MDNI! Warnings/Tags: some blood, explicit smut, degrading terms, enemies to lovers.
This is my first ever fanfiction, please be kind! :D
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You were a new recruit for the Avengers. You started out as a secretary under Tony, working for Stark Industries, hoping to help the world become a safer place some day. He had thought you were just another gorgeous woman with a decent brain; innocent and sweet. Until one day, he realized you had a special talent for getting out of sticky situations. After another Stark Industries employee had gotten a little handsy with you, you showed that disgusting little man that you weren’t just some young woman to be taken advantage of. Tony had heard the news and his interest was piqued.
You had the brains, there was no doubt about that. You knew your way around technology and the science behind it all. You had a background of martial arts training, however you did need to be trained more physically before you could be thrown into combat situations without becoming a liability. So for now, you were the brains behind the operations. Computer work, being the “guy in the chair” giving instructions to the Avengers team, all while training on your off days to eventually go out into the field.
Everyone took to you quite well. You and Natasha were the closest. Sam found you absolutely adorable and hilarious. Thor, Steve, and Clint trained with you at the Avengers Tower high tech gym when they could. (Mostly Steve, Nat, and Clint, as it was hard to learn much from a God)
Bruce enjoyed wracking your brain about the newest ideas he and Tony were bouncing around. Then there was Bucky…
Bucky took one look at you, with your sweet smile, contagious laugh, and bizarre fashion choices; and he couldn’t quite place how he felt. You were too innocent. Too soft. It made him angry. How could Tony possibly think this woman would be good on a battlefield?
When you first met Bucky, you were instantly drawn to him. He was handsome, in that mysterious brooding way. You knew the story of The Winter Soldier. And you felt that he could use someone that was kind to him. Someone that wouldn’t flinch at him. So you walked right up to him, stuck out your hand, and introduced yourself with a big smile.
Bucky took one look at your funky colored jumpsuit, your wide eyes, heavy eye make-up, and felt the urge to slink away. He reluctantly took your hand as if scared to catch something from your grip, grunted, and walked away without a single word.
“Boy Howdy! Ain’t you just warm and friendly!” You called after him in an overexaggerated 1940’s accent. He rolled his eyes at your sarcastic comment. ‘Oh great, and she has an attitude.’ He thought to himself.
After a few more weeks of trying to break that wall, all of those good thoughts you had about him had mostly vanished. You weren't about to let him make a fool of you. And for the past year now, it has been nothing but bickering.
“You seriously didn’t see them coming?!” Bucky grumbled. You, Bucky, Steve, and Nat were walking through the underground garage area in Avengers tower. You had all come back from a mission to recover top secret Hydra tech that was being coveted by some local “vigilantes” as they called themselves. You stayed behind in the security van, being the watchful eye as the three Avengers attempted to extract the machinery.
“Buck, give her a break. You don’t understand, sometimes people go unnoticed by the radar sensors.” Steve explained calmly.
“Yes, thank you Steve! I was watching the radar system the entire time, no blips were showing in that location. It was odd.” You explained, not bothering to keep a level tone. Bucky rolled his eyes and responded. “We could’ve all been killed. I hope your actual training is done shortly, that way Bruce or Tony can go back to being on watch.”
You were seething. Bucky really knew how to make you feel worthless. Couldn’t he see how hard you were trying? “Fuck you.” You grumbled under your breath. Steve and Nat made eye contact and exchanged small smiles. Bucky whipped his head to the side to show he heard you. You both stopped mid quick stride back to the common area. Narrowing your eyes at each other, Bucky smirked.
Even with his cocky demeanor and piss poor attitude, you couldn’t help but notice just how incredibly sexy he was after a mission. Scratches, bruises, burns. His long hair tousled messily, pieces sticking to his forehead. Yet despite that, you really had to fight the urge to show him just what you were made of. He had the most punchable face at the moment. He was staring at your face, and you figured he must be thinking the same thing.
“You know what I think?” Natasha spoke loudly after clearing her throat. “I think you should start training her, James. You clearly are the most skilled of us all. Well second best compared to me.” She added with a wink to you.
“Fuck no!” You both spoke in unison.
“I don’t have the time or the energy to train her. I’ve got my own shit to worry about.” Bucky explained.
“Nat’s right, Buck. If you want her out on the field sooner, you should be the one to help.” Steve added, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
You two had begun your weekly training shortly after that night. After the first few awkward sessions, you started to get more comfortable with giving it your all. You were clearly no match for Bucky. And he didn’t hold back. During those early mornings you learned different fighting techniques from him. He would get frustrated if you didn’t learn them quickly enough, and you were growing tired of his negativity. Things started growing more intense. You were both becoming a little rougher. Grabbing onto each other more. Finding any excuse to hurt the other just slightly. But there was something else you noticed too. Bucky’s stare was lingering much longer than it used to. And in different places.
He would watch your chest heave after an hour of intense workout and sparring. He’d glance down at your thighs in your tight shorts. His eyes would dance to your lips when you were trying to concentrate. And you weren’t innocent in it either. As your anger grew, it seemed your attraction to him did too. The muscles in his arms would ripple as he would twist and turn to block your punches and kicks. You had to stop yourself from biting your lip when you’d watch beads of sweat drip down his bare stomach, traveling under the elastic of his shorts. At one point you had to shake your head to remove the thought of licking it off of him. He would wrap his gorgeously large hands around you, in an attempt to grapple you to the ground. Your mind drifted to the veiny tops of his hands, and huge fingers wrapping gently around your neck…Then Bucky would say something rude to snap you back to reality.
And then, one night, something finally snapped in you. All self control had left your system.
You were attempting to block kicks Bucky was throwing your way, but at the last second, he landed one right into your ribs. You gasped for air for a split second.
“You’ve got to do better than that, Doll. Especially if you want to be good enough for the team. You’re a bit patheti-”
Bucky’s vision clouded with pain for a brief moment. For half a second he was perplexed.
You had landed a fist to the left side of his cheek, close enough to his mouth to cause a split.
He tasted metal, felt the warm blood running down his chin. He spit onto the gym floor.
You were shaking. Partially from anger and slight fear at what you had done, but also for a reason you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Your nostrils flared, fists still closed and frozen in front of you.
Bucky growled in a low sort of whisper, baring his teeth ever slightly. But you could’ve swore his lip curled into the tiniest of smiles as his hand latched around your wrist. It was bone crushing. He yanked you closer to him, wrapping his metal hand around your throat after letting go of your wrist with the opposite hand. Not hard enough to harm you, but strong enough to show a possessive pressure. His eyes drifted to your trembling lips, and then he acted upon the strange urge in his mind.
Bucky bit hard into your bottom lip with his front teeth, you gasped in pain, and yet you couldn’t control the pulsing sensation between your thighs. You could taste the blood you had caused him to spill. It was quite possibly the most intoxicating taste you had experienced. Hand squeezing your neck even tighter, Bucky sucked on the bruising skin on your lip. His tongue reached out to touch yours. Your lips now crashing together with a mix of aggression and passion. His hand that was not preoccupied with keeping you still had drifted down to your ass. He squeezed with all of his might, causing a breathy moan to come from your mouth.
Being so close to the cement gym wall, Bucky lifted you by your waist, as if you were light as a feather, and slammed you into it. Your legs voluntarily spread, allowing him to settle between them. You stayed like this, breathing hard into each other's mouths, barely an inch apart. His eyes were low, from both anger and desire. He grabbed your cheeks roughly with his right hand, squeezing while he scrunched his nose up at you. He slipped his thumb into your mouth, and you gladly took it, sucking as he pushed down on the back of your tongue, causing you to gag. Bucky laughed low and harshly at you. You bit down hard on the side of his thumb at this. You weren't going to let him think he won whatever this was. He grew harder against your thigh.
Pulling away his thumb, he looked down at your cleavage popping from your damp camisole.
“Fuck.” He moaned. Your hand found his hair and wrapped around a large portion near the back of his head. You yanked and bit down on his collar bone peaking out of his black tank top. He shoved your head back up against the wall, wrapped the cool metal hand around your hip, and pressed his other hand hard against the front of your thin shorts. Rubbing your aching pussy through the fabric, you roll your eyes back. “Bucky…” You let out a loud moan, unable to contain how intense this all felt.
Footsteps could be heard approaching in the distance. Bucky lets you fall at once, and you collapse clumsily against the wall, regaining your footing. He walked over to where his water bottle had sat on a nearby bench, and strolled out of the gym door, glancing back at you briefly, with a look that read that he wasn’t done with you yet. Perhaps you had gone too far. You regret landing the punch, it was unprofessional. Yet you couldn’t help the mischievous grin that started to appear on your face. Perhaps all of that anger and sarcasm between you was just something else under the surface. Something that wasn’t as easy to express as anger.
Nothing was acknowledged about your encounter at the gym over the weekend. You were off duty for those days, and therefore didn’t need to train. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. All this time, you thought Bucky couldn’t stand you. Let alone want to push you against the wall and do all of THAT. The confusion just made your anger at him that much more strong.
You made your way into the kitchen Sunday morning, leaning against the counter to make a pot of coffee. You heard someone walk in behind you, turned, and there was Bucky, bed head, no shirt, and lounge shorts. Your eyes drifted down immediately. When you made eye contact again, he rolled his eyes at you.
“Instead of staring at me, can you hurry up and pour your coffee please? Some of us need caffeine to function properly.”
Your blood boiled. Was he really going to continue to be a total dick after what had happened? You noticed his lip was still healing. You scoffed at him.
“Don’t flatter yourself, James.” You said his first name in a mocking tone.
You turned around to fill your mug, taking your sweet time. Then you felt Bucky’s chest against your back. Both of his hands locked you against the counter.
“Don’t call me that, Doll.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” You barely breathed out.
“Because I don’t like how it sounds coming out of your mouth."
Your skin was burning hot. Your pussy was soaking the front of your underwear at the closeness of him. All you wanted was his cock shoved so far inside you and to claw his back until he was bleeding.
“Speaking of my mouth, is that why you’re in need of coffee so badly? Did you stay up late thinking about what happened in the gym the other day?”
Bucky nuzzled his nose into your hair, moving it out of the way as he chuckled in your ear and pushed away from you. You immediately wanted to feel him again, but couldn’t bear to act on it. You turned around to face him. He stared at you cockily and then said,
“See you for training tomorrow. You clearly still need practice.”
He left you in the room alone with nothing but a beating heart and swimming thoughts.
Monday morning had rolled around quickly. You had barely slept a wink since this new found situation you’d found yourself in with James Buchanan Barnes. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it all. You both pushed each other's buttons constantly. From the day you met, you had assumed he hated you, or at least just was mildly annoyed and indifferent towards you. You’d never met someone so miserable and frustrating. Just to keep things interesting, you slid on your smallest pair of athletic shorts, and a tight white tank top that left little to the imagination. Your hair fell in slight curls after going to sleep with it wet after your shower the previous night. Feeling as though you looked decent enough, you made your way down to the gym. Heart racing with intrigue and slight anxiety.
When you had arrived through the large metal doors, your eyes fell on a gorgeous sight. Bucky was punching a boxing dummy. His long hair was slicked back slightly from running his fingers through it. He breathed loudly in between punches. Your mind traveled to dirty thoughts of him making those noises from above you.
“Good Morning, Bucky.” Your voice echoed in the large room, as you and Bucky were the only ones to be seen so early.
He turned around slowly, piercing blue eyes making contact with yours. He nodded simply. Oh you wish you could wipe the nonchalant look off of his stupid handsome face.
You jabbed at Bucky’s body, his hands up in a blocking form. You finally landed a quick fist to his chin. He started kicking towards you, but you blocked each one. You were so proud at how far you had come, but of course, he didn’t give you a single hint of being impressed. You grappled Bucky around his waist, you managed to catch your foot under his and slam him to the ground with the momentum from your body weight; just like he taught you.
“Ha!” You smiled. He looked up at you with a bored face. Then he sat forward quickly, grabbing your knees, and slammed you into the mat on the floor.
“Don’t get so cocky.” Bucky smirked.
You sat up, as he turned his back on you and walked away. You started turning red. Kicking the back of his knee, he collapsed to the ground.
“What the fuck?! You attack a man when his back is turned?!” He shouted, rubbing the back of his head. You came around to the front of him.
“Why are you such a prick all of the time? I’m doing pretty good for someone with no fuckin’ super powers or super soldier serum!”
Bucky stood up, coming closer and towering over you. He aimed a punch for your face, you blocked it with ease. You kicked at his stomach, he grabbed your calf, twisted it, and slammed you hard into the ground again. He put his thighs on either side of your hips, grabbed your wrists as you tried to push him away, and held them locked above your head with one hand. He looked down at your chest, nipples hard and protruding through the flimsy white fabric.
You lifted your head slightly to notice that Bucky was rock hard. Clearly he enjoyed this back and forth. He took his metal hand and slowly dragged his finger tips over your tits, taking his sweet time when they finally found your nipples. You whined, hips grinding up into his. Making contact with the cock outline in his pants. The cold metal contrasted with your burning skin felt just as good as you had imagined. You hated how he made you melt like this. You managed to free one of your hands while he was distracted and slapped him across the face. His eyes widened, and he stared at you dangerously. The corners of your mouth turned up into a smirk. You were done for, and you liked it.
Bucky stood up, yanked you off the ground with little to no care, and dragged you over to the nearest weight bench so that you fell onto his lap. You wasted no time in moving your legs up to straddle his hips. He grabbed your face with both hands, nowhere near gently, and kissed you hard. Your lips were in a tangled mess; all tongues, teeth, and moans. You chased your high by grinding down on his lap pathetically. Bucky laced his fingers in the back of your hair and yanked your head back hard. Tears came to your eyes but you were soaked; the dark spot on the front of your shorts gave you away. He bit down hard on your neck, leaving a mark you knew would be visible later. Bucky yanked your tank top down to let your tits fall out of the front. He stared at you in awe. He bent down and flattened his tongue against your nipples. Sucking each one until you were letting out breathy moans.
“Bucky, yes, please don’t stop. Feels so fucking good!” The pressure from grinding your clothed pussy on his lap, mixed with his licks at your sensitive tits was starting to send you over the edge. “Oh my Go - I’m gonna cum”
Bucky looked up at you, slowly flicking his tongue over each nipple while you humped the growing bulge in his pants. He started to lick faster, your bounces became sloppier, and then you felt yourself come undone. You could not believe he made you cum from just his tongue on your tits.
Pupils blown out, Bucky looked at you in awe. He stared at the mess you had made on your shorts and on his lap, and knew he had to feel you. He stuck his hand between the two of you and slipped it past the elastic of your shorts. Running two fingers along your slit. He stopped at your clit and rubbed slowly over the sensitive bud. “Fuck Bucky, feel how wet I am for you.” He lifted his glistening fingers from your shorts, and slowly put them in your mouth. Then he leaned forward and tongue kissed you, tasting both your cum, and your mouth at the same time. You had never been more turned on in your life.
Bucky wasted no time yanking down your shorts. You kicked them away with your feet quickly as he pulled down his own pants, letting his cock bounce free. You wanted to pleasure him but it seemed he had been kept waiting too long. He pulled you on top of his erection, teasing your hole with the tip. Then he pulled you down roughly on top of his cock so you gasped with pain at how big he was. He gave you no time to get used to how thick he was. He fucked up into your pussy, grunting loudly. The noises were obscene, you were absolutely drenched. You looked down to notice the creamy fluid starting to build up on his mound of hair at the base, the sight made you moan out loud.
“What happened to the attitude, huh? Awfully needy for such a fucking brat.” He fucked up into you with each word he spoke.
You slapped him in the face. He laughed mercilessly. You started to grin. This only made him start to fuck you harder.
“Is this what you were hoping for? That I’d be rough with this tight fucking pussy? You’re such a good little slut for me.”
You should be upset with him for saying that, but it changed something in you. You wanted him to call you that forever. His bouncing started to slow down, and you couldn’t have that. You needed to take charge. Using his shoulders to brace yourself, you got up with your feet on the bench, knees bent and started bouncing on his cock using your feet as support. The new angle felt like fucking heaven.
“Bucky, I need you to choke me…now.”
He used his metal arm to wrap his hand around your neck and squeeze the sides, causing the most delicious feeling. Your clit was throbbing with every bounce you made.
“Choke me harder, James.”
He squeezed harder and growled.
“Fuck, say my name again you little slut. Tell me where you want my cum.”
You dropped back down, slowly grinding on him, kissing him roughly, scratching your nails down his spine.
“James…fuck…I want your cum dripping out of me. Please!”
Bucky sat up quickly, and started fucking you in the air, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your tits bounced in his face and he bit one of your nipples as hard as he could. Then he slammed you down on the bench again, but this time with your ass up into the air. He slapped your ass so hard you started yelping. He was showing you no mercy. He sent a slap to your pussy and you moaned so loud Bucky had to reach around and cover your mouth. You were clenching around nothing.
“James please… I need to feel you. Spank my pussy again…come on, please fuck me Bucky. Need your big fucking cock…”
Bucky aimed another slap on your pussy, leaving it bright red. Then he grabbed your hips and licked a long stripe up your folds, letting his thumb slowly settle into your puckered hole. He flicked his tongue over your clit.
“Fuck Bucky, yes, Keep your thumb right there, I feel so full. You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking filthy!”
His licks got faster and faster until you came all over his tongue, repeating “Bucky” over and over again until he was whining into your pussy. As soon as your orgasm started to slow, you felt Bucky slam his cock into your cunt again. He gripped your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.
“Such a brat. You knew just what you were doing all along, didn’t you, Doll? Knew I’d show you what happens to little sluts that need their pussies filled, huh?”
His balls started slapping against your clit. Between that, and his dirty mouth, you knew you were going to cum for a third time.
“Bucky cum in me, fuck! I’m going to cum. Slap my ass again, please, I’ll be a good girl from now on.”
He laughed almost evilly again. Pushing his thumb into your tight ass for a second time. The sight of it made his cock twitch. You reached under and started rubbing his balls and squeezing them.
“Oh, no you won’t. You’re always going to push my buttons in the hopes I make your pussy feel good again, aren’t you? Fuck, you drive me insane.”
Bucky started picking up the pace, which you didn’t know was even possible. He landed the harshest smack to your ass yet. Then, with one final thrust into you, Bucky came, moaned your name and it echoed in the room. He pulled you up so that your back could fall into his chest, and he kissed the side of your face, and bit hard into your cheek.
“Oh I like that, fuck.” You babbled. The pain making the end of your orgasm even better. You’re not sure if it was from the super soldier serum but so much cum was starting to leak out of you. Bucky turned you around slowly, and set you down onto the bench. He stood above you, and slowly pushed his fingers inside your soaked and beaten pussy.
He started breathing heavily as he watched himself fuck his cum back up deep inside of you.
Something about it felt so intimate. You were in awe looking up at him through your lashes. You felt so filthy in the best way. Bucky took out his two fingers and said “tongue, now.” You held out your tongue for him as he dragged his cum soaked fingers over your taste buds. “Mmm” you moaned, and he let a quiet laugh out.
“Fuck me. That’s been built up for a long time now.” He stated. It helped ease the slight awkwardness starting to creep in now that tensions were no longer high.
“Yeah I’d say so.” You giggled. “And here I thought you hated me.”
“Oh I do.” Said Bucky seriously. You looked up at him slightly offended. He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m kidding, Dear.”
Silence fell as you both walked to the showers to clean up a bit with some hot water and towels. “For the record, I never hated you.” Bucky muttered awkwardly. “I just - I’m not - good… with stuff like this.”
“Stuff like what?!” You asked half laughing.
“You know… this. Figuring out how I’m feeling about a pretty girl.”
“So you think I’m pretty!?” You mocked, throwing your messy hair over your shoulder.
Bucky scoffed at you with a big smile on his face.
“I take it back!” You swatted him on his chest.
He looked up at you with a soft grin.
“I’m not used to someone like you. Someone happy, full of life. It’s hard for me to let it all in. It’s just easier to pretend to be cold.” Bucky admitted to the ground. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for him. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve it.”
You beamed at him. “It’s okay, James. I forgive you. I’m sorry for hitting you. Three times...” You grimaced with a slightly guilty grin.
“Oh no, it’s okay. I liked it.” Bucky winked at you.
“You’re not going to go all soft on me now are you? Because…that… you know…was fucking incredible.” You admitted, biting your lip.
Bucky let out a groan thinking about what you two just did, and watching you bite your lip like that.
“Don’t worry, Doll. I fully intend to treat you like that again. But maybe only in the bedroom from now on.”
“Oh thank God. Because I fully intend to keep pushing your buttons if it leads to that.” You smirked.
Request by @littlemiss-yeehaw: jealous!Bucky, fake dating, handjob.
Summary: Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.
A/N: The first request I wrote from the smut menu had to be from my Tumblr best friend. Not only does she pre-read nearly everything that I post, but she keeps me from deleting my blog on a near daily basis, and she keeps me sane. I hope you all enjoy it as much as she did. If it wasn't for this girl, my blog would've been deleted before Needs & Wants was ever completed lmao.
You’ve decided that no one in the world looks more out of place than a super soldier in a grocery store. Specifically, a super soldier in the produce aisle of a small local market. He looks like a bull in a China shop as he scours through a bin of tomatoes to find ones he approves of. He holds one tomato in each of his leather gloved hands as he compares them carefully, acting like choosing between the two is every bit as difficult as deciding whether someone lives or dies in his usual line of work.
“They’re pretty much the same, Bucky, and we only need two. Just put them in a bag.” You say with a sigh, resting your elbows on the handle of the shopping cart that you’ve been pushing as you’ve trailed behind him. Though you’re the one carrying the team’s grocery list, Bucky’s been the one pulling things off of the shelves and setting them in the cart. You originally suggested each of you taking half of the list and splitting up to get the shopping done faster, and to avoid the pointless arguments and annoyances you’d face in each other’s presence, but Bucky’s only response to your idea was a furrowed brow and silence. So, you’ve been following him around with the shopping cart safely between the two of you.
Bucky starts to put both of the tomatoes down and pick two different ones just to bother you, but he takes the high road and bags the two he’s already holding instead. He’s usually assigned to grocery shopping with Sam, which he definitely prefers, but with Sam off to visit his family this week, he ended up being stuck with you.
“What’s next?” Bucky asks, setting the plastic bag of produce in the cart and then casting you a sideways glance. You cross tomatoes off of the small piece of paper in your hand before moving on to read the next item.
“We’re done with food items, next is ibuprofen, melatonin, and some feminine products.” You answer, lifting your gaze to meet his as you tap the pen against the piece of paper absentmindedly. Bucky nods curtly and starts leading the way down the aisle, knowing all of the aisles with medication, first aid, and toiletry type supplies are on the opposite end of the store. You follow a few feet behind him, missing your usual shopping buddy, Wanda. Though it’s a menial task, you always seem to have a fun time when the two of you are on the grocery schedule for the week. Bucky is a stark contrast to your far more bubbly, lighthearted friend.
You’re lost in thought as you turn a corner and enter the pharmacy aisle, not paying any attention as Bucky looks through various types of over-the-counter medications. It isn’t until you hear a voice one aisle over that you straighten up and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The voice sounds familiar, so familiar that you find your ears straining to hear it better so you can identify it. Is it an old friend? Someone from SHIELD? You can’t be sure, but you’re starting to think it isn’t a friend by the way your nerves seem to be rising with every incoherent word that they mutter. You leave Bucky standing at one end of the aisle as you walk ahead, trying to get closer to the source of the voice. You’re nearly at the opposite end of the aisle when suddenly, the front end of another shopping cart appears and quickly turns in front of you, almost colliding with the front end of yours. You stop abruptly for two reasons. The first reason being so you don’t cause a pileup on aisle thirteen. The second reason being because you now see whose voice was causing your heart rate to elevate and your stomach to twist into a knot. Your fucking ex-boyfriend.
“Oh, wow, hey!” The man before you extends the greeting so casually, as if he didn’t waste a year of your life with meaningless words and empty promises. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting over his shoulder just as a pretty blonde woman steps into view. Oh. “This is uh, this is my girlfriend.” He gestures to the woman before looking back at you with a wary glance, clearly trying to gauge how you feel about him committing to someone new so soon. The woman offers a small smile and wave as she introduces herself by name, but it all goes right over your head. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, unable to tear your eyes away from the piece of shit behind the cart full of organic produce and a questionable amount of wine.
Bucky’s watching everything unfold from a few yards behind, acting as if he’s still deciding between a name brand bottle of ibuprofen and a generic version of the same. He gives you a few seconds to soak in the obviously awkward social situation as his eyes analyze your body language. You’re tense, your grip on the handle of the shopping cart is so tight that your knuckles are turning white. It’s been ten seconds since the woman introduced herself to you and you still haven’t uttered a word. Bucky glances to his right and notices the selection of condoms, lube, and pregnancy tests spread over the shelves next to the medication section. He only takes a second to weigh his options: let you continue to flounder in front of your shitty ex and his new victim or offer you an easy reprieve while simultaneously sending your ex into a mental spiral. His gloved hand wraps around a couple of boxes of pregnancy tests and he pulls them off of the shelf, signifying he’s chosen the latter.
“Oh, trying for a baby?” Your ex jokes when Bucky approaches from behind you and drops a handful of pregnancy tests into the cart.
“No, it’s just smart to have a few of these on hand when we only ever fuck raw. Do we know you?” Bucky’s tone is calm and even, like he’s just said something completely within the ordinary. It breaks you out of the trance you were in and you blink your eyes as you feel the heat from Bucky’s body enveloping you in warmth. He cages your body between his and the cart, his chest brushing against your back as he places his hands on either side of yours on the shopping cart handle. You don’t see the way his lips curve upward into a shit-eating grin as your ex’s face falls at both Bucky’s unfiltered words and the public display of affection he’s witnessing.
“Aren’t you…” The man addresses Bucky with slightly widened eyes and an unsure voice. You almost laugh at the effect Bucky has on the poor guy’s demeanor, and the fact that Bucky towers a few inches over the man is just icing on the cake.
“Bucky.” Your ex has just realized that not only are you grocery shopping with the Winter Soldier, but you’ve also been letting him fuck you.
---
Your week has been full of unexpected moments, but two stand out in particular. The first moment was when Bucky so calmly chose to play the role of your fake boyfriend at the grocery store three nights ago. Nearly every waking moment since then has been spent replaying it in your head, wondering why he decided to step in and do that for you, why he decided to take such a blunt approach and tell your ex that the two of you prefer unprotected sex, and how the hell he acted as if nothing happened immediately after the interaction was over. The second moment is unfolding right now. Your eyes are locked in on your phone screen as you mull over the text that’s displayed there.
Are you free tonight? Would love to sit down and catch up, want to talk about things.
You don’t have the number saved in your phone but you know exactly who it is. It’s the same shitty ex you ran into two nights ago, the same one who now thinks you’re fucking the Winter Soldier. Before you’ve even considered responding, a second message from the same unsaved number rolls in.
I’ll be at the bar we used to go to, the one off of 83rd street, in an hour. Hope to see you there.
The way your face scrunches up in confusion at the sight of the two texts on your phone screen piques Bucky’s interest as he steps off of the elevator and uses the collar of his t-shirt to dab sweat off of his neck. He’s just finished a pretty strenuous workout and had every intention of heading straight to his room to shower and spend the rest of the night in there, but he can’t ignore the feeling of some kind of invisible string tugging him in your direction. It was only two nights ago that he pressed himself against you in the grocery store and pretended like he knew what it’s like to have you in his bed. It was only two nights ago that you became a near constant thought in the back of his mind.
“Don’t tell me he texted you.” Bucky’s voice catches you off guard. You lift your gaze from your phone screen and lean back into the couch cushions, attempting to look perfectly at ease in his presence. Truth be told, you’ve been a little on edge around him since the night in the grocery store, but you don’t know why. Maybe because he saw you in such an embarrassing and vulnerable moment, in your own personal hell.
“He didn’t text me.” You lie, watching him carefully as the elevator doors close behind him and he takes the few steps across the room to reach the sectional you’re currently lounging on. It’s odd to see him sink into the opposite end of the piece of furniture so comfortably, like he’s such a normal guy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him sit in the living room of his own free will, and it’s a sight to see.
“You’re a bad liar.” Bucky huffs. His expression turns thoughtful as he thinks back to his encounter with your ex that night. The corners of Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile when he remembers the way the guy practically shrank when he heard that the two of you like to fuck raw. “What does he want?” Bucky seems to have a sixth sense about this shit, so you decide to go with it and tell him the truth, see where it gets you.
“He said he wants to catch up and talk about things.”
“Right after seeing you with another guy.” Bucky points out, hoping you’ll see where this is going. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms over your chest.
“I guess so, or maybe it’s unrelated. People break up and then discuss it later for closure sometimes, it’s a thing, Bucky.”
“So, you’re going?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You answer honestly. You watch as Bucky nods slowly, as if he’s digesting the information and deciding what to do with it. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe a bit of sweat away from his neck again, drawing your gaze down to the flexing of his bicep. You’re quick to avert your gaze back up to his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face tells you that he caught you looking.
“We’re going.” Bucky decides, sitting up a little straighter on the couch and running a hand through his sweaty hair. The bewildered look that takes over your face says it all.
“What the hell do you mean we’re going? There’s no we here, it’s just me.”
“I meant exactly what I said, we’re going.”
---
You stand in the garage of the compound, where everyone’s various vehicles are stored away safely. Your fingers pick at the frays of your black jeans absentmindedly as you lean against a concrete pillar, waiting for Bucky. You know you should just get in your own car and leave without him, there’s absolutely no good that will come out of letting him tag along for this. Yet, something in the back of your mind is tugging at you to stay and wait for him, to see what might come of this. Looking up at your reflection in the car window a few feet away from you, you take in the sight of your little ensemble. You’re wearing dark jeans paired with a tight little long-sleeved crop top that shows the tiniest bit of your midriff. You wanted to wear something fairly plain yet something that showed a little skin, so this is what you settled on.
Unbeknownst to you, Bucky’s outfit for tonight will go well with your own. He’s wearing dark jeans as well, but with a dark t-shirt and black leather jacket. As the elevator carries him down to the lowest floor of the compound, he has a brief second of clarity where he asks himself what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. First, he went against every rational thought in his mind when he pretended to be your boyfriend in a damn grocery store. Then, he spent two nights thinking about what it might’ve been like if he actually had been fucking you raw like he’d told to your ex he was. Those two nights ruined him. You ruined him. It took less than 48 hours for his mind to become completely preoccupied with you.
When the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open to let him into the private parking garage beneath the compound, his eyes fall on you instantly. Fuck. One look at you and he’s immediately decided that you’re not taking a car, no, you’re taking his bike. Hell, you’re dressed near-perfectly for it. The only issue is that bit of smooth skin you have showing beneath the hem of your little top, he’s not going to take you out on his bike and risk ruining that perfect skin of yours with road rash.
The ding of the elevator draws your attention to your right, where Bucky is stepping into the parking garage looking totally different than when you saw him upstairs half an hour ago. His messy hair has been washed and dried, his flesh and metal biceps are hidden within the sleeves of his leather jacket, and his neck is no longer glistening with a sheen of sweat. You’re unashamedly focusing on the way his jeans are accentuating the muscles of his thighs when he starts stripping off his leather jacket.
“Put this on.” He says as he holds the jacket out to you with one hand, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans with the other to fish out the key for his bike. Your eyes widen as you stare at the jacket in his outstretched hand. Shaking your head, you take a step back from him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not riding on the back of my bike with skin showing, it’s not safe.”
“The back of your bike? Bucky, we’re taking a car.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky can’t ignore the way your breasts are slightly pushed up by the action, a hint of cleavage peeking out over the lowcut neckline of your top. He quickly averts his gaze back to his motorcycle that stands a few feet in front of you both, a sigh leaving his lips at your stubbornness.
“Just put on the damn jacket.” He says, looking over at you one more time, but this time with a softened expression. You don’t know why you comply and take the jacket from him, but you do. It’s warmed from his body heat when you slip your arms into it and the way it engulfs you and pulls down on your shoulders with a bit of weight is almost comforting.
The motorcycle ride to the bar, however, is anything but comforting. The only other time you’ve ever been so close to Bucky was that night at the grocery store when he cozied up behind you for show. But this felt different. This involved your chest pressed against his back, your inner thighs brushing against his hips, and your arms wrapped around his torso. This felt intimate. It felt the same way to Bucky and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. When he stopped at a redlight in the city, you let your hold around his abdomen relax for a moment. Your hands slid down to rest on the tops of his thighs as you remained pressed against his back, and he was praying for the light to turn green again before one of your hands had a chance to shift and find out how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. He can only blame himself for the torture, since he was the one that insisted you take the bike.
When you turn onto the right street, you’re quick to tap Bucky’s thigh with your hand, completely missing the way he tenses up beneath your unexpected touch. You use that same hand to point to a small parking garage across the street from the bar that you’ll be heading into, and Bucky gets the signal. It’s only two minutes later that he’s parking his bike on the third floor of the garage and trying to keep his eyes off of you as you stand beside the bike, removing your helmet carefully. Some part of him can’t help but think that you’re being so careful because you want to look your best when you waltz into the bar to meet your ex, and he fucking hates it. He has the sudden urge to mess your hair up and send you in there looking like shit. But that urge only makes him think about all of the ways he could mess your hair up. He could grab you by it and pull you against him, he could run his hands through it and rake it into a ponytail while you’re on your knees for him…shit. He just volunteered to drive you to the bar to meet your ex. He can’t do a damn thing.
You hand Bucky your helmet and immediately start smoothing down your hair, seeing the look of disdain he gives you but choosing to ignore it. He had no obligation to be here with you tonight, but he insisted, so he has to put up with it.
“You don’t have to go in with me, I can do this on my own.” You say, hoping Bucky will choose to wait for you in the parking garage rather than go inside the bar with you.
“What are you planning to do?” Bucky asks, swinging his leg over as he dismounts the bike and joins you on the concrete floor. He stands in front of you, slipping his gloves off and resting them on the seat of the bike before reaching under the chin of his helmet to undo the strap there. Your eyes drift to the veins on his flesh hand and golden accents on his vibranium hand as you formulate a believable response.
“Hear him out, give him closure or whatever he’s here for.”
“Whatever he’s here for?” Bucky repeats your words almost sarcastically, scoffing beneath his helmet. When he pulls it off and rests it on the seat next to his gloves, you can see he’s scowling. “Why are you playing dumb? He’s here for you.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s with someone else now, and he thinks I am too.” You point out. A low chuckle rumbles past Bucky’s lips as he runs a hand through his hair and starts toward the concrete staircase on the other end of the floor.
“That’s exactly why he’s doing this, because he thinks you’re with someone else and he can’t stand it.” Bucky sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s experienced something like this before. In fact, he sounds so sure that it makes you wonder if he really has experienced this before.
“You think he’s jealous? You saw the girl he was with, didn’t you?” You question, falling into step next to Bucky. His leather jacket still sits heavy on your shoulders but giving it back to him hasn’t even crossed your mind yet. Bucky’s hoping you’ll forget about it and keep it on when you walk in and sit down across from that piece of shit ex you’re here for.
“She doesn’t have shit on you and he knows it.” His words leave your lips parted and your eyes widening in surprise as he reaches the staircase and starts heading down in front of you. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. For the most part, you’ve only ever heard him talk about you with an air of annoyance or indifference, but you could swear that what he just said was almost complimentary. If you could see the grimace on Bucky’s face, you’d know you were right. When he saw the blonde in the grocery store, he wanted to laugh at the way the guy had downgraded after losing you. She was pretty, sure, but you glow like the fucking sun even on your worst day.
“So, what should I be doing here tonight then?” You ask, knowing Bucky probably has a plan in mind if he came all this way just to witness what’s about to go down.
“Showing him that you don’t need him, that you’re better off without him.” You reach the bottom of the stairs and step out onto the sidewalk across from the bar. Bucky turns to face you as you scan the area for a crosswalk.
“And how do I do that?”
“For starters…” Bucky says, stepping closer to you and grabbing the front of his leather jacket that you’re still sporting, “keep this on.”
---
Bucky’s been standing at the bar for the last fifteen minutes, nursing both a beer and an aching jaw. The ache is from how hard he’s been clenching his teeth together since your ex strolled in and took the seat across from you at a little two-seater table across the room. Of course, the guy showed up without his new girl. And, of course, he’s been trying like hell to get you to smile and laugh at whatever half-assed jokes he’s been cracking since he sat down. Bucky knew the guy wasn’t after closure.
He watches with a less-than-pleased look on his face as the guy leans his elbows on the table and rests his hands a little too close to yours, but you don’t pull away. You’re sitting facing Bucky’s direction, yet you haven’t once let your eyes flit up to meet his. It’s infuriating. Bucky strains his ears to pick out your conversation through the din of the usual bar chatter around him. He listens intently as the guy tells you that it was nice to run into you at the grocery store, that he didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, that he missed the way you laughed. What a fucking ass. If Bucky remembers correctly, from overhearing gossip among the team, the guy had you nearly head over heels for him, and then one day he pulled the rug out from under you in and instant. He never even gave you much of a reason why. He simply called you up, ended the relationship over the phone, and a week later you heard through the grapevine that he’d met someone else. Why you felt compelled to meet the guy here tonight, Bucky will never understand. He doesn’t think the prick deserves even a minute of your time.
“So, you’re really seeing someone else now?” The man’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to Bucky’s sensitive ears, but he continues to focus on your conversation anyway. Bucky has to know how you’ll respond. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you push a stray lock of hair back over your shoulder, over the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then you blush. Why are you blushing? Bucky’s heart starts to race in the slightest because he can’t figure out if you’re blushing at the idea of you and him being together or at your ex prying into your personal life.
“Yeah, he uh…at the grocery store, he…” You stutter through your answer. Like Bucky previously said, you’re a bad liar. The pink showing through the skin of your cheeks darkens another shade as you look away from your ex. Your eyes finally land on Bucky, who’s now standing at the bar facing you head-on. He holds your gaze assuredly and gives you a small nod, letting you know that you’re saying the right things. Somehow, just making eye contact with him and getting that small nod of approval calms your nerves.
“Right, I remember. I guess I kind of thought that was a joke.”
“A joke?” You ask, a bit offended at your ex’s confession. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and lets out an awkward laugh before leaning back in his chair comfortably and taking a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, I mean the guy said you only ever fuck raw. You never once asked me to fuck you raw. It just didn’t sound believable.” Huh. You’re silent for a moment as you sip on your own drink and let your gaze float back to Bucky once more, unaware that he’s just heard every word that the man said. The two of you stare at each other with some kind of…tension in the air between your table and the bar. Honestly, if you and Bucky were actually together in some alternate universe where you didn’t find each other incredibly annoying from the start, you think you would love to let him fuck you without protection. Something about it just sounds so filthy and enticing. But when you imagine it with the man that’s currently sitting in front of you, the man who promised you a lifetime and then kicked you to the curb like a broken piece of furniture, you cringe. No, you never asked him to take off the condom, and you probably never would have. Truthfully, that should’ve been a sign.
Bucky’s eyes analyze the two of you as you put on a tight-lipped smile and then relax in your seat, fiddling with the zipper of the leather jacket draped around your frame.
“It didn’t sound believable?” You ask softly, looking up through your lashes in a way that makes Bucky’s cock twitch, and he’s not even the one you’re looking at. When you do flit your eyes over to him, he can sense the change in your demeanor instantly. You’re not coming off so lighthearted and timid now, you’re giving off an air that says you-don’t-know-who-the-fuck-I-am anymore. “When I look at you, I can’t even fathom the two of us having unprotected sex. It never once crossed my mind to ask you for that. But when I look at him?” You let your gaze travel over to Bucky once more, and this time your ex catches on. He turns in his chair, scanning the bar behind him until he sees the super soldier leaning against the bar with a smug smile on full display. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.”
---
Bucky’s leather jacket weighing on your shoulders, his body warmth seeping through his t-shirt and offering you reprieve from the wind that’s hitting you both head-on, his right hand reaching back to grip the side of your thigh as he weaves his bike skillfully in and out of traffic on the way back to the compound. All of those things are mixing and swirling together to create a near suffocating tension. You’re focusing on keeping your helmet from bumping into the back of his and even more than that, on keeping your mind out of the damn gutter. What you’d said back at the bar, the final thing you’d said before your ex realized he had no chance at getting back together with you, it was true. When you look at Bucky, you can’t stop imagining him fucking you without anything between your body and his. You don’t know when that started or when it might end, but it’s true. So, you left with him, climbing onto the back of his bike much more willingly than you had earlier in the evening. Not because you wanted to be close to him, but because you wanted to get home as fast as possible so you could get the hell away from him. Where on earth did this new found attraction come from? Why was your mind betraying your body with every single glance in his direction? Fuck physiology.
Bucky can almost hear you overthinking behind him as he turns off of the interstate and onto a quiet, private road leading up to the compound. Hell, he’s overthinking too. He heard what you said at the bar, and he saw the look in your eyes when you said it. Had you been thinking about him the same way he’d been thinking about you since that night at the grocery store. No, there’s no way. If you really had been, then you wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with your ex tonight. Bucky lets out a breath and slows the bike as he nears the entrance to the parking garage. Neither of you said a word when your ex stormed out of the bar, nor did either of you when you made the walk across the street to the public parking garage and started the ride back home. It’s been silent, unbearably silent for too long.
When Bucky finally parks the bike among the various vehicles owned by your friends and colleagues that reside upstairs, it seems as though you can’t get away from him fast enough. You swing your leg over and dismount the bike quickly before slipping your helmet off and taking a few steps over to the wall to set it on the shelf it originally came from. You’re halfway to the elevator when Bucky speaks, stopping you in your tracks.
“The jacket, sweetheart.” He says coolly. When you turn around, you see him still sitting on the bike, looking down at the helmet he holds in his hands. It almost bothers you that he isn’t looking back at you. He can call you sweetheart but he can’t lift his eyes to your face? You let out a deep sigh before walking back over to him and standing a foot away from him and the bike. You strip off the leather jacket a bit reluctantly before holding it out to him. You have to admit you feel a bit like you’re missing something without it on now. Bucky takes it without glancing in your direction, and as soon as you turn on your heel to walk away, you can hear him dismounting the bike and setting his own helmet on the shelf. You’ve just hit the button to call the elevator down to the garage when he decides to speak once again. “You’re a bad liar.”
“What?”
“You’re a bad liar. I don’t know much about you, but I know that.” Bucky says. You stand in front of the elevator but you can’t tear your gaze away from him when he’s speaking so ominously. You watch him carefully as he turns away from the shelf and faces you, but still doesn’t lift his gaze to meet yours. Instead, he smooths out his leather jacket before laying it over one arm and tucking the keys to his bike into the back pocket of his jeans.
“What does that have to do with anything?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart back to the screen above the elevator. It’s still so many floors away from reaching you.
“I knew you were lying when you told me he hadn’t texted you. I don’t even think your piece-of-shit ex believed you at first when he asked if you were really seeing someone new, you couldn’t even get a full sentence out. You’re a bad liar.” The words pour out of his mouth with ease, as if he pre-planned the entire speech. When you don’t say anything, he finally lifts his eyes to meet your narrowed stare. A shiver runs down your spine, but you blame it on the fact that you’re no longer wearing his jacket. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.” When Bucky repeats your words so perfectly, you can feel all of the color draining from your face. “When you said that, you didn’t stutter, you didn’t hesitate. You weren’t lying.”
“You think I was being honest?” The question leaves your lips with a hint of anger edging each word. Bucky merely shrugs in response, tilting his head to the side as he waits for you to answer your own question, since it’s obvious that he thinks you were being honest. “You think I look at you and imagine you fucking me raw?”
“Do you?” Bucky taunts, licking his bottom lip before drawing it between his lips and pressing his top teeth into it. Your gaze darts down to his lips against your better judgement, and when your eyes settle back on his, all you see is a reflection of what you’re sure your own eyes are showing. Lust. He thinks about it. He thinks about fucking you raw. In this moment, you’re sure. In fact, he’s thinking about it right now.
Your feet start moving before you even have a moment to consider the action, they’re carrying you straight toward him, ignoring the elevator that’s just arrived to take you away from him. When you stop a few inches in front of him, he’s staring down at you with a raised brow and building anticipation. He wants your answer.
“Yes.” You breathe the word out. In an instant, Bucky’s dropping his jacket to the floor and tangling his flesh hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as his pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours. It’s a kiss that takes your breath away and fills your lungs with a fiery burn, yet you don’t want to break for air. You kiss him back, moving your lips to suck along his bottom one as you tilt your head to the right to give each of you better access. Bucky languidly drags the tip of his tongue along your top lip before snaking it lower and letting it delve into your mouth. God, he might’ve imagined fucking you but truthfully, he forgot to imagine kissing you. He never would’ve thought it could be this good. His vibranium arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you closer into him until his body warmth begins sending tingles across the surface of your skin. Once he has you flush against him, that same cool metal hand begins unwrapping from your back and traveling down until it’s in place to grip a handful of your ass, hard. When you gasp into the kiss, Bucky pulls back and bites down on your bottom lip. Fuck. If you don’t stop him now, he won’t be able to stop himself from having you right here in the garage. As if you’re reading his mind, you place both hands on his chest and pull your head back until there’s an inch of space between your mouths. While your eyes are focused on his pink nose and swollen lips, your mind is focused on what you feel pressing against your thigh. He’s fully erect, his cock straining against the front of his jeans just from kissing you. You could overthink this, let your mind weigh all of the pros and cons of what’s happening right now, and then convince yourself to be responsible and go upstairs to your own room, pretending this never happened. But for some reason, your right hand is already coasting down his chest, over his abs, and sliding between your lower bodies. You find yourself palming the outline of his cock, offering him such a perfect amount of pressure and friction that he can’t help but lean his hips forward and press his cock further into your touch.
“If you don’t stop now…” Bucky rasps, but his eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lower lip before he’s even finished the sentence, your sensual touch getting the better of him.
“If I don’t stop now?” You encourage him to say what he wants to say, but you can’t fight the teasing smile that’s beginning to play on your lips.
“If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to return all of those pregnancy tests on your next grocery run.” You laugh lightly as you lean in and press a soft kiss against Bucky’s jawline, continuing to rub his erection through the taut fabric of his jeans.
“Are you thinking about fucking me raw, James?” You tease. Bucky groans before opening his eyes and pulling you away from his jaw by your hair. He doesn’t stop you from slowly sliding your hand back and forth along the outline of his cock, but he makes sure you’re looking right in his eyes before he speaks again.
“Right here in this damn parking garage.”
Without a single thought in either of your minds, Bucky lets you push your palms flat against his chest and walk him back until he stumbles onto the seat of his motorcycle. In one swift movement, you slip your hand past the waistband of his jeans and boxers and the warm skin of your hand comes into contact with his hard length, without anything between the two of you. Bucky lets out a heady groan and his hands begin moving all on their own, working to unbutton and unzip his jeans to give your hand as much space as possible. As soon as he has his pants undone, you shift your hand and wrap it firmly around his cock, giving it a slow stroke inside of his boxers. When you near the head of it, a bead of precum drips onto the side of your thumb and you smile to yourself as you spread it back over the smooth tip of his cock. What is it about having a man this way that makes a woman feel so damn powerful? Bucky looks at you with a mix of annoyance and awe at the way you’re working his cock so effortlessly yet turning him into putty in your hands. He’ll let you have your fun for now, and then he’ll show you that he can have the same effect on you.
The moment your eyes lock onto his, he slides his right hand along the side of your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss, the taste of your lips and the feel of your hand stroking back and forth along his hard-on is nearly enough to send him over the edge, and he inhales sharply, tugging his lips away from your own.
“I’m not going to have much use for those pregnancy tests if we keep going like this, am I?” You ask jokingly, as you remove your hand from Bucky’s pants and raise it up to your face. Bucky runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a breath and watches you intently. Your thumb, still a bit shiny and wet from his precum, ventures dangerously close to your mouth. You keep your eyes trained on Bucky’s as you use that same thumb to tug down your bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth and sucking.
“Oh, fuck.” Bucky groans, his rationality fleeing as his own flesh hand delves into his pants and begins mimicking your actions from a moment ago. The way your eyes follow his movements, your pupils blown wide with lust as you watch him touch himself, it’s too damn much for him. He grabs you by the hair once again, in that desperate, needy way that you’re quickly growing to love, and pulls you against his chest, kissing you as fervently as the first time. However, this kiss doesn’t last. He pulls away from you in an instant and suddenly, his hand is on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees. Before you reach the floor, he uses the toe of his boot to slide his discarded leather jacket across the floor to cushion your knees. So fucking thoughtful.
Bucky stands up with you on your knees in front of him and his bike resting on its kickstand behind him. His eyes never part from your face as he pushes his already undone pants and boxers down his thighs just enough to free his cock from their confines. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you lay eyes on it, as soon as you lay eyes on the sheer size of it. Bucky doesn’t make a move to stop you as you reach up with both hands and take hold of his length, using one hand to begin stroking it from the base to the tip while your other hand grips his thigh. Your eyes widen at the way it looks even bigger in your hand, which is a mental image that Bucky will probably be recalling every day for the rest of his life. You’re more than ready to lean in and take him in your mouth, to experience every second of what it’s like to suck him off, but his gentle touch halts your movements. His flesh hand softly cups the side of your face as he lets his thumb caress the skin over your cheekbone.
“You’re so much bigger than he was.” You whisper, your eyes traveling up Bucky’s torso until you’re getting lost in his gaze. It’s true. Your ex was…well below average in this department. But Bucky? God, Bucky is so far above average it’s actually making you wonder if you can even fit half of him in your mouth. Bucky chuckles lowly before tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, and then copying your earlier move. He slips the pad of his thumb between your lips and watches with hooded eyes as you eagerly accept it, sucking on it gently. Fuck. He’s so ruined. Only a moment later, he’s standing there with his head thrown back and a string of curses are falling from his mouth as you bob your head back and forth, letting his cock slide along your tongue and brush against the back of your throat repeatedly. He’s fully lost in the pleasure of your mouth. He’s so lost, in fact, that when you grip his thighs with both hands and lean into him as far as you possibly can, letting your nose brush against his lower stomach and your throat tighten around his shaft as you gag, he lets out a groan that reverberates through the parking garage and sends a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.
“Fuck, do that again.” He rasps, finally looking down at you as you pull your head back until only the tip is resting on your tongue. A smile plays behind your eyes as you dare to look up at him. He can’t help himself. Both of his hands move to run through your hair, encouraging you to do exactly what he just said. You repeat your actions, moving your head forward and taking his entire length in until you gag a second time. But this time, Bucky holds your head still there for two seconds. His eyes squeeze shut as your throat grips his cock tighter and tighter, the sensation bringing him so close to the edge that he abruptly pulls back and leaves only half of his length for you to taste. “Just like that, shit.” Another minute of your mouth doing exactly what Bucky wants and he’s fighting with every cell in his body to delay the inevitable. He wanted to fuck you raw, truly, it was his intention from the moment you admitted you thought about it. But having you like this? Having you on your knees for him, telling him that his dick is bigger than the last piece of shit you were with? God, he’s so close to cumming in your mouth that it almost hurts.
“I’m so fucking close.” He groans the words out as if he’s in pain, as if he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. That just won’t do. So, you release him from your mouth with a pop and start working him with your hand as you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.
“You don’t want to cum in my mouth?” You ask innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. It’s the same way you looked in the bar earlier and he feels his last bit of resolve crumbling. He could easily cum in your mouth, but that’s just not what he needs right now. In that desperate, needy way that you love, Bucky grasps your hair and pulls you to your feet. A whimper leaves your lips as his cock slips out of your hand.
“No.” Bucky says calmly, turning you around and pushing your back forward until your hands land on the seat of his bike. “I’m going to give you a reason to use one of those damn pregnancy tests.”
He’s swift in pulling down your jeans and panties with both hands, and then lining his cock up with your entrance and making you think he’s going to fuck you. But no, Bucky lets the tip of his cock gather the wetness that you’ve been sitting in since you left the bar, and then he begins chasing his release with his own hand. You let out a needy whine, pushing your hips back against him and hoping his cock will just happen to notch inside of you and slide all the way in, but Bucky isn’t going to let it happen until he’s ready.
He has a plan. He’s going to fill you with his cum first, then use his fingers, his tongue, and his cock to fuck it back into you after. The next time your run into your ex, Bucky wants you to be so fucking pregnant that the guy loses his goddamn mind.
There will be no tag list for the smut menu requests.
Summary: Road trips are usually pretty boring, but you and Bucky find a way to pass the time.
Warnings: Smut, Public sex, Car sex, Language, Fluff, Mutual Pining,
Word Count: 1.8K
A/n: I got this request AGES ago apparently and I'm only just seeing it now! hope y'all enjoy!
~*~
"Can you move your seat up?"
There's a brief pause, almost like Sam's thinking about it, before - "no."
Silence hangs heavily in the car for a long moment as Steve drives and you can't help but feel bad for Bucky.
He's squished in behind Sam, While you've got a decent amount of room behind Steve.
"We can switch, if you want?" You offer quietly, nudging Bucky's knee with yours.
"Steve's not stopping the car just so Terminator can feel more comfortable," Sam interjects, ignoring the ice of Bucky's stare.
"I'm sure we can switch spots while he's driving. We've done far more on missions with less room, I have faith. Unbuckle your seatbelt."
"Yes ma'am."
You take off your own seatbelt, ignoring Steve's warning look in the rearview mirror.
"Okay, I'm gonna climb over you in the middle seat so when you scoot over I'll climb over and then we'll be set!"
Foolproof! Brilliant!
Bucky scoots over to the middle and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself, then grab his shoulders and stretch one leg over his lap.
Steve chooses that particular moment to hit a bump in the road, sending you tumbling into Bucky and forcing his face into your chest.
Your shirt of choice today is fairly low cut, leaving little to the imagination, even less now that Bucky's face is pressed to your goods.
Regaining your coordination feels like it takes a lifetime, but you eventually manage to pry your boobs out of Bucky's face and plop down in the seat behind Sam.
Your heart hammers in your chest and you avoid looking at Bucky with all your might as you put your seatbelt on.
It's no secret that there's tension between the two of you that has only been growing the more time you spend together, but now? Now that you pretty much forced him to motorboat you?
Horrible. Stupid. The worst idea you've ever had ever.
You almost pray for the car to roll off a cliff to save you from the embarrassment licking up your spine.
The ride is silent for a little while, with some of Sam's music being the only thing stopping it from being too heavy, and soon his soft snores accompany the tunes.
After maybe about half an hour, Bucky's knee brushes against yours once briefly, then rests against it more firmly, with purpose.
Your gaze darts over to him but he's got his eyes focused out the window. You let your eyes fall to where he's manspreading into your personal space, and freeze when your eyes land on the bulge in his pants.
The bulge that certainly was not there before the two of you switched spots, not that you looked.
And now you can't tear your eyes away from it.
Sure, all this time the two of you have been flirty and a little more than friendly, but never to this extent.
Your eyes raise to his face once more and your heart stops for a moment when you meet his gaze.
You're caught now.
Swallowing hard, you glance at his crotch once more then turn to look out your own window, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt at fighting the warmth that's quickly spreading.
Bucky rolls his window down, and the light mechanical whirring sound masks the soft gasp that leaves you when his hand lands on your thigh.
You glance down at where his hand is, watching as his fingers flex as he squeezes your supple flesh.
Your body acts on its own, thighs spreading slightly and giving him the green light he needs to slide his hand up closer to your centre.
Eyes focused on the rearview mirror, you slowly grab Bucky's discarded jacket and drape it over your lap while spreading your legs further, successfully hiding his fingers as they dust over your core.
"Cold?" He asks, glancing at you as he slides his hand down your pants.
You swallow hard and nod, leaning back and breathing through your mouth as he slides a thick finger through your folds.
"With the window open it's a little breezy, but the fresh air is nice," you whisper, breath hitching when he rubs your clit gently.
He nods his agreement, coating his middle finger in your essence then slowly pushing it inside of you.
"Clears the head."
You nod, eyes falling shut as he begins a steady pace, pushing on your walls deliciously slow.
"Exactly," the words are a mere breath on your lips as you lose yourself in the feeling of him.
He leans his head back, his eyes focused on your face as he massages your walls, pulling his finger out only to push two right back in.
He watches as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, brows furrowing as you try your hardest to stay quiet through the slow building pleasure.
It's almost torturously slow, and he knows that, but watching your small twitches and movements has Bucky's dick growing hard enough to cut diamonds.
"We got a good day for this, huh?" Bucky asks, grinning when you struggle to open your eyes.
"Yeah it's... good... it's really good," you whisper, eyelids fluttering slightly before you finally raise your glassy eyes to his.
"I could go for a snack soon though, something sweet to eat."
"Mhmm," you let out a soft moan of agreement as he slips a third finger inside you, pumping them in and out at a slightly faster speed than before.
Not fast enough to draw attention to the two of you, but fast enough for you to be struggling to keep still.
"Next gas station isn't too far out. They probably won't have much but we can stop there to grab a snack and stretch," Steve's voice says from the front seat, his eyes glancing at you and Bucky in the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.
"Sounds good to me," Bucky says, his voice low and his mischievous eyes focused on you as you nod your agreement.
You dig your head back into the headrest, toes curling in your shoes as his palm rubs against your clit with every thrust of his fingers inside of your wet heat.
He stretches your walls deliciously, enhanced senses picking up the tangy sweet smell of your cunt on every gust of wind that blows through the car.
He can't help but lick his lips, greatly looking forward to tasting you once he's finished enjoying fingering your tight snatch.
Eyes slowly opening, you let your head roll to the side eyes finding his as you breathe softly through your mouth.
He grins cheekily at you and stuffs his fingers inside of you a little harder, watching in smug satisfaction when your face screws up with a mixture of pleasure and pain.
The car slowly rolls to a stop and Steve lets out a groan.
"All right. I'm gonna stretch my legs and grab a snack. Are you guys coming in?" Steve's eyes find Bucky's as he opens the door.
Sam jolts upright with a groan, rubbing his face then yawning and pulling off his seatbelt.
"I'm gonna come inside," He says groggily, stumbling out of the car and stretching.
"I think we're good back here, she's falling asleep," Bucky whispers, giving your clit a particularly rough rub before pulling his fingers out of you.
Sam and Steve head into the gas station, and as soon as they are out of sight Bucky is tossing the jacket off of your lap and yanking your pants down your legs.
He licks his fingers clean while using his other hand to undo his belt and shuck his pants down his thighs, exposing his weeping hot cock.
"We don't have much time, sweetheart, better make it count. N'when we get to the cabin I'll fuck you nice and slow and proper," he promises quietly.
You straddle his waist once more, wet core dripping onto his lap and Bucky can't help but hiss when he slides his aching cock through your folds.
He rubs your clit a few times then slides inside in one quick thrust, pressing his mouth to yours to swallow the sound of your moan.
With the window open, you guys aren't exactly safe. Anyone could drive or walk by and Sam and Steve will likely only be gone for a few minutes.
"Fuck, you feel so good, baby... shit..."
His voice is strained as you begin rocking your hips in his lap, eyes squeezed shut as the tip of his cock drags across your g-spot.
Rather than let you have your fun, he flips you onto your back in the back seat of the car and hammers his hips down to meet yours, his lips trailing over your throat as you moan softly at the new angle.
He's hitting your g-spot with every thrust, and kissing your cervix with every other roll of his hips.
The pleasure and pain mix and make your head foggy, and it doesn't take long for your toes to curl around Bucky's hips and your climax to creep up on you.
Metal fingers toy with your clit with expert precision, and within only a few moments, your walls are clamping down around him and successfully milking him of his cum.
He lets out a few shuddering breaths as his own orgasm washes over him, balls tight as he pumps you full of ropes and ropes of thick white cum.
His head rests on your chest for a moment, breathing you in as he basks in his high, and then he's carefully pulling out of you and yanking his pants back on.
You, on the other hand, are stuck on your back as aftershocks wrack your frame.
Chuckling softly at his handy work, Bucky helps you back into your pants then pulls you up into his arms.
You collapse against his chest when he leans back against the door, cuddled in his arms as much as you can in the cramped backseat of the car.
He holds you gently, his own eyes closing as he relaxes into his post orgasmic bliss with you.
Your heart is racing even minutes later when Sam and Steve return to the car, each climbing in quietly when they see the two of you curled up together.
Steve sets a grocery bag full of snacks and drinks down on the floor in the backseat, then turns the music on quietly and starts driving, oblivious to what's just gone on.
As he drives you settle against Bucky, falling asleep gently while his load drips out of your swollen cunt. A mess he plans on thoroughly cleaning up as soon as you reach your destination.
Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff
A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog
“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”
“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.
“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”
Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”
You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.
“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.
As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.
“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.
“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.
You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?
“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.
You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?
You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.
“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”
He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.
You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.
“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.
“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.
“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.
He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.
“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.
“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.
“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.
“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?
Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.
You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.
It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.
Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.
He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.
Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.
You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.
“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”
Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.
Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.
He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.
Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.
Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.
He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.
“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.
You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.
“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.
“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”
“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”
He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.
“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.
You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.
“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”
“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.
“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”
“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?
“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”
Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.
You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.
𝑩𝑳𝑰𝒁𝒁𝑨𝑹𝑫 𝑩𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑹 When a blizzard traps Bucky Barnes, your dad’s longtime Army friend at your home, nostalgia turns into a dangerous spark. As tension builds and secrets surface, one stormy night blurs the line between protector and temptation.
dad’s bestfriend!bucky barnes x fem!reader
word count : 7,3k
warnings 18+ : explicit age-gap (18–22/106) dad’s-best-friend trope, sneaking around the house, risk of getting caught, multiple creampies, rough-to-tender sex, filthy praise, cockwarming, voyeurism, uprotected sex, heavy dirty talk, guilt, semi-public teasing, oral sex (f recieving), handjob, face riding, teasing
author’s note : my brain’s been absolute mush lately over dbf!bucky barnes so… here you go lmao. hope it doesn’t suck <333
The sun is a goddamn animal today, pressing down on the backyard like it wants to lick every inch of exposed skin. Neon bikinis flash around the pool, shrieks and splashes everywhere, but you’re burning up for a completely different reason. Eighteen. Legal. And yet you feel like you’re sneaking contraband just by breathing.
You drift away from the chaos, Mom’s fussing over candles, Dad’s yelling about “medium-rare, not charcoal, people!” and tell yourself you’re just finding shade. Liar.
You hear him before you see him: the soft thud of sneakers on gravel, the low exhale of someone who’s been running hard. Bucky Barnes, late as always, strolling up the driveway like he owns summer itself.
Gray joggers soaked dark at the thighs, white tank plastered to his chest, metal arm catching sunlight like liquid sin. He nods at your parents, cracks open a beer with his teeth, who even does that? and you duck behind the fence before those blue eyes can find you.
Stupid heart, racing like you’re fifteen again.
Then he disappears around the corner, heading for the old jungle gym nobody’s touched in years. You follow like a moth, quiet, barefoot on the hot grass, until you’re crouched behind the wooden slats, peeking through a knothole like a perv.
And holy fuck.
He’s peeled the tank off and hooked it over the swing chain. Bare torso gleaming, dog tags swinging between his pecs, he grips the bar with both hands and starts pulling himself up. Slow. Dirty-slow. Every rep is a flex, a ripple, a quiet grunt that slides straight between your legs and parks there.
Up. Veins popping.
Down. Abs clenching.
Up again. Sweat rolling down the center of his chest, tracing the line that disappears beneath the waistband riding way too low.
You’re wet. You are actually, shamefully wet in your brand-new red bikini bottoms just from watching your dad’s best friend do pull-ups like porn was invented for him.
You shift, thighs pressing together, and the wood creaks.
He freezes mid-air, chin over the bar, muscles locked. Turns his head just enough to catch your reflection in the shed window. Busted.
For three whole heartbeats he just hangs there, staring at you staring at him, chest heaving, sweat dripping off his jaw. Then he drops, silent, lethal, lands in a crouch, and straightens up like a predator who just scented prey.
He doesn’t grab the shirt. He walks straight to the fence, slow, shirtless, dog tags clinking, until he’s right on the other side of the slats. Close enough you can smell heat and salt and whatever cologne he wore before the pull ups turned it filthy.
“Enjoyin’ the show, birthday girl?” Voice low, rough, amused. Brooklyn dragged over gravel and sex.
Your mouth is sand. “Just… checking you’re not breaking my old swing set, Uncle Buck.”
The nickname comes out shaky, half tease, half plea. His eyes darken, pupils blowing wide.
He braces his forearms on the top of the fence, leaning in until you can see the bead of sweat sliding down his temple. “That ‘uncle’ shit ain’t gonna work much longer, sweetheart.”
His gaze drags down, slow, deliberate, over your flushed face, the swell of your chest under the thin red triangles, the way you’re squeezing your thighs together like that’ll hide what he’s doing to you. “You’re eighteen now. All grown.” The last two words come out almost pained.
Your breath hitches. Audible. Embarrassing.
He smirks, soft and dangerous. “Better get back to your party before I do somethin’ your daddy’ll shoot me for.”
He pushes off the fence, grabs his tank, and slings it over one shoulder without putting it on. Walks away like he didn’t just leave you wrecked and dripping behind a childhood jungle gym.
You stay there a second longer, hand pressed between your legs just to stop the ache, cheeks on fire, pulse hammering in every filthy place.
It’s nothing, you lie to yourself as you finally stumble back to the pool. Just a stupid, fleeting spark.
If only I’d known how deep that pull went, you think now, years later, the memory still taunting you like his smirk in the sun.
The old house smells exactly the same: lemon polish, Dad’s aftershave, and the faint ghost of cinnamon from Mom’s candles. The hallway light flickers once when you drag your duffel over the threshold, wallpaper curling like it’s trying to whisper every filthy thing this place has seen.
Early winter. A few weeks before the blizzard that will finally rip the hinges off everything.
You’re twenty-two and your body is a live wire: hips fuller, thighs thick from squats that leave you trembling, embarrassingly wet in the gym mirror; tits high and heavy under the thinnest cropped hoodie you own, nipples already peaked because you knew he was coming.
Your hair is damp from the cold, loose waves brushing the bare strip of skin above your waistband every time you move. You smell like vanilla and the faint bite of your own arousal riding under it, because you’ve been thinking about this all damn day.
The doorbell is a gunshot.
You open it and Bucky is violence in a leather jacket. Snowflakes melt in his dark hair, stubble glittering with them like crushed diamonds. His jacket is unzipped just enough for you to see the black thermal clinging to his chest, damp at the collar from the wind. Cold air rolls off him, but his body heat slams into you anyway, gun oil, pine, sweat, something darker that makes your mouth water.
He looks at your dad first, polite, but his eyes snap to you like magnets. “Hey, kid.”
The hug is illegal.
Metal arm low on your spine, flesh hand sliding under the hem of your hoodie, palm flat against naked skin, thumb stroking once, slow, deliberate, right above the waistband of your leggings. You feel the calluses, the heat, the microscopic ridges dragging across your flesh. Your nipples tighten so hard it hurts. You press closer on instinct, tits crushed to his chest, inhaling him until your lungs burn. Your hips rock forward a fraction and you feel him: thick, half-hard already, trapped against your stomach. His fingers flex, digging in for one greedy second before he remembers where he is and lets go.
Dad claps him on the shoulder. The spell fractures, but the ache stays.
Dinner is foreplay disguised as spaghetti.
You sit across from him and the table is too small. Your knee finds the rough denim of his thigh instantly. You leave it there. He lets you. When you slide your foot up his calf, slow, teasing the seam of his jeans, his fork stops moving. You watch his throat work, watch the muscle in his jaw jump. He retaliates by spreading his legs wider, trapping your ankle between both of his, pressing the hard line of his shin against your inner thigh until the pressure kisses your clit through thin fabric. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning into your pasta.
Every time he lifts his beer, the cords in his forearm flex. You imagine licking the sweat from the hollow of his throat. You imagine his stubble scraping the inside of your thigh. You imagine his metal fingers spreading you open.
You’re soaked. Actually soaked. You can feel it when you shift, slick coating the gusset of your panties, thighs sliding together under the table like a secret.
Dad starts snoring on the couch before the credits roll on his fishing show.
The living room shrinks to the two of you and the low crackle of the fireplace. You pull out the photo album like a loaded gun. Flip to the diaper picture and watch a soft smile creep across his face
“Handful even then,” he mutters, voice gravel scraped raw.
You move closer until your thigh burns against his, skin on skin where your leggings rode up. The heat rolling off him is obscene. You can smell yourself on the air now, sweet, sharp, desperate, and you wonder if he can too.
His vibranium hand rests on the cushion between you, close enough that the faint hum vibrates up your leg. You drag one finger across the back of his metal hand, just a whisper, and the plates shift under your touch like a shiver. His breath stutters.
“Gets lonely out there,” you say, barely above a whisper. “No one waiting when you come home bloody.”
His eyes flick to yours, haunted, hungry. “Gets real quiet.”
You lean in until your lips almost brush his ear. “College boys talk big, Buck. But they’ve never made me wet just sitting across a dinner table.”
The growl that rumbles out of him is animal. His flesh hand lifts, slow enough to stop, but you don’t move. Knuckles graze your forearm, trace the inside of your elbow, thumb stroking the thin skin there like he’s memorizing the pulse hammering under it. Goosebumps explode down your arms. Your nipples are so hard they ache against the hoodie, and you know he can see them. You want him to see them.
You tilt your face up. One inch. Half an inch. Your bottom lip brushes the stubble along his jaw and you feel the shudder all the way to your cunt.
“We can’t,” he rasps against your mouth, but his hand slides to the nape of your neck, thumb pressing just under your hairline, metal fingers curling around your thigh now, cold, perfect, possessive.
Dad snorts in his sleep like a fucking air-raid siren.
Bucky jerks back, chair legs screeching. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, chest heaving, eyes black with want and fury at himself.
“I gotta go.”
You walk him to the door on legs that don’t feel like yours. At the threshold you can’t resist. “Night, Uncle Buck.”
He turns, crowds you against the doorframe without touching, leather creaking, voice so low it scrapes your bones.
“Drop the uncle, sweetheart. Doesn’t fit anymore. And you fuckin’ know it.”
Then he’s gone, cold air flooding in, snowflakes melting on the floor where his boots stood.
You lock the door, lean back against it, and drag in a breath that still tastes like him.
Upstairs you don’t bother with the light. Hoodie hits the floor, leggings shoved down, panties soaked through and clinging. You fall back on the bed and spread your thighs wide, two fingers sliding through the mess he made of you without even trying. You’re swollen, dripping, clit throbbing so hard it hurts. You fuck yourself slow at first, then frantic, imagining him.
You come so hard your back arches off the mattress, his name a broken sob against your pillow, thighs shaking, slick coating your fingers and running down to the sheets.
Downstairs, the house creaks like it’s holding its breath.
The cracks are spider-webbing.
And you both know exactly how loud it’s going to be when the whole thing finally shatters.
The snow doesn’t fall. It attacks.
It slams sideways against the windshield in wet, heavy sheets, each flake the size of a quarter, exploding against the glass like tiny fists. The wipers groan, fighting, losing.
Bucky’s world narrows to the faint red glow of his taillights reflecting back at him and the low growl of the engine. Cold seeps through the door seals, sneaks under his collar, but it does nothing to cool the heat already crawling under his skin. His truck rattled along the salted pavement, wipers beating a steady rhythm as he called your dad on speaker.
“Hey, man. How about one last beer before these roads turn to shit? Storm's moving in quick.”
Your dad's voice crackled through, warm but edged with that parental worry he never shook. “Yeah, come on by. But if it gets bad, pull in the driveway. No heroics tonight, Barnes. You're not invincible.”
Bucky snorted, glancing at the darkening sky. “Speak for yourself. Be there in ten.”
He shouldn’t be driving toward you. He knows it. But the words slip out of his mouth before his brain catches up.
The porch light is a blurred gold halo when he finally skids into the driveway. He kills the engine and sits there a second, breath fogging, watching snow pile on the hood like the storm’s trying to bury him alive for what he’s about to walk into.
He knocks hard. Metal knuckles on wood. Once. Twice.
You open the door and the heat rolls out like a living thing: woodsmoke, cinnamon, your skin.
You’re barefoot, legs bare, wearing the tiniest black sleep shorts he’s ever seen, cotton so worn it’s almost see-through, riding high enough that the lower curve of your ass peeks out every time you shift your weight.
The oversized tee is his old Army one, the hem brushing mid-thigh, neck stretched so it slips off one shoulder and shows the delicate line of your collarbone. No bra. Your nipples are tight, dark shadows under thin gray fabric, and the cold blast that follows him in makes them pull even tighter. You smell like warm vanilla, dryer sheets, and the faint, unmistakable musk of a woman who’s already aching.
He steps inside and the door shuts out the howl. Snow melts off his jacket in fat drops, hitting the mat with soft plops. His boots are soaked; water squelches between his toes. You toss him a towel and he catches it against his chest, the terry cloth rough against his chilled skin. He drags it over his face, through his hair, and water streams down his neck, under the collar of the henley that’s glued to every ridge of muscle like it was painted on.
Your dad saves him for exactly forty-seven minutes.
You watch him sway a little as he pushes up from the armchair, the empty glass still dangling from his fingers. The fire crackles low behind him, painting long shadows across the worn rug.
“Alright… I’m done,” he mutters, voice thick with whiskey and exhaustion. He sets the glass on the mantel with a soft clink, rubs a rough hand over his face, and turns toward the stairs.
Each step is heavier than the last. The old wood groans under his feet as he climbs, slow and deliberate, shoulders sagging like the long week is finally winning. You hear the hallway floorboards creak once… twice… then the bedroom door clicks shut.
Silence settles, thick and golden in the firelight.
You count to ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Nothing. No footsteps. No grumbling. Just the soft pop of burning pine and the low tick of the clock above the mantel.
He’s out cold upstairs, sprawled across the bed still in his flannel and jeans, mouth open, snoring before his head even hits the pillow.
The TV spits red warnings: BLIZZARD WARNING. 30-40 INCHES. WIDESPREAD POWER OUTAGES.
The room shrinks until it’s just firelight licking over your skin, the crackle of logs, the wind screaming like it wants in to watch.
You pull the blanket over both of you and it’s a lie you both pretend to believe. Your bare thigh slides against the wet denim of his jeans, skin on cold fabric, then skin on skin when he shifts and the denim rides higher. His body heat is insane: radiating through the henley, through the blanket, into your bones. You can feel the thump of his pulse in his thigh where it presses against yours.
He stretches his flesh arm along the back of the couch. His fingertips brush the slope of your bare shoulder, just a graze, but the tiny hairs on your neck stand up like they’ve been electrocuted. His metal hand rests on his own thigh, plates shifting with a faint, hungry whir every time you breathe.
“Stuck with me ’til morning,” he says, voice scraped raw, whiskey and snow and restraint. “Hope that ain’t a problem, kid.”
Your answer is barely air. “Only if you snore louder than Dad.”
But your nipples are diamonds against his old shirt and your thighs are pressed so tight together he can probably smell how wet you are.
You stand and the blanket falls away like a confession. The shorts ride higher when you walk; he gets a heartbeat-long flash of the soft crease where thigh meets ass before you disappear into the kitchen. He follows because his body is no longer taking orders from his brain.
The fridge light paints you gold and obscene. You bend for a beer and the fabric pulls tight, seam disappearing between your cheeks, cotton going dark where you’ve soaked through. He’s behind you before he can stop himself, metal arm caging left, flesh right, chest to your back. The henley is cold and wet against your bare shoulders; his belt buckle bites into the small of your back.
He doesn’t mean to grind forward. His hips do it anyway.
You feel him instantly: thick, brutally hard, trapped behind soaked denim, pressing right into the cleft of your ass like he’s already imagining splitting you open. A shudder rolls through him so violent the plates in his metal arm click. His breath is scalding against your ear, stubble scraping the shell.
“Grew up nice, didn’t ya?” The words tear out of him, wrecked. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, look at you.”
You push back, slow, filthy roll of your hips, dragging a broken sound from his throat that he swallows too late. The ridge of his cock slides between your cheeks through two pathetic layers of fabric and you both feel how soaked you are, cotton clinging, slick coating the inside of your thighs.
His flesh hand hovers over your hip, trembling. Metal fingers curl against the counter so hard the granite creaks. He can smell you, sweet, sharp, flooding his lungs like oxygen he doesn’t deserve.
You turn in the trap of his arms and it’s worse.
Your tits brush his chest, nipples dragging across wet fabric, and the friction makes you gasp, soft, open, right against his mouth. Your lips are swollen from biting them all night. Your eyes are black with want.
He cups your jaw with his flesh hand, thumb dragging over your bottom lip, spreading it, pressing just inside so he feels your tongue flick hot and wet against the pad of his thumb and his cock jerks so hard his vision tunnels.
He groans, low, animal, forehead dropping to yours. “Tell me to stop.”
You don’t.
You arch into him instead, tits crushing against his chest, hips rolling so the seam of your shorts rides your clit and you whimper, tiny, desperate sound that spears straight through him.
The guilt hits like a bullet between the eyes.
He jerks back, hands up, palms open like he’s surrendering to a firing squad. Chest heaving, lips wet from almost kissing you, eyes feral.
“No. Fuck. No.” His voice cracks clean in half. “He’s upstairs asleep. I was at your kindergarten graduation. I taught you how to ride a bike. I can’t-”
The words taste like rust and ash, but he forces them out anyway, backing up until his spine slams into the opposite counter, metal fingers digging into his back like punishment.
You’re trembling, thighs clenched, lips parted and glistening, the air thick with the scent of your arousal and the snow melting off his skin.
“Go to bed,” he says, voice shredded. “Please, baby. Before I do something I’ll never forgive myself for.”
You stand there a second longer, chest rising and falling, looking like every sin he’s never let himself have.
Then you nod once, grab a water instead of the beer, and walk away, hips swaying like a threat, bare feet silent on the cold tile.
He stays in the dark kitchen long after your door clicks shut upstairs, forehead pressed to the freezer door, breath fogging the stainless steel, cock throbbing so hard it hurts to breathe.
Outside, the storm screams like it knows exactly what almost happened.
Inside, he’s louder.
And the guilt is a living thing clawing at his ribs, but underneath it, hotter, hungrier, is the truth:
He’s not sure he’s strong enough to stop it next time.
The storm was a monster, wind howling like it wanted to tear the house apart, snow piling against the windows in thick, unforgiving drifts. Midnight had come and gone, the power flickering once or twice but holding steady, for now.
Downstairs, the fire had died to embers, and your dad was dead to the world, snoring upstairs through the chaos. You couldn't sleep, though. Not after that kitchen standoff, Bucky's body pinning you against the counter, his breath hot on your neck, guilt and want warring in his eyes. The pull was too strong, raw and insistent, like the storm itself had trapped more than just the roads.
You slip into the bathroom because your body is on fire and the only thing that might put it out is scalding water. You leave the door unlocked because you’re a liar who’s praying.
The shower is already a furnace when you step in. Steam billows, thick and white, swallowing the mirror, turning the air into soup. You strip bare and let the water hit like punishment, needle-hot, pounding your shoulders, your breasts, running in burning rivers down your stomach. It does nothing for the ache between your legs. If anything, it makes it worse.
You brace one hand on the tile, head falling forward, and let the other slide down your body. You trace the curve of your waist, the swell of your hip, the soft place low on your belly that still remembers the press of his belt buckle.
Your fingers dip lower, parting slick folds, and you bite your lip to keep quiet when you find yourself drenched, swollen, pulsing. You circle your clit once, twice, thighs trembling, and the image behind your eyes is always him: the way his jaw clenched in the kitchen, the tremor in his metal fingers when they hovered an inch from your skin, the raw guilt in his voice when he said we can’t.
You’re so lost in it you don’t hear the soft creak of the door.
Bucky steps in and the world tilts.
He thought the room was empty. He freezes with one hand still on the knob, steam curling around him like cigarette smoke. His eyes go wide, then black, pupils swallowing every trace of blue.
You, naked, water cascading over every inch of you, skin flushed pink from heat, nipples tight and beaded, one hand braced on the wall, the other buried between your thighs.
Guilt slams into him so hard his knees almost buckle.
He sees two versions of you at once: the chubby-legged toddler he used to bounce on his knee while your dad laughed about diaper explosions, and the woman in front of him now, grown, soft and strong and dripping and looking at him like she’s starving.
His cock jerks hard against his sweatpants, a wet spot spreading instantly. He should back out. He should apologise, slam the door, go sleep in the fucking snow.
Instead he whispers, voice gravel and ruin, “Door wasn’t locked, sweetheart.”
You spin, heart exploding, hands flying up to cover yourself, but too late. You see the obscene tent in his sweats, the way his breath catches, the way his metal hand curls into a fist like he’s trying to crush the want.
“Buck, shit, get out-”
He doesn’t move. His throat works. “I thought… you were upstairs.”
But his eyes betray him. They drag down your body, slow, helpless, drinking in water-slick skin, the curve of your waist, the tremble in your thighs. The diaper memory hits him like a bullet, tiny you giggling while he wiped ice-cream off your chin, and the shame is acid in his throat.
You see it. You see all of it.
And instead of screaming, you let your arms fall.
You let him look.
A reckless, wicked smirk curves your mouth. “Save water, old man?” you murmur, voice trembling with nerves and power. “Shower with a friend?”
The growl that tears out of him is broken.
He steps in, shuts the door, and the lock clicks like a starting gun.
“Old man, huh?” His voice cracks on the last word. “Keep pushin’, baby. See what happens.”
He peels his shirt off in one violent motion, muscles rippling under steam and old scars. Sweatpants follow, kicked aside, and he’s bare, thick, flushed, veins standing out like the ones you’ve dreamt about for years. The head of his cock is slick with precome, bobbing heavy between you.
He steps under the spray and the water turns his hair black, sends rivers down his chest, over the dog tags that clink softly. He stops an inch away, hands hovering, flesh and metal trembling.
“Fuck…” he breathes, the word tearing out like a confession, eyes locked on yours, stormy, shattered, raw with a torment that claws at his throat.
“You’ve… you’ve grown up, doll. You’re a woman now. Christ, not that little kid anymore, not my best friend’s baby girl. How the hell am I supposed to fight this when you look at me like that?”
The confession sounds like it’s being ripped out of his chest.
His hands finally land on your hips, reverent, shaking, thumbs tracing the dip of your waist like he’s reading braille. Metal fingers press cool against the small of your back and you arch into the contrast, gasping.
He pulls you flush against him.
His cock brands your belly, hot, velvet-hard, pulsing. You feel his heart hammering against your breasts.
“Then treat me like one,” you whisper, voice cracking with the weight of it.
He makes a wounded sound and drops his forehead to yours.
“Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he rasps, voice cracking like glass under pressure, his forehead pressed to yours as if the weight of it might crush him.
“Your dad’s right upstairs, trustin’ me to look out for you like always. He’d fuckin’ kill me for this, for touchin’ you, for wantin’ you like I do. And God help me baby, I’d let him. I’d go down swingin’ if it meant one more minute gettin’ to see you like this.”
But his hips roll forward anyway, seeking friction, sliding his length along your stomach. You wrap your fingers around him, slow, firm, and he jerks in your grip, a broken groan vibrating against your lips.
“Christ, the way you touch me…” His voice splinters. “Like you know exactly what you do to me.”
You stroke him root to tip, twisting gently at the head, watching his face contort with pleasure and agony.
“Your dad’s gonna bury me for this,” he chokes out, but he’s thrusting into your fist now, metal arm tightening around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish.
You pull his mouth to yours.
The kiss is messy, starving, years of almost collapsing into teeth and tongue and shared breath. His flesh hand slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, not quite claiming, just worshipping the fact that he’s allowed to touch.
You pump him faster, slick with water and precome, and he breaks the kiss to bury his face in your neck, biting down gently, muffling the sounds he can’t hold back.
“Fuck… gonna make me lose it-”
He spins you gently this time, back to his chest, metal arm banding under your breasts, holding you like something precious. His other hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked, circling your clit with devastating precision.
You moan, head falling back against his shoulder, hips rocking shamelessly into his touch.
“That’s it,” he whispers, voice cracking with awe and guilt and love. “Take what you need, baby. I’ve got you.”
The intimacy of it, his voice, the way he’s shaking with restraint and devotion, undoes you.
You come with a muffled cry against his neck, thighs clenching around his hand, waves crashing so strong your vision sparks white. He follows seconds later, groaning your name like it hurts, spilling hot over your lower back, hips jerking helplessly as the water washes it away.
You sag together, panting, water cooling around you.
He turns off the faucet with a trembling hand. Steam lingers like a confession.
He wraps you in a towel, hands gentle now, reverent, drying your shoulders, your arms, your breasts, like he’s terrified he’ll break you, like he can’t believe he gets to touch you at all.
You lean into him, towel loose around your hips, and whisper, soft, taunting, loving:
“Admit it. You’ve thought about this since the pull-ups. That day behind the fence.”
He stills, towel knotted at his waist, water dripping from his lashes. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, eyes dark with truth and shame and something that won’t quit.
“Every damn mission,” he whispers, voice raw. “Every night I couldn’t sleep. Thought about you grown, thought about you wantin’ me back. Kept me sane.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaking. “This… this is better than any fantasy. And it’s gonna destroy me. But fuck if I care right now.”
You kiss him, slow, soft, tasting the guilt he’s drowning in and the love he can’t hide.
“Take me to bed,” you breathe against his mouth.“Please, Bucky, we’re not done. I need you inside me, need you to wreck me until I can’t think straight.”
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, arms shaking not from effort but from the weight of what he’s just done, and carries you out of the steam like a man walking straight into the fire he’s always known was waiting.
He carries you naked down the dark hallway, water still dripping from his hair, from your skin, leaving cold little trails on the hardwood that make you shiver against his chest. His metal arm is locked under your thighs, vibranium plates humming faintly against the backs of your knees; his flesh hand cradles your spine like you’re spun glass. Every footstep is deliberate, trying not to let the floorboards scream and wake the house.
The guest-room door shuts with the softest click. He turns the lock so slowly the mechanism barely breathes.
Moonlight through frost-laced windows turns the whole room blue-white. Snow-light. It catches on the sweat still clinging to his collarbones, on the dog tags resting between his pecs, on the wet ends of his hair.
He lowers you to the bed like he’s laying down something sacred. The comforter is cool against your overheated back; the sheets smell like cedar and the faint gun-oil that always clings to him. You sink into it and he just stares, chest heaving, lips parted, eyes glassy with something between worship and terror.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, doll…” His voice is shredded velvet. “Look at you. Spread out on my bed like every filthy dream I never let myself finish.”
You try for a bratty little smirk, want to tease him about finally growing a pair, but the words die when he drops to his knees at the edge of the mattress and spreads your thighs with his shoulders.
The first touch of his mouth is soft, almost chaste, just his lips brushing the crease where thigh meets hip, stubble scraping tender skin, breath scalding. You feel it everywhere.
“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, looking up the length of your body, blue eyes dark and worried even while his cock jerks against the sheets. “Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me anything. Always.”
You nod, throat too tight for words, and he rewards you by dragging his tongue up your center in one slow, filthy stripe that ends with the flat of it pressed hard against your clit.
Your back bows off the bed.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls low against your slick heat, the rumble of his voice making your thighs tremble. “Spread those gorgeous legs wider for me, sweetheart… don’t get shy on me now.”
His tongue drags slow and deliberate up your center again, just to watch you jerk, then he pulls back barely an inch, hot breath ghosting over you as he smirks.
“Uh-uh. Wider. Show me how desperate my pretty little thing is to have her pussy devoured. Go on… beg me with those thighs, baby. Let me see just how soaked you are for my mouth.”
He eats you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on earth to do. Slow, thorough, obscene. Long licks, soft sucks, the gentle scrape of teeth. His tongue fucks deep inside you, curling, retreating, curling again, while his nose grinds your clit in perfect, maddening circles. Metal fingers slide in beside his tongue, two thick vibranium digits curling up to stroke that spot that makes your vision spark white.
He feels you tighten, hears that broken little gasp that means you’re right there, and he stops. Just lifts his mouth an inch, lets the cool air hit your dripping cunt while you whine and try to chase him.
“Mmm-no, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive crease where thigh meets pussy, voice velvet-rough. “Not yet. I’m nowhere near done playing.”
He drags his tongue in one slow, lazy stripe that deliberately misses your clit, then chuckles when your hips buck in frustration.
“Aw, listen to that needy sound. You’re fucking soaked, aren’t you? Dripping down my chin and still begging for more.” He nips the soft skin of your inner thigh, soothing it with a kiss. “Greedy girl. I could live between these legs for days… lick you open nice and slow until you’re crying for mercy.”
Another feather-light flick, gone before you can grind against it.
“Hours, sweetheart,” he promises, voice dark and filthy as he spreads you wider with his thumbs, blowing a cool breath over your throbbing clit just to watch you shudder. “I’m gonna keep you shaking on the edge ‘til you forget your own name. Only thing you’ll remember is how to beg me to let you come.”
When you finally come it’s with his name torn out of your throat and muffled against the pillow, thighs clamped so tight around his head you’re scared you’ll hurt him. He just moans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, licking you through it until you’re sobbing from overstimulation.
He crawls up your body, kissing every inch, murmuring praise like a litany.
“Good girl. So fuckin’ good for me. Taste yourself on my tongue, baby, go on.”
He kisses you deep, filthy, letting you lick into his mouth and taste how wet you made him.
Then he sinks into you from behind in one long, slow glide that punches the air from your lungs. You feel every inch, every thick vein, every throb, the flared head dragging along your walls until he bottoms out and you both groan like dying men, raw and desperate.
He stills, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed hot and sweaty between your shoulder blades, metal hand sliding under you to lace tight with yours on the mattress, vibranium cool against your fingers.
“Fuck… baby,” he rasps, voice cracked wide open, forehead pressed to yours while his breath stutters against your lips. “You good? Please… tell me you’re good.”
His hands are shaking, thumbs stroking gentle little circles like he’s trying to soothe both of you. He pulls back just enough to search your eyes, wide and glassy with something that looks a lot like fear.
“I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice trembling harder than his body. “Just… breathe with me, sweetheart. Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop, I swear I’ll stop, I just-”
He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale when you clench around him involuntarily, a broken groan ripping out of his chest. His eyes squeeze shut for a second like he’s in pain.
“God, you feel so fucking perfect I’m scared I’m gonna lose it,” he confesses, raw and quiet, pressing his face into your neck. “Need to hear you say it, baby. Need to know you’re with me… that you can take me. Please.”
You shove your hips back hard, slamming yourself onto him with a filthy, wet sound that makes his breath hitch.
“Please,” you sob, voice shredded, forehead pressed to the sheets as you fuck yourself on his cock in frantic little jerks. “Please, bucky, I need it so bad-”
Every desperate push back forces him deeper, your ass slapping against his hips, greedy and shameless. You can’t stop; you’re shaking, dripping, clenching around him like you’re trying to pull him in and never let go.
“Fuck, fuck, I can take it,” you cry out, reaching one hand back to claw at his thigh, dragging him closer. “I’m so full and it’s still not enough, please move, please ruin me, I’m begging you-”
Your whole body jolts with every backward thrust you give yourself, thighs trembling, back arched so deep it hurts, tears soaking the pillow as you choke on another broken moan.
“I’m so close already,” you confess in a rush, voice cracking open. “I’m right there and you’re not even moving, I’ll die if you don’t move, please, I’ll be so good for you, I swear, just, fuck, please-”
He does.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, dragging out until just the tip kisses your entrance, then slamming back in until his hips meet your ass with a wet, filthy slap that echoes in the quiet room. Every thrust nudges your clit against his heavy balls, the pressure perfect, relentless, building that burn low in your belly until you’re trembling.
His mouth never leaves your skin, lips and teeth and tongue worshiping every inch he can reach.
“Listen to you,” he growls against your spine, teeth grazing the sensitive spot between your shoulder blades. “Hear how fuckin’ wet you are for me? That’s all you, baby. All for me. My perfect girl takin’ every inch like you were born for it, like this pussy was made to be wrapped around my cock.”
You whimper, fingers squeezing his metal ones hard enough that the plates whir faintly.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice rough with awe and hunger. “Squeeze me just like that. Fuck, you’re so tight, so hot- gonna ruin me, baby. You’re ruinin’ me, and I’d let you do it every goddamn day.”
He flips you suddenly, needing your face, needing to see you take him. Missionary now, your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half, cock hitting so deep you feel him in your throat with every brutal thrust, the angle making you sob.
“Look at me,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the universe, like he’s memorizing every flicker across your face. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come around my cock again. Wanna watch my girl fall apart on me. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, baby- so gorgeous takin’ me deep.”
“Bucky-” you sob, nails digging into his back, leaving red trails down scarred skin.
“Yeah, say my name,” he groans, hips snapping harder, faster, the headboard starting to thump against the wall. “Love hearin’ my name in that sweet voice while I’m buried inside you. You’re takin’ me so good. So fuckin’ good. Never felt anything like this pussy- never gonna want anything else. You’re it for me, baby. You’re everything.”
Against the wall next, your back scraping painted drywall, his metal arm hooked under your ass, holding all your weight like it’s nothing while his flesh hand braces beside your head. He thrusts up into you slow and filthy, grinding on every stroke, the head of his cock dragging over that spot that makes you see stars, makes your toes curl.
“Legs okay, baby?” he whispers, voice ragged and trembling with restraint, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me if they’re shaking too hard… I’ve got you, I’ll hold you up, always.”
You whimper, nodding frantically, and he groans at the way you clench around him in response.
“That’s it… fuck, just like that,” he praises, low and reverent, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. “Wrap those pretty thighs tighter around me, yeah, perfect. God, look at you, taking me so fucking deep, so greedy and gorgeous.”
His hand slips down to lace with yours, squeezing gently as he rolls his hips in that slow, grinding rhythm that makes you sob.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice cracking with awe. “So perfect for me. My beautiful girl, glowing, trembling, letting me all the way in like you were made for this, made for me. I’ve never felt anything as safe as I do right now, buried inside you. You’re everything, baby. Every fucking thing.”
You barely manage to get the words out between broken gasps, voice shaky and wrecked as you push against him just to feel him throb inside you.
“Thought… thought you were gonna wreck me, old man-” you rasp, trying for bratty, but it comes out breathless, trembling, more plea than taunt.
He freezes for half a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, then lets out the lowest, darkest chuckle you’ve ever heard. It vibrates straight through your spine.
“Callin’ me old man again, huh?” he murmurs, voice velvet and dangerous, one hand sliding up your sweat-slick back to fist gently in your hair. He tugs your head back just enough for you to feel it, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Careful what you ask for, baby.”
Then he pulls out slow, agonizingly slow, until you’re empty and whining, and slams back in with one brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
“That wrecking enough for you, princess?” he growls, setting a punishing rhythm, hips snapping hard enough to jolt your whole body up the bed. “Or should this old man really ruin that pretty little pussy till you can’t walk tomorrow?”
Another deep, filthy stroke, grinding against that spot that makes you see stars.
“Go ahead,” he taunts, breathless but merciless, “keep talking shit. I’ve got all night to teach you manners, sweetheart.”
On the floor because the bed is too far and he can’t wait another second, him flat on his back, you’re straddling his face, knees burning against the hardwood, thighs trembling so hard they’re practically vibrating around his ears. His big hands are locked on your ass, fingers digging in possessively, spreading you open and dragging you down until his mouth seals over your cunt like he’s starving.
“Use me, sweetheart,” he groans into you, voice muffled, wrecked, tongue fucking deep and greedy. “Please, fuck my face. I need your taste in my throat for days.”
His nose grinds against your clit with every roll of your hips, perfect, relentless pressure, while his metal fingers slip lower, cool and slick, gathering the mess dripping out of you and teasing your empty, fluttering hole like he’s thinking about sliding them in later.
You hesitate, thighs shaking harder, a little scared of how fast it’s building, how loud you already are, and he feels it instantly. His grip softens, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the dimples of your ass.
“Hey, hey, baby, look at me,” he rasps, pulling back just enough that his breath fans hot over your swollen clit. His eyes are blown black, glassy with want and something achingly tender. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Nothing bad’s gonna happen, I swear.”
He presses the softest kiss to your clit, then another, coaxing.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Drippin’ all over my face, shaking for me… my perfect girl. Could stay right here forever.”
His hands slide up to guide your hips again, gentle but insistent, rocking you down onto his waiting tongue.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he begs, raw and desperate. “Ride me. Grind that pretty pussy on my mouth, use me however you need. I want it. Want you to fall apart and soak me. Please, baby… let me have it. I’m dying for it.”
Bent over the dresser, mirror fogged from your breath, his chest plastered to your back, eyes locked in the reflection, sweat-slick skin sliding together.
“Look how gorgeous you are takin’ me,” he rasps, voice hoarse from hours of praise, hips snapping hard and fast now, animal, relentless, the dresser rattling with every thrust. “Look at you. My girl. Mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” you sob, nails scrabbling for purchase on the wood, tears pricking your eyes from how good it hurts, how deep he is.
“That’s right,” he snarls, one hand sliding up to wrap gently around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse like he’s counting your heartbeats. “All mine. Takin’ my cock like a fuckin’ dream. Never gonna get enough of you, doll. Never. You’re perfect, so fuckin’ perfect, squeezin’ me, cryin’ for me, lettin’ me ruin you. My beautiful girl.”
He finishes inside you the first time with your name broken on his lips, hips stuttering, metal fingers laced so tight with yours the plates leave faint crescents in your skin. He stays buried, forehead against your spine, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you,” like the words are being ripped out of his soul, voice shaking with the weight of it.
The second time is slow, face-to-face, moonlight painting silver stripes across your bodies. He’s crying a little, you realize, tears mixing with sweat when he kisses you, thrusts deep and deliberate, eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re everything,” he chokes on every thrust, voice raw and reverent. “Everything I never thought I’d get to have. My perfect, beautiful girl. Love how you feel around me, love how you look at me, love every fuckin’ sound you make. You’re ruin’ me, baby, and I’d let you do it a thousand times. You’re mine, my heart, my girl, my everything.”
When he comes again he buries his face in your neck, whole body shaking, spilling deep with a sound like it hurts how good it feels, whispering your name over and over like a prayer.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes against your skin, voice raw, holding you close like he’ll never let go. “So fuckin’ perfect I don’t deserve you. But I’m keepin’ you anyway.”
Finally, 4:07 am, he collapses beside you, metal arm draped cool across your stomach, flesh hand tangled in your hair, both of you slick with sweat and each other.
“Tomorrow he’s gonna kill me,” he whispers, voice raw, wrecked, happy. A pause. “Worth it.”
You smile into his chest, fingers tracing the raised skin of an old scar, voice soft and sleepy and absolutely certain:
“Then make it worth it again before sunrise.”
He exhales like a man who’s been holding his breath for decades, pulls you tighter, and starts all over again.
He rearranges you like you’re made of silk and sin.
Big, careful hands slide under your thighs, lifting your top leg higher, draping it back over his hip so you’re completely open to him. He’s still buried deep, thick, half-hard, and slick with both of you, but now he can spoon you flush against his chest, metal arm curled under your neck and breasts like a cradle, flesh arm wrapped low across your hips, fingers splayed wide over the soft swell of your lower belly so he can feel himself inside you every time he breathes.
“Stay right here, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice cracked open with exhaustion and wonder. “Gonna keep my cock nice and warm inside this perfect little pussy while you fall asleep, yeah? Gonna keep you full of me all night.”
He rocks, slow, syrupy, barely a thrust, more like a heartbeat. Just enough to remind your body he’s there, stretching you, owning you, loving you.
You make a sleepy, needy sound and push back against him, trying to get closer even though there’s no space left. He groans, low and wrecked, hips stuttering for a second before he forces himself still.
“Shhh, shh, I’ve got you,” he soothes, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, the spot behind your ear that makes you melt. “Greedy girl. Already took three loads outta me tonight and you still want more, huh?”
His metal hand slides up, cupping your breast, thumb rolling your nipple slow and gentle, like he’s petting you to sleep. Flesh hand slips lower, two fingers spreading your folds so he can feel where he’s splitting you open, feel the slick mess leaking out around his cock every time he gives that tiny, sleepy thrust.
“Fuck, listen to that,” he breathes, voice filthy and adoring. “Hear how wet my baby is? That’s me inside you. That’s us. Never gonna pull out, sweetheart. Gonna stay right here, keep you plugged and dripping and mine.”
You whimper, half-asleep, hips rolling back on instinct, chasing the gentle pressure. He hushes you closer, metal arm tightening just enough that the cool plates press deliciously against your nipples.
“Easy, pretty girl,” he croons, lips against your pulse. “Let me take care of you. Let me love on this sweet pussy till you pass out on my cock. You’ve been so good for me, taken everything I gave you, still clenchin’ around me like you can’t get enough.”
Another slow, lazy glide in and out, just an inch, just enough to make you sigh and flutter around him. He moans softly, like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.
“That’s it… fuck, that’s perfect. Just like that. Fall asleep on me, baby. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you full. Dream about me stretchin’ you open, yeah?”
Your body goes liquid, melting back into him, head lolling against his metal bicep. The last thing you feel is his mouth pressing soft, endless kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your hair, and the gentle, steady throb of him inside you, like a second heartbeat.
“Aww, listen to you,” he whispers, voice thick with sleepy, possessive love when your breathing finally evens out. “My sweet girl, falling asleep with my cock buried to the hilt. Never lettin’ you go. Never.”
His own eyes flutter shut, arms locking tighter, metal fingers laced with yours over your belly, keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.
Outside, the storm screams itself hoarse. Inside, the only sound is the soft, wet pulse of two bodies refusing to separate, and the quiet, reverent whisper he breathes into your hair just before he drifts off.
“Love you so fuckin’ much it hurts, baby. Sleep tight. I’ve got you.”
And you both slip under, still joined, still dripping, wrapped in steel and skin and the kind of filthy, desperate tenderness that only comes after everything has already burned down.
The kitchen smells like bacon, burnt coffee, and the kind of tension that could power a small city.
Dad’s at the stove, spatula in hand, humming “Fortunate Son” like he’s in a different decade entirely. You’re perched on a stool in Bucky’s stolen shirt, legs swinging, trying to look like a normal daughter who definitely did not spend the night tangled up with her dad’s best friend.
Bucky is shirtless, because of course, leaning against the counter with his “World’s Okayest Sergeant” mug, pretending to read the cereal box while his eyes keep darting to you like he’s checking you’re still real.
Dad flips a strip of bacon with flair. “So, Buck. That guest bed treat you alright? I peeked in around six to see if the power had come back on. You were dead to the world, man. Didn’t even twitch.”
You and Bucky both freeze solid.
Your coffee mug stops halfway to your mouth. Bucky’s metal hand tightens on his mug so hard you hear the ceramic creak.
Because at six am, you were definitely in that guest bed. Wrapped around Bucky like a koala, one of his thighs between yours, his metal arm locked around your waist, your face buried in his neck, both of you dead asleep and very, very naked under the tangled sheets.
You thank every god you don’t believe in that Dad only saw Bucky’s side of the bed. That the blanket was pulled high enough. That you were on the inside, hidden against the wall. That Bucky sleeps like a damn statue when he finally crashes.
Bucky recovers first, voice suspiciously calm. “Yeah… uh, slept like a rock. Deep. Real deep.”
You nearly choke on air. “Yeah, Dad. He was out cold. Didn’t move an inch all night.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow at you over the rim of his mug. “Funny. I seem to remember someone doing a whole lot of moving.”
Dad turns, eyebrow raised. “What was that?”
Bucky shrugs, smooth as gravel. “Nothin’. Just said the bed was surprisingly comfortable.”
You hide your grin behind your mug. Bucky’s foot finds your ankle under the counter and gives it a light kick. You kick back, harder. He pinches your calf with his toes. Game on.
Dad sets down plates with a clatter. “You two are weirdly chipper for people who almost turned into popsicles.”
You and Bucky answer at the exact same time. “Adrenaline.” “Good cardio.”
Dead silence.
Dad blinks slowly, like he’s buffering. You both sip coffee like it’s the last drink on death row.
Dad finally shrugs and sits. “Whatever. Eat before it gets cold.”
Bucky slides into the seat next to you, thigh pressing yours like it’s an accident. It’s not. You “accidentally” elbow him reaching for the salt. He steals two pieces of your bacon. You flick a tiny piece of eggshell onto his plate.
Bucky mutters under his breath, “Real mature, trouble.”
You whisper back, “Says the guy who begged ‘please, doll, don’t stop’ at three in the morning.”
He inhales bacon wrong and starts coughing. Dad reaches over and thumps his back. “Easy there, pal. Chew.”
You pat Bucky’s back with way too much enthusiasm. “There ya go, old man. Small bites.”
Bucky glares through watering eyes, mouth twitching like he’s two seconds from laughing or strangling you. “Keep it up. See what happens when your dad leaves for five seconds.”
You grin. “Promises, promises.”
Dad, chewing thoughtfully, waves his fork in a circle. “You know, you two are actin’ weird. Like… weird-weird. Like you’re speakin’ in code or somethin’. And Buck, where the hell is your shirt?”
Bucky freezes mid-chew. You freeze mid-sip. You both glance at your chest at the same time.
You recover first, sweet as pie. “Laundry mix-up?”
Bucky nods way too fast. “Yeah. Mine shrank. She borrowed it. Charity.”
Dad squints harder. “It’s three sizes too big on her.”
You chime in, “Fashion, Dad. Oversized is in.”
Bucky adds, “Very trendy.”
Dad stares for a long beat, then shrugs. “Kids these days. And old men pretending to be kids.”
Under the table, Bucky’s foot slides up your calf again, slow and deliberate. You retaliate by pressing your bare foot right against the inside of his thigh, inching dangerously close to territory that would get you both grounded for life.
His hand clamps down on your ankle like a vice. He mouths, “Behave.”
You mouth back, “Make me.”
Dad looks up. “You two are awfully quiet again. Everything okay?”
You and Bucky answer in perfect unison, “Yep!”
Dad eyes you both like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing, then shrugs and goes back to his eggs.
Bucky leans in, voice barely a breath. “You’re lucky your dad’s here, or I’d have you bent over this counter before the bacon grease cooled.”
You grin, all teeth. “Big talk for a guy who begged so pretty last night.”
His metal fingers tighten on your ankle, just enough pressure to promise payback. You wiggle your toes against his inner thigh in victory.
Dad stands up, plate in hand. “Alright, I’m gonna go fight the driveway before the next wave hits. You two want anything from the garage?”
You answer quickly, “We’re good!”
Bucky echoes, “Real good.”
Dad pauses at the door, gives you one last suspicious look. “You sure? You’re both actin’ like you drank Red Bull instead of coffee.”
Bucky shrugs. “Just the bacon high.”
Dad mutters something about “weirdos” and heads out.
The second the back door shuts, Bucky’s on his feet, crowding you against the counter, hands braced on either side of your hips.
“You,” he growls, nose brushing yours, “are a goddamn menace.”
You tilt your chin, smirking. “And you’re a terrible liar. ‘Best sleep in years’? Please.”
He huffs a laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Fine. Worst sleep of my life. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you sound when-”
You slap a hand over his mouth. “Dad’s literally thirty feet away!”
He licks your palm. You yank it back with a squeak.
“Animal,” you hiss.
He grins, all teeth. “You weren’t complaining last night.”
You shove his chest. He doesn’t budge. “Go put a shirt on before Dad thinks we’re running a nudist colony.”
He leans in, voice low and rough. “I’d put a shirt on, but someone’s wearing my favorite one. And looks way better in it than I ever did.”
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are on fire. “Flattery won’t save you when Dad notices the hickey on my-”
He kisses you quick and dirty to shut you up, then pulls back just as fast.
“Gotta go before I do something stupid,” he mutters, adjusting himself with zero subtlety. “Like bend you over this counter and give your old man a heart attack.”
You pat his cheek. “Poor baby. Blue balls again?”
He groans, backing toward the door. “You’re evil.”
“Text me when you get home safe, Grandpa.”
He points a metal finger at you. “Keep that shirt. And lock your window next time there’s a storm. I’m not asking twice.”
You grin, sweet as poison. “Who says there’ll be a next time?”
He pauses at the door, eyes dark. “Keep telling yourself that, trouble.”
Then he’s gone, boots crunching through snow.
Dad yells from the driveway, “Buck! You forgot your damn shirt again!”
You look down at the stolen tee, hug it to yourself, and yell back, “Finders keepers, dad!”
Dad’s muffled grumble floats in: “You kids are so weird…”
You sip your coffee, grinning like an idiot, already counting down to the next blizzard.
Because yeah. There’s definitely gonna be a next time.
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