath it felt like your body was on a boat rocking back and forth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling ten seconds away from turning green.
The next thing you felt was the weight of his sport coat as he laid it across you, a makeshift blanket to ensure you didn’t go cold - or, a cruel souvenir for you to remember him by. For you to stare at every day from now on and think about his face. The way he bit his lip if he stared you up and down for a moment too long. The way you could feel his lips linger, dying to leave a kiss on your cheek, but then retreating cowardly.
“I gotta leave, doll,” you hear him say through the fog. “Next time, call me.”
And the click of the door closing behind him was the very last thing you heard before you blacked out.
The grey morning light is what woke you, streaming in through the sliding glass door all cheery and bright as if you weren’t currently crawling your way out of rock bottom. You groaned, the weight of his sport coat still on your body. The scent of him lingered there on the woven fabric. Sharp, woodsy, masculine. Driftwood and gunmetal.
You slowly sat up, bringing the collar of the coat to your face and inhaling deeply. Had you not had this tangible piece of evidence, you would have thought the prior night was nothing more than a drunken dream fueled by a bottle of Malibu.
You saw your clutch placed on the coffee table and you opened it, pulling your phone out. No new texts. You sighed.
You moved to start the routine you’d gotten in the habit of the over the last week. Tylenol, number one. Shower, second. Booze, third. Except, as your head pounded and your stomach growled with the craving of something other than liquor, you could hear Bucky’s voice in the back of your head. The one telling you not to drown your feelings in a bottle. The one telling you to call him.
So, you put the bottle of vodka down and picked up your phone instead. You tapped on his contact, which you made sure to actually label that morning, and called him. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you waited for him to pick up…
No answer.
You huffed and threw your phone down onto the table. Not like you expected an answer anyway. Just then, you heard a knock at the front door. Brows furrowed in confusion, you quietly padded over and peeked through the peep hole. All you saw was a rather stout man holding what had to be an entire bush of bright red roses.
You opened the door and the man set the bunch of roses down on the ground. They were in their own little golden vase, fanned out and pretty for display. “Got a delivery here from a Mr. Barnes,” the man said with a smile, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope. “Enjoy your morning, miss.”
You ran your fingertips across the heavy weight of the cardstock envelope, a gold wax seal holding closed all its secrets. You hauled the roses inside before sitting at your kitchen table and fumbling with the envelope as your fingers trembled.
You slipped out a short letter, hand-written with a good pen, paper, and ink. Thoughtful.
Doll, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night. Take care and I’ll see you tonight at 8:00 P.M. You don’t need to be fancy, and you know the address.
Your heart stopped dead in your chest for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only a second or two. Your head was reeling now. Why did he want to meet you at his house? Your best friend’s house? Was she even going to be gone this evening?
You quickly checked your texts. Becca had been fairly MIA for her finals, which tracked considering she took her schooling so seriously. You scrolled up, glanced at the date on your calendar, and then your cheeks flushed crimson. Becca would be gone. Most of the night, actually. Her boyfriend, Cole, had his last baseball game of the school season and it didn’t start until seven.
Was he inviting you over for…? No. No, he couldn’t be. Even with the tension between you two the night before, you knew Bucky. You knew he wasn’t like that. You knew he didn’t think of you like that. Not at all.
As you folded the letter back up and tucked it neatly inside its envelope, you turned to take in the magnificent sight of the multiple dozens of roses that were bloomed as red as your cheeks as they sat there on the kitchen counter like a neon invitation. An invitation to see how far you could push Mr. Barnes that evening.
The house wasn’t anything special. A quaint little brownstone in Brooklyn that screamed home sweet home in the midst of corporate chaos and brightly lit billboards that never slept. The street was quiet, lined with old street lamps that gave it a sort of charm that felt captured in a different time.
You knocked at the deep red door, nervous as you tugged your coat in tight around you. You heard the deadbolt unlatch and then the door creaked open. There was Bucky, in blue jeans and a blue Henley with his hair messier than the night before - he looked much more lived-in and casual and less like a posh Ken doll fresh from the box.
“Come on in,” he invited warmly with a smile, stepping aside.
You gave him a curt, polite nod and a mirrored smile as you ascended the last two steps and crossed over the threshold. You were immediately greeted by the sobering smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of the TV playing the local news at a low volume. You jumped slightly when you felt his hand rest against the small of your back as he came around your left flank. “Can I offer you some coffee?” he asked, glancing down at you with irises that reminded you of endless blue skies on a clear June afternoon.
You glanced nervously between him and the television a few times before you decided you were much too jittery to drink any level of caffeine - so, you declined. “No, thanks,” you said quietly.
Your eyes widened as he moved to take your coat off for you. A red-hot blush flooded your cold cheeks with crimson as his hands brushed along your arms - the cool autumn air didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against the heat of your own embarrassment. “O-Oh I-“ you stuttered, watching as he placed your coat on the rack just beside the door.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘thank you’?” Bucky quipped teasingly, beckoning for you to follow him into the kitchen.
You followed, leaning against the kitchen island while he poured himself a cup of coffee into one of those cheesy ‘World’s #1 Dad’ mugs. He leaned back against the dark granite countertop across from you, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the brim of his mug as he took a sip of the piping hot liquid.
You cocked an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you didn’t summon me here with a bush of roses just for me to watch you drink coffee,” you said, breaking the tensioned silence that had fallen between you.
He laughed a little, setting the mug to the side. “Guilty as charged,” he said, half-heartedly throwing up his hands before his expression shifted to something more serious.
“I asked you over because I wanted to tell you, in person, that this-“ he gestured from himself to you “-cannot be a…A thing.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his jaw ticked, clearly nervous.
You laughed. “Bucky, this was never meant to be a thing,” you said, mirroring him as he crossed his arms over his chest. You got the feeling he was backpedaling, like he realized something at the restaurant the night before and was now trying to build a wall to keep it out. “I was looking for a hookup, not a boyfriend.”
“Well, maybe since you’ve seen how a proper man treats a lady, perhaps you’ll rethink that.”
“I’m really not ready to get back in the dating scene…”
“Then wait.”
You paused. This was your life. Not his. Why in the hell did he care so much? “What’s it matter to you if I wait or not?”
His jaw ticked and his eyes briefly darted to the side, fixating on a point in space you couldn’t quite locate. “I don’t want you playing with fire so much you burn yourself,” he muttered, gaze going downtrodden.
“Why do you care?”
“Seeing you hurt, hurts me.”
“And why do you care that fucking much?”
Your question lands on him like a bullet to the chest. He picks up his coffee, mug trembling a little, and takes a sip like it’ll magically cure the ache in his chest. “It’s what Steve would have wanted me to encourage you to do.”
You sighed. Steve was your father, a military vet and close friend of Bucky’s who’d been killed in action many moons ago. You only found out about their connection to each after about a year of being close friends with Becca - at your high school graduation when Bucky gifted you a letter your father had left for you.
“He isn’t here and he doesn’t get to dictate what I do,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze because it’d only remind you that he was doing this to isolate himself.
“But I can still try to fulfill his wishes,” Bucky said, taking a couple steps forward and inserting himself into the awkward little bubble you’d built. It felt like he was taking up too much personal space but not enough at the same time.
Your breath hitched as he reached forward and pressed his metal palm to your cheek, something cold and shocking against the constant flush that reddened your skin. “And it’s so I no longer want what I can’t have.”
Your heart was pounding. You. He meant you. You were what he couldn’t have. You were the guilty pleasure, the reason he probably answered your text in the first place. And you were right - he was trying to build a wall. A wall between your heart and his.
You nuzzled against his palm, eyes fluttering shut. The touch felt holy. “What if I want it too?” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking up at him. “What about my own wishes?”
“It’s not the right thing to do…”
“I don’t want to do the right thing, Bucky!” you exclaimed, frustrated. You pushed yourself off the counter, standing closer to him now - almost chest to chest. “You don’t understand that all I want right now is something wrong! I want to feel something, Bucky. Anything. Anything other than this pain.” Your voice was beginning to crack and those beautiful blues of his were starting to well up with tears.
“I…” Bucky’s hand lingered on your cheek. You could tell by the way his fingers twitched that he was thinking. That he was trying to figure out if he had the strength to go against his own morals. “I…I can’t…”
You reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek with your own palm, thumb running along the plane of his cheekbone. “You can.”
He looked like he was about to break, about to shatter completely. The tension was thick enough to feel, heavy and suffocating. His eyes flicked from yours and down to your lips. Back up to your eyes. Back down to your lips. “This isn’t a good idea…” he murmured, leaning in close enough now that you could smell the mix of coffee and whiskey and mint on his breath.
You took a shuddering breath, eyes closing again because you couldn’t stand the weight of his gaze. “I don’t want it to be good. I just want to feel…” you breathed, shaky hand coming to rest against his muscled chest. “I just want to feel you.”
You could see it in the way his jaw ticked - you could feel it in the way he wasn’t sure if your hand burned him or comforted him. Bucky was trying so hard to resist the temptation in front of him. “Please, doll…I can’t,” he pleaded brokenly, but it was weak and he made no attempt to pull away from your touch.
You leaned up, nose nudging his and lips so close to brushing as you murmured, “Then why are you still here?”
It could be heard in his chest, something deep and guttural and longing all pulled together into a groan he couldn’t hold back. And suddenly, both of his hands were holding your face - one metal, one flesh. The way his lips smashed into yours would be forever imprinted in your mind. You could only imagine how long he’d waited to have this. To have you.
The kiss was everything - teeth, tongue, breath, and heat. He nipped playfully at your bottom lip and you growled, which elicited a deep chuckle you’d never heard before - amused and pleased. His tongue explored your mouth like it was trying to map it, and yours did the very same to his. Nothing about this was normal. But you didn’t want it to be.
When he broke the kiss, it was only because one of you needed to fucking breathe or you’d both be dead on the floor. Panting, he whispered, “Is that what you wanted?”
You nodded wordlessly and pulled him right back in, trying to drown him under the weight of how much you craved him. His hands found your hips and gripped at the soft flesh, picking you up like you weighed nothing and perching you atop the granite.
His flesh hand snaked its way up your blouse, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease that shouldn’t have turned you on but it did. He pulled the garment off and tossed it on the kitchen floor, the silk of your blouse cascading in cool puddles across your tits. You shivered, only cold for a moment before his palm was kneading at the mounds of flesh like he’d been dreaming of how good they’d feel.
You moaned out, breaking the kiss as you tossed your head back when his thumb and forefinger began to tease and roll your nipple between calloused skin. “Fuck,” you groaned, hands scrambling from purchase at the edge of the countertop.
You barely had time to react before Bucky was ripping your blouse from your torso, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. “Bucky!” you scolded, but he remained unbothered and on a mission.
“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, stooping down and taking your neglected breast into his mouth as his hand continued to work the other.
The feel of his hot, wet mouth and tongue across your nipple was enough to have you keening up off the counter and further into his touch. It felt so fucking good that you were convinced you’d cum just from the way he worshipped your tits.
He pulled back, lips glistening with saliva and pupils blown as he glanced up at you. He looked feral - hungry and ready to feast. You watched as he dropped to his knees and rucked up your pencil skirt to reveal the lacy panties that clung to your dripping wet core.
“This what I do to ya, doll?” he breathed, practically drooling at the smell of your arousal as it assaulted his senses. He just needed to taste you. Devour you.
You whimpered and nodded. “Y-Yes,” you nearly whispered, brain short-circuiting as you felt his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties and peel them away.
He watched, mesmerized by how your glistening folds clung to the lace, groaning as he could now see how drenched and pretty you were for him. He tossed the panties somewhere in the same direction as your bra, and then his hands were prying you open to make way for his head as he leaned in and licked a slow, warm stripe straight up the center of your heat.
You felt your toes curls and your back bow a little as the tip of his tongue traced devastating circles around your clit before diving back down and straight past your entrance.
“Bucky!” you gasped out, head thrown back as your hands found purchase in that gorgeous salt-and-pepper mane of his. “Fuck-“ you groaned, listening as the sounds he made were so obscene they had you blushing. Licking, slurping, sucking…He was like a man starved and you were the best damn meal he could’ve been served.
Bucky hummed against your core, sending vibrations straight through your clit as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and began to suck. You were already trembling from the overload of pleasure, but that wasn’t enough for him. No, he needed you screaming for his mercy.
You felt as he teased your entrance with his forefinger, just barely pushing it in and then retreating. Nothing he could’ve done in that moment would have prepared you for when he plunged two fingers deep inside you and curled them with such ease it was almost second nature.
You could feel yourself clench around his digits with his name on your lips as you let out a whorish moan. Between his mouth and tongue working your clit and his fingers quite literally beckoning you to cum for him, you were in pure, blissful heaven.
That burning coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind tighter and tighter, and he could tell. He hummed in approval, fingers bullying into your g-spot now with a precision that was, frankly, unfair.
“C’mon, doll,” he urged as he lapped at your clit. “Cum f’me. Lemme have it all…” The way his voice was so deep, so smooth…It was like silk over gravel. And it had you coming undone the second he begged for you like that.
Your body arched forward as you moaned his name, nails digging into his scalp as your toes curled and your entire body felt like it was trying to levitate off the damn counter. But he didn’t stop - even as you pulsed and gushed around him, he kept on fucking going.
“B-Bucky,” you whimpered out as it was bordering on overstimulation. “B-Buck please…” You were pleading with a man who was too damn happy with where he was. If you’d let him, he’d live there between your thighs and die a very satisfied man.
“One more f’me…Please,” he begged softly, warm breath ghosting across your core before he dove back in and began sucking at your clit again.
You could feel tears blurring the edges of your vision, and you weren’t even sure if your first orgasm had ended before the second begun - but, you still felt it all the same. The overwhelming tidal wave of bliss that caused your body to clench around his fingers like your cunt was trying to trap him there. You let out something between a moan and a sob, grip faltering on his hair as your body collapsed back against the shockingly cold granite.
Your head was spinning, vision blurred and hearing muffled. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum so hard in your whole goddamn life.
“So, so good f’me, doll,” you heard him praise you through the haze. He slowly pulled his fingers out, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing at the absence of him. He gladly lapped at the slick release you’d rewarded him with, earning a very fucked-out groan from you. “Tastes like heaven and ya sound like it too when you’re cummin’ f’me like that,” he drawled, getting to his feet.
As he rose, you could see just how hard he was against the stiff denim of his jeans, and that only filled you with a new wave of want - of craving.
A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips when he noticed you were staring - not that you were trying to stare, it was just there. “Not right here, doll,” he murmured like he could read your mind, a finger hooking under your chin and gently bringing your lips up to his as he kissed you with the remnants of your release still glistening on his skin. The taste of you and him combined was intoxicating, a drug that you only wanted more of…
But then he was pulling away and you were left pouting. “Hey, don’t you pull that with me,” he teased, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead before you found yourself being lifted into his arms - bridal style - like you weighed no more than a feather. “You’ll get what you want. Just gotta be patient, sweetheart.”
The sickly sweet kindness in his smile was almost cruel in this scenario, but you silently snaked your arms around his neck as he carried you through the narrow foyer and up the short staircase to the second floor. The house wasn’t cramped, necessarily. But, with him carrying you through the tight halls, it felt rather cozy with just the two of you alone.
His foot nudged the door open to the master bedroom, old brass hinges creaking softly. You found yourself being laid so gingerly onto the mattress you could almost feel the tears welling again in your eyes. He treated you like something special, something fragile. It made your heart swell a little.
“May I?” he asked, nodding to your skirt. It was your last remaining article of clothing. You nodded back in permission, cheeks flushed crimson in the low lamplight that streamed through the window and illuminated everything in a heavenly, golden glow.
Bucky shimmied your skirt gently down your legs and tossed it aside before he made zero show about stripping down himself - but, it was a delicious sight to you all the same.
Watching as the layers of clothing were peeled away, revealing nothing but rippling muscles and silvery scars. The scar where metal met man was particularly bad, but still beautiful it’s own devastating rite. His dress shirt the night before hadn’t left much to your imagination, but even then, this was far beyond what your mind had conjured - he had the appearance that God himself carved him from the finest marble. An aged artwork that only grew finer with the weather and the years.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured lowly, crawling over top of your body and caging you in with solid forearms and beefy biceps you swore one day you’d take a bite of.
Heat rushed across your cheeks and you brought your hands up to rest against his biceps, fingers gripping flesh one side and brushing across whirring metal plates on the other. “I’m just admiring what you’ve been keeping from me,” you whispered.
“Well, it’s not polite to stare, doll,” he said, dipping down so your lips were brushing dangerously close.
“It’s not polite to keep a girl waiting,” you quipped back, feeling your breath hitch a little just feeling his bare chest pressed so intimately to your own.
“See? You’re learning,” he chuckled softly, ducking down and beginning to kiss and suck at the suppleness of your neck. “Good girl,” you heard him mumble against your skin.
You arched up into his feather-light touch, lips trailing from neck to collarbone to breasts to torso as soft purple bruises began to bloom in his wake. And then he was sitting back on his knees and you took another unashamed moment to fully appreciate him. To admire his cock, impossibly hard and gorgeously flushed, leaking precum like he’d been edged for hours.
He opened his mouth and you interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah. Staring again. I get it, Barnes. Just let me eye-fuck you, yeah?” you muttered, and that got an actual laugh from him.
Reaching his flesh hand down, he gripped himself at the base and started to stroke his aching length. “You like what you see?” he breathed, angling his hips a little so his precum dripped along your thighs like a sinful, pearlescent trail that lead to your core. “You imagining what it can do to ya, doll?”
You nodded, more than eager. “Wanna feel it inside me…Please,” you pleaded, practically drooling as you watched him rub the head of his cock through your slick folds. “Please…”
“Mmm…Please who?” he asked, gaze flicking up to your face as it was contorted in desperation for him.
It took you a split second to think about what he might’ve been asking. And then it popped into your mind and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “You’re a dirty man, Barnes,” you purred, only to feel the grip of metal meet your throat. Your eyes went wide.
“I asked you a question,” he growled, and the gravelly rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt as your walls fluttered around nothing.
“Yes, Sergeant,” you said, pushing your throat up further into his hand and smirking.
Bucky groaned, swearing in the back of his mind that you were going to be the death of him. He squeezed at your throat one last time before posting the same vibranium palm right beside your head. “That’s right, doll,” he muttered, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull as you felt him begin to push inside you.
The stretch burned, but the way he so perfectly filled and dominated every inch of space was immaculate - let alone the way you could feel every pulsing vein and soft ridge brushing along your walls as he eased in inch by brutal inch. He paused about halfway, concerned by how your features were twisted. “Doin’ okay there, doll?” he asked, flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. The way his thumb ran along the high plane of your cheekbone was tender, loving.
You nodded, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes and wet eyelashes. “More than fucking okay,” you managed to choke out with a small laugh. It was hard to put into words just how good he felt buried so deep inside you that you swore he was pushing the very oxygen from your lungs.
Bucky let out a soft grunt once he was fully sheathed, already appearing wrecked. “Fuck, doll,” he breathed, nearly panting as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight, ya know that? Squeezin’ me…Milkin’ me dry already and I haven’t even started…” He let out a small, breathless chuckle.
You let out a laugh just as breathless as his. “Sounds like you’re not gonna last very long, old man,” you jeered playfully.
His cheeks flushed bright red, but he didn’t reply. He only slowly began to pull out, groaning raggedly as he felt the way his cock dragged along your walls - the way your body was actively trying to pull him back and keep him in.
He pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed himself back in all at once. You moaned so loudly when he bottomed out that you were certain the neighbors three doors down heard you. And that wasn’t the last time they would, unfortunate enough as it was for them. Because he pulled out and then pushed back into you again, forcing the same exact whorish moan past your lips before you could catch it.
“You like what I do to ya, doll? Like when I give it all to ya? When I bury my cock so deep ya feel it here?” he drawled, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as his flesh hand pressed down against a small bulge in your lower abdomen and you just about levitated off the goddamn bed.
The pace he set was steady and calculated. One that allowed for him to achieve the same depth of penetration each and every time - the same devastating attention to making sure he hit all the right spots. It wasn’t brutal because it was fast - no, it was brutal because he took his time and holy fuck it was a borderline religious experience.
It felt as though you had no idea where your body ended and his begun as he rucked your legs up over his shoulders and you found yourself with nails raking down his back as your ankles were pushed back damn near close to the sides of your head. The position was passionate, intimate. Sweat began to pool where your bodies were melded, chest to chest and forehead to shoulder. You couldn’t help the way you moaned his name, and he couldn’t help the way he panted yours like he was begging for mercy.
“Takin’ me s’well…Atta girl,” he breathed out, his praises sending sparks of red-hot pleasure straight to your cunt. “Gonna fill ya up, doll…Claim ya…Make ya mine like I shoulda done a long time ago…”
You whimpered at his words, nails digging crescents into the tops of his shoulders as you clung on for dear life. “B-Bucky~” you moaned out weakly, head fuzzy as your mind was actively being fucked stupid. “Please…” you begged, pulling at him and trying to encourage him to go faster. Harder.
“You sure, doll?”
“If you don’t fuck me into this goddamn mattress-“
He cut you off with a sharp snap of his hips. Then another. And another. You could feel the head of his cock bullying into that soft, spongy spot inside you and you cried out. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” you exclaimed with each thrust, eyes lolling shut and your head hitting the pillow as the pleasure began conjuring stars across your vision.
Bucky groaned, something deep, guttural, and primal - something you hadn’t expected from someone who seemed so…Quiet. “It’s like you were made f’me, doll,” he whimpered, his rhythm beginning to falter. “Ya gonna cum f’me? Can feel ya grippin’ me…Know you’re close, sweetheart. Need ya to give it to me…”
He was begging for you in the same way someone would pray for forgiveness - reverent and wrecked and desperate. You could feel that coil in your lower abdomen tightening, pulling taut until your orgasm snapped through your body unyielding and violent.
“B-Bucky! A-Ah~!” you barely managed to squeak out as you felt your spine arch off the mattress and your body seize beyond your control. He groaned again as your cunt clenched down around him, and you could feel as he began to throb and pulse ropes of white, hot cum inside you at the exact same time.
“Shit-“ he grunted out, stilling inside you and partially collapsing his weight on top of you as his chest heaved and gleamed with sweat.
Your head was fuzzy, warm. The afterglow rolled over your body like something soft and comforting - floaty like you were resting on a cloud of your own pleasure. “Mmm…Bucky?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“Is that how a man should fuck me proper?”
He laughed, turning his head to pepper soft kisses on your cheek. “Yeah, doll. I’d say so.”
He slowly pulled out and then flopped onto the bed beside you. The loss of him inside you felt almost great enough to mourn, but his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close quickly filled that void. “And now I’ve ruined you for all the boys,” he teased, kissing your forehead before gathering you in close to his chest - he was like a furnace, and he held you like his greatest treasure.
You giggled. “S’okay,” you mumbled against his skin, lazily tangling your legs with his. “‘M yours now anyway.”
Bucky smiled to himself, squeezing you tight. “That’s right, doll. All mine.”
◎ Hairstyle: Wavy, falls to her mid-back. She often wears it in braids to keep it away from her face.
◎ Body Build: Athletic, Lean, Muscled
◎ Distinguishing Marks: Deep claw and teeth marks across her chest and up towards the side of her neck - scarred over and silvery in appearance. Multiple healed lacerations across her torso, arms, and legs from various fights.
◎ Jewelry / Accessories: Will sometimes wear circular-lensed sunglasses (purple) to hide her eyes, or will more commonly wear colored contacts when wearing the glasses is a hassle.
◎ Greatest Vulnerability: Obsession, Passion, Fits of Rage
◎ Darkest Secret: She always feels like she’s only one step away from becoming the same people she kills.
◎ Most Prized Possession: The first knife Dex gifted her with “Pretty Girl” carved into the blade - she refuses to use it in combat, but she keeps it on her nightstand for quick defense.
◎ Hobbies: Killing bad people, stealing shiny objects, taking naps in the sunshine, honing her skills in combat, reading books (she particularly loves old Gothic tales like Frankenstein, Jekyll & Hyde, and Dracula)
◎ Nervous Tics: Lip Biting, Scratching (at her arms or thighs), Head Shaking (sometimes forgets she’s not in feline form)
◎ Mannerisms: She tilts her head a lot when she’s curious about something, has a tendency to sniff a lot and jump at loud or sudden noises, crosses her arms over her chest often when talking to people which can make her come off as closed off.
◎ Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist
◎ Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert
◎ Daredevil or Cautious?: Daring, teetering on the edge of reckless.
◎ Logical or Emotional?: Highly Emotional
◎ Disorderly and Messy OR Methodical and Neat?: Depends on the job. She prefers messy.
◎ Prefers Working or Relaxing?: Working
◎ Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Unsure - she wants to believe she’s a “good” guy, but she struggles with knowing that there’s very little holding her back from being a “bad” guy…
