BUCKYSHOTS ★ @buckyshots - Tumblr Blog

buckyshots

Mar 19

nonotwithoutu

down a few pegs !

⤷ read on ao3 here

⤷ bucky barnes x reader (no y/n)

⤷ rating: mature / mdni / 18+ !

⤷ tags: f!reader, au - college, enemies to lovers, control issues!reader, insecurities and misunderstandings, eventual communication, pegging, strap-ons/sex toys, sub bucky, soft dom reader, anal sex / anal fingering (m!receiving), bucky praise kink (use of ‘good boy’), oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, use of ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt’ for reader, petnames (baby, sweetheart), baby bi bucky if you squint, implied p in v sex, implied getting together

⤷ word count: 12,2k

⤷ synopsis:

Bucky is friends with Steve. Steve is friends with you. And you’re friends with Steve, but you are not friends with Bucky. Common mistake, unfortunately, but one you’re all too happy to correct if needed. Determined to prove you wrong about his ego, Bucky agrees to put himself at your mercy—not realizing he’s about to be fucked in more than just the metaphorical sense. (To be fair, you're not anticipating it either.)

⤷ notes: this one is for all the girlies (gn) who use control as a self defense mechanism….. which is totally something EYE personally don’t have any experience with hahaha…….. </3 anyway i couldn’t get needy college!bucky out of my mind sooo here we are! hope you enjoy! :D

p.s. the strapless strap-on reader uses is hyperlinked accordingly in the fic, but PLEASE DO NOT CLICK IT IN PUBLIC ! hfgksjhgfs the pic of the toy is like RIGHT there when you open the link. it’s described in writing anyway, but if you want a visual it’s there!

not proofread. AND HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE to anyone celebrating! here's something to read if you need an escape from the holiday stress. enjoy! x

There’s bass thudding from the corner speakers like a heartbeat, the strength of the foul smelling liquor is burning your nose, and you’re pretty sure there’s people fucking in the hall closet to your left.

Parties have never been your thing. Too loud, too many people, too much unpredictability in a room full of reckless twenty-somethings in search of an easy outlet. You don’t go to the frat ones at least, Steve doesn’t either. At least this party doesn’t have anything that could earn you some kind of criminal record by proxy. You hope, anyway.

Parties also, unavoidably, mean that Barnes is here.

Right in your field of vision, in fact. On the loveseat adjacent to the one you’re sharing with Steve, Sam and Nat on the rug by your feet. Even the slim degree of separation and noise can’t buffer the display of theatre from your front row seat: Bucky grinning wide and crooked, his face flushed from shotgunning beers earlier while the entire room cheered him on, his fingers sneaking up the skirt of the girl on his lap. She’s not even the same one he’d been flirting with in the kitchen earlier.

You grimace and take another sip of the drink Steve got you, but the aftertaste lingers. Steve catches you, nudging his elbow against yours with a tilt of his lips.

“Wanna head out?”

You’re grateful he said it without you having to ask for it. You nod and start shifting off the couch to find a trash can, but you don’t quite make the quick getaway you’d been hoping for.

“You guys are leaving?”

Bucky’s actually pouting when you turn to look, eyes wholly fixed on Steve over your shoulder. You toss your drink in the garbage and cross your arms.

“Yeah. Got an early class tomorrow,” Steve says.

Bucky’s gaze flicks to you. “It’s not just ‘cause she wants to leave early?” he asks. “You guys’ve only been here like an hour. I wanted to hang out with you tonight.”

“She is right here,” you chime in dully, ignoring the parts of the sentiment that clearly weren’t meant for you.

“I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow anyway, Buck. We’ll catch up then,” Steve assures, then turns to you. “I’m gonna go find our jackets. Be right back.”

“I’m gonna wait outside,” you tell him. He nods and disappears down the crowded hallway to your right.

Before you can follow through on your own directives, Bucky’s voice sullies your plans once again.

“Can’t stand to be here without your support Steve?”

“Bucky,” Natasha drawls. “Leave it alone.”

“Interesting, coming from you,” you dish back at Bucky, unperturbed. “Think you can loosen his leash enough to let him walk me home?”

His eyes narrow. “Steve’s more than capable of making his own decisions on who he spends time with,” he says.

You tilt your head. “And look who he chose.”

“Alright. Let’s just cool off,” Sam interjects from his side of the coffee table between you. “Anybody want a refill?”

Bucky sits up a little, the girl in his lap disentangling herself with a bored shift of her legs. “Maybe he’d have chosen differently if he didn’t have someone pouting in the corner the whole time.”

“Don’t worry,” you say through gritted teeth. “Without me here there’s even more room for you in the spotlight, yeah?”

You turn without waiting for a response, headed for the front door and the blessed quiet of the front yard. The noise all blends together inside the house, but once you step onto the porch, you roll your eyes at the sound of his shoes thudding out behind you.

“Can’t finish what you started?” he taunts, then scoffs when you ignore him. “I don’t understand why everything has to be a thing with you.”

“Do not act like I started this,” you toss over your shoulder.

“You did. You couldn’t have stayed a little longer? You know I haven’t seen Steve this week, and you knew he’d leave if you said you wanted to.”

“We don’t share fucking custody of him,” you snap, stopping abruptly by the curb to face him. “Look. I’m tired. I want to go home. Steve has to be on campus early tomorrow. I promise you—it’s really that simple. Believe it or not, not everything is about you.”

“There it is again,” Bucky laughs once, humorless and abrupt. “God. What’s your problem with me?”

You straighten your shoulders. “I don’t have a problem with you, Bucky.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know you’re used to getting everything you want, but I don’t actually owe you an explanation.”

“It’s the least you could give me, I think. I’m sick and tired of you goin’ around acting like I’m some jackass who can’t control himself.”

“I never said that’s what you were,” you argue.

His eyes narrow. “It’s pretty obvious that’s what you mean.”

“Did you ever think about taking your hands out of someone’s pants long enough to ask me what I mean instead of just assuming things?”

“What do you think, then?” He steps forward, arms crossed over his chest to match yours. “Since you know everything, apparently.”

“I think that you could be a really decent guy to be around if your ego didn’t make you an obnoxious ass. You don’t always have to be the coolest one in the room, you know.”

“You’re calling me the asshole,” he scoffs. “Seriously?”

“I’m just saying that I don’t have different personalities for every group of friends I hang out with. I’m happy with who I am. I don’t have to change myself just to be liked.”

Something flickers across Bucky’s expression, the cocky lilt of his next retort falling flat. You struggle not to flinch away yourself under his sharp gaze, reminding yourself that you really don’t owe him an explanation.

It’s a stalemate for the sixty seconds you’re out there, you on the curb and Bucky on the street. At least you’re eye to eye. Sort of. He doesn’t open his mouth again, and just as you’re about to open yours, the front door opens again.

“Hey,” Steve says, descending the steps and approaching tentatively from the side. He glances between both of you. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you and Bucky chorus at the same time.

His gaze shifts over you again to Steve, and then he steps around you completely to get to him.

“Lunch tomorrow. Right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, man. We’re on.”

Bucky gives a short nod of his own, then marches back toward the house without looking back. You’ve just managed to paste on a finicky smile when Steve turns his raised brow to you, holding up your jacket so you can slip your arms into it.

“You good?”

“Mhm. All good.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he laughs, shoving you in the shoulder once the jacket’s on.

“And you know I hate parties,” you remind him as you start walking. “I am not responsible for that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Neither of you are ever the problem, huh? God forbid I want you two to get along.”

You sigh, slipping an arm around his elbow when the wind blows through. “We’re just too different, I think.”

You can feel his eyes on the top of your head when he hums. “Maybe.”

You can’t be as blunt with Steve as you’d like to be. You know they’re friends, always have been and likely always will be. You seem to be more okay with cohabitating than Bucky does, honestly. Steve should be giving him the lectures.

You dislike Bucky because it’s easy. He’s your antithesis, laidback and charmingly charismatic, fitting in easily wherever he goes. He’s untouchable in a way that makes your stomach turn, even if only because, under all of the contempt, you’d wanted to touch him in the first place.

He’s exactly the sort of guy that could shatter you if you let him.

So. You don’t.

You startle when a backpack lands haphazardly in the chair adjacent to yours in the library, your eyes snapping up from your laptop to find Bucky situating himself across from you.

He seems oddly determined, a wrinkle in his forehead and a pinch at the corners of his mouth. He scoots the chair in and links his fingers together on top of the table like this is some kind of business negotiation, and you raise a brow at him over the top of your screen.

“I’m not apologizing,” you tell him eventually.

“I’m not askin’ you to,” he says, “but you’re wrong. I’m not an asshole, and I don’t just fake shit because of my ego.”

You look back at your screen, but your brow stays raised. “Okay.”

With a huff, Bucky uses a sweatshirt-clad arm to reach over and shut your laptop, leaning forward on his elbows now. “And I don’t think that us going on like this is very pleasant for the rest of our friends either. So. If I have to be the one to suggest a truce, then fine. What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

You bite your tongue, choosing not to point out that even this, in fact, is proving your point.

“Actions speak louder than words, I guess,” you shrug.

He gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “So what actions, then?”

“Bucky—” you start, shaking your head. But you pause when a thought crosses your mind, unprompted and impossible to ignore.

Your eyes flick back to him more intentionally this time, adjusting your perspective.

Bucky’s never been unattractive. You’d be a fool to insist otherwise, and it’d only make your infuriating not-quite-feelings for him more obvious. But typically when your brain runs away with those sorts of thoughts, you cut them off as quickly as possible, stifling any opportunity for them to fester.

This time, though…

You lean forward on the table to match him, your elbows on the wood and arms crossed, finger tapping on your wrist as you take in this non-perfect version of Bucky you’ve been presented with, the one that has faint dark circles under his eyes and raised shoulders, who’s still in practically pajamas with fucked up hair and a bit of a five o’clock shadow. He shifts under your attention.

You really got to him this time, didn’t you? You fight off a saccharine smile.

“You want to prove it to me?”

“Yes,” he says impatiently.

“There is a pretty accessible way to do it,” you reason.

“Fine. Great.” He huffs. “Whatever it is, just—tell me and I’ll do it.”

Sliding your laptop out of the way, you adjust and lean in a little more, leaning on your elbow and propping your chin in your hand and lowering your voice.

You make sure to pay close attention, because the look on his face is sure to be one to remember.

“Ever been fucked before, Bucky?”

Yeah. You were right—priceless.

His face flickers through several different emotions before he settles on something like defensive confusion, his eyes wide and cheeks flush with surprise. He blinks.

“What.”

“And I’m not talking about the stuff you and Steve used to get up to,” you clarify. “Though I’m sure that was…enlightening enough.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “If you’re just gonna make fun of me—”

“I’m not making fun of you, Barnes,” you interrupt earnestly. “You told me you want to prove that you can abandon your ego long enough to let your guard down. In my experience, this is a great way to put that to the test. Hard to put on a show when there’s nothing left to hide behind.”

For a minute he says nothing, and you wait for the moment that he decides this isn’t worth it and marches back off toward the exit. But eventually he purses his lips and runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward to meet you halfway like you’re talking about national secrets instead of anal sex and strap ons.

“I figured we’d settle this between us,” he hisses quietly, tossing a cursory glance over his shoulder around the library. “Not just get some random guy to—”

Oh. You were wrong. This can get even better.

“I never said anything about a guy,” you interject.

“How exactly am I supposed to get fucked then?” he bites, red faced.

This time, you let the smile spread indulgently over your lips while you wait for him to put it together. Bucky leers impatiently, then hesitates, does a double, then a triple take.

“Wha—you—?” he whispers, mouth open while his gaze darts all over you as if to uncover something he hadn’t seen before. “But you don’t—you’re not—?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Bucky. I thought you were more progressive than that,” you lament dryly. “I don’t have to be born with a dick to fuck you with one.”

His mouth abruptly snaps closed. You watch his brow furrow, watch him contemplate it for a minute while he chews at the inside of his cheek. Almost hesitantly, he looks back up at you.

“What’s in it for me?”

Unable to help it, you laugh. “The fact that you’re asking me that proves that you’ve definitely never experienced it before.”

“Y’don’t gotta be mean about it,” he grumbles, glowering.

“Would you rather me be sweet?” you tease, leaning forward again. “It is your first time, after all. We could break out the candles and dim the lights, if you want. I’ll be gentle.”

“Fuck off,” he says, but it’s lacking any of signature heat. “It’s not, like. Something you’re doing so you can tell everybody about it after. Right?”

“What happens between us stays between us unless we decide otherwise,” you tell him seriously. “Besides, I’m not really one to kiss and tell.”

Bucky blinks. “Apparently not, if you’ve got a dick somewhere that I didn’t know about.”

You tilt your head, flashing him a sweet grin.

“Thinking about it already?”

He groans, scrubbing both hands over his face as he falls backward in his chair. “The other guys you’ve…” he motions vaguely with his hand. “Does it, you know. How’d it feel for them? Was it—weird?”

“Sure, a little. If you’ve never done it before.” You lean back to mirror him, lifting a shoulder. “But I have, and I’ve done it enough times that I’m confident I can make it good for you. There hasn’t been a single one of them that hasn’t verifiably and…vocally enjoyed it, if that tells you anything.”

For a long few seconds, he does nothing but stare you down.

“You’re not joking.”

You shake your head. “I’m not joking, Bucky. I think it’d humble you a little, and I think you’d look really hot doing it.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever complimented him openly, and fuck if the way his pupils dilate a little doesn’t absolutely make heat gather between your legs.

“And then, if you’re good for me, and you take me really, really well…” you add, leaning into his space, “I might just be convinced enough to let you fuck me.”

His eyes flick up to yours from your mouth. “You’d let me?”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Pushing out your chair, you shove your laptop into your bag, slipping it onto your shoulder as you stand. It’s a rush even now, standing above him while he watches you. “Choice is yours, Barnes. Let me know when you’ve decided.”

You can feel his eyes all the way through the library and outside the windows. You absolutely don’t count the minutes, but you do lose track of time for a while throughout the afternoon, your mind drifting and fixating on the litany of things you’d like to do with him if you had the chance.

In all honesty, you’re expecting him to say no. Radio silence typically means you’ve pissed him off enough to make him run to Steve about it, which will in turn result in Steve reaching out to remind you to play nice as if Bucky wasn’t the one to start shit in the first place.

But none of that happens. You eat dinner, clean up, watch a bit of a movie on your laptop until you get tired, then get ready for bed.

The second your eyes close, your phone vibrates from the nightstand. Your pulse kicks up despite your best efforts for it not to, and it’s not Steve’s name on the screen.

It’s Bucky’s number, saved simply under Barnes. His message is no more detailed.

Yes.

(You vow to tell absolutely no one that you're shocked by the response.)

A plan forms.

It’s not like you can drop everything to fuck him, even if you sort of would like to. But aside from the fact that you’re still trying desperately to keep control of the situation and not seem entirely transparent, there’s also real life.

There’s scheduling conflicts and shitty part time jobs so you can afford rent and Bucky can keep up his habit of BYOB-ing and funding his parties. There’s midterms and extra credit courses and events like the one you’re on your way to now, making connections you’re sure you’ll appreciate later when you’ve entered the professional sphere.

But right now it just feels like needless ass kissing to a bunch of old guys who probably have never had a single issue in the job market for the entirety of their generationally paved careers.

Nonetheless, you’re leaving the apartment half an hour early and wearing a blazer, so. You mean business. Literally.

You’re descending the steps of your apartment building when Steve rounds the corner at the bottom, hands in his pockets and a little withdrawn.

“Hey,” you greet him at the bottom. “You missed the dorms by a few blocks. Everything okay?”

His mouth lifts a little at your humor, but he still seems distracted. “Hey,” he says back. “You got a second?”

“Sure. I’m on the way to this networking thing for a professor, but I have a few minutes. What’s up?”

“It’s about Bucky,” he prefaces as the two of you start to walk back toward campus.

You huff a laugh. “Barnes convince you to make me go easy on him?”

“No, actually. I’m telling you to do that on my own.”

“Steve,” you glance at him, “it’s not that serious. And I know you two are friends, I would never do something to ruin that.”

“I know you wouldn’t. And I know you wouldn’t mean to hurt him. But he’s—he’s not as bad as you think he is, alright?”

“I don’t think he’s a bad person,” you say carefully, your short heels clicking on the pavement. “He’s just—irritating. Egotistical. Not much worse than most of the guys here, actually.”

“And I’m not saying that you’re wrong about that sometimes.”

“Then what are you saying?” you ask, confused.

The two of you come to a stop at a red light, and Steve punches the walk button and then turns to face you.

“You—you gotta promise me that this won’t get back to him, okay? He wants you to think of him as untouchable or whatever and if he knew I was saying any of this he’d have my ass.”

“I won’t say anything,” you promise, unease deepening.

You fall back into step with him when the light flashes, the crosswalk suddenly very interesting as the lines blur under your feet.

“The reason Bucky gets himself into all these situations with girls, with you—it’s not that it’s a challenge, or that he just wants to flaunt that he’s capable of it, or anything else like that. I grew up with him. He doesn’t have an ego problem, he has—he needs to be liked.”

“You’re telling me he is the way he is because he’s…a people pleaser?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it to you, but yeah, sort of.” Steve shrugs. “It makes him push himself past his limits. Makes him bite off more than he can chew, and by the time he realizes it he’s already gotten himself in too deep and he doesn’t want to say anything and make it seem like he’s in over his head. And all of that’s ten times worse with you, because you don’t care about the things that he thinks make him good and fun and nice to be around. So he just pushes himself even harder, and then…” Steve trails off, searching for the words.

“You’re worried I’ll hurt him,” you realize with a pang of misplaced defensiveness.

“Not intentionally,” Steve sighs, his shoulders dropping. “I just—I know you wouldn’t, and that’s why I’m telling you this. I don’t know the exact terms of the deal you guys made, and I don’t need to. But I’m saying that if it seems like it’s going too far, you might have to be the one to pull the plug. Because Bucky might not, if he feels like he still has something to prove. And I care too much about you guys to watch this blow up in your faces just so you both can make a point.”

His words feel harsh compared to the way he usually is with you, but you try not to let them swell into anything he doesn’t mean.

It’s just—out of the two of you, you’d sort of thought that maybe Steve would be more concerned about you getting tangled up with Bucky than Bucky getting tangled up with you.

It makes something sour settle in your stomach, a creeping feeling of doubt nagging at you that you haven’t felt in years. Bucky always seems, true to Steve’s word, untouchable. Or unshakeable, at least. You two bite back and forth at each other endlessly and there’s never been anything one of you couldn’t handle.

That you’d known about, apparently.

Doubt is quickly eaten up by a bigger, worse feeling; an unwelcome twinge of guilt.

“I guess I’m just trying to say that you have more power over him than you think you do,” Steve adds gently.

You spend a few minutes walking in silence, yours contemplative and Steve’s vaguely nervous. It’s the only reason you can tell this isn’t a joke, not something Bucky put him up to that he’s going to jump out and say sike! about afterward.

There’s a part of you, a stinging, indignant part that wants to call off the entire thing. But you’re stubborn, and against all odds, you don’t hate Bucky. You never have.

And just as you’d feared, now that you know this, you can’t help but want to know even more.

“I’ll take care of him,” you promise when you have to part ways at campus. It feels raw and strangely genuine, lacking any of the usual veneer you hide behind.

But Steve only nods, tension eased and that trusting look back on his face as he smiles.

“Good.”

The short walk past campus to your professor’s house is enlightening. You can’t stop thinking about what you’d said to him the other week, the way the fight had drained out of him.

I’m happy with who I am. I don’t have to change myself just to be liked.

The lie had slipped out of you so incredibly easily, with years of practice solidifying it. Like if you said it enough, it might eventually be true.

Might make you forget that you feel isolated at every group event you ever attend. That you’ve always found it incredibly difficult to make friends, let alone to keep them. That you wonder, sometimes, if the problem has always been you and not them.

You wonder if Bucky knows that you’ve never considered him to be the difficult one.

The pattern is clear in hindsight, now that Steve’s pointed it out. You figured Bucky would hurt you if you let him close, and you’d engineered a dynamic where he’d never even have the chance.

It’d kept you safe, sure. But it’s also made you miserable. It’d seemed like you were having fun sometimes, bickering back and forth and pestering each other. But had Bucky been miserable the whole time too?

You take a moment outside the bustling estate home to right your clothes and attempt to pull a professional smile back onto your face, already dreading the handshakes and the way your voice is going to come out two octaves higher than it naturally does all night when you make introductions and try to seem pleasant.

Add another to the list, you think to yourself. Doubt. Guilt.

Hypocrite.

The front door swings open moments after you raise the knocker on the old wood, your professor’s wrinkled face smiling down at you as he welcomes you in.

“I’m so glad you could make it tonight. Everyone’s just through here in the living room. I think it’ll be a wonderful networking opportunity,” he says. “Champagne?” he asks as you pass through the kitchen, handing you a fresh flute.

You accept the sparkling glass with a pleasant agreement, idly wondering if there’s any drink you enjoy less than needlessly expensive, sugary sweet champagne.

Somewhere between the sixth and seventh stale, dull introduction you make up your mind: you’ll give Bucky an out, let it be his choice and not some dumb attempt at competition.

And then, if he still wants it, you’re going to blow his fucking mind.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s hardly the first thing you’re expecting to hear when you open your apartment door after Bucky’s eager knocking, but it’s certainly a hell of an opener.

You take him in for a second, dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt and rolling on the balls of his feet while he waits for an answer, and then you nod.

He crosses over the threshold like this isn’t the first time he’s ever been here in your space, stepping forward to get his hands on either side of your face while he kicks the door shut with his shoe. You can hear his bag hit the table distantly but it’s all useless compared to the way his lips meet yours, warm and wanting and a little chapped.

You make a noise, small and stifled but still audible between your mouths, and Bucky has to stop kissing you just to grin before he leans back for another. He’s as good at this as you figured he would be, all wet presses of his mouth and teasing swipes of his tongue, holding your face in his hands like something he thinks is valuable. They stay there until your hand lifts to his shoulder and up the back of his neck, and then his fingers slip down your arms and rest gently but firmly on your hips.

You’d planned to talk to him first, maybe sit down and go slow, prepare yourself for inevitable disappointment before you could really have something to be disappointed about.

But now he’s splaying a palm against your lower back to pull you close while his tongue tangles with yours, and he’s walking you back in the general direction of the sofa, and words suddenly feel far, far away.

He turns and lands with a dull bounce on the cushion, taking most of the weight as you land in his lap. It’s seamless, the way he keeps going, a hand on the back of your head, the other grabbing your waist to pull you flush against him, your combined sigh when your hips align just right and you can feel the subtle bulge of his pants nestled right up between your folded legs.

If you hadn’t had that conversation with Steve, you’d be worried that this might be just a tactic meant to distract you and gain the upper hand, maybe convince you that you should let him fuck you first so he could loophole his way out of the deal without following through.

But knowing what you know now, you drop a hand from the back of his neck and press it against his shoulder, pulling back.

He whines a little when you do, which makes you grin against his mouth even as you pointedly dodge any more of his eager attention. You slip your fingers into his hair and that seems to momentarily pull his focus enough, his head tilting back into the pressure and his eyes slipping shut.

You drop forward while he’s not paying attention to graze your lips at the corner of his pinkened mouth. “You know that we don’t have to do this, right?”

He frowns, eyes opening again to settle on you while his fingers twitch on your waist. “I thought you wanted to?”

“I do,” you assure him. “But you have to want it too. I was goading you into it, and I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not like you didn’t give me a choice,” he interjects.

You chew at your lip. “No, but I made it seem like you had something to prove to me, and that wasn’t right.”

Drawing in a slow breath, Bucky wipes some of your spit from his mouth and glances down between you. “Do I not have something to prove?”

“No, Bucky. You don’t owe me or anyone else anything you don’t want to give. Ever.”

As if you’d said the magic words, Bucky’s hesitancy shifts back into enthusiasm right in front of your eyes.

“...What if I want to give it?”

You pause for a moment, eyes flicking over his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I—” he worries his lip again, fidgeting a little underneath you. “I looked it up. After we talked about it. I’ve been reading and…watching some stuff.”

“And?” you hedge, curious.

“And I liked it,” he admits in a whisper. He goes nearly cross eyed staring at your mouth again.

“What did you like?” you press, hands on either side of his neck. “Tell me.”

Holding his head still, you dip down just enough to tease a light kiss to his lips before easing back to let him talk.

“You weren’t totally wrong about some things,” he confesses. You can hear him swallow. “I think it’d be nice to feel like I don’t have to put on a show, y’know? Not that I’m just gonna lie back and take it, but—I’m usually the one doin’ all the work, so. Might be cool to see what it feels like the other way around.”

“Mm. Makes sense.” You allow, fighting a smile as you drag your kisses over to his jaw. “That all?”

He exhales shakily, shifting underneath you. “Uh. I’ve never actually done it before, but every time I watch it, or think about it, about you, it’s—my body’s definitely on board. That’s a good sign, probably.”

You bite a little over his pulse and he hisses, fingers gripping tight onto your hip. “A very good sign. What else?”

“I kept wondering how you’d do it. What kind yours would be. If you’d have me on my back ‘cause you’d wanna mouth off at me, or on my front so you could watch yourself fuck me from behind.”

His words roll off the tongue even easier this time, eyelids fluttering the more you work him over. With a measured roll of your hips, you earn a gravelly moan and a curse of your name.

“And if I said both?” you press right against his ear.

“Both is good,” Bucky rasps. “Totally down for both.”

Pulling away from his neck to look down at him, you take his jaw in your hand, thumb on one side and fingers on the other, making him tilt back as you chase each other with your lips.

“You really want it?”

He nods in your hold. “Yeah. I do.”

You kiss him firmly again, his head tilting and mouth parting easily against yours as he pushes up against you. He feels good under your hands, better than you thought he’d feel, and the slow roll of your body against his this time is more self indulgent than anything else. He’s hard underneath you.

“I want it too,” you tell him, finally letting the smile tugging at your lips show openly. “C’mon.”

He watches you like a fixation as you stand and reach back for him, and when he slips a hand into yours to follow you to the bedroom, the imposter syndrome is, for once, blissfully silent.

The strapless strap-on had been quite the investment when you first bought it, but you don’t have a single regret.

In sleek black, the side meant for you comes with a four inch stretch of silicone molded around two semi-thick bulbs, a modest four inches in length, but the shape makes it press right up against all the best spots without overcompensating. From there it curves into a vibrator on the outside, making a U shape that presses up against your clit.

The part that Bucky’ll get extends past that, an extra six inches of dick-shaped silicone, complete with a subtle upward curve and a bulbous tip you can already picture slipping inside of him. The shape and the counterbalance of the bulbs inside you keeps it from shifting around too much—especially when you’re very sure that your body is going to be bearing down on it quite a bit.

But it has to go inside of you first, and it’s one of your favorite parts. When you do it yourself it can feel a little methodical, but with someone else…

You can almost see Bucky’s mouth watering when you show it to him, clean, prepped, and a bottle of lube set out beside it. He’s on his stomach in between your legs before you’ve even finished asking him if he’d help stretch you out.

You learned the hard way that the soreness afterwards is awful if you don’t use your fingers first, but Bucky’s are proving even better.

They’re thicker and longer than yours, nails short and blunt instead of the sometimes sharper edges when yours are a little outgrown. With his mouth suctioned around your clit it’s easy to relax enough to let them inside, your thighs spread around his head and your chin tipped back toward the ceiling with a hand in his hair.

Your first orgasm accomplishes what you need it to; it leaves you pliant and shivering while you catch your breath, muscles lax and a little of the residual tension of a first time with a new person out of the way. Bucky eats pussy like a champ—you’d had a feeling he would, with the praise kink it seems like he’s shaping up to have—and you’re more than happy to be on the receiving end of someone’s mouth that actually happens to know what they’re doing with it.

You let him stay there for a few seconds even after you get a little too sensitive, enjoying the way he seems to enjoy having both arms wrapped around your thighs, tongue lapping broad strokes from the quivering entrance of your cunt back up to pulse against your clit.

When you tug at his hair he lifts himself away from you obediently, lashes brushing his cheeks in a slow sweep, looking obscene as he uses the back of his wrist to wipe your wetness from his mouth. He doesn’t get it all, but you take one look at his sheepish, dimpled grin and don’t correct him.

Even between his spit and your excitement, you direct him to put a good amount of lube on the toy. It dries moderately quickly and your muscles will do most of the work to keep it inside, but it’s always an easier stretch with the lube.

He’s lost his shirt and pants since getting to the bed, boxers crooked on his hips from grinding against your bed while he ate you out. He kneels between your legs now on his knees, tongue poking the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed as he makes sure the silicone is easily covered in slick. You let slip a small, fond smile of your own as you watch.

When it’s wet enough he leans down in the split of your thighs again and drags two fingers over your cunt, softly and then more firm as he spreads you open.

You talk him through working it inside of you, fucking it in and out a few times to get you used to it before the first bulb finally slips inside fully. You moan, fingers twitching on his shoulder, his own breathing shaky as he watches with blown pupils and teeth in his lower lip.

The second one goes in more smoothly after that, settling low and making the first one curve right up against your spot. Pleasure begins to swell again in your stomach, just a sliver but enough to have you aching for friction again.

He shifts it the last fraction until your muscles naturally clench around it and keep it inside and you groan, thighs shaking a little on either side of his shoulders.

“That’s it,” you exhale, shifting your hips. “Right there, Bucky.”

His grip eases up on it, slowly and then altogether when the toy holds on its own. His thumb drifts over your clit in passing, your eyes fluttering. “S’that good?” he asks.

“Mm,” you nod. “Perfect.”

When you look down you catch him eyeing it again, the now familiar glistening skin of your pussy and the contrasting length of the silicone where it extends far enough to just barely graze Bucky’s chin when he’s so close.

Your fingers sink into his hair again, nice and slow, and you draw him forward just a little until the curved tip of the toy grazes his full, pink lower lip. He looks just as fucking hot as you thought he would, curious and excited and a little like he might pass out from horniness.

Right where you want him.

“You can put your mouth on it,” you tell him, lifting your hips to bump it against his lips. “Get it wet for me.”

You’re going to use a shit ton of lube again anyway, but you can’t think of a single reason not to indulge yourself in the image of Bucky’s chin dipped low, plush mouth spreading open for you to fill, glassy eyes blinking up at you as his throat tries to relax around the newness of it all and—

“Fuck,” you breathe, watching your vision come to life as Bucky sinks tentatively down an inch or so on the toy. “Have you done this before?”

Bucky’s face goes a beautiful shade of incriminating between your legs. You moan again, fingers tightening in his hair as your hips lightly shift into motion, gently fucking up onto his tongue. You can’t feel what he’s doing with it but the sounds are enough, and you think idly, if he lets you do this again, you could turn on the vibrations right now and get off in no time.

“You like this,” you realize as you watch him start to get into it, spit slipping down the silicone as his head bobs up and down the length. It’s only six inches and he’s pushing almost four, eyes watering as he swallows around it determinedly.

He pulls off to breathe but doesn’t hesitate to slide his mouth in a slew of filthy kisses back down the side of it, moaning to himself a little as he nods.

You let him keep going for a minute until you worry the grind of his hips against the mattress is going to make all of this end too soon, and then you nudge his shoulder with your leg until he blinks his eyes open and pulls off.

“You look so good between my legs,” you tell him, swiping a bit of spit from his chin with your thumb, “but I need you on your hands and knees. Gotta get you ready.”

He nods, voice raspier now when he kneels back and says, “I showered. Did everything like you said.”

“That’s good,” you kiss his cheek as you sit up, hand slipping down to squeeze just shy of his ass, “but we still need to open you up.”

“Oh.” His face darkens again, a crooked smile tilting his lips. “That makes sense.”

“Hands and knees,” you remind him.

It’s yet another thing you’re coming to like about doing this with Bucky, you think as you watch him bashfully but eagerly settle into position, looking over his shoulder at you for approval. Most guys get to this point and then insist they don’t need it, and then you have to tell them you won’t fuck them without it. They’re going to take a silicone dick up the ass, but taking your fingers somehow crosses a line.

But Bucky seems to feel none of that. Or, you realize instead, he just trusts you.

It makes something warm settle in your chest, a sense of responsibility on your shoulders. You want, almost viscerally, for this time with you to be the time he compares everything else afterward to.

On his hands and knees in the center of your mattress, Bucky’s thick thighs are parted just enough to be able to see the generous length of his cock hanging down in between them. He’s hard, has been since making out on the sofa, but now that he’s lost his boxers you’re actually getting to see it instead of just feeling it.

You kneel behind him, your own knees parted a little to encompass the toy between them, and reach for the lube. You coat your fingers generously so it’ll be warm and then re-cap the bottle, leaving it close in case you need more.

With a warning kiss to the rounded, firm curve of his ass, you drag a fingertip up from the back of his balls to the lowermost part of his spine.

“Shit,” Bucky breathes out in a rush, shivering.

“Relax,” you encourage, even though you know it’s easier said than done. “Not gonna do anything that doesn’t feel good, remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods against your pillow, one of his fists unclenching from the sheet beside him. “Yeah, fuck. Okay. I trust you.”

Hearing it out loud only intensifies the feelings from before. You run your touch back down again, one hand rubbing idly at his thigh as your finger presses in behind his balls at a spot you know feels good. It has the desired effect—Bucky moans and his legs open a little more, subtly arching further into your touch.

With an easy, slick slip of your thumb, you shift from that spot back up to his entrance. He tenses like you’d anticipated, and you lower your mouth to his hip again, spreading out the sensation as much as you can.

“You really did do everything I asked,” you comment, hoping the praise will relax him further as you rub slow circles against his rim. “So nice and clean. Made it easy for me.”

“Wanted—fuck,” he curses when your pressure increases just slightly, his body fighting to lean both into and away from the touch. “Wanted to look good for you.”

“You do.”

Your free hand drifts further up his thigh, around to the sensitive inside that makes his muscles twitch under your fingertips. Subtly pulling away for a moment to wet your fingers again, you return to rubbing tight circles around his entrance while your other hand finally wraps around his dick.

You haven’t touched it all night up until now, a calculated move that pays off when all of Bucky’s attention is pulled to the tight, hot pressure of your fist around him. He bucks down into it on instinct, body bearing down naturally, and unbeknownst to him, all of your steady rubbing mixed with the hand on his cock is the perfect cue to finally let the tip of one of your fingers slip past his rim and inside.

You feel it the moment he stops breathing for a second, realization setting in.

“Breathe,” you instruct, taking your fingers off of his dick to rub at his hip again as you hold still.

“You—you’re—” he struggles, voice tight but seemingly not in any pain as he muffles himself in your pillow. “Shit.”

His body flutters around the new stretch, confused but eager as it attempts to suction you in further. Very gingerly you twist only the tip of your finger until the first inch is inside, and give him another few moments to get used to it before you do it again—pulling out in tiny increments and pushing in in slightly larger ones.

You start stroking his cock again and he opens up even further, something like a whimper buried in the bend of his arm as he tries to decide which sensation to focus on. Eventually he must choose both, his hips minutely rutting into your fist and then back a little onto your fingers by design. It’s no more than an inch or two but it’s enough that he hardly realizes you’ve worked an entire finger in by the time your knuckle meets his skin, his gasp loud in the quiet of your bedroom and the slick noise of the lube.

“Tell me how it feels,” you request.

“Full,” he says breathily. He shifts again. “Kinda weird.”

You press a smile into his hip. “Good weird?”

“Good weird,” he confirms with a groan when you start moving it inside of him.

Without rushing, you let him get completely used to one before you try for a second. The toy isn’t terribly thick so you’ve never had a problem using only two to prepare. Judging by the way Bucky starts subtly pushing back against your finger, you think that’s probably still true.

He huffs out a breath when you slip out of him to get more lube, and you smirk at the broad, arched expanse of his back. There’s seldom anything you love more than seeing someone bigger and stronger than you spread out at your mercy, but this time, with Bucky, you feel something…different. Something a little more fond.

Something to explore later. After you’ve fucked him good enough to ruin him for anyone else.

(You should probably explore that thought later too.)

One slips back inside of him smoothly with added slick, and this time Bucky sighs into the stretch, arms wrapped around your pillow. You lull him into it with a few thrusts before testing the press of a second digit against his rim, pleased when his body yields to you much easier than it had before.

You keep them straight as you stretch him open further, and then when he starts to relax into that too, you twist the two digits until they’re facing his cock from the inside and subtly press down in a sweeping circle.

“Stop,” Bucky spits, nearly slurring as he grasps at the sheets. You freeze, ready to pull out until his hand tosses back to keep your arm in place. “No—not—not your fingers. Jus’ your hand. Won’t last.”

Overwhelmingly relieved, you release your breath and grin, your free hand dropping off of his dick accordingly. You hadn’t expected him to be the type to warn you when he was going to come, especially not if it meant you stopping, but he just keeps surprising you.

“Taking my fingers so well,” you murmur against his ass, letting your teeth graze the skin as your fingers spread wide and then settle over his spot again. It’s breathy and a little too honest when you add, “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Bucky chokes on a pleasured noise higher up the bed, his midsection tense and thighs trembling subtly as he starts pushing back against your thrusts. He’s more sensitive than you thought he’d be—which you’re very much into, but it means you probably shouldn’t draw this part of it out any further.

“Think you’re ready for me,” you tell him, warning him before you slip your fingers out.

He whines a little at the loss, shame absorbed by want, and you struggle to think of the last time you had so much fun doing this with someone.

His body protests alongside him, the greedy muscle clenching and trying to keep you inside. You’d stay all you both wanted if you didn’t have something better for him. Once you’re out of him completely, he collapses against the sheets with a groan.

“Easy,” you chuckle, reaching for the lube a final time to slick up the toy. “Lay flat. Chest against the bed.”

He gathers himself a bit, adjusting to lay more comfortably on his stomach as you kneel up behind him. He’ll be taller than you on his hands and knees but like this all you have to do is grind down into him, and you can watch his face where he’s got a cheek shoved into your pillow, eyes flicking back over his shoulder to yours every few seconds.

Once everything is slick enough you ease into position, bracing yourself over him with your breasts brushing his back and your knees anchored between the spread of his for support.

You grip the length of the toy and settle your hips right up against his, using a generous handful of his ass to spread him open for you. He moans when the tip of it bumps against his rim when you rock against him, sliding the toy in between and against his most sensitive places, but you don’t press inside of him just yet.

“Bucky, hey,” you say, nosing at the back of his shoulder.

“Huh,” he slurs, blinking slowly at you. “Wha’s wrong?”

“Need you to be honest with me. You’re not gonna impress me more by taking things fast and rough. Okay? If you need a break, or if something’s not working for you, we stop.”

His cheek shifts against the pillow in a half-nod, pupils starting to focus in a bit more. “I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

With a sweet smile, you stretch an inch or two further to brush your lips against the high point of his flushed cheek. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he chokes. “Please. Please, sweetheart, you gotta—”

You’re pressing down when he pushes back against you, and the combination makes the bulbous tip of the toy pop inside of him with a slick sound. But it’s Bucky’s body that tells you it’s happened more than anything else—the way he freezes up completely for a split second before seeming to unravel beneath you into a puddle of heat and want.

It’s an endless groan as you sink into him further, slow and careful enough that the stretch isn’t much more than he’d taken before. You let out a curse of your own as you watch it disappear inside of him, six inches down to nothing at all as you press in flush.

“Okay?” you ask, brushing your lips behind his ear.

Bucky takes a minute to get himself together, then nods, already panting. You wish you could feel the stretch even more intimately, the way he’s probably so tight around the toy right now.

He pushes up a little on his elbows, just enough to turn and meet your mouth in a messy, spit-slick slide of your lips, intimate and unexpected enough to take your breath away.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

And so you do.

Reaching down between your legs as you slip out of him a little, you find the button at the base of the bulbs and click it once, turning on the lowest level of pulsing vibrations. It makes the length inside of you light up your nerves again, thrumming lightly against your spot from the inside, and against your clit on the outside.

Then, with your hands braced on his hips, you slide back inside.

Both of you moan. It feels more intense now that the preparations are out of the way, all that’s left a predictable deluge of pleasure.

You fuck him like that for a minute or two, slow and steady as you both get a feel for it. It’s good but your arms end up doing most of the work fairly quickly, and you want to draw this out as long as possible.

Pulling out of him briefly, you push one of his thighs up and bent a little against the bed, until his ass is pushed up and angled. With an added touch of your other pillow shoved underneath his hips, it gives you the perfect leverage to straddle the thigh that remains straight, bracing yourself at an angle to slip back inside of him.

“Oh, oh shit—” Bucky croaks loudly, blindly tossing a hand backward to pull you closer. It lands on your hip, curves slightly until it can grab your ass, then pulls until you’re grinding into him as deep as you can get.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you moan, rocking indulgently against him, the weight of his thigh between yours making the toy press up even more firmly inside of you. Your fingers spread out on his hips, eyes tracing a constellation of freckles near the dimples of his back—lower still to where he’s split open around the toy. Around you. “You look so fucking good like this.”

“Feels good,” he groans.

“Yeah?” you ask, slipping a hand up his spine to bury it in his hair. “I’m glad. Want you to feel good.”

His response is buried in the pillow for the next handful of thrusts, a series of noises you can’t make out as his hips start to press back for more, getting into the rhythm you set.

“D-do you?” you hear when he turns enough to say it properly.

It startles a breathless laugh out of you, leaning over him to brace on your fists as you grind in a pointed circle. “Does this feel good for me?”

You sink inside of him fully and pause, enough that he can feel the subtle thrum of vibrations when you click the button up another notch. You watch his eyes roll back from the side at the depth and the pulsing he can probably just barely feel against his prostate, words devolving into gibberish again.

You kiss his slack mouth, his shoulder, the back of his neck as you start thrusting again. “It feels fucking incredible, Bucky. Promise.”

“As—ah—as good as the others?”

The lobe of his ear catches between your teeth when you whisper: “Better.”

He shudders, murmurs your name, begs for more.

Leaning up enough for leverage, you brace your knees and fuck him a little harder now, confident that he can take it. He opens up for you easier than any of the others had—you hadn’t lied. But the whole thing is better, the way he feels, the way you feel, the knot of pleasure in your belly and the equally as pressing one in your chest that feels close to bursting with everything you wish you could have, do, say, express.

All that’s missing is—

“Wanna turn you over,” you gasp. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

“Yeah, yeah—” Bucky mutters agreeably, already halfway to getting into position when you pull out of him and he winces at the sudden loss. He’s still trembling slightly but turning over shows you the evidence of his pleasure, his cock straining hard and leaking at the reddened tip when it smears against his hip with his excitement.

Without even telling him to, he takes hold of the backs of his own legs and pulls them up toward himself so that you can get in between them easily, only letting them go once you’ve settled back inside—face to face this time. His feet meet the mattress as he throws his head back with a low groan, knees brushing either side of your hips when you lower yourself on top of him.

“Look at you,” you marvel, using a thumb to swipe at the stray tears on his cheek. “Still feeling good?”

He nods, nose brushing yours. “Yeah. Real good. Promise. C’n take more.”

You can’t fuck him proper like this but you let yourself indulge for a minute; the span of his warm palms over your waist and your back, your breasts pressed up against his chest, rabbitting heartbeats syncing together. Your mouths slide together easy as breathing, his face in your hand, his legs wrapped around your waist.

All of this is so much…better than you thought it’d be. You know enough about how to make it good regardless but you hadn’t anticipated that you and Bucky would fit quite so well. Not like this.

The kiss turns slower, something undeniably sweet, sharing the same air while the toy rocks inside of him and the vibrations press in up against your clit. His wet lashes brush your cheek when you pull back, and for a single moment, it’s so undeniably intimate that you feel like running from the room—from Bucky—altogether.

But you have something to finish. And there’s a separate but equal part of you that desperately wants to stay.

Pulling away from him with a final press of your mouths, you kneel between his legs and prop the pillow back under his hips when he lifts for you, giving you a clear runway to move your hips quick and steady between his thighs.

You slide in to the hilt, watch Bucky’s expression melt, and carefully wrap your hand around his cock. And then you fuck him like you want him to fall apart.

It’s faster and rougher than it’d been before, the angle perfect for the toy to curve up against his prostate while you work his cock from the top. Your other hand holds his hip, the delicate inward curve that he covers with jerseys and sweatshirts and jackets, the palmful you get greedier than you mean for it to be.

It feels safer to be honest like this, when you know he’s vulnerable too. Safer to let praise slip out and watch him shudder with it, safer to lean into him like you might fall if he weren’t there holding you up.

When you can feel the muscles in his thighs clenching around your hips, noises bitten off into awed speechlessness, you hold the angle and tighten your hand around him, using the slick spread of his excitement to work him over.

“Shit, baby, that’s—m’gonna—” he chokes, trying to twist in your grip and only succeeding in further fucking himself between the toy and your hand. “Fuck. What the fuck.”

With a breathless grin you keep going, knowing that it’s all the more intense when prostate stimulation is involved. You push in close and make your thrusts shorter and more pointed, the flicks of your wrists focused heavily on the head of his dick, thumb stroking over the sensitive, leaking tip.

“C’mon, Bucky,” you urge, using the hand on his stomach to scratch lightly down toward his hips. He shivers and bucks, eyes rolling backward as his knees clamp down around your hips. You shove them back open and keep going. “Wanna see you come for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

The entirety of his big, strong body seizes up beneath and around you, chin tipped toward his chest to watch himself, aroused and awed and a little confused as his cock begins to spill over your fist. Whereas a regular orgasm might last a handful of seconds, this one is longer, more intense, the toy shoved right up against his spot as you work him through it relentlessly.

He comes so much, over your hand and down onto his stomach, a little even all the way up to his chest on a particularly strong one. It pools in the divots of his muscles, around his navel, smears of white shimmering on sweat-dotted skin. He looks good enough to eat.

When he starts shivering you slow your thrusts and slip your hand gently off of him, but a sweaty palm clamps down on your hip before you can pull out.

“Keep—keep goin’,” he rasps.

“Bucky—” you shake your head, watching him lick the spit from the corner of his mouth.

“Please,” he begs. His legs tighten around you. “Wanna feel it. Want—want you to come like this. I can take it. Please.”

You gauge his face for a second, then dip down to kiss him firmly with a murmur of, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

He nods, pushing up on his elbows like he’s connected to you, following as you lean up enough to reach the button on the bottom of the toy. Your face scrunches as you bump up the vibrations two more notches, now a steady, inescapable pulse against your clit.

You moan, legs shaking around the new intensity, and Bucky’s right there waiting to catch you when you drop your forehead to his shoulder.

He leans up, arm slipping around your waist, the other at the back of your head. The position makes his legs lock around your hips, the lock of his ankles pressing you as close against him as you can get, and the vibrating extension of the toy gives you nowhere to run from the pleasure.

It all fades back into focus now that Bucky’s already come, your breathing uneven and your cunt clenching around the bulbs inside of you. It’s almost too intense—Bucky’s hand around the back of your neck, his low voice in your ear, his mouth pressed to your temple in what you’re just overwhelmed enough to consider a kiss. You go easily when he shifts you a little to press your foreheads together, stealing presses against your lips when he can get them.

“Bucky,” you pant, your thrusts going a little sloppy as the vibe throws off your rhythm. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, here, lemme…” he starts, failing to finish the thought. He uses his arms to shift you a bit, enough to duck his head down toward your chest and take your nipple into his mouth.

You curse, head falling backward and hand tangled in his hair, your thrusts now nothing more than a frantic grind against him. One of the hands splayed against your spine slides down to palm at your ass and urge you on, what’s sure to be an indention of his teeth forming as he flicks his tongue against your nipple the same as he’d done to your clit earlier.

Eventually you can’t hold the tempo at all anymore, your hips shoving in and stilling against him. Something suspiciously close to a sob gets stuck in your throat, your head falling back down to gasp into his hair.

Bucky’s chin tilts up at the noise, slick mouth popping off of your chest to find its way to your lips instead.

“You close?” he whispers.

You give a frantic nod, mouth open while his tongue pushes against yours, maps out the planes of your tongue and teeth.

“Please, sweetheart, please—” he begs. “Feels so good. Wanna feel you come while you’re—fuck. While you’re inside me.”

Your body bears down on the toy like it’s his cock instead, the vibrator thrumming against your clit and the highest silicone bulb nestled right up against your spot. The penetrative sex you’ve had in the past with guys is pretty good at best and awkward or uncomfortable at worst, but your mind clings to the visual as you start to come: this but the inverse, Bucky fucking you, your legs around his waist, his head against your chest, the only thing between you a strip of latex instead of several inches of silicone.

It shocks you a little, how badly you want it then.

You don’t even realize until after that it’s the first time you’ve ever let someone see you come face to face.

Neither of you get up afterward, like you’re both afraid to shatter the moment. You’re hesitant to even talk until the discomfort wins out, and you have to ease out of him and take the toy out of you.

You use the bathroom and wash your hands while Bucky fetches two waters, and you toss him a towel as he underhands the bottle to you over the bed. For a minute you both stand on either side of it, you in a t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear, Bucky wide eyed in his boxers, pants hanging from his hand at his side.

It takes only a barely there nod toward the mattress to get him back inside of it.

You end up on your back against the pillows, Bucky’s head on your ribs and fingers tracing patterns over your thigh while yours slip back into his hair. He moans quietly, tipping back for more. You smile.

“Can we talk about it now?” he asks eventually.

Easing in a breath you’re sure he can feel, you chew at your lip, smile fading.

“Yeah.”

You shift a little underneath him, and he clears his throat, going first. “You were always so sweet on Steve, and I—I wanted to have that with you too,” he admits. “But then it was like, everything I did to try to impress you was the wrong thing, or it only made you hate me even more. I told myself eventually I’d just stop trying, but. I don’t think I ever did.”

You smile wryly at the back of his head. “I don’t really know why you wanted to be friends with me so badly.”

“What?” he asks, adjusting so his cheek is the other way, facing you. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not—I’m not like you,” you tell him. “I can’t walk into a room and just immerse myself in it the way that you can. One on one is one thing, but crowds are something I’ve never been good at.” You glance away from him, staring at the design on your t-shirt. “If you wanna know the truth, sometimes I feel like people are scared of me and I—I hate it.”

“Nobody’s scared of you,” he frowns.

“Intimidated, then,” you argue.

He lifts a shoulder, the arm folded above his head extending to stroke a thumb over the side of your ribs. “Yeah, maybe. But only because you’re confident. You know what you want and you go get it without jumping through all the bullshit hoops first. People aren’t scared, they’re staying out of your way.”

“I’m not that confident, Bucky. I’m just as clueless as everybody else here is. I just work hard at making people think the opposite.”

The truth is, you cling to control the way that Bucky clings to validation. When you don’t have it, it can make you just as bad as you’ve accused him of being in the past. And by denying not only yourselves but each other the things you need to feel safe, you’ve made enemies from something that probably would’ve never been that in the first place if you’d just—if you’d just been brave enough to try.

“Well,” Bucky gives a theatrical sigh, warm through the fabric against your stomach. “Then I guess we’re both liars.”

You laugh. “Pretty shit ones, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” he grins with a wink.

The humor breaks the tension but another kind eases in just as quickly, the quiet growing tense with something you don’t think either of you can put a finger on.

The twitch of his brows betrays his thought even as he tries to appear casual, his eyes flicking up to yours, cheek bunching up your shirt. The vulnerability from him that’d made you feel so powerful before makes you feel way out of your depth now—like he’s giving you something you aren’t quite sure how to hold yet.

He sniffs, playing with the hem of the collar by your neck. “This wasn’t—this wasn’t a lie, though. Right?”

Throat suddenly tight, you shake your head.

“No.”

His confidence visibly increases then, his wavering molded into something more solid. Like he’s made a decision about something.

Lifting himself slowly off of you, Bucky shifts from lying adjacent to lying parallel beside you, watching your face the whole time as he presses himself close. With you against the pillows and him on one elbow it puts him hovering above you, his face inches from yours.

When you tip your chin up, he bends to meet you halfway.

He kisses you deep and heavy, with slow rolls of his tongue and spit gathering between your mouths. Gasping breaths get smothered with the swallowed noises both of you are trying and failing not to make, and you want to blame him for rolling on top of you and settling in between your thighs—but you were the one who pulled him closer, who spread them for him in the first place.

He sucks on your lower lip like he wants to keep it while your hand slides over his shoulders, up his neck, to the back of his head to hold him there. You’re panting again by the time he pulls back, foreheads touching and lips swollen to mirror yours.

His kisses skew over, across your jaw. “Did you mean what you said about—about me fuckin’ you?”

“You want to?” you ask.

“Really bad, yeah,” he nods into your neck.

Even as nerves flutter in your stomach, you find yourself smiling at the ceiling over his shoulder.

Bucky clears his throat, voice coming deeper when he speaks again.

“But it’s late, so. Probably shouldn’t unless I stay over.”

“Bucky,” you huff, pulling him out of your neck to look at his face. “You can spend the night. I wasn’t planning on kicking you out.”

“Thank God,” he collapses onto you again, mouth hungry against yours.

“Condoms are in the nightstand,” you tell him, oddly emotional as you watch him reach over and rifle through to find them.

You keep your t-shirt on but let Bucky slip your underwear back down your legs, rubbing a hand on the outside of your thigh as he settles in between them. The lube clicks open again, you rolling the condom on while he slicks himself up, spreading enough of it over your cunt too and taking a minute to press his fingers against your clit.

“You wanna be on top?” he asks.

You shake your head. “You set the pace this time. I trust you.”

The tremble in your voice must betray the nerves despite it being the truth, and Bucky’s eyes soften as he dips down to kiss you again. Unhurried, patient. On the pillow beside your head, his free hand tangles with yours.

He presses in just as you take a breath, and for once, giving doesn’t feel like losing.

The music’s low enough not to give you a migraine, the drink in your hand from a bottle that was splurged on just for you, and from your view in Bucky’s lap, you can see practically the entire room.

It’s less of a party these days and more just hanging out, the easy cadence of Steve’s rambling, Natasha’s intermittent dry humor, Sam’s laugh that always follows predictably. People you enjoy being around instead of a room full of them you try to impress for no good reason.

The end of the semester finds you much more calm than the one before, both academically and professionally and…

Otherwise.

A hand is settled on your waist, fingers splayed out and pinky teasing the hem. Familiar lips press to the back of your ear, warm breath your warning before Bucky’s voice makes the rest of the room fade out.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

Biting down on a smile, you try not to be too terribly obvious about it when you nod. With a stray graze of his mouth to your head, Bucky steals your drink and downs the rest of it for you.

You’re met with a teasing round of boos and suggestive noises in equal measure as Bucky takes your hand and leads you through the living room toward the door.

“You gonna be okay to get home?” you ask Steve, nudging his knee as you pass by.

He smiles, eyes flicking between both of you as he nods. “Yeah. I’m good.” You get to the foyer before he calls out again, “Hey, Buck?”

You both pause, glancing back at him. “Yeah?”

“Take care of her,” Steve says.

It makes your face feel hot, but no one laughs. The part of you that had ached so badly when Steve made you promise the opposite is healing—you can already feel it.

But this feels pretty good too.

Especially when Bucky adjusts from gripping your hand to wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “‘Course I will.”

It’s what you do now, after all. Look after each other. You nod at Steve once more and follow Bucky out into the night air, watching the streetlights reflect in his eyes and his grin when he looks at you.

He’s exactly the sort of guy you could fall in love with if you let yourself.

So. You do.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

BUCKYSHOTS ★