A place for all my not so guilty pleasures 35 (& holding 😏)... just here to share my favorite freaky geekery 😋 check out my main blog & my other geeky goodness! https://linktr.ee/geekrenaissance !!!!NSFW! 18+ only!!!!
Ok, I finally FINALLY did it. I've set up this side blog...just for the freak in my soul 😆
My main blog @geekrenaissance is for all my crafting & main fangirling, BUT....
THIS blog is all NSFW! ADULTS ONLY! I'll be removing any minors that follow, so, please don't. This is mainly going to be my space to share smutty fanfic (these authors are UNBELIEVABLE you guys!), but I'll also be sharing adult themed crafts & whatnot (420 items, etc).
Grownups only, my loves.
Here's my Fic Rec Masterlist! It's under construction, so bear with me 🤪
I'm so excited that I finally get to showcase some of the brilliant fan fiction writers that have saved my sanity during these crazy times. Please reblog! They deserve to be shared far & wide. Made this blog just for them!
I mainly live for marvel characters & star wars sexiness (my Mando takes priority over all), but I'm a professional fangirl, so don't be shocked to see some randomness pop up here & there 😅
Again: This is gonna get real freaky, real fast. Not your cup of tea? Don't read! Please be responsible for your own media consumption & heed all tags & warnings!
credits to me. feel free to use and save. of course credit would be appreciated but it is not required. I’m just making these for fun <3 @bunnysp1ce , @zhenyiuu , @julesdesires , @liliesdiary , @tiamathh , @garfieldissocool , @cinnamonghostcrunch , @craisinsensation1029 , @livingangie
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, perv!bucky, dom!bucky, touch starved reader, sexual tension, mutual pining, dry humping, mating press, oral (f receiving), p in v, fingering, edging, begging, degrading, size difference kink, praise, dirty talk, masturbation, breeding kink, overstimulation, name calling and pet names: "slut" "baby" "pretty girl"
⭐︎ word count: 13.7k
⭐︎ a/n: wanted to write a fic based on sabrina's song house tour. i was inspired by @houseofhyde's (literally sabrina carpenter) fics and if you haven't already, read her manchild series and check out her man's best friend inspired anthology coming soon! huge thank you to my girl @wildflowersandvibranium for helping me w/ the color gradient. thank you to @heldbybarnes and @its-in-the-woods for helping me w/ the moodboard. thank you to @chateaubarnes for the divider. <3 much love. he's a busy man! masterlist
synopsis:
Your house is big enough to host a hundred people, but the only one you want in it is your maddeningly hot pool cleaner. You want him—bad. Yet no matter how hard you flirt, he never seems to take the bait. What you don't realize is that Bucky wants you just as badly, he's just very good at hiding it.
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You paused in front of the full-length mirror hanging in the foyer of your sprawling three-story house. A skimpy swimsuit was snug to your body, an expensive pair of sunglasses perched on top of your head, along with a chilled cocktail in your manicured hand to top it all off.
You adjusted the sheer cover-up knotted loosely at your hip that revealed just enough skin…though never quite enough.
With one quick glance out the window towards your backyard, your breath hitched immediately.
There he was again—your pool boy, hard at work.
The usual white tank he wore clung to his chest, already slick with his sweat. His arms flexed with every pull of the pole, muscles tightening beneath his sun-warmed skin, his hair falling into his eyes as his broad back bent and straightened as he moved around.
The sight alone sent butterflies to your stomach.
You sucked in a sharp breath, smoothing your hair and bringing your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose. Sliding open the glass door, you were welcomed with the hot sun and a slight breeze, bringing with it a faint smell of chlorine.
“Good morning, Bucky,” you called, your voice cheery with an inviting smile.
Bucky glanced up from the water, sunglasses reflecting you back at yourself.
“Morning.”
Then, a small nod before returning to his work.
It wasn’t much, but still, your smile didn’t falter. Ever since you hired Bucky to work for you as your designated pool cleaner, you couldn’t help but grow a little… attached.
You were a single woman living in a house big enough to hold a family of ten. Or twenty. Too much money, too much time on your hands, and not enough sex.
So when a strong, quiet, devastatingly attractive man showed up to work under your roof, what was the harm in having a little fun? Watching him became your guilty pleasure, like keeping your own personal eye candy by the pool.
First, it started with harmless admiration.
You’d catch yourself watching him from the corner of your eye, stealing glances under your sunglasses or through the window when you thought he wouldn’t notice. You’d watch very closely—the way sweat dripped down his neck and in between the crevice of his chest.
And his arms.
God, his arms.
You couldn’t help but imagine how they might feel cinched tight around your waist, or how those rough, calloused hands might look wrapped delicately around your throat.
Silly thoughts, really. Inappropriate, even.
He was just the man you paid to clean your pool. You never said anything, of course. Just… quiet looks, very long sips of your drink, and the guilty thrill of knowing you liked the view far more than you should.
You leaned back into the reclining chair, stretching your legs out before crossing at the ankle, your fingers idly twirling the straw in your cocktail.
“It’s so hot out today,” you said, tilting your head towards him. “But I can’t really complain with a view like this.”
Bucky didn’t react. He didn’t even look at you either. Just a quiet grunt, his expression unreadable behind the darkness of his sunglasses.
Very typical.
Second, it became something physical. A physical attraction.
The mysteriousness of him left too much room for your imagination to run wild. He rarely said anything beyond the occasional “Good morning” or a low grunt, and more times than not, you found yourself aching for just a little more.
“You know, if you ever need a break, my house is always open and well air-conditioned,” you offered lightly, finishing it with a soft laugh to make it sound playful instead of… well.
Predatory.
The truth was, for all its size, your house was lonely. A word, a glance, even the smallest scrap of attention would have been enough—and somehow, the person you wanted it from was the man fishing leaves out of your pool.
It was no different than coworkers developing crushes just from seeing each other every day—or feelings sparking within a friend group simply from being around one another so often.
So really, it was only natural to feel this way… wasn’t it?
You wanted to feel him. All of him. His muscles, his jawline, his back…
You wondered how hot his body would be pressed to yours—how his fingers would feel sliding into you, stretching you, filling you, instead of your own.
You hated to admit it, but you have touched yourself to that thought before.
Once.
Twice.
Maybe more.
Bucky barely looked up. “I’m okay. Thank you,” he said, voice quiet, rough, and dismissive, before turning back to the pool like the conversation had already ended before it even began.
Your lips curved up in a sly smirk as you tried again.
“Are you sure? Do you want anything to drink then? A lemonade? Water? Or maybe a cocktail?” your tone stayed breezy, playful, all as if you weren’t holding your breath for an answer.
“No, ma’am,” he replied casually, eyes still fixed on the pool. And he still didn’t look up.
You exhaled slowly, swirling your straw before taking another sip. God, he was infuriating. And yet, the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him.
And last but not least, it became a game. A challenge. As maddening and one-sided as it seemed, you couldn’t help but crave it.
You were a rich, young and beautiful woman. Realistically, you could have anyone you wanted and you knew it. You were used to being fawned over, used to nobodies tripping over themselves just to ask for your number. But the fact that you couldn’t so much as snag the gaze of your pool boy?
That ignited something inside you.
For once, you were the one chasing.
And you didn’t mind it one bit.
“So, do you have any plans after this? I was thinking of making a quick lunch if you would like to join me.”
Silence. Just the sound of water swooshing gently against the pool’s edge and the light scrape of the skimmer gliding across the surface. He paused, his eyes fixed on something in the distance, near your water pipes. His shoulders straightened like a thought came to mind.
Then, he finally lifted his head to look at you. Your heart thumped faster in your chest.
Finally.
“Can you come here for a second?” he asked, his voice straightforward and blunt as he set the skimmer down.
You couldn’t help the smile creeping on your lips. You rose from your chair, setting your cocktail down on the side table. You smoothed the cover-up around your hips as you made your way over, anticipation already fluttering wildly in your chest.
The entire time, Bucky’s gaze followed you from behind his shades. You hoped he noticed the way your bikini clung tight to your curves, the subtle sway of your hips as you moved towards him.
You flashed him a charming grin, crossing your arms over your chest—subtly accentuating the way your breasts pushed up against your arms.
Too bad his sunglasses hid his eyes. You had no way of knowing if he had even noticed.
“Follow me,” he said, curling his fingers to motion you closer.
“Okay,” you agreed softly, letting him guide you.
With his back to you, you couldn’t help but admire the view—the width of his shoulders, the way he moved. You were so caught up in the silhouette of him that you hardly noticed where he was leading you until you found yourself at the side of the house, standing before the jumble of water pipes and filters.
He stopped abruptly. “Stand here.”
You moved closer, your heart beating so fast it could leap out of your chest. The way he stood there, watching you, commanding you to come up to him… it all made your skin heat up in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.
“Closer.”
Your breath caught in your throat, one large hand brushing against your lower back to guide you into position. The touch was casual, almost incidental, yet it was enough to make your legs feel a little weak.
He held your gaze for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your lower back. You wanted nothing more than to reach up and remove his sunglasses yourself—just to see his eyes, to know if he was feeling the same spark you were.
Then, finally, he broke his gaze and tilted his head towards the filter.
“There’s an issue with the filter,” he explained. “It’s clogged worse than I thought. I’ll need to check it a few extra times this week to make sure it’s running properly.”
Oh.
Your shoulders slump slightly, the thrill of his attention immediately colliding with a pang of disappointment.
You followed his gaze to the pool and let out a very long and disappointed sigh. “Is that so?”
He grunted quietly, his hand retreating from your back. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “I’ll start on it. Should take a while to get it fully unclogged.”
You swallowed, trying to force a nonchalant smile. Infuriatingly dry, and yet every word, every glance—or lack thereof—only made the fiery spark inside you burn brighter.
“How ‘bout you come inside for a second?” you offered quickly. “Cool off a little before getting back to work… I mean, look at you—you’re sweating like crazy.” You added a soft chuckle, letting the words hang teasingly in the air, hoping, praying he’d catch the bait.
Bucky’s head tilted up, looking past you and up at your three-story house. His expression was frustratingly unreadable, leaving you guessing at what might be running through his mind. After a long pause, he finally looked back at you.
“No, thanks.”
It was just as you expected. With a soft sigh, you masked your disappointment with a small shrug.
“Suit yourself,” you murmured as you already turned your back away.
“But…”
You paused, glancing over your shoulder.
“I’ll take a glass of lemonade,” Bucky said, his tone flat like he was granting you a concession.
Your lips curved slowly up into a grin, that warmth coming back to life in your chest. It wasn’t much—but it was something. And with him, even the smallest thing felt like a victory.
“Lemonade, coming right up,” you said lightly, your tone playful.
This time, when you turned toward the house, there was a little more pep in your step, the sway of your hips unconsciously enthusiastic. It felt good, being given something to finally work with—even something small.
What you didn’t see was the way Bucky’s eyes followed you, hidden safely behind his sunglasses. You missed how his gaze lingered on the curve of your ass through the sheer cover-up, how his jaw clenched once you finally slipped out of view.
From outside, he could see everything.
The way you moved around the kitchen with far too much energy for something as simple as lemonade. How you dragged out a step stool to reach the tallest cabinet, just to pick the nicest glass for him. How you filled it with ice, frowned because you put too much, dumped it out, then poured it again until it was perfect. How you even fussed with the lemon slice on the rim like you were serving royalty and not some random pool cleaner.
And the sight was fascinating.
He loved watching you—a wealthy girl who could have staff do it for you—going out of your way to make a drink for someone like him.
Of course he knew about your coy smiles, your lingering stares when you think he’s not looking, the way your hips sway when you walk away, the skimpy bikinis you wore despite never once stepping foot into the pool.
He noticed everything.
He just chose not to bite.
Because watching you try—watching you put all that effort into getting a reaction out of him—was far more entertaining than giving you what you wanted.
As you leaned into the fridge for the pitcher, your sheer cover-up rode higher over your thighs, the thin fabric stretching to reveal the curve of your ass underneath. You bent forward slightly to grab some more lemons from a lower shelf, and…
The sight made his throat go dry.
His cock stirred, thickening and rising slowly, an ache pressing against the confines of his work pants. He shifted his stance, trying to will the sensation away, but it was no use. The pressure was unbearable, insistent, and tight. Every movement reminded him of just how badly he needed you.
Bucky glanced toward the kitchen again, making sure you were still occupied. When the coast was clear, his hand slid to his crotch, fingers brushing over the straining fabric as if adjusting himself would ease the discomfort.
It didn’t.
The brief contact only made his cock twitch in his pants even more.
“Fuck,” he grunted, his hand palming his bulge through his pants.
He had to bite back a groan as his cock throbbed, begging for more. It was so risky squeezing himself when you were only a few steps away, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
You had no idea what you were doing to him. And the cruelest part was knowing you wanted him too—that fact alone made it harder to keep his control.
Bucky knew he could easily barge in and ruin you, ruin all that polished perfection you surrounded yourself with.
He’d dirty up your pristine house in an instant. He’d bend you over the arm of your thousand-dollar couch. He’d fuck you across all three glossy floors. He’d bury himself deep in your king-sized bed until you couldn’t bear to go to bed without him.
His hand pressed harder against the outline of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he growled to himself as filthy images flooded in his mind.
He wanted to so badly drag that sad excuse of a cover-up off your body, bunching it around your bare waist and bending you over the kitchen counter that you hardly use to cook for your own. He wanted to take his time and savour you—make you finally crumble and beg for his attention instead of throwing out coy smiles and teasing comments.
His thumb circled the swollen head straining against his pants, the friction was delicious but it was not nearly enough.
Fuck, did he want to split you open on his cock, watch your spoiled composure shatter as you clawed at him for more with those greedy, manicured hands.
He squeezed himself harder, breathing heavy, eyes locked on the doorway where you could reappear any second. The risk of being caught only made his cock throb harder.
Imagine if you walked out right now, catching him red-handed—
The sound of the door opening snapped him back to reality. He yanked his hand away, standing up straight and turning his back just as you stepped outside with his glass of lemonade with a bright and oblivious smile on your face.
“Here you go,” you said brightly, handing him the glass.
“Thanks,” he muttered back, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second before he took it.
He tipped the glass back, his Adam's apple bobbing as swallowed, and you found yourself staring at his throat like you were thirsty yourself. He let out a satisfied sigh as he set the glass down on a nearby table.
He gave you one quick glance under his sunglasses before nodding his head once. “It’s good.”
Dry.
Flat. Like always.
And you, of course, didn’t notice the irony that just a mere seconds ago, he had his palm against his cock, groaning your name under his breath. Now here he was, still as stone, acting like you barely existed.
But for you, that tiny moment, your fingers brushing against his when you passed the lemonade, was enough to send your heart skipping like a schoolgirl’s.
It was ridiculous, really, how something so brief could make you feel so electric.
You forced a small smile and slipped back into your chair, twirling the straw in your now half-melted cocktail. You tried to play it cool, but your eyes kept dragging back to him again and again.
You were hypnotized with the way his hands toyed at his belt like he was adjusting himself, the movement of his shoulders as he crouched low by the pump system near the pool’s edge—everything about him just made it harder to resist.
Bucky leaned over the filter housing, twisting the valve to let off the hiss of trapped pressure. You watched as he unlatched the clamps holding the lid in place, muscles hard at work under his sun-warmed skin.
With a low grunt, he lifted the heavy top free, setting it aside before reaching down into the canister. He worked quietly, pulling free a clogged-up basket stuffed with leaves, stringy muck, and god knows what else. You weren’t really paying that much attention to the filter anyway.
“Mm,” he muttered, giving it a shake, water splattering onto the pavement. “The filter's jammed up worse than it should be. I’ll need to check on it a couple more times this week, make sure it doesn’t back up the whole system.”
He tilted his head. “Gonna take a look at the pump’s pressure next.”
He dropped the basket back into the filter housing and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Then, with a low grunt, he hooked his fingers at the hem of his damp white tank and lifted up and over his head.
You nearly spilled your damn drink.
His chest stretched out, broad and solid. His muscles shifted as he tugged the fabric free and tossed it aside. Sunlight caught on every line—the ridges of his abs, the sharp cut of his V disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-slung work pants.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, heat flooding in your belly.
Your thighs pressed together, desperate to soothe the ache between them. You wanted to keep watching, but every flex of his back as he crouched over the filter only made it worse. You pictured your hands running down the hard grooves of muscle, his body hovering over yours—
God. It was so indecent, sitting here and openly staring at him.
You knew you couldn’t take it anymore when he started to grunt as he bent down to check the pipes. The sound was nothing but seemingly innocent, but to your ears, it came out unbearably filthy.
Clearing your throat, you scrambled to your feet, your drink wobbling dangerously in your hand.
“Well,” you said quickly, voice rising high in pitch. “It’s getting… really hot out here, so I’ll just—” You hiked a thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
You didn’t wait for an answer—not that you were going to get one anyway. With your face burning, you hurried back towards the safety of your house, desperate for cool air and four walls protecting you from the sight of his addicting sweat-slicked body.
Bucky glanced up, peering at you through his shades as he watched you scurry off inside, your cover-up lifting around your bare thighs.
That was cute. For someone whose entire game was trying to catch his attention, you bolted the second you actually got it.
He bent back over the pipes, but his focus was shot to hell. Every few seconds, his gaze followed back to the house, tracking you through those wide, spotless windows until you disappeared past a wall… only to reappear again in your bedroom.
The blinds were wide open, curtains parted to give him a clean view of your perfect body. You hadn’t even realized—or maybe you did, and this was your invitation for him to watch you.
From where he stood at the pool’s edge, he had a perfect line of sight—your figure moving across the room as you wiggled out of your flimsy cover-up and tossed it carelessly onto the floor somewhere. He watched as you paced around the room, flustered and restless.
The sunlight peeking through your windows lit you up like a goddess, a carving that was made to be worshipped by him.
You looked edible.
And Bucky wanted a taste.
Just as he was about to force his gaze away to focus on the filter, you did something that made his throat go completely dry.
You let out bikini straps slip from your shoulders. The top fell loose and he felt his chest—and his pants—tighten as you stood there, bare and unaware. But what really got him was the sight of you crawling into your bed, removing your bottoms and letting your polished fingertips glide down your bare torso and disappearing in between your smooth thighs.
“Jesus Christ…” he muttered as his cock began to stir again.
Watching you make lemonade earlier was one thing. But this—this was just obscene. Standing out here in your yard, shirtless, watching you touch yourself like you were putting on a show for him alone.
It should’ve felt wrong. He should’ve felt like a creep—like a pervert. But it didn’t stop him.
Because this was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stare at you? After all, you were likely touching yourself to the thought of him anyway, so it was only fair for him to watch you in return.
Your hair sprawled across white silk pillows, your legs stretching open as you began to work yourself with desperate little touches. Bucky’s cock strained with every twitch of your fingers. He could already imagine it—how wet you’d be for him, how tight.
If it were his hand between your thighs instead of yours, you’d be clawing at him, begging to keep going—or to go easy.
Fuck. Watching you earlier had been bad enough, but this? This was pure torture.
He could already imagine it, how wet you would feel against his fingers, how easily you would open up for him if it were his hand between your thighs instead of your own.
His cock pressed hard against his zipper, begging for just an ounce of relief. Palming himself wasn’t enough, and if he wasn’t going to storm upstairs and fuck you into your mattress, he’d have to settle for his hand instead.
You had your head tossed back against the pillow, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung open. Bucky couldn’t hear you, but God, he wished he could.
With a low growl, he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, zipping his fly down quickly and desperately. His hand slipped into his waistband, pulled out his cock, already warm and heavy in his palm. The rush of cool air against his swollen tip made him hiss through his teeth, and his fist tightened around the length.
Bucky watched as you rolled your hips against your own fingers, your lips parting to gasp, he couldn’t hear but could damn well imagine.
His fist worked over his cock, giving himself small and teasing strokes. But the longer he watched you, the harder he pumped himself. His breath hitched right along with yours, even if you couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he rasped under his breath, this thumb sliding over the leaking tip of his cock. “Fuck yourself nice and deep… open up that pretty pussy for me.”
You gasped again, your head sinking deeper against the pillows, and he groaned, imagining it was because of him, because of the way he would sink his cock into you and split you wide.
“Bet you’d be so fucking tight around me,” he grunted, hips rocking into his hand as he pumped faster. “I’d stretch you out so good, make you scream my name instead of keeping it all quiet like that.”
Every shake of your body, every subtle move of your wrist, only made him harder, needier. His balls were tight and aching, but still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t drag his eyes away.
“Goddamn, look at you,” he muttered, voice strained. “So perfect… so fucking sweet—thinkin’ you’re in control all the time.” His hips bucked into his fist, precum smearing over his knuckles as he stroked harder. “You’ve got no idea, do you? How bad I wanna ruin that pretty little image of yours....”
Your thighs trembled, your lips parting in another voiceless cry, and he groaned deep in his chest, pumping himself faster. You were getting close, he just knew it.
“I’d fuck you stupid, baby,” he hissed, gaze locked on the way your legs started to shake. “Have you begging, drooling, makin’ a mess all over my cock until you couldn’t even say my name without whimpering.”
He braced one hand against the edge of the filter housing, knuckles going white.
“You’d be mine. Only mine. I’d keep you tucked away in this big house, fuckin’ you on every damn floor until you forget anyone else even exists,” he growled. “I’ll make sure you have no one else over but me.”
His hips jerked, strokes getting messier as the image of you whimpering beneath him filled his head. Through your window, your back arched, your eyes squeezing shut as your fingers moved frantically between your legs.
“Yeah… that’s it, baby,” he hissed quietly. “Cum for me, cum on my cock like I’m right there…”
Your body trembled, chest rising up and down rapidly. Bucky felt his own release rising hard and fast. The sight of you—silk sheets wrinkling beneath you, hair sprawled out over the pillows—tore a groan clean out of his chest.
Good thing you couldn’t hear him.
You turned your head, cheek brushing softly against your tousled hair, looking like a goddamn angel.
Then your eyes fluttered open.
Straight out the window.
And Bucky’s stomach dropped.
Shit.
He immediately yanked his hand off himself and stuffed his cock back into his pants, turning his body toward the filter like he had been working on it the whole time. His breathing came hard through his nose, heart beating fast as he grabbed the nearest tool and pretended to check the pipes, praying you hadn’t seen him.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. His heart was thudding in his ears, his cock still aching—slick and completely unsatisfied in his pants.
He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to steady himself, trying to look like he hadn’t just been seconds away from blowing his load all over the pool deck.
Play it cool.
Work the pipes.
Don’t look back up.
Meanwhile, from above, you lay your back against your pillows as your gaze swept out the window and down to your pool.
Bucky was still out there, bent over the filter and hard at work. His broad back was gleaming with sweat, and even from here, you could see his chest rising and falling heavily, his breaths coming in sharp.
A faint smile tugged at your lips. Of course he looked wrecked—he had been out there all morning, under the sun, hunched over pipes and skimmers and God knows what else.
He was really, really hard at work.
Your smile dropped to something… guiltier. Poor guy, out there sweating through his work while you’ve been upstairs, sprawled out in silk pristine sheets, doing… well, not much of anything useful.
And even though he didn’t ask for it, he deserved another lemonade.
You sat up and threw on a simple shirt and shorts this time. It wasn’t like you were going for a swim with the filters all messed up, and it wasn’t like that bikini had done much to catch his attention anyway.
You stepped outside, the glass of lemonade slick with condensation. The sun hit you right in the face, forcing you to squint as you raised a hand to shield your eyes.
“Round two!” you called, your sandals smacking lightly against the patio.
Bucky’s shoulders stiffened before he stood up straight and turned to you. He cleared his throat, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second before he took the glass.
“Thanks,” he muttered, voice raspy and thick. He looked down at you, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His jaw clenched—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t, or… more like he didn’t trust himself to speak.
You were a different sight than before. Your hair was a little mussed, you had on a plain shirt—a few sizes too big—hanging over your body. It was so big that he barely noticed your tiny shorts riding up your thighs.
No skimpy hundred dollar bikini. No sheer cover-up. And this time, no obvious attempt at allure.
And still, he wanted you.
Because even like this—especially like this—he was still hard, still unsatisfied, his cock pressing hot and heavy against his zipper.
He swallowed hard before tipping the glass back. He downed the lemonade in one long chug, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow until the glass was completely empty.
You smiled, hands behind your back. “Better than the first time?”
He exhaled slowly, handing the glass back to you.
“Yeah.”
It was another sweltering afternoon, and you were sprawled out on the pool chair with a book in your hands—a book you hadn’t turned a page in for the last fifteen minutes. Your eyes kept straying past the print, landing on Bucky where he knelt by the water pipes.
Today was even hotter than yesterday, and he was out there shirtless, sweat dripping down his skin as he worked. You had on a different swimsuit—still skimpy, still expensive—and the heat was making you sweat right through it.
Honestly, if it weren’t for the view, you would’ve already given up and gone inside to the comfort of your AC.
You set the book down on your lap. “Bucky,” you called, tilting your head towards him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? It’s okay to take a break, it’s so damn hot out here.”
He didn’t even glance up from where crouched. He twisted a wrench, the metal clinking sharp against the pipe.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
But the sun was glaring down on you both mercilessly, beads of sweat sliding down his temple, down his throat and over his chest. You were already burning up just by sitting still—so with him out there working, he seemed anything but fine.
You wiped at your damp forehead with the back of your hand, moving uncomfortably against the recliner with a huff. The heat was unbearable, and the bikini that was supposed to make you feel sexy felt sticky, suffocating, and gross.
“Bucky,” you tried again with a weary sigh, “come inside. Just for a minute. I’ll crank up the AC and grab you a drink. You’re going to pass out if you stay out here. The filter can wait.”
He didn’t bite. He never did. Even your own patience felt like it was melting under the sun.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said roughly, tightening the wrench with another twist.
He still didn’t look at you.
Normally you would laugh it off, throw out another playful line his way, and try again until you wrung even the smallest reaction out of him. But the heat, the sweat, and the mounting frustration of constantly chasing his attention had you clenching your jaw instead.
“Fine,” you muttered, sharper than you intended, snapping your book shut and rising to your feet. “Suit yourself.”
Without another word—or even glance—you turned and marched back into the house, letting yourself be greeted by the cool air over your skin as the door clicked shut behind you.
Bucky froze from where he crouched, wrench going still in his hand as he watched you stalk off and shut the door in a way that clearly indicated you were not coming back.
What the hell was that about?
You never just… got up and left.
You usually retreated in the house with a smile on your face, and every single time, you kept coming back, circling him with that playful little persistence of yours.
His jaw clenched, tossing the wrench aside with a heavy clatter. He dragged a hand down his sweaty face, cursing under his breath.
He stood up slowly, letting out a little groan at the strain. Sweat was dripping down his temple and soaking through the waistband of his pants. The sun was cooking him alive, and maybe that was why he was starting to feel a little frustrated himself.
Because the truth was, he wasn’t fine.
The heat was suffocating, and his head was spinning with an irritation he couldn’t quite put down. It wasn’t just from the sun—it was you.
The way that bikini clung to your curves, the shine of sweat down your chest, the needy whine in your voice when you begged him to come inside.
Christ. He was hard again, cock straining against his sweat-damp pants. He hated how quick it happened. He hated how easily wound up he got every time you looked at him, and he hated how you walking away only made it worse.
The pool gurgled behind him, the filter still clearly needing work, but his focus was all over the place.
All he could picture was you inside, cooling down with that little frown on your lips—disappointed that he wasn’t in there with you. You were probably already stripping out of that bikini. Maybe laying down, legs pressed together, trying to take the edge off the way you had yesterday.
And because of those thoughts—those relentless, stupid thoughts—Bucky lasted all but five minutes.
Five full minutes of pacing along the pool, knowing the pipes needed his full attention when all he could focus on was the tight ache in his chest and the heavier one pressing against his zipper.
When his gaze inevitably looked up towards the house, there you were through the spotless windows.
Laid out across the couch, your skimpy bikini straps were digging into your skin as you slouched against the cushions—not even caring that you were dirtying up the expensive furniture with your sweat.
You crossed your legs at the ankle as your eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling softly. You weren’t even looking at him.
And fuck—he couldn’t take it anymore.
He tugged off his work gloves and tossed them by the skimmer, muttering something grumpily under his breath that even he couldn’t catch. His boots stomped heavily against the patio as he made his way to the back door.
He paused at the door, his eyes glued on your body through the glass. He should knock. Hell, he should turn around and get back to the pipes before he did something stupid. But despite his thoughts, his fingers wrapped tight around the handle anyway.
This was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? The way you always lingered near him, flirted shamelessly, always tried to tempt him closer without ever saying it outright. You have been waiting for him to step inside this house for weeks.
In Bucky’s mind, he was finally giving you what you wanted.
The door slid open with a low scrape, the blast of cold air brushing against his warm body. He stepped in as if he already lived there, heavy boots already dirtying the once-pristine plush rug.
Your eyes fluttered open at the faint sound of the door closing.
“Bucky…?” your voice was soft and confused as you took him in.
A big, broad, sweaty Bucky, standing in your living room for the first time since he’d started working for you.
“What are you doing in here? Is everything okay—”
“Almost done with the filter,” he cut you off with a rough voice, his gaze trying to steer away from the tempting lines of your body. “Just needed to use the bathroom.”
You blinked at him, thrown off guard by the excuse but too caught up in the fact that he was finally in your house to even question it. “Oh—yeah, of course. Come on.”
You scrambled to your feet, suddenly self-conscious in nothing but your swimsuit. When you pictured Bucky entering your home, it wasn’t like this. In your head, you would’ve coaxed him in with a drink, maybe with a teasing smile here and there.
Not because he needed the bathroom.
So yeah, his unexpected presence threw you off. But still… at the end of the day, it was better than nothing.
“This way,” you said over your shoulder, leading him down the hall.
Your house had never looked better—freshly waxed floors were reflecting under the light, except Bucky’s dirty work boots were now leaving a trail. Your walls were decorated with curated art and frames that were probably worth more than most people’s salaries.
But Bucky didn’t spare a glance at any of them.
His eyes were locked on you.
And you could feel his heavy stare weighing down on your nearly bare back.
The walk to the bathroom was short, yet it felt endless. Because for once, you had nothing to say. You stopped in front of the door, fingers twisting the knob before pushing it open.
You could feel him behind you, close enough that his breath ghosted over the back of your neck. Your pulse quickened, and your mouth went dry.
If you turned around, if you so much as looked up at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your composure.
You cleared your throat. “Well… this is it,” you said, flicking the lights on.
The mirror above the sink lit up instantly, creating a warm glow across the tiled room. And in the reflection, you saw the two of you framed in the doorway.
And then you caught him.
His gaze wasn’t on the bathroom at all—it was on you.
You saw the way his jaw was clenched tight as his eyes trailed over the slope of your bare shoulders, his gaze lingering on the thin bikini straps pressed against your soft skin.
You didn’t say a word. And truthfully, you didn’t want to—because if you spoke, you would snap him out of it.
You wanted him to keep staring at you. You wanted to feel his eyes dragging over your body slowly, down your shoulders, over the curve of your waist and hips, to every inch of bare skin your bikini left exposed.
He wasn’t touching you, but his eyes felt like a touch—scorching, intimate. It made your stomach twist and your thighs press together. Through the mirror, you watched as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, a low groan slipping from his chest like he was fighting something back.
God, did that stare burn so bad.
You wanted him to touch you—just a light graze of his fingertips, the heat of his palm against your waist. Anything.
For a second, you’re convinced he might actually do it—close that little bit of space between you, press you up against the doorframe, and give you what you’ve been craving.
But instead, he tore his gaze away. He stepped past you into the bathroom, his shoulder brushing yours. The brief contact had a soft gasp catching in your throat, your body already trembling at something so small.
“Thanks,” he muttered before reaching for the door and shutting it behind him.
You were left standing in the hall, your pulse thudding loudly in your ears. You felt your skin warm where his shoulder brushed yours—you almost felt feverish. You should’ve gone back to the couch and pretend like nothing happened.
But instead, you found yourself pacing in the living room, restless and unable to sit still.
Bucky was in your house. He was actually in your damn house.
And yet, the worst part was knowing that the second he came back out, he’d go right back to normal—back to his work, back to being dismissive, like none of this had ever happened.
But as the minutes dragged on, your heart couldn’t help but slam harder in your chest with each second he remained behind that closed door. Any normal person would assume that he was… taking a number two. Instead, a dangerous thought crept in—the idea that maybe he was in there because he felt it too.
Because he couldn’t hold back any more than you could.
That he was in there touching himself.
Because of you.
By the time the bathroom door creaked open, your breath was shallow with anticipation and your palms clammy.
Your head whipped to the hall just as Bucky stepped out, broad shoulders filling the doorway. His hair was damp, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the sweat, or from splashing water over his face.
“Uh—are you… are you okay?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
He dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw, his expression unreadable as his eyes took you in.
“I’m fine,” he said, dismissive as ever—yet his voice was rougher, like gravel.
At this point, you expected him to brush past you, head back outside and lose himself in the pipes. That’s what he always did, and that’s what you told yourself to expect.
But he didn’t move.
You interlocked your fingers as your hands rested in front of you, looking prim as if he was the owner of the house and you were the one serving him.
“Um—do you, uh, want something to drink before you head back out?” you offered. “Or you could sit down for a bit, maybe relax for a second? It’s hotter today than yesterday, and—”
“I want a tour,” he cut you off.
“A house tour?” you blinked, flustered. “O-okay… let me just change—”
“No need,” he interrupted calmly, his eyes flickering briefly down to your body before coming back to your face. “It’ll be quick anyway. Gotta fix those pipes.”
Your cheeks warmed up. A house tour was the last thing you expected out of him, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe this was his version of a break. You straightened your shoulders and tried to play it cool.
“Alright… well, we’ll start here,” you said, gesturing to the living room couch where you had been lounging earlier. You walked him past the coffee table, and with your back now turned to him, you couldn’t help but if his eyes were lingering on your body the same way it did at the bathroom
“This couch,” you continued, forcing yourself to sound light and casual, “is where I usually read or watch movies. Very comfortable, and it gets plenty of sunlight.”
Bucky stood close behind you. “Vitamin D,” he said. “Very important.” He glances down at the couch. “Do you mind if I take a seat?”
If it were any other man, you would’ve been revulsed at the thought—your pristine, expensive couch soaking up sweat from someone who had been working in the sun all day.
But Bucky wasn’t any other man.
“Please,” you reassured, motioning with a smile. “Be my guest.”
He let out a quiet huff as he settled down, the cushions sinking under his weight. His broad shoulders stretched across the backrest, making your large couch look small. One hand slid along the cushion, testing the give of the fabric.
“It’s comfortable,” he said flatly.
You laughed a little too quickly, the nerves getting at you. “I get only the best. I… spend a lot of time here.”
Bucky tilted his head slightly, and for a second, you thought that he’d get up and give one of his usual gruff responses. But instead, he patted the empty cushion beside him, inviting you as if the house wasn’t under your name.
“Have a seat.”
Your breath got stuck in your throat. “Uh—okay,” it was unexpected, but you shrugged and settled down anyway, your bare thigh grazing against his. “Sure.”
He leaned back into the couch, arms stretched lazily across the top, one long leg crossing over the other. For someone stepping into your living room for the first time, he sure sat there like he owned it.
You perched on the edge of the cushion, hands folded primly in your lap while he looked as though he belonged—like this was his space, not yours.
“Can I ask you something?”
You turned, eyes slightly wide at the sudden question. “Anything.”
He looked around the room with an unreadable expression, taking in the expanse of the clean kitchen, the wide dining area, and the chandelier dangling on the high ceiling.
“Your house is big,” he said. “Most houses I work for, there’s a family, or people coming and going. But here…” his eyes land back on you. “You’re always by yourself. Why is that?”
You felt yourself going stiff. The bikini you put on to draw him closer suddenly felt like a mistake—because right now, with the way his eyes pinned you, you wished you were wearing anything else.
“I don’t really…” you hesitated, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “I don’t really like having that many people over. It makes it dirty, and I like the solitude sometimes, you know?”
His head tilted slightly. The silence that followed felt tense, until his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk. “So that’s why your house is so clean?” his voice was rougher, almost teasing. “Would be a shame if someone like me were to come in and dirty it up, wouldn’t it?”
“W-what?” you stuttered, but tried to hide it with a small laugh.
Spurred on by your flustered reaction, his smirk grew wider as he leaned in closer, his voice coming to a growl.
“What’s wrong? Thought you always wanted me to come inside your house.”
The way he said it, voice deep and husky, made your stomach twist and your legs press together. He wasn’t just talking about the house, and you both knew it.
Bucky’s eyes swept lazily around the room before settling back on you.
“I want to see the rest of your place,” he said, “but your couch… it’s pretty damn comfortable.”
You opened your mouth, unsure if you should argue or joke, but the words never made it out. He shuffled, leaning closer, his thick thigh pressing harder against yours.
“Scoot closer,” he murmured.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous, but you did as he asked and slid closer until the heat of his body filled every inch of space beside you.
That’s when his hand glided gently on your bare thigh. His fingers were rough. Warm. His thumb moves in slow circles against your skin, testing you.
“Tell me more about the living room,” he coaxed, his tone deceptively casual.
He looked at you and spoke as though he wasn’t even touching you, as though his hand wasn’t resting heavy and warm on your thigh. His touch was deceptively gentle, but it was enough to make your whole body tremble.
Enough to leave you aching for more.
“Um… well, I usually… uh—read here… watch movies and sometimes, you know… just nap,” you stammered.
It was insane, really— how confident you were when trying to coax him in. But your words faltered as his head leaned closer, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck. A soft kiss, then another, each one carving into your skin as his hand traveled higher.
“And the rug…” you blurted out, desperate for composure. “It’s one of my favorites—it’s a limited-edition Oushak. Handwoven, cream and pale blue… only ten of them in the world.”
A soft press of his lips, followed by the scrape of his teeth and the slow glide of his tongue over your neck, left your breath caught in your throat. His hand squeezed your thigh, creeping dangerously higher to the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms.
“Where is it from?” he muttered against your skin.
You knew he didn’t care for the answer, yet you gave it to him anyway. “An—ah—it’s, uh… it was imported, um—from… f-from Turkey? Or Persia—somewhere like that—I don’t, I can’t—”
Your words were barely making sense now, every syllable trembling off your tongue. Because it had been so long—so long since anyone touched you like this. And being touched by the man who you secretly sought after made your head spin like crazy.
His hand slid up higher and wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you close against him. You let out a soft gasp, your body trembling as you pressed into his hard, warm, and muscular frame.
“Bucky…!” you breathed, your hands rising instinctively and brushing against his bicep.
But before you could go any further, his hand shot out immediately and caught your wrist. His grip on your wrist was gentle, but the movement was rough as he guided your hands back down to your sides with ease.
“Keep your hands at your sides.”
You sucked in a deep breath, both embarrassment and arousal tingling inside you. The audacity of him—to be so commanding here, in your own damn house. He worked for you. It should’ve been the other way around. And yet, you cursed yourself for nodding because you were just simply too flustered to resist.
He grinned faintly at your obedience.
“Go on,” he said, lips ghosting over your ear as his hand caressed your naked waist. “Tell me more about the house.”
“Bucky,” you hesitated, blinking up at him. “What are you… what are you trying to do—”
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he grunted, his nose brushing against your jawline. He pulled away slightly to catch your gaze, his blue eyes dark and desperate, pinning you in place. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to come inside?”
“Well… yes, but—”
“Then go on.” He pressed, leaning closer. “Let’s relax for a bit, yeah? Just lay back…” he looked around the living room slowly, “and tell me more about your beautiful home.”
His hand slid down your waist and around your back, his touch firm but careful as he guided you back against the couch cushions. He moved with you, settling himself between your legs, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart.
“Bucky..” you whispered, your voice shaky even though you made no move to stop him.
He lowered himself slowly, his stubble grazing against the sensitive inside of your thigh. One kiss, then another—each torturously gentle, each one leaving your body trembling even harder.
“Go on,” he encouraged as he pressed another kiss higher. “Tell me more about your living room.”
Your head fell back against the couch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you tried to string words together.
“Um… the… the ceilings are high—so high, and the chandelier… it’s uh, imported crystal. Very… elegant.”
Bucky’s lips curved up against your thigh, a soft, raspy chuckle vibrating against your skin. His mouth traveled higher until, finally it pressed firmly against the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. The sudden heat of his lips over your most sensitive spot made you jolt, a sharp gasp escaping your throat as your body shook.
“B-Bucky…” you panted, your hips bucking up instinctively, desperate for more contact. “Please…”
You felt the teasing curl of his smile against you. The thin fabric was already damp with your arousal, and the realization that he could feel it—that he could smell it—sent a hot flush of shame and need up your neck.
“Mmm,” he hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
“You’re soaked, baby. And you smell so fucking sweet,” his tongue flicking over your clothed folds. “What was that you said about your… chandelier? Imported crystal?”
Then, his tongue flicked out, dragging over your wet folds through the fabric, the damp barrier doing nothing to dull the sensation. The light, tormenting trace of him had your hips rutting up shamelessly, chasing more friction, more of him.
“Oh, God—Bucky. I need you—”
Your thighs quivered around his head as his tongue traced you again, the sticky fabric preventing you from feeling the real thing. He was playing with you, tormenting you, making you unravel with just the smallest movements of his mouth.
“Need me? What could you need from me that you don’t already have, baby?” he taunted, his hand rubbing up and down your thigh. “You’ve already got a fancy rug, a chandelier… so don’t be greedy now, sweetheart.”
Your hands fisted the cushions harder, nails biting into the fabric as your legs quivered around him. “I can’t—I need more, please, I need—”
Before you could finish, he shoved your bottoms to the side, exposing your slick heat to the cool air. A guttural groan escaped him at the sight, his eyes darkening as if he had been starving for this. He didn’t hesitate—didn’t want to waste another second as his mouth dropped back down, tongue flattening against your folds in one long, hungry lick.
“Oh my god!” you cried, your back arching as your hands flew to cover your face, too overwhelmed to do anything else. “Bucky—”
“Mm..” He hummed against you, savoring your taste before dragging his tongue even slower, teasing your sensitive clit. “Tell me more about the house, baby. The floors… they’re waxed, aren’t they?”
God. Here you were—sprawled out and nearly naked on your couch with your pool cleaner’s head in between your legs. This very moment felt like straight out of a dream, but here he was, asking about your wax floors.
“Y-yeah…” you panted. “The… the floors, they’re… w-waxed every—oh, fuck—every week.”
“Every week, huh?” he muttered into you, lips curling before he dove back in, sucking hard on your swollen clit until you cried out. “That why they shine so pretty?”
You have a very good feeling he isn’t just talking about the floors anymore. You could barely answer, choking on your moans, thighs shaking violently around his head. Your grip on the couch cushions grew desperate, clawing at the fabric for any ounce of stability.
Then came his fingers. Two, thick and rough, sliding through your soaked folds, teasing, spreading you open.
“F-fuck…” you gasped, hips twitching uncontrollably.
Without warning, he shoved them inside deep, curling instantly against your softest spot. Your cry was sharp, needy, your back arching off the couch.
“B-Bucky!”
He didn’t let you adjust—his tongue fucking your clit in rhythm with the hard thrusts of his fingers, pumping into you wet and fast, filling the room with the sounds of your pussy squelching against his hand along with his deep grunts and groans.
“That’s it, baby,” he grunted. “Cry for me. Fuck—you sound so fuckin’ pretty…”
The sound of his mouth, your wet pussy squelching from his fingers filled the air. Your body was unraveling, every nerve tightening as your stomach knotted hard, the edge of release coming into you with brutal speed. “I—fuck… feels so good. I’m so close, I’m—”
But just as you were about to come undone, he stopped.
His mouth pulled away. His fingers slipped out with a wet pop as he left you trembling, wet, and aching for more.
A broken whimper left your lips as he casually tugged your bikini bottom back into place, covering the mess he’d just made of you.
“Bucky—why—” your voice cracked as you tried sitting up.
He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it was nothing.
“You’ll get more when I’m ready.” He leaned back, calm as ever, while you trembled beneath him. “Now… are you going to show me the rest of this pretty house?”
You whimpered, legs still trembling. “Bucky… please…”
He pushed himself up slowly, adjusting himself in his work pants, the heavy outline of his cock impossible to miss. His eyes dragged over you—every curve, every shake of your body as you arched unconsciously toward him. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip at the delicious sight. Watching you come apart for him was already driving him mad.
When he took a step back from the couch, you moved without thinking.
“Wait…” you scrambled, crawling to the edge of the cushions. Your hands trailed along the thick muscle of his thigh until they found the waistband of his pants. You tugged gently, voice desperate and a quiet whisper. “I… I want to taste too—”
His eyes darkened instantly, locking on yours, and before you could pull him closer, his large hand wrapped around yours. The grip was firm, authoritative, and deliciously commanding.
“No,” he growled. “Tour first.”
Your brows furrowed, lips parting in disbelief.
You were frustrated, aroused, and utterly confused. Why was he torturing you like this? Didn’t he know that you needed him so bad? You were so close, and you can still feel your pussy fluttering against the thin fabric of your bikini—aching for him. A frustrated whine left your mouth as your nails dug into his hand, trying to tug him closer anyway.
But Bucky only shook his head, smirking faintly at your desperation. He leaned down until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath making your skin prickle.
“You wanted me inside,” he said quietly. “Now show me your house.”
None of this made sense. You couldn’t understand why he was dragging this out, why he wouldn’t just give you what you were begging for. But God, you couldn’t stop yourself from listening. You were already addicted to him enough—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand… it could undo you completely.
So you swallowed hard, nodded, and stood up. Your legs were weak, trembling with every step as you moved ahead of him, leading him towards the staircase.
“That’s it,” Bucky purred behind you, deep and mocking. “Good girl. Lead the way.”
Your fingers held onto the banister as you climbed, your thighs brushing with each step, the subtle friction of simply walking making you go mad. The fabric of your bikini felt suffocating and sticky, and you knew he could see it in the way your hips swayed as you walked.
“You’re shaking,” he taunted softly. “Legs that weak already? And I’ve barely touched you.”
“Bucky…” you whispered, not sure if you were pleading or warning.
“Keep going,” his hand brushed against your lower back, steadying you like he owned your body. “Show me more of this big, empty house that you’re so proud of.”
When you reached the landing, you paused, swallowing hard and desperate to catch your breath. But Bucky was already closing the gap, his chest brushing against your bare shoulder blades.
“This is… the hallway,” you said quickly, gesturing down the long stretch of polished wood and soft lighting. “I, um… had these sconces imported from Italy. They’re—”
“Imported,” Bucky cut you off, his tone slightly mocking and amused. “Everything in this house’s imported, huh?”
Your cheeks burned, and you tried to keep walking, pointing towards a piece of art hanging on the wall. “That’s an original oil painting, early 19th cent—”
His chest pressed harder against your back, trapping you between him and the wall. Warm breath brushed over the shell of your ear, and then his mouth was on your neck again—soft kisses, then rougher as his hands slid around your waist.
“B-bucky…” you sighed, “please, can we just—”
“Keep going,” he murmured. “Don’t stop.”
His hands gripped your waist tight as he rolled his hips forward, his hard length grinding against your ass through the barrier of his work pants. The friction was maddening as he rutted up against you, hard and slow.
“Th-that… that painting… it’s, um, early 19th century—ah!”
Your words broke apart the minute his lips found that sweet spot just under your ear, sucking until you whimpered.
“You already said that, baby,” he growled. One hand slipped up, cupping your breast through the tiny triangle of your bikini top, thumb flicking over the hardened bud. “C’mon, give me something new.”
His other hand pressed lower, flattening against your tummy as he rutted against you harder, each thrust of his hips pushing you forward a step.
“F-fuck…” he hissed through gritted teeth, his breath ragged in your ear.
His rutting grew rougher, his cock thick and heavy against the curve of your ass through his pants. Your palms splayed flat against the wall, the sconces rattling faintly from the impact.
You were a shaking, whimpering mess under him. “The—th-the flooring,” you babbled, “mahogany… oh god, imported from Brazil…!” Your words were caught off by a sharp moan as his hands slipped under the bikini, squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple.
“Imported,” he repeated mockingly, panting as he ground against you. “Fuck, baby, you feel that? You’re makin’ me so fucking hard.”
“Bucky—please, please,” you whined, shamelessly pushing your hips back into him, grinding against the thick outline of his cock. The friction sent sparks up your spine, your thighs quivering and clit throbbing.
“Shit,” he cursed, forehead pressing into your shoulder as his hips rutted against you harder, sloppier. His hands roamed and fondled you roughly as he fucked against you through his pants. “Gonna make a mess in my work clothes if you keep wiggling that ass against me.”
You gasped, head tipping back helplessly against his chest. “Then do it—fuck, please—”
“Goddamn, you’re fucking desperate,” his hand circled up around your neck, not choking, but squeezing gently as he held you in place and rutted faster. “Keep talkin’ about the house, pretty girl. Go on. Tell me about your perfect little hallway while I ruin you right here.”
You nearly collapsed and his hand finally slid under the thin band of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing through your slick heat.
“B-Bucky!” you gasped, hips jerking when the pad of his finger circled your clit. The contrast—his hand working you, his hips grinding rough and needy into your ass, it had your body unraveling in seconds.
“That’s it,” he rasped against your ear. “Fuckin’ soaked for me. So good, baby.”
You whimpered and clawed at the wall, your body caught between his rutting cock and those ruthless circles around your clit. “Please—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” he panted, hips stuttering as his cock pulsed and leaked hard against you, the friction almost unbearable for him too. “Gonna come for me right here in your pretty hallway? Fuck—me too, baby, me too—”
But just as your body tensed, pleasure right there at the edge, he tore his hand away. His hips stilled, chest heaving against your back as his grip on your waist tightened before letting you go.
The sudden loss felt like ice water in your veins.
“N-no, no,” you begged, looking over your shoulder with pleading eyes. “Please, not again. Why—”
He chuckled as he pressed a mocking kiss to your cheek. “Not yet,” his hand caressed down your thigh while the other tugged your swimsuit back into place. “Tour’s not finished.”
Your body was trembling beneath him. You’re about to turn around, grip onto his shirt and start begging, but his rough voice cut through.
“Show me your bedroom.”
You swallowed hard, cheeks burning, every nerve frustrated from being denied. “Bucky…” you whispered in plea, but you didn’t dare to finish your sentence with the dark look he was giving you.
His fingers came up and brushed your cheek in a teasing stroke, making you jolt. “You gonna keep me waiting? Or do I need to find it myself?”
Your knees nearly buckled, the thought of him striding into your private space—into the most intimate part of your house made your heart beat even faster in your chest. With a shaky breath, you straightened up while still clinging to the wall for support, and nodded.
“This way,” you said, legs trembling as you took small steps down the hallway.
Behind you, you could hear him exhale a soft laugh, amused at how weak and needy you were from so little.
Your hand trembled as you turned the knob, pushing the door open to your bedroom. The soft scent of your perfume was floating in the air, laced with fresh linen and the faint sweetness of flowers from the vase on your nightstand.
“This is it,” you said softly, stepping aside so he could see.
The room looked pristine. Large windows—where you could get the full view of him, of course—with sheer curtains to let in the afternoon light. A perfectly made bed with ivory sheets, not a thing out of place.
It was your sanctuary. Your most private place.
And now he was in it.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in every inch of the room before landing on you again.
“Figures,” he said. “Perfect. Clean. Polished. Just like the rest of the house.”
You fidgeted, your palms brushing nervously over your thighs. “I… I like to keep things neat. It helps me feel—”
“Safe?” he interrupted, his voice almost a growl. He pushed off the frame and stepped closer to you. “Then why’d you invite me in, sweetheart? I’m the messiest thing that could ever happen to this house.”
Your breath caught, your heart hammering in your chest. “I didn’t let you in,” you whispered. “You… invited yourself in, actually.”
His jaw ticked, a dangerous flash of amusement glinting in his eyes. “Lay down,” he ordered suddenly, his voice rough and demanding. “On the bed. Now.”
Your gaze darted from his still-sweaty and still-dirty work clothes to your untouched, pristine sheets. The contrast made your stomach twist.
“Uh… I don’t know—”
“Are you kidding me?” he scoffed, crossing his large arms over his broad chest, muscles flexing. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since the day I started working for you, and now that I’m standing here, you’re telling me you don’t want me in your bed?”
“Well,” your eyes flicked from his sweat-stained shirt to your spotless sheets. “I don’t mean to offend, but… you’re dirty—”
Before you could even finish, his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, greedy, stealing the rest of the words right off your tongue. His rough stubble scraped against your skin, his lips bruising yours.
“I was rubbing all over you in your hallway—” another hard kiss, “had my tongue and fingers buried in your pussy—” his hand grabbed your hip, dragging you closer against him as he kissed you harder, “and now you’re worried about cleanliness?”
Bucky’s mouth left yours, lips stealing kisses down your jaw and down your throat. You were panting, clutching desperately at his shirt.
“You think I care about these clean sheets?” he muttered against your skin. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me—every damn day, like you want me to ruin every inch of this perfect house?”
Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. “Bucky…”
He leaned back, eyes boring into yours with a hunger you couldn’t quite explain. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip.
“Fine,” he grunted. “If you’re that worried about the bed, I’ll just have to fuck you on your pretty waxed floors like a slut, then.”
Before you could respond, his hands wrapped around tight around your waist, lifting you up and gently setting you down on the floor. The cool hardwood hit your bare back, your hair spilling across the glossy wax as he hovered over you. The contrast made your skin prickle—your perfect, polished sanctuary versus the filthy way he was pinning you down in it.
“You like that, don’t you?” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide with one big hand while his other gripped your jaw to keep your eyes on him. “The thought of me ruining all your hard work—dirty boots, sweaty body, cum dripping down your nice clean floors.”
A broken moan tore from you, your back arching under him as your thighs trembled. “Bucky—please…”
“Please what?” he taunted as he ground his hard cock through his work pants against your barely covered pussy. “Please fuck you like the needy little slut you are? Right here, on the floor you polish every damn week?”
He pulled away slightly to pull his shirt over his head. Then his fingers made quick work of his belt, tugging his work pants down until his cock sprang free. Thick, heavy, the flushed head already slick with precum.
A hiss escaped his lips as his fist wrapped around the hot shaft, working himself with a few steady pumps as his hands tugged at your bikini, while his other hand yanked your bikini bottoms down your thighs in a single rough motion.
You gasped, trembling, your pussy slick and finally bared for him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, running the tip along your warm folds. He tapped against your clit once, making your hips jerk. “Look at you… already dripping.”
He smirked, leaning over you. “You’ve been trying to get me in this house for so long. Always flirting, always begging. This is what you really wanted, isn’t it?” he nudged himself against your entrance, just enough to make you cry out. “Don’t be shy now, baby. Say it.”
Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your voice turning into high, breathless moans. “Yes—yes, I wanted this, I wanted you—please, Bucky—”
“That’s a good girl,” he cooed as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming as he pushed in slowly. Your mouth dropped open with a whimper, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.
“God—you’re so tight,” he grunted, jaw clenching as he eased just an inch deeper. “Relax, baby. I’ll be gentle… just—let me in, fuck…”
But gentle wasn’t easy with you clenching and fluttering around him like that. You whimpered louder, your back arching off the floor as the thickness of him split you open. “Bucky—too big—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he rasped, his lips brushing your ear. “Just breathe… let me in, baby.”
He tried to push in deeper, inch by careful inch… but every time he pushed forward, the tightness of your body made his breath hitch. The control he promised you was slipping with every squeeze of your body.
“Too damn tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes flutter shut—trying to keep it together, because damn, did he want this just as badly as you did.
“Could’ve had it on the bed… make it nice and comfortable for you,” another inch, another cry from you. “But no, you didn’t want to dirty it up. So now you’re taking it here, on the floor, like a dirty slut.”
He pushed deeper, almost halfway in before pausing at the tight sensation. He tipped his head back, lips falling to let out a frustrated groan.
“Fuck—but I’m too big, aren’t I?” he slowly pulled back, then back in, fucking you with what’s already inside your clenching pussy.
Your walls fluttered around him, your body trembling as it slowly began to adjust to his large size. The initial sting turned into a deep, burning and delicious stretch, each shallow thrust easing him in further.
“Th-that’s it,” he coaxed sweetly, voice breaking as his hips rolled carefully, testing your limits. “Good girl—taking me so fuckin’ sweet…”
Your nails dug into his shoulders, hips shifting beneath him to meet his slow movements. The pain was melting into pleasure, and every tiny adjustment of your hips let him sink a little deeper.
You were opening up for him, and he could feel it.
His jaw clenched, hovering over you with one hand against the floor to balance himself, and the other gripped in your hip.
“Spread your legs a little higher, baby,” he rasped, voice restrained.
Before you could move yourself, he caught the back of your thighs and pressed them up, folding you into a desperate and messy version of a mating press. The angle had you gasping, crying out at the sudden, deeper stretch.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “Look at you—pretty little thing… takin’ me like this.”
But just as he adjusted his knees on the polished wood, his boot slipped against the waxed and smooth surface.
He lost his grip for just a second, and the slip forced his hips forward in one hard, uncontrolled thrust.
Slamming all the way in.
“Oh my god!”
A helpless cry ripped out of you as your back arched off the floor—hot pleasure and pain shot through your body. Tears blurred at your eyes at the overwhelming stretch, the sudden fullness of him stealing breath from your lungs.
Bucky’s moan was just as wrecked, his forehead leaning against yours as his body shook.
“Shit—fuck—baby… I didn’t mean to—oh, goddamn…” he tried to pull back, but your cunt fluttered too tight around him, clamping down so hard he groaned again, shuddering from the sensation.
You clung to him for support. “S-so full—oh my god, Bucky, don’t—don’t move—”
“Fuck… I–I can’t… s’too late, baby. Feels too good now.”
His words were a growl, ripped straight from his chest as he drew his hips back and slammed forward again, burying himself to the hilt. The waxed floors squeaked beneath you with every rough thrust, the sound swallowed by your moans and his ragged grunts.
“My god… look at you,” he rasped. “All that whining about me being dirty, but here you are—getting ruined on the fucking floor.”
You couldn’t answer or even form a single word—the only thing leaving your lips were strangled moans and broken gasps. The stretch, the fullness of him—it was overwhelming.
And addictive.
“Bucky—” you sobbed, head falling back against the polished floors as tears spilled. “I—oh my god—”
“Shh,” he hushed, voice mixed with gentleness and possession. “Take it. Take all of me. You wanted me in your house, baby? Then fucking have me.”
His thrusts grew harder and deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. Every slam of his hips resulted in another cry from your throat as your body shook beneath him.
You were gone.
Utterly undone.
You were reduced to a babbling, slutty mess.
Bucky’s thrusts were relentless as he fucked you deep. His hand clamped down on your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
“Bet you regret not going on the bed now, huh?” he gritted between shaky groans. “Could’ve had me stretch you out all soft on those pretty sheets… but no—you had to take me right here. On the floor like a dirty little slut.”
Your walls clenched hard around him, and his eyes darkened. His cock twitched deep inside you.
“What do you say, baby?” his voice was rough and possessive as his pace quickened, impatient for an answer. “Want me to breed you while you lay there nice and pretty on your comfy bed?”
You tried to answer, but only broken whimpers and pathetic gasps left from your lips. The words wouldn’t come out, but your body gave you away—your thighs trembling, pussy fluttering desperately around him, already begging without words.
“Uh-uh,” he pinned you down harder, his nose brushing yours as he stared into your eyes. “Don’t just lay there. Tell me.”
But your brain was fried. Completely scrambled by the way he was splitting you open—so you gave the only answer you could.
You nodded, frantic and whiny, tears brimming as your lips formed a silent plea.
Bucky groaned in approval, his control snapping. “That’s my good girl.”
He pulled out, and the sudden emptiness left you whining. His hands gripped your waist firmly, lifting you effortlessly off the floor. A startled yelp escaped your lips as your legs curled around him for support, clinging to his broad body.
He set you down gently on the bed, but his hands didn’t stop exploring—grabbing, gripping, teasing every curve.
He stepped back to the edge of the mattress, and before you could even say anything, he yanked your bikini top off in one rough motion. The straps snapped, falling away to leave your chest bare, nipples already hard and flushed from the heat between you two.
A low growl rumbled from his chest at the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Fuck,” he groaned, already tugging down the rest of his clothes until he stood completely bare. “So fucking beautiful.”
Bucky got on the bed and pressed himself against you, the heat of his heavy cock meeting your dripping folds yet again. You let out a soft gasp as he filled you again slowly this time.
“Think you can take me again, baby?” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tight, tilting your body up to meet every stroke. Each movement was hard, fast, and unrelenting, making you gasp and whimper with every hit.
“F-fuck… yes, Bucky!”
Bucky’s eyes rolled back, jaw tight, as he leaned over you, pressing his forehead to yours. He shifted your legs back into the mating press, hands gripping your hips to tilt you up just right.
“Gonna go even deeper this time, baby,” he panted. “Need you to feel every inch of me.”
“Oh my god, Bucky—fuck… you feel too good,” you moaned, looking up at him with soft and pleading eyes as he fucked into you.
“Look at you, all fancy and perfect… and I’m the filthy pool boy inside you,” he growled, voice rough and raspy. “Taking my rich girl… making you mine.”
Your hips jerked instinctively at the words, thighs trembling around him. “P-please…” you whimpered, fingers tight on his shoulders.
He smirked darkly, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Shut it, baby… you don’t get to talk right now. You just get to feel me—filling you up, making that tight little cunt all mine.”
His hand dug into your hip, pulling you closer as he slammed in deeper.
“Bet you never thought someone like me would get you this wet… taking your perfect little pussy and using it, huh? Fuck, you love it… don’t you?”
Your back arched, hips rolling with his thrusts, and the heat building tight in your stomach, building fast. With a loud and deep groan, he drove into you harder, faster, every stroke pushing you closer.
“Fuck—cum for me, baby,” he growled. “I can feel you squeezing me so tight… fuck, I’m right there too—”
“Bucky—” you gasped, nails dragging down his bare back as your legs trembled violently around his waist. “I’m gonna cum—please, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
That was all it took for him.
“Fuck, sweetheart!”
He slammed into you one last time—hard. Hot streams of his release spilled deep inside you, filling you up while your own orgasm shook you, your body convulsing around him. The wet, messy sound of your cunt milking every drop only drove him further, leaving the both of you trembling, coming undone together in a haze of sweat.
The two of you collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled and sweat-slicked, your chests rising and falling as you caught your breath.
“Good girl,” Bucky’s arm draped possessively across your waist, his hand tracing lazy circles along your hip. “That was so good, sweetheart. You took all of it, baby.”
You rested your head against his naked chest, the warmth of him calming you down. All the while, he’s pressing soft kisses to your sweaty forehead, fingers treading your hair in a gentle and soothing manner.
“Have you… really noticed the way I’ve been trying to catch your attention?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his chest.
Bucky let out a quiet and amused huff, his big palm gliding lazily up and down your spine.
“Yeah,” he said casually. “It was pretty damn obvious.”
There was a brief pause for a moment, just the sounds of your breathing filling the air.
Then, a teasing little smirk curved your lips.
“Well, did you think I didn’t notice you too?”
He raised a brow and tilted his head down to look at you, confused. “What do you mean, baby?”
But you didn’t look up at him.
“When you… stood outside my window. Watching me…” you dragged your nails down his ribs, feeling him tense beneath you. “…jerking off… while I touched myself, thinking about you?”
Bucky froze beneath you, his lips parting but no sound coming out at first. His blue eyes widened and his face flushed in embarrassment.
“You—fuck, you saw that?” his voice broke, suddenly not so cocky anymore.
“Mhm,” you hummed, grinning as your hand slid down his stomach. His abs twitched under your touch, and before he could even process it, your fingers wrapped around his still-hard sensitive cock.
He gasped, body jolting at the contact. “Shit—baby, wait—”
But you didn’t wait. You stroked him slow and steady, relishing the way his entire body trembled under yours. He was the one in control, taunting and commanding… but now?
He was a mess, chest heaving, fists clutching the sheets as he tried and failed to keep his composure as you worked him with your hand.
“You looked so desperate out there,” you teased, leaning down to press your lips against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Stroking your cock while you watched me play with myself. Did it make you crazy? Knowing you couldn’t touch me?”
“Fuck,” his hips jerked up and his legs trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, head shaking. “Baby—please… I’m too sensitive—oh!”
His head fell back against the pillows, a strangled moan coming from his throat as your wrist twisted just right, drawing another bead of precum from him.
He was so sensitive, every stroke making his thighs twitch and his hips buck up helplessly into your hand. “Please, please…” he moaned, “please… my god, it’s too much. Fuck…”
“Not so smug now, huh?” you purred, giving him a firmer squeeze that made him hiss through clenched teeth. “My poor, dirty pool boy. You’re just as needy for me as I am for you.”
Before he could respond, you straddled him slowly, the head of his cock nudging against your puffy and wet folds as you settled onto his hips. His whole body went taut, a groan ripping from his chest as his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, trying to stop you.
“Fuck…” he whimpered, eyes glued to where you were teasing him, your wetness smearing over his flushed tip. “Baby, I can’t—shit, I’m still—”
A soft and not-so-innocent giggle left your lips. You leaned down, lips brushing his jaw as your hips rolled just enough to make him twitch beneath you. He sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing helplessly against your drenched heat.
“House tour’s not done, Bucky,” you whispered, your smirk brushing against the corner of his mouth. “We’ve still got a third floor.”
𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊! ❜
thank you for reading <3
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦
It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.
But he’s everywhere.
There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.
Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.
That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.
“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”
You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”
“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“
“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”
Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not-“
“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.
“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.
“Congratulations.”
You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-
Get a fucking grip.
“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.
You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.
It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.
You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.
Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.
The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.
“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.
Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.
You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your job?”
“It’s not my job-“
“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
“Have you been carrying that around all day?”
“That doesn’t matter-“
“Yes, it really does-“
Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“
“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“
“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“
“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”
“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.
But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.
“Why’re you skipping.”
You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.
“I have a date.”
“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.
Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.
“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”
“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.
“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“
The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
“What’s-“
“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.
“No, he’s not-“
“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”
Then he’s gone.
And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.
You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.
“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.
You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.
At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.
“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”
He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.
The mission is over.
Two days early.
Your jaw tightens.
Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.
Something went wrong, and they have to come back.
You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But they’re back early.
And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all.
You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just… Finish early.
You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.
Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.
“You need to go, Buck-“
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“
“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
“Hi.” You whisper.
His throat bobs. “You’re back.”
“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“
“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.
He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.
“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“
“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”
Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.
“How was your date?” He grunts.
“Bucky-“
“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.
The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.
You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”
And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.
But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.
“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”
Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.
Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.
Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.
“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.
You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.
“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.
That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.
You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.
Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehow—just barely—fight it.
“Why can’t I access these files.”
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.
“Barnes-“
“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”
You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“
“Steve should change that.”
God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”
Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”
You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.
Instead, you find Bucky.
He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.
You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.
“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
“You want hot chocolate?”
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.
His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.
Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”
You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.
But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.
That he wants to be here.
Near you.
He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.
Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.
It’s almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.
But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.
You feel almost sick.
It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.
His fever is building again.
You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.
When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.
You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘
But it is Bucky.
And he’s never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.
“Hi.” You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“
“Bucky, are you-“
“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.
“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“
“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
“Bucky-“
“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”
You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.
But you do go right to Steve.
“What happened on the mission.”
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.
“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“
“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’
“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“
“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”
You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”
Steve sighs. “Is it you?”
“Yep.”
He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“
“I really don’t care.”
“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.
“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“
“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
“No, you just won’t tell me-“
“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“
“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“
“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”
“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.
“I know how it sounds-“
“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“
“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole.
“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Steve-“
“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”
Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“
You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.
And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”
You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”
You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.
But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.
“What are the symptoms?”
Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”
“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”
“But- Bucky-“
“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”
“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”
Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”
“Before or after the mating?”
Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“
“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”
“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
“What-“
“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
“Steve-“
“I didn’t say anything-“
“Yes, you did-“
“Nope.”
You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”
Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.
“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.
After you fix this for him.
If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.
Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesn’t turn you down…
You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
“Fuck off, Stevie-“
“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response.
Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.
He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.
His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.
You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
“You shouldn’t be here-“
“Steve said you need me.”
You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.
“I- I made him.”
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”
“I was worried about you-“
“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“
“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“
“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”
He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.
“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“
“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“
“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.
“Who says?”
“You’re an ass to me-“
“You’re an ass to me.”
“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.
“Me neither.”
You nod. “But…”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.
Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.
You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.
“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”
And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.
But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didn’t know you could want him more.
“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”
For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.
Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
“You- You got no idea, do you?”
Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“
“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.
“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.
“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”
“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.
“Didn’t you?”
You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Bet I imagined more.”
And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.
You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”
You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.
“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”
Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.
You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.
“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.
“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“
He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.
Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.
You can’t have that.
“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
“How?”
“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.
“You think this is funny?” He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”
He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.
“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“
“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“
Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.
There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.
A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.
Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.
“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.
You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.
“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.
“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”
You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.
Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.
“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.
You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.
“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”
And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.
So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.
Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.
“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”
You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.
“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.
Permission to go further.
His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.
“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.
A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“
“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“
His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.
Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.
“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.
“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.
He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.
Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.
You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.
“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“
“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“
He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.
And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.
“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.
Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.
He’s jerking off while he eats you out. He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.
Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.
“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“
Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.
You don’t want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.
“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles
“Good girl.” He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.
“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.
“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But you’re at an advantage.
Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.
You want him to give in.
So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.
Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.
“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”
You almost beam. Yes, please.
Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.
He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”
If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.
But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.
The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.
“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.
He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.
You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.
Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.
“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.
He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.
“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“
“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“
Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.
And he’s not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.
You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.
He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.
You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.
Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.
You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
They’re blue again.
“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
“I’m back.”
You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.
You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.
He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.
God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-
Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.
He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-
“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”
Oh.
Or that. That’s nice.
You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.
Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.
“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.
“Yeah. I’m staying.”
✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
imagine waking up one morning, the sun gently warming your face as you turn over, expecting your husband’s side of the bed to be cold like it usually is, only to find him still dead asleep next to you.
To others, it might seem like a couple spending a cozy morning in bed together, but panic creeps up your spine so quickly your heart nearly beats out of your chest because this isn’t like your man at all.
Usually, Bucky is up and out of bed with the sun rise, as he never really managed to get rid of the habits he developed as a soldier.
Sure, he always comes right back to bed when he notices you’re waking up, ready to spoil you with cuddles and fresh coffee first thing in the morning, but this isn’t something that has ever happened before. Bucky never sleeps in, not even after a long and grueling mission or when he isn’t feeling well. Now, it’s 9 am already, and you can’t help but carefully shake his shoulder, trying to wake him up as gentle as calm as possible even though you are anything but.
“Buck?” Your voice isn’t much more than a whisper, but the urgency hidden underneath makes his eyelashes flutter immediately. “Everything okay?”
The sound that slips past his lips is definitely not one you would expect from a super soldier like him, a whine more than it is a groan.
“No,” he complains, blindly reaching for you so he can tug you closer and nuzzle his face against your stomach, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt now. “You are a crazy woman, you know that? I won’t ever recover again. This is it.”
It takes you a moment to understand what the hell he is talking about, but when do, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your fingers comfortingly running through his hair. “That bad, huh?”
”Bad? I’m broken, sweetheart. Leave it up to you to completely wreck a super soldier. Not that I’m complaining, though.”
“Of course you’re not,” you agree, your thoughts going back to how good you’d made him feel last night, finding out just how much his enhanced stamina could actually handle, making him take you until your husband couldn’t give anymore.
Turns out, testing just how often your man can cum in one evening is enough to leave him spent and exhausted like nothing else ever manages to wear him out.
And if that is enough to give him a break from the buzzing energy usually running through his nerves?
Yeah, you are definitely going to do it again.
(yeah that’s it I think this is my sign to go to bed now.)
You know who'd talk you through it? Bucky. Bucky would talk you through it. I'm feral therefore this is feral. I always say I'm sorry after writing shit like this but this time I'm genuinely sorry, lost sight of the plot.
18+ af, minors dni
I'm gonna finish a wip, I swear, but just imagine for a moment, Bucky being intimate with the most soft shy little bunny ever and learning what she likes based on all the pretty moans and squeals he can pull out of her. He gauges what she's into based on how fucking soaked his balls get from the way she drips on him. Her pussy gets so tight around his dick and he knows whatever he's doing is working because she
She was too scared to tell him anything about what she liked so there was a lot of experimenting in the start. He took it soft and slow at first, basking in how warm her body felt against his, relishing in those quiet sighs she makes when he rolls his hips. For a while he thinks that's as vocal as she gets until a slightly harder thrust of his cock makes her squeak, her cunt clenching around him. His eyes widen at this new found discovery, thrusting harder and harder each time, that squeak turning into a slutty moan.
So she can get louder...
It's become a game for him, talking you through every single orgasm he pulls from you, growing more and more feral over how vocal you are when he does something new.
"Mmph, fuck yeah, that's it baby, moan f'me" He coos as he fucks his fingers in you faster while kneeling in front of you, his own knees keeping yours apart. He's truly playing with your body to his own delight having you naked, legs spread far apart with your pussy on display for him. He loves fingering you because he gets to look at your entire body whither beneath him. Little does he know how crazy it makes you because while he towers over you, eyes raking over your pleasure consumed form, you're admiring him right back. His thick pink cock is so full and hard standing achingly tall. His balls look deliciously heavy and you love the way he uses his knees to keep you spread because he ends up showing off even more of his sac and you are rightfully obsessed.
Your clit makes him drool. It's so perfectly sensitive and he's perfected licking, rubbing and sucking it till your gushing on his face and pulling his hair.
"Y'like that huh baby" He whispers to himself when he rubs faster and you start to claw at his arms, your back arching off the bed, moans growing louder. He watches your reaction like a predator watching it's prey waiting for the perfect moment to let you fall.
"Y-ess" You manage to cry out but Bucky thinks you can do better.
"Y'know what m'gonna do now bunny?" He knows you can't answer but based on the way your clit is throbbing against his fingers your attention is 100% on him. You loved his dirty talking and he's going to keep going until the sheets need to be changed. "M'gonna lick and suck on that pretty little clit of yours, you like that, don't you?"
You frantically nod and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his own cock getting wet at the thought of tasting you.
"Lookit what you do to me" He pulls his hand away making you look down so you can see him squeeze his cockhead, smearing his arousal onto your swollen bud, tears falling from your cheeks from how erotic and dirty he was. He rubs his tip all over not bothering to muffle his own whines and whimpers, "M'so fuckin' sensitive here baby" He'd never miss a chance to edge you both, your most sensitive parts rubbing against each other until he's done teasing. "See how wet you make me bunny? You're not the only one who gets soaked baby, shit you make me so wet"
You can see clear sticky webs clinging from his cockhead to your clit as he continues to tap and rut himself against you, "Don't worry baby, I'll clean up the mess I make"
He goes down between your legs, starting off with tentative licks like a kitten. That's before he lets those pouty lips of his seal around you, suckling with needy gurgles as if he were drinking milk. He groans at the taste of his own precum he marked you with, your taste combined with his makes him nearly cum.
"O-OOH-" The squirm of your legs are held still by his arms. He doesn't know how anyone other than you can look so adorably sweet and slutty at the same time with your eyes rolling back, jaw slack, sinful sounds filling the room, your white cream making a mess on the sheets. His dick is dripping and while he'd love for you to finish on his face, he knows that's not your favourite way to cum.
No.
Your loudest moans are when your filled with his cock while he plays with your clit with his lips by your ear.
Favourite position? You're not picky but he knows the ones you love the most. Your pussy gets so tight when he puts you in the sluttiest ones.
"Good girl, good fuckin' girl" He whispers tugging your earlobe between his teeth while maintaining a brutal pace, the sweat slicking his chest hot against your back. You're kneeling while he fucks you from behind, holding your body up, one hand wrapped around your throat while the other holds your hip. He wasn't sure how you'd feel about being choked until you squirted on him the first time he did it. "You love my fat cock don't you bunny, slut for big dick-" He brings his hand down to slap your clit making you sob, your wetness squirting onto the sheets, body limp in his hold, "Baby, you're soaking my balls, should make you suck them clean"
You moan louder.
Bucky smirks.
He's going to keep going.
"You like that don't you, you wanna lick my balls clean angel? Empty them first and then get down and suck 'em. Suck my cock, drink up all the cum that's still dripping after I cum in you"
That's all it takes. You're cumming without warning but Bucky's gonna make your orgasm last minutes if possible, his dirty talking getting filthier with each clench of your pussy.
"M'gonna be all sensitive for you angel, y' know how hard m'gonna cum for you? Gonna keep on cumming until I'm all empty"
"You're such a slut huh, you'd suck my cock even if it was soft-oh shhit baby-you like that too? You like me turning soft for you? You want daddy to get subby for you baby, hm?"
"I-I-Oh god James!!!" You whine and desperately try to fuck yourself back on him to prolong how good he's making you feel, all these feral thoughts too much-He reaches to pinch your clit, now rolling it between his fingers and you nearly pass out-
At this point anything he says doesn't matter. Maybe it happens. Maybe it doesn't. He just says anything and everything that clouds both your fantasies that make you sob and sob from overstimulation.
"I can be subby for you bunny, y'know that. Tell daddy what you want, you can have anything y'want"
"Love when you lick my balls, clean my cock. Shit, y'know I'd let you touch me anywhere baby"
The very thought of what that entails sends you into a second orgasm.
"s'that it? You wanna taste daddy, bunny? Touch me where no one else has? Hm? Just my bunny putting her cute little tongue on my-
"FUUCCCKKKKKKK" You fall forward and love being smothered by him, lying flat on your tummy while he mounts you from behind letting his full body collapse on you.
"So little under me, no where to run, you make me wanna breed you when you're like this baby, wanna give you all of my cum.
"Bucky-Buckyy!" Your muffled screams and taut body have him pounding you harder, your orgasm squeezing cum out of his body even though he want's to hold it. You make it impossible He's still gonna talk you through it all while falling himself.
"I know, I know baby, feels good-s'good-oh God you're milking my cock bunny-fuckk" His hips stutter to a grind, "Shit I can't st-top, God y/n please-want it-need you" He's babbling at this point, the both of you utterly gone, floating in bliss. He's going to clean and take good good care of you, making a mental note of what he did to get you scream this time. He smirks to himself with his new information, next time he'd be more than happy to see you lose yourself while you play with and lick his-
Tags/warnings (chapter specific): Pregnancy, feels, kind of slutshaming but not really?
Words: 954
Summary: A new year brings significant changes to your life. Pero arrives at your home again with the spring. How will he fit into your life, and can he? Should he?
Taglist: @amneris21 @iamskyereads @inkededucatednnerdy @rambling-in-purple (let me know if you want in!)
Spring sprouts with new life, both outside and inside. You feel the quickening one early morning before you rise, and you put your hand on your belly where the child you have suspected you are carrying has just made itself known for the first time.
You knew this day was coming, the day when the turn had come to you to have a child of your own, someone to teach all the things your mother would have taught you had she not died when you were very young. The things your grandmother taught you instead, with the wisdom of years your mother never had. You wish you still had your grandmother with you, to guide you and let you know what to expect, but it has been years since she passed. And you know the basics of it, the process and progress, the complications that can arise.
What you were unprepared for is the way it makes you feel to have that little butterfly flutter deep in your belly. It makes you smile, yet you already wonder how that little butterfly is going to fare in the womb, in the world. Will you be there for your childer longer than your mother was for you?
You remind yourself that this is how the women of your family reproduce: they take a lover, a passer-by who will never be seen again, and they take his seed, and have a child that will never be his. The crossroads always lead away from the cottage, to the village or the wider world, never back again.
The tiny butterfly flutters in your womb follow you to the shed where the cows are gathering for their morning milking. One of them, Rosie, has a little one of her own and you scratch Rosie between the horns and promise that you will never take her baby away. Is the certainty that you are carrying a baby of your own making you softer, more understanding of the grief of separation? Maybe. Still, there is no time for introspection now. The cows need to be milked, the hens let out and fed, your kitchen garden is only halfway done for the season.
The sun is warm on your skin when you sow your seeds, whispering your usual blessings to them while also directing some of the well-wishes to the child inside you. You will your own fertility to transfer to the rich soil between your fingers, wish for the baby to grow as strong as your crops. Other than that, you are silent. Grandmother always said that except for the blessings, sowing should be done in silence.
When you stand up and stretch your back, you see the horse emerging from the forest, and Pero on his back.
Pero Tovar. How is he back? How has he found his way where the crossroads meet?
Slowly, you walk to meet him when he has dismounted. He is as terse as ever but raises his hand to brush his fingers over your cheek. His skin is rough, there’s dirt under his nails but your nails are even dirtier.
“You look well.” His voice is rough, low.
You nod, unsure of how this works. What part will he play in your future?
Soon, Pero sits in your kitchen, fingernails cleaned, and devours the meal you have placed in front of him. You sit on the other side of the table, conflicted about what road to take. Should you tell him? Men have never been part of this process after they have planted their seed. Pero is no exception.
Or is he? The man who says he treats women unkindly but would not touch you even when you wanted him to for fear of hurting you. The man who keeps coming back with the changing of the seasons. The man who expects service but demands nothing.
You are morbidly curious about his reaction, you must confess.
“Pero,” you speak up. He looks at you from under those knitted brows. The scar over his left eye seems to cut the iris in half. Is there a brief softness in the way his lips purse?
“I’m with child.”
He barely blinks. “Is it mine?”
You nod. His gaze strays down to your still flat stomach before he directs it back to your face.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing.”
“I have no money.”
“I said I need nothing. I only wanted you to know.”
He scoffs, not unkindly but more matter-of-factly. “I didn’t spill inside of you.”
“Sometimes it still takes.”
“Apparently.”
You stare at each other in silence across the table, waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, Pero rises and digs in his pocket for a few coins.
“I have to go.”
“Keep your money,” you tell him harshly. “I never invited you in for money.”
“No, you did it from kindness. And the same kindness demands I give you money.”
You shake your head, suddenly tired. Is this what women marry for, an endless offense from men whose pride mean more than the comfort of their spouse?
“My door is open for you, Pero, always. You do not need to pay me.”
“It is for the child.”
With that, he leaves. You hear the horse neigh as he gets up in the saddle, see a glimpse of him as he rides past the window and back into the forest. He did not even finish his meal. That surprises you the most. Every time has visited you, he has had a voracious appetite. First for food, later for you. It is not disappointment you feel, but relief. It is how it should be. He is gone. You are here, as is the baby.
Tags/warnings (chapter specific): PiV sex (unprotected, cotus interruptus but you know, it doesn't work). Nothing kinky.
Words: 2,910
Summary: Defying the bitter cold of winter, Pero visits you again. In the warm safety of your cottage you find each other.
A/N: this is the last part. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. (To be continued...?)
The wind is howling around the house and there is a hint of a draft coming from the window despite the closed shutters. You feel the chill and glance at the window, frowning as you add checking the window from the outside the following day to the never-ending list of chores.
You sit by the table, at the end closest to the stove where a fire burns day and night in the dead of this cold winter. Knitting mittens for yourself, you enjoy the quiet and stillness. It’s warm indoors despite the blizzard outside, and you keep an eye on the lit candles. Not only a fire hazard, candles also do not grow on trees. You follow your grandmother’s rule of one burning one length of candle a night. After that, it’s bedtime. You burn with a low flame in the wintertime, sleep long nights to keep warm and preserve energy. Like the seeds that you know are awaiting their time in the frozen ground underneath the snow, you spend the winter months burrowed in your cottage, making excursions only to the cowshed and the village if you must and are able to. You mend clothes and think long thoughts. You knit socks and shawls and sing the songs your grandmother used to sing for you: about the water spirit who came to the king to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage, about the queen who in jealousy tried to kill the king’s mistress but failed and was left alone while the king and his mistress travelled the world, about the mountain trolls luring a young man to marry one of their girls so that they can have children of human blood. Every single word is etched permanently into your brain, as is each note.
The sound of three beats to the door makes you jump, before you quickly grab a knitting needle not being used and get up to walk to the barred door.
“Who is it?” you call, trying to listen for an answer that does not come. Carefully, you open the little hatch in the door and peek out.
The cold wind immediately brings snow through the opening, and you shiver from the chill as you gaze on the tall figure, wrapped in furs, standing outside. You recognize the sharp stare of a scarred eye beneath the layers.
“Come in from the cold!”
You close the hatch, unbar the door, and open it wide. Pero Tovar steps in, face covered by a fur hat and the collar of his coat pulled up to his nose. He carries a big backpack that he lets down with a muffled groan as soon as he is across the threshold, and then he pulls off his hat and shrugs off the fur mantle, pulls down his collar, and turns his morose face to you.
You help him shed his many layers of soaked, cold clothes. Slowly, you unbuckle the many fastenings in the front of his coat and when you slide the coat off his shoulders he sighs audibly.
“You look well,” he says in a low murmur.
“I am well. And you?”
He only nods. Nothing in his demeanour suggests he is feeling anything but surly, but you’ve learned to read the subtle little signs: the way his gaze seeks yours, the slight parting of his lips when your hand brushes over his.
His lips, cracked from the cold yet full and surprisingly soft despite hard line of his jaw. You imagine that you can taste him, the voracious danger of him, all the things that you have never seen or lived, steel and blood and adventure.
To take your mind off physical pleasure, you hang his wet clothes to dry and gesture for him to take a seat by the table. You turn to the pantry and take out salt meat, a cooked egg that was left over from supper, bread, butter, and cheese. You serve him a mug of heated redcurrant juice and sit down on the other side of the table with one of the last apples stored since autumn. You peel it evenly before slicing it neatly, handing Pero half of the slices while you yourself eat the rest.
He eats in silence, focused on his plate, glancing up every now and then to look at you. That is new: he never did that before. You busy yourself with your knitting but meet his gaze each time he looks at you. When he has finished his meal, he leans back with a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you. Best meal I had in a long time.”
“I’m glad,” you smile at him, happy to have been able to still his hunger with what little you have. You rise and come around the table. Pero puts his hand briefly over yours as you reach for his plate. A quick stroke of his thumb over the back of your hand lets you know the extent of his gratitude before he lets go.
You put a few more logs on the fire to warm up water, then don your fur cloak.
“I’ll check on the animals for the night.”
The cold slaps you in the face and you wrap the cloak tightly around you as you hurry to the cowshed. The cows greet you in their usual, steadfast way when you step into the warmth of their shelter. You inhale the sharp smell of animal; their big bodies, their dung and urine, their food… Those are the heartening, safe smells of your childhood, of your whole life.
You see to it that the animals are contented. The sheep get a little more oat to eat, the cows get scratches between the horns. You, in turn, get your palms licked by big, affectionate tongues. You speak to them in a low voice, telling them about Pero’s visit, of the desire fluttering in your belly. The cows listen and when your heart has been poured out, you feel better for it and return to your cottage.
You find Pero stripped down to his breeches and bowed over the wash basin, splashing warm water into his face and neck. Unlike last time, however, you do not shy away but instead come up behind him and lean your forehead to his naked back. You inhale the smell of him; leather with a hint of metal from his chainmail, sweat, campfires, snowy roads. A drop of water runs down his spine and you catch it on your finger before tracing the bumps of his spine up to his neck, where your hand forms a warm cup over tired muscles. His breath catches but he does not move. You run your hand down his shoulder and arm, reaching his hand in the basin of warm water. The washcloth is there and you take it and wring it, one-handedly, before sliding it up his arm, retracing the journey of your hand, now dragging the cloth along with you.
You touch a new scar below his right shoulder blade before painting it with warm, herb-scented water. Your fingers trail to another scar, much older, and lean forward to kiss it softly. His shoulders sink a little as he relaxes more and more. Neither one of you speaks as you drag the cloth over the broad expanse of his back, occasionally kissing one mark or another. The scent of the herbal water mixes with the smells of firewood and smoke, reminding you of summer even now, in the dead of winter.
When you are finished, you put the cloth in the basin. Pero turns around. Characteristically silent, he raises his hand to your face. You let him cradle your cheek, and lean into the rough, warm cup of his palm. A deep sigh escapes you when you feel yourself dissolve into his touch.
The next moment, his lips are on yours and he is kissing you like he has spent every day since the last time he saw you longing to kiss you. Both of you cling to each other, gasps travelling from mouth to mouth as each kiss ends with the beginning of a new one. Pero’s hands clasp your waist before sliding down to your bottom. Your body knows what to do; you raise a leg, Pero immediately hooking his arm around your thigh, and then he lifts you up. He squeezes your buttocks in his hands as he carries you into the bedchamber, and not once do your lips part.
He puts you down next to the bed and pulls at the lacing of your bodice, swearing under his breath when it takes him too long. He takes a string and pulls, and the neckline of your shirt widens and bares your shoulders. You give him a hand, your own fingers clumsy with impatience and soon, the bodice is discarded on the floor and he’s pawing your plump breasts through the linen shirt. Your nipples knot to rock hard pebbles and your skin feels like it is on fire; all of you is on fire, especially the deepest pit of your stomach. The ache is red hot and only one thing can soothe it. You pull eagerly at his belt. Pero’s breeches open and you hitch up your skirts and lie down on the bed behind you, pulling him in between your legs. A grunted curse slips him when he fights to get off your undergarments but as soon as he has the apex of your thighs naked before him, he pulls himself out of his breeches.
The sight of him makes your eyes widen. You are not completely inexperienced in the ways of physical love, but you also have not had many lovers. Out of all of them, Pero is by far the most well-endowed.
You have no time to process the size before it splits you open. You feel it along the base of your spine, an icy burn that makes you gasp
oh! oh! yes!
and he is inside you, filling you up and stretching you out, moving with a painful urgency he can scarcely hold back. Your nails sink into his shoulders, into muscle and flesh, conjuring groans from him. Your moans grow louder for every thrust, for every scrape of his moustache and teeth along your jaw and neck, for every small bite to your breasts. He straightens his back, holding onto the back of your knees, and you wail when he thrusts into you. It hurts, but in a terrifyingly good way, a way you have dreamed of during the increasingly long nights of autumn and winter when you have gone to your lonely bed and pleasured yourself. You even invited another traveller into your bed to still your longing. He served his purpose but did not light your fire like Pero does.
Pero, whose brows now draw together in concentration as he brushes aside your skirts to get a better view of the spot where you are joined.
“How well you take me, hermosa,” he grunts, and it makes you claw at the sheets. You whimper at the delicious charge of his cock in your quivering cunt, your soaked softness still stretching almost to the verge of pain with his girth.
Pero sinks down over you while bucking erratically into you, and you feel the pulses of his cock as he quickly retreats, his seed spurting onto your slick folds as he groans. He rests his face against the crook of your neck and regains his breath before kissing your heated skin.
“This is what I mean about not being gentle,” he murmurs. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head no. No, he did not hurt you but only made you burn more brightly. You have not had release and need him to bring you to the brink of divine destruction.
Pero is removing his clothes and when you find your footing on the cold floor, he pushes you back against the bed.
“I want you again.”
“I have to check the fire,” you whisper, and he lets you straighten out your clothing – for warmth, not for modesty – and tiptoe to the kitchen. You feed the fire with more wood, barely feeling the heat against your own fevered skin. You blow out the precious candles made from sheep’s fat in the autumn before returning to the bedchamber, bringing only one lit candle with you for the chair next to the bed.
“Woman,” Pero tells you darkly as you strip, one short word to let you know he thinks you’re being too slow. As soon as you are naked, he pulls you to him, throwing the covers over both of you in the process, and the bed creaks when you make him turn onto his back so that you can straddle his hips. The chilly air hits your already hard nipples when you sit upright, the covers sliding down your back. Your skin is riddled with goose flesh and in the faint light of the single candle, you see Pero’s black eyes fixed on your breasts.
“Touch me,” you ask, each syllable so loud in the dead silence of winter. Pero’s callused hands cover your breasts immediately, thumbs brushing over nipples, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. You have wanted this since his visit in the most colourful days of autumn and now that it is happening, you are happy it is the dead of winter when the night is long.
He grows hard again, his cock rising against the inside of your thigh in search of your entrance. A low hiss escapes him when you touch the shaft, slick with your arousal. Your cunt starts to weep at the prospect of being ravaged again and the pent-up lust puts you in a hurry. You tease him until he is rock hard, then lead him into you. Slowly, you sink down on him, whimpering with how completely he fills you. His thigh muscles are flexed tightly underneath you and his breaths come out in shallow huffs. You place your hands on his chest, embossments in the skin telling your fingertips where there are scars, and exhale as your cunt swallows the last of him.
“Ride it,” Pero asks you, still fondling your breasts. “Ride it empty.”
You rock your hips, finding your rhythm, your pleasure, lean into his big hands, your gasps and the whimpers of the old bedframe the only sounds in the dark, Pero’s grunts occasionally punctuating them. You find that one spot inside you, the one that makes you dig your short fingernails into Pero’s chest as you hit it over and over and over, faster and faster and –
Your body is sending out contradicting impulses, flight or fight, let go and fall or hold tight and climb. It’s agonizing and you want to feel all of it, you force yourself to feel it all, and you know that this is where you need just a little more to fall. Pero has been holding your breasts all the time but now you pull one of his hands free and shove it down to where you are joined. He touches your throbbing nub and that’s all it takes for your cunt to pulsate, your body to shudder, and your back to arch as your head is thrown back with a cry. You clasp at him, desperately holding on as wave after wave drown you, pulling you under and onto Pero’s chest. His breath is hot against your skin when he thrusts up into you, drawing another wail from you as he selfishly chases his own release with jab after jab into your core. His seed splatters onto your skin when he pulls out with a bitten back curse, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your heart beating fast against his.
His is a warmth that keeps you up in the misery of midwinter. You fall asleep, you wake up and couple again. You sleep tightly in Pero’s embrace and until his cock finds its way into your slick cunt once more. You sleep some more but must straddle him again when you wake up. The dark gives way for grey light when you fall apart as he ruts into you from behind, like an animal. He spills his seed on you, not in you, and you wonder if he is wise from some earlier mishap. Very few words are exchanged between you except for his praise and your encouragement, but his sweet little nicknames for you speak more than long recitals of whatever feelings he may have.
Pero leaves after breakfast the next morning. You provide him with what you can spare and send him off. But this time you see in his eyes that he will think of you until he sees you again. It is a subtle shift in his glare: the smoothening of a line towards his temples, his brows relaxing slightly. The scar over his eyes seems less of a warning of his lethal capabilities and more like the result of a daring move attempted by a careless, much younger man.
His fingers touch yours when he accepts the provisions from you, and you know that you want him to return.
“You know where to find me,” you tell him. He nods almost imperceptibly.
Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers
Word Count: 7.2k
Summary: Bucky teaches his friend many of the finer techniques in his favorite hobby - pleasuring his wife. UNABASHADELY PORN WITHOUT AN OUNCE OF PLOT.
Warnings: Explicit Smut, threesome (no crossing swords), objectification, dirty talk, oral (male and female receiving), clit play, breast play, overstimulation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dacryphilia, light choking, fingering, brief cum play, slight worship, multiple orgasms, Bucky is a complete menace, insatiable lust, super soldiers aka super sex machines
Author Note: When I wrote Tutorials in Precision for @writer-in-a-cryofreeze, quiiiiiiiite a few of you clamored for more. CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
You’d expected a lot of things when you agreed your husband’s oldest friend should come spend the holidays with you, but not this: you naked and splayed open, your back against Bucky’s chest, and Steve knelt between your legs, focus absolute as they took you apart.
Bucky’s lips moved against your neck, not quite kissing, hand sliding to cup one aching breast. “You want to feel for the ridge, the soft roof inside. Feel it?”
Steve nodded, learning by the tremors that rippled through you.
And you? You could only moan as his fingers sought a place only Bucky had touched before tonight.
Steve’s breath ghosted along your thigh, cool in comparison to the heat pooling where his fingertips pressed. “Like this?” he asked, looking up, seeking confirmation from Bucky.
Bucky squeezed you, barely-there pressure, his thumb circling your nipple. “Yeah, there—you’ll feel it through the front wall. Little bump.”
Steve slid his fingers deeper, slow and careful, and you arched back against Bucky’s chest. The pressure inside shifted, molten but sudden, and you gasped at the feel of it when he found it—that ridge, the soft roof, as Bucky had described it. Steve’s big hand trembled just a little as he kept it inside you, gentle but greedy, desperate to get it right. The man was as worshipping as he was determined, brow furrowed, lashes dark against his cheek as he mapped each element of your reactions.
And Bucky watched, grinning against your ear, voice thick. “That’s it, Steve. Watch her face, see how her mouth falls open? Touch her there, a tiny bit harder, that’s it, yeah.”
He kept the pressure steady, calloused thumb skating circles over your clit while his fingers pressed up, learning you, working with the careful tenacity he applied to every complex operation.
Bucky’s own hand drifted lower, his touch rough at your hip, a grounding force. You couldn’t move if you’d wanted to, pinned between them, the air thick with sweat and something like ozone.
You bucked, pulse thumping in your throat, teeth gritty against a whimper. Steve’s eyes flicked up again, shining, hungry, and your swore you might come just on the taste of his focus. With every press against that spot, your vision stuttered out, blinking in firework-bright bursts.
Bucky’s voice pressed into the shell of your ear, low and lazy, but with that hint of command that still managed to thrill you, even after all these years. “She’s real sensitive right there, Steve. Just steady. Keep the rhythm—yeah, just like that.”
“Fuck, Buck—she’s gonna—” Steve’s fingers jittered, the tip of his thumb ghosting over your wet clit.
“Let her,” Bucky hummed, open-mouthed over her shoulder. His other hand covered her thigh, holding her so wide the ache felt like a dare. “Make her feel it.”
Steve’s hand was huge, careful, coaxing, until it wasn’t, until the motion grew greedy, needy. You’d never been shy with Bucky, but with the attention of two lovers you felt nearly too open and exposed, nerves sparking along every limb. Bucky’s thumb toyed with your nipple, drawing it taut, while Steve’s fingers pursued your impending orgasm relentlessly.
And the orgasm came with no warning, just an unbearable pressure and then a bright, skittering release, your vision white-out as you shrieked and clamped around Steve’s hand. He nearly lost his balance but Bucky steadied him—steadied you—bracing your shaking limbs as you rode the aftershocks. Even after the pleasure crested, Steve’s fingers didn’t stop. He worked you through every shudder, sucking a breath through his teeth, awed. His voice was a fervent whisper, “Jesus. You—fuck, you look good like this.”
“She always does,” Bucky replied, mouth slick on your jaw, catching the sweat there. “You wanna see her come again?”
Steve’s hand stilled, then slowly slid free, leaving you embarrassingly empty and sticky. He watched you with dazed awe, pink flush climbing from his collar to cheekbones, as if he couldn’t believe the thing he’d just made happen, for you.
“Yeah, I do. Will you let me?” he asked, eyes meeting yours again.
You nodded, voice gone to wool and cotton, incapable of anything but a whispered, “Please.” The word left your lips desperate, high-pitched, a note of wildness that made Bucky’s hand tighten against your thigh, a subtle anchor to keep you from dissolving completely.
Steve’s smile broke open on his face, that cocky little tilt that always got him his way. He ducked down and pressed his mouth to your thigh, some kind of benediction, before giving Bucky a look, a question you weren’t included in: permission, or maybe the next step in instructions. Bucky’s hand still gripped your thigh, and the pressure from his fingertips went from comfort to proprietary.
“Take your time,” Bucky told him, slow as syrup. “She’s got plenty more in her if you work it up right.”
You whimpered, and Steve’s hand found your knee, thumb brushing circles that didn’t seem to know whether they were meant to calm or tease. He spread you even wider, fingers delving again, but now the touch was softer, coaxing in a new way. He watched your face the whole time, never letting you look away, and the sheer heat of his attention made it impossible to catch your breath, impossible to be anywhere but here, between them, for them.
You let your head loll back on Bucky’s chest, and he inhaled you like a secret. Steve’s mouth ghosted over the inside of your knee, the lightest of touches, as his hand slid slick with you, coaxing you open again. There was awe in his expression, like he couldn’t believe the things your body was capable of. That he couldn’t believe you let him see it.
Bucky’s voice was right in your ear, velvet and wicked. “You love this, don’t you? How he touches you, how he looks at you?” His teeth grazed just below your pulse, almost biting, his metal hand now flat and heavy on your soft stomach.
Steve’s mouth found your clit then, hot and wet, and you bit your lip, trying not to break apart too quickly, but Bucky’s other hand snapped up to your chin, forcing your jaw open. He slid two thick fingers into your mouth, muffling your gasps as Steve reached for that place inside you again, a blunt presence that made your hips twitch uncontrollably, mouth kissing and lapping at your clit.
“Be our good girl,” Bucky murmured, voice a velvet drag along your nerves. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.” He pressed your lips open wider, thumb tight on your cheek. Everything about him said claim, but you felt less like territory and more like treasure—something precious they’d both agreed to share.
You moaned and sucked on Bucky’s fingers, desperate for something to hold onto. Steve’s tongue drew slow, wide circles, alternating with little flicks that made you see stars, and every time his fingers curled inside you, you wanted to shake apart. Bucky’s hand pressed at the base of your throat, a leash without pressure, just a reminder of where you belonged.
Steve’s tongue moved with a rough, hungry precision that made your lashes flutter, the strangeness of his mouth—different than Bucky’s, somehow broader and needier—forcing you up against the edge of your own appetite. He groaned into you, animal, and the vibration made your toes curl as your hips bucked, seeking more, seeking everything.
The sound of you—wet and needy—filled the room, obscene, and Steve was impossibly focused. You could feel the shift as Steve’s mouth grew unabashed, each lap and suckle more confident. He lapped greedily, not just at your clit but at the desperate, shuddering noises you made, feeding on them, letting them escalate him past any feigned self-control.
Bucky murmured filth in your ear. “Such a pretty thing, all open for Steve. He’s a fast learner, isn’t he?” His fingers slipped from your mouth, gliding down to squeeze your breast with proprietary delight. “Sensitive here, too, Steve. She likes it just a little mean when you bite.”
Steve’s lips left your cunt, replaced by the blunt, perfect drag of his teeth—just a graze, but amplified by the velvet heat radiating between your thighs. The wild sound you made told him everything he needed. He grinned, eyes bright, and gave you another drag with his tongue and the barest scrape of teeth. Your legs shook, clamped for a second around his broad shoulders as he tormented you, licking through the slick he’d made.
“She’s right there,” Bucky insists, “but don’t let up.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, chest heaving, as Bucky’s words poured through you, making it impossible not to want to give him everything, even the parts you thought you’d never let anyone else but him see. He tugged his hand from your mouth, and you gasped, “I’m close, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Bucky coaxed, hand splayed again over your breast, pinching and then soothing. “Let him taste it. Let him taste everything.” He nuzzled the space behind your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth, a punctuation to his demand.
Steve’s hand, meanwhile, never stopped mapping you. His thick fingers curling again against that spot inside, a squirming, irresistible pressure, while his mouth closed around your clit and sucked, hard, and the world melted into a soundless scream in your throat. You bucked up, hands grasping at Bucky’s biceps, and came again, hard enough you thought you might black out.
This time Steve didn’t bother with awe, only a growl of triumph and gratitude as he licked you through every convulsion, not stopping until your thighs trembled against his head and Bucky had to murmur, “Enough, big guy, you’ll melt her.”
You didn’t remember the transition—somewhere in the haze of pleasure, Steve had shifted you onto his lap, his cock thick and leaking, pressed impossibly hard against your hip. Bucky sat facing you both on the foot of the bed, blue eyes greedy and soft at the same time, mouth slack with want. Steve held you to his chest, the thrum of his pulse wild and loud beneath your palm.
“Fuck, honey, you alright?” Bucky asked, thumb brushing along your jaw. You only nodded, eyes glassy, limbs a little insubstantial.
“She gets real soft after she comes,” Bucky explained. His metal hand stroked your cheek, thumb scraping your parted lip. “Steve, you ever eat a girl out til she can’t think straight, and then fuck her so good she gets slick again just from the memory?”
Steve’s gaze flicked down to your face, as if he needed to check in, as if the rules of this odd, shared gravity could change at your whim. But you only leaned harder into his chest, the memory of Bucky’s words blooming low in your gut. “Not like this,” Steve said quietly, the confession tumbling out like an apology. “Never had someone so slick and eager and pliant. She’s so fucking sweet.”
“She likes making a mess, especially when she knows someone’s gonna clean it up nice for her.”
It was obscene and beautiful in the same breath, the way your body pulsed and ached for these two men. You knew Bucky intimately, but Steve was still a new entity, it should be unbelievable what you were letting him do to you, and yet you were willing because Bucky said you could be.
“You wear her out, and she lets you do anything you want.” Steve pressed his lips to your temple, the gesture as tender as a prayer, but you could feel the tension in his body—like he was holding himself back as much as he was holding you up.
“Do you want him to fuck you?” It was as blunt as a knife’s edge; Bucky never did like to leave things to implication.
You meant to say yes, steeled and confident, but the only sound you could make was a whimper. Bucky grinned. “Use your words, honey. Steve’s been waiting a long time.”
Steve’s hands tightened on your hips. “Since your wedding,” he confessed, and you gasped.
Bucky nodded, proud, calm, even though this revelation was ricocheting through your mind. Steve had been overseas for years until just recently, and of course he hadn’t missed his best friend’s wedding—had been the best man—but it had also been the first time you’d met him.
You remembered the speech, the toast. Steve smiling at you across a room of strangers, nothing but friendship and pride in his voice, but now you wondered how long he’d been drinking you in, how long he’d been simmering in this kind of want.
You also remembered—vivid as if it bloomed on the backs of your eyelids—the way Steve’s eyes had lingered at the reception, how his hand seemed to swallow yours when he shook it, holding on a beat too long. You’d caught him watching you and Bucky slow dancing, his smile softer than it ought to have been, heavy with yearning. At the time you’d wondered if maybe he was just that kind of romantic, or maybe a little lonely after so much time away.
But now that memory rewrote itself, charged and electric, searing through you as Steve took your chin in his hand and kissed you—soft at first, learning the taste of you. His mouth tasted like you, and you shivered, deep in your bones, at being desired by these two men.
Bucky reached for you, steady hands bracketing your thighs, and you sank back against Steve’s chest. Your husband ducked lower, pressing a line of kisses from your hip bone to the soft, over-sensitive spot at the seam of your thigh.
You shivered as Bucky trailed his tongue through the wetness Steve had left behind, mouth hungry and reverent. He licked slowly, then nosed at your clit, already swollen and sore from Steve’s attention, and the jolt of sensation made you gasp into Steve’s mouth. He devoured your sounds greedily, tongue parting your lips as if he needed to taste how undone you were.
Bucky’s tongue was firmer than Steve’s, more insistent, and when he flattened it against you and sucked, you felt every vibration in your teeth. You whimpered into Steve’s kiss, and he swallowed the noise, hands squeezing your hips as you rolled against the heat of Bucky’s mouth, your body burning, melting, until there was nothing left but sensation.
You weren’t sure Bucky’s mouth could ever be called gentle, but right now it was a new kind of slow, each lap deliberate, stroking the sharp edge of oversensitivity and coaxing pleasure out of it until your eyes watered. Steve’s hand wound into your hair, guiding your head back against his shoulder, and you let him, lost in the heat radiating from both their bodies.
“She’s shaking,” Steve whispered, awe thick in his voice.
“She knows what she likes,” Bucky replied, voice muffled between your legs. His metal hand dug into your thigh, cool and greedy, while the other traced lazy patterns over your ribs, drawing your skin tight with anticipation for what would come next.
Bucky pulled his mouth away with a slick, obscene sound, smirking up at you. “You ready for cock?” he asked, and this wasn’t an idle question. Bucky wanted you to say it, wanted you to beg for it. Steve’s cock pressed up under you, thick and hot, and you could feel how desperate he was for it. You were too.
“Yes,” you said, or maybe just moaned it, letting your knees fall as wide as Steve and Bucky wanted them. “Yes, please.”
“Fuck, she’s polite,” Steve mumbled, hands already guiding you up, shifting you onto your knees, palms bracing the mattress as Bucky moved to the side of you, one hand fisting his own stiff cock, the other smoothing down your back and skimming over your ass. You could feel Steve’s cock, hot and insistent, nudging between your thighs.
“She likes a full feeling,” Bucky told Steve, the statement an offer and a warning both, and you blinked up at him, swallowing. “When you fuck her, you gotta go deep.”
Steve’s hands caught your hips, palms broad enough to span almost from waist to thigh. There was a reverence in his movements, but also the first hints of impatience—the way his fingers flexed, the way his cock jumped when it brushed against you, smearing precum along the seam of your body. He lined himself up and held, not yet pushing in, and the wait felt like another kind of pleasure, anticipation sharp as a blade.
Your chest seized—with anticipation or hesitation, you weren’t sure—as you realized Bucky was going to let Steve fuck you bare.
“He’s a big one, sweetheart,” Bucky warned, and you could hear the grin on his face. He planted a hand at the small of your back, keeping your spine bowed. “Nice and slow. She likes to feel every inch.”
You pressed your face into the pillow, bracing for a stretch that came slow and monumental—Steve’s cock parting you, nudging inside until you couldn’t breathe for the fullness, the hot-dull burn that quickly blurred into something sweeter.
“There you go, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. “Let him all the way in.”
You were so wet he didn’t even need to force it; the broad head split you open easily. You heard Bucky’s purr, almost proud, as if he had made you this way, greedy for the kind of ache only they could give. Bucky loved to torment you with this kind of fuck when he slid inside you, so his direction for Steve to as well was to be expected.
Steve held, fully sheathing himself, body trembling with restraint. “You okay?” The sound of your name was different in his voice, kinder, stripped of any artifice.
You nodded, eagerly pressing your hips back, and the slide hit something deep, a place that made your toes flex and your mouth fall open. Steve’s hands stroked your hips, grounding you, his breath rough as he held as still as he could manage. Bucky’s voice was syrup-sweet at your ear, “Go on, Steve. She wants it.”
The first thrust was a slow, rolling motion that stole your breath. Steve drew out nearly all the way, then slid back in, the burn giving way to a greedy, clutching pleasure. You held perfectly still, squeezing your eyes shut, learning the new shape of yourself with Steve inside you. You keened, knuckles whitening in the bedsheets. Bucky stayed close, palm at the nape of your neck, his own cock hard and leaking, pressed to your shoulder as he watched Steve fuck you.
“She takes cock so well, doesn’t she?” Bucky crooned, his tone barely above a purr. “Bet you never seen anyone so hungry before.” His metal hand traced your spine, ratcheting the tension higher as he pet you and praised you, the words a molten thread tangled through every harder, deeper thrust. Steve’s hips pistoned slow, but with such force you swore you could feel it in your throat, each time catching a spot Bucky had mapped just for him.
Steve’s rhythm was a miracle of endurance, slow and deep, every thrust measured, watched, almost academic in its hunger. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your waist, your belly, your ribs, learning every inch of you as if he needed to memorize the route. His hips stuttered occasionally, evidence of his own struggle not to lose himself too quickly to the wet heat you offered him.
And he whispered your name between every other breath, like a vow, like he was kneeling in church.
Bucky’s hands grew rougher on you, easing your thighs farther apart, planting dirty encouragements in your head that made you slicker, filthier than before. “You should see her face, Steve. She’s so beautiful right now.”
Bucky coaxed your head up and to the side so Steve could see the exact, filthy pleasure contorting your features. And you felt it, the slide of your own tears, half-joy and half-overwhelm, as Steve picked up the pace, his thrusts deeper, harder.
Bucky wiped a tear from your jaw with his thumb, then sucked it into his mouth. “So beautiful when you’re ruined like this.”
Steve’s fingers dug into your flesh, and you could feel how close he was to letting go of decorum, of caution, of the last rags of self-control. You wanted it. You moaned for it. Your head swam with the ache of being so fucking full, of being seen and used and loved all at once.
“Not gonna last,” Steve groaned, the confession breaking at the seam. “Feels—fuck, Bucky, how do you keep your head—”
“I don’t, punk. That’s why I always make her come first.” Bucky’s laugh was sharp and breathless, the sound of a man profoundly in love with his own wife. He trailed a hand down your front, fingers gliding over the slick mess Steve had made of you. “And always make it up to her after, too. She loves that part too.”
Bucky’s hand found your clit, thumb and forefinger pinching, rolling it just this side of cruel, and you yelped, the sudden spike of pain-pleasure a match to the fullness Steve was feeding you, and your whole body shuddered. Bucky laughed—warm and wicked—and reached down, fingers sliding through the mess of slick and sweat and precum at the seam where Steve’s body split yours, then smeared it over his own cock.
He pumped himself once, twice, eyes locked on where Steve’s body met yours, and you watched, unabashedly.
Bucky leaned forward, mouth hot at your jaw. “You want me to fuck your mouth while Steve fucks you?”
The question, blunt and bright, sliced through your haze. You nodded, desperate, and Bucky grinned, wolfish. He pressed his thumb to your lips, smearing the taste of yourself across them, and then shifted around in front of you, kneeling up so his cock bobbed level with your mouth. It was already slick, the head flushed dark, and you opened for him automatically, tongue out, dutiful and greedy all at once.
“That’s my girl,” Bucky breathed, sliding in slow, letting you feel the heft of him as Steve’s cock ground into your cunt from behind. You could barely spare the coordination to suck and moan at the same time, the boundary between pleasure and humiliation dissolved.
Your throat worked, helpless, as Bucky fucked your mouth in shallow, reverent thrusts, and your jaw burned with the effort of taking him as deep as he wanted. He pulled back every time you gagged, not to spare you, but to watch the string of spit connect your lips to the tip of his cock. You blinked up at your husband, tears streaming freely now, and saw how it undid him—made him thrust a little deeper, fuck your mouth a little harder, hands cradling your jaw, both anchoring and guiding you.
“Pretty thing,” he muttered, almost gentle, “look at you. That’s it. Just like that. God, Steve, you’re going to love fucking her throat.”
“Buck, you can’t just—” Steve had to groan before he could finish his thought. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect me to last.”
You moaned, mouth full of Bucky and body full of Steve, your whole self strung taut between their appetites. The rhythm between Steve’s hips behind you and Bucky’s in front of you a terrifying, perfect sync.
Bucky smirked, thumb wiping spit from your chin, then dragged it down to your throat, pressing lightly so you felt the stretch of yourself inside. “Bet you want him in your mouth right after he fills you up, don’t you?” Bucky’s voice was honey-thick, tugging need like a thread from your cunt all the way up to your brain.
You nodded, desperate, and that was all it took—Steve’s grip on your hips locked down, his pulse a wild thrum against your skin, and he buried himself in you with one last, shuddering thrust. You could feel it, the way he pulsed and spilled hot inside, and the sound he made—it was raw, almost animal. He held inside, grinding so deep you felt it all the way up your spine, filling you so perfectly a whimper broke loose from your lips even with Bucky’s cock still in your mouth.
Bucky eased out of your mouth, palm still warm against your jaw, thumb stroking where his cock had just been. He grinned at you, all sweet-and-mean, then leaned in to press a kiss over your spit-slick lips. “That’s it,” he whispered, reverent, like he was kissing holy ground. “That’s my good girl.” The words landed low in your belly, twisting up with the mess Steve had left in you.
But his cock was still inside you, too, and he collapsed forward, chest to your back, his arms caging you in. You expected him to pull out, to give you a moment to recover, but instead he rocked his hips, slow and greedy, as if he couldn’t bear to lose the feeling of you squeezing around him.
And then, without warning, his hand slid under your belly, fingers finding your clit, already swollen and overstimulated. He drew tight, precise circles with the pads of first two fingers, not letting up, even when you whined and squirmed beneath him. Bucky’s hands held you steady, anchoring you so Steve could play your body like an instrument.
The friction was so good, so dirty, that your cunt clamped around him involuntarily, milked every last drop as Steve’s fingers worked you up again, your body already betraying just how ready it was to be used a second, third, hundredth time.
“Fuck, she’s insatiable, isn’t she?” Steve said, voice almost fond, the sound of it a pressure at the base of your skull.
“She’s always been that way,” Bucky answered, a frayed thread of pride winding through his voice. “After the serum, I never met a partner who could keep up with me until her. Like you were made for a super soldier, sweetheart.”
You laughed, or tried to, but it came out a shaky, desperate gasp as Steve’s fingers wrung another whimper from you. Your knuckles dug into the sheets, the only tether as your overstimulated clit set off sparks behind your eyes. “Bucky,” you croaked, barely audible, “I can’t—”
“You can, honey. You’ll show Steve just how much you can take.” His gaze was intent, and for a moment you remembered every night the two of you had built trust on, every whispered dare and secret need he’d coaxed from you, every time he’d made you shatter and put you back together.
You barely had time to brace—Steve’s closed closed hard and firm around your clit, pinching, sending a lightning bolt through you, and as your body seized, his mouth found the meat of your shoulder and bit down. Not a warning, not a tease—a real goddamn bite. It ricocheted up your spine and detonated any coherence you had left. Your vision went blinding white, then red, and you screamed, nails gouging at the mattress, his hardening cock still buried so deep inside you it felt like you were cleaved in half.
The orgasm hit different—shocking, jagged, beyond pleasure and into a place that was just sensation, raw and total. You were crying, you realized, drool and tears tracking down your chin, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough, not even when the world blurred and your whole midsection pulsed around Steve’s cock, milking him for everything he had.
Bucky held your gaze the whole time, watching you unravel, watching every second of you coming apart for his best friend.
“Never gets old,” Bucky said, voice ragged with want, “seeing you come apart.” He stroked your hair, gentling you even as Steve’s cock kept you pinned and shuddering.
Steve pulled out, finally, leaving a slick trail down your thigh, and you expected collapse—rest, maybe, or at least a breath of air.
You got part of what you wanted as you were manhandled with a gentle efficiency—Steve lowering you to the mattress and Bucky rolling you over onto your back. The two men bracketed themselves around you. Bucky’s thumb smoothed tears from your cheeks, his lips hovering at your brow. Steve’s palm swept your hair from your face, tucking the wild strands behind your ears, and he smiled at you, dazed and open and deeply, deeply gone himself.
“You okay?” he asked, voice so hoarse you wanted to laugh, if only you didn’t feel so utterly wrung dry.
Bucky’s hands mapped your body, stroking down your arms, your waist, as if to collect every piece of you that had scattered. “She’s perfect. She’s got a thing for being ruined,” Bucky said, rubbing his thumb hard across your jaw, “but it’s more than just the mess. It’s being wanted, isn’t it, sweetheart?”
You trembled, the answer right there but too big for your mouth. All you could manage was a soft, but firm, “It’s both.”
It was. The ache between your legs, the aftershocks twitching in your thighs, crescendoed in the knowledge that you belonged—here, between them—because you were wanted. Not just by Bucky, whose love for you was a still wildfire after the first few years of the life you were building together, but by Steve, the last person you ever expected to want anything at all.
They held you in the perfect kind of silence for a while. Bucky stroked your sternum with two fingers, tracing the rapid pounding of your heart, while Steve drew lazy patterns on your ribs, the gentle touch making your bones melt.
Steve was the one who broke the silence, voice still thick and slow. “I’m sure Bucky’s told you how everything feels amplified for us, after the serum?”
You nodded, not trusting your voice, but Steve caught your chin and made certain you were listening, blue eyes intent on the fall and rise of your chest. He thumbed the corner of your mouth, gentle in a way that didn’t match the bite mark blooming on your shoulder. “It’s true. Everything’s hotter, sharper. Smells, tastes, touch.” His hand wandered down your neck, tracing the chain of your pulse. “It’s like all the dials turned up past what they’re supposed to do.”
Bucky grinned, mouth curving against your temple, proud and a little feral. “It’s why we’re so good at this,” he said, and the “we” wasn’t just the two of them, but you too, looped into their satisfaction by being the one they found satiation with.
You remembered, dimly, what Bucky had once told you—something about how pain and pleasure were just colors in a spectrum for men like them, how sometimes the best you could do was grab hold of the brightest one and hang on until it faded.
You barely noticed when Bucky’s hand slid lower, two fingers sliding along the seam of you, dipping just inside. You’d thought you were emptied out, rung dry, but the dull ache at your entrance proved otherwise—the evidence of Steve inside you, the slow ooze of it, making your lashes flutter in a way that felt almost innocent.
“You want to keep going, honey?” He asked because this—the consent, the agency—was one of the roots of his pleasure. You nodded again, too spent for speech. “Yeah, you do,” he murmured, pressing his own cock flush against your thigh, hot iron against soft flesh. “And you want Steve to watch, don’t you?”
The way Bucky framed it, you didn’t just want to perform, to be seen—you wanted to be worshipped, to be watched while your body proved itself again and again. There was no performance anxiety; there was only the heat of two impossible men zeroed in on every twitch of your muscles. You felt your own slick between your thighs, the slow, filthy trickle of Steve’s cum pooling out of you, the ache where you’d been so thoroughly stretched.
“Sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled. “Words.”
You tried to say, “Yes, please,” but it came out as a sigh, and Bucky’s grin only widened.
Steve cradled your head like a priceless artifact, thumb pressing a sleepy circle against your jaw while his gaze moved between your eyes and the place where Bucky’s fingers cupped your cunt. You felt your hips roll up, wanton, trying to keep contact with Bucky’s hand even as he toyed with your entrance but never quite let you have the friction you needed.
“You want to show Steve how we fuck when it’s just you and me in the dark, how well you take me.” A statement, not a question.
“Mmmhmm,” you groaned, and Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then knelt up, hands guiding your unresisting legs apart. He knelt back on his haunches and pulled your hips close. You heard Steve’s breath stutter at the sight, and it filled you with a greedy, wild pride. Bucky teased the seam of you with the head of his cock, up and down, up and down, making you whine.
At the last moment, Bucky relented and pushed inside, filling you with a swift, brutal thrust that bottomed out in one motion. There was no slow stretch, no easing in—just the violent, relentless press of his cock, and you arched off the mattress with a helpless, desperate moan. Your body was made to take him, every inch of you was slick and trembling, so the pain blurred seamlessly into pleasure and back again until you weren’t sure which you preferred.
He moved slow at first, kneeling above you like a god, letting you feel the thickness of him as he rocked in and out, but it wasn’t long before he found the rhythm he liked—a rough, demanding piston that left you scrambling for breath, for touch, for anything to keep you from coming apart entirely. You felt every ridge and vein, every rutting pound as he chased his own need, each thrust fusing the two of you back together.
All you could do—wanted to do—was take it. The raw, pounding pleasure, the relentless stretch, the feeling of Bucky’s cock rutting into you deeply. You heard yourself sob—and it was not a neat or pretty thing, but a wrecked, raw sound that only made Bucky groan above you. He caught your thighs in his hands, spreading you wider, and you felt the obscene heat of the stretch, the way your cunt seized around him with each battering drive. The slick noise of it—your body, his cock, the fucking mess Steve had left in you—filled the room, a rhythm and a punctuation to Bucky’s breathing as he drove deeper, harder, faster.
Steve’s hand found yours in the sheets. He laced his thick fingers between yours and squeezed, grounding you, letting you feel the reverent awe rolling off him in slow, steady waves. But there was an unmet hunger still lingering there under the surface. You could feel it in the tense of his body next to yours, and when you turned your face, eyes seeking his, he met your gaze without hesitation.
Steve bent to kiss you, and there was no veiling tenderness or shy request for permission. His tongue pushed into your mouth, greedy and wild, tasting the ghost of Bucky on your lips, tasting the salt of your tears. You kissed back with everything you had, drawing another moan from your throat as Bucky pistoned into you, the force rocking your whole body up into Steve’s chest.
Bucky’s thrusts didn’t slacken—they were still relentless, still merciless—but as you and Steve kissed, the tempo oscillated into something deeper, a series of slower,seismic detonations. Each time Bucky bottomed out inside you, he held there, grinding, spine arched, as if the sight of you kissing Steve was as much a pleasure to him as the feel of your cunt squeezing him.
Steve groaned into your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and Bucky’s grip on your thighs tightened, like he needed to stake a claim even as he offered you up. With every new roll of Bucky’s hips, a different noise tore its way out of your throat—some for the pain, some for the pleasure, some for the blissful humiliation of being made a spectacle for their eyes.
“Fuck her mouth, Steve,” Bucky said, a low, hungry rumble.
Steve didn’t hesitate, and it was only for a fraction of a second before he was shifting up, the broad line of his thigh braced alongside your head. His cock was still half-hard, glazed with your slick and his own release. The sight of it, flushed angry-red and wet, made your cunt clench around Bucky. Steve cupped your chin, thumb curling along the hinge of your jaw, and you sucked him into your mouth, the taste salty and obscene.
You groaned around him, lips stretching, tongue flattening under the thick, salty weight. He barely thrust, just eased forward, but the size of him still made your throat protest. Bucky continued his slow, tortruous pace below, watching intently as Steve’s cock parted your lips, and the sight of it—his best friend fucking your mouth while he still pounded into your cunt—nearly undid him, you could feel it in the grip of his hands on your hips.
“Deeper,” Bucky ordered, and Steve obeyed. He slid in, careful but insistent, filling your mouth until you gagged, until your eyes watered anew. Steve slid in, your throat stretched, and the assault of it made you gasp around him, desperate for air, for mercy, for more. Steve petted your jaw, his other hand cupping the back of your head, and for all the brutality of the act there was infinite patience in how he held you there, letting you adjust, letting you learn the unique shape of his need. Somewhere above, Bucky laughed—a single breath of filthy awe, a marvel at the spectacle of you taking both their cocks at once like this.
The taste of Steve’s cum was thick in your mouth, the smell of sex and sweat and ozone burning in your nostrils. You wanted them both to know how much you liked this, how much you needed every inch of what they gave. So you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, rolling your tongue with just enough pressure to see the effect in Steve’s eyes—head thrown back, spine bowed glorious, hand clenching your jaw with a desperation that made you burn with pride.
Bucky’s cock pounded up into you from below, and Steve’s pushed into your mouth from above, and you—pinned, stretched, used—were nothing but bliss. The sensation was a hinge, your body swinging wild between the two of them. You felt the echo of your own heartbeat in your cunt, in your mouth, in every thrum of the mattress and grind of their hips.
Steve’s thrusts grew bolder, and at each push he eased a little deeper, patience thinning as your mouth softened to his shape. His voice, when it came, was raw and rough, “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good—” your name murmured as its own curse when it fell from his lips in this moment.
He spilled his seed down your throat, but not all of it. He pulled out and shot the rest over your breasts, warm rope after rope of it across your heaving chest as Bucky pistoned in even harder, the thudding slap of his hips the only sound in the world.
Bucky slammed harder, harder, until you felt the actual bruise of him inside you, some deep purple echo of the violence. He reached for your clit, pinched, and your body shuddered into another orgasm, spasms wracking you so hard you thought you’d bite your tongue. You moaned so sweet and so ruined as he flew over the edge.
Bucky’s cock throbbed inside you, a shuddering full-body tremor, and then he was coming, hips jammed flush as he spilled molten and messy into the deepest part of you. His moan was raw, unguarded, and he didn’t let up, kept grinding through every spurt, making sure you took every last drop. The pressure of it set off a chain reaction—your body seized, aftershocks tearing up your thighs and into your belly, squeezing around him in greedy, involuntary pulses.
Bucky’s head dropped back, his jaw flexing as he held your hips pinned. You watched him, glassy-eyed and adoring, as every muscle in his chest locked. “Christ,” he panted, eyes flickering to Steve, “This is unreal.” He pulled halfway out—slow, slow—then pushed in again, a wet, obscene sound marking every inch. “She’s still squeezing me, even after you ruined her.” Bucky’s grin was all teeth, all pride and filth. “Can feel your mess inside her, Steve. So fucking wet she’s dripping down my balls.”
You moaned in the hinge between them, wrung out and wild, as Bucky fucked you through the last quakes and Steve’s hand fanned gently against your throat, thumb pressing the pulse there like he wanted to count your heartbeats—maybe hold them for ransom.
Bucky let out a ragged exhalation and pulled out, the head of his cock dragging on hypersensitive nerves, leaving you gaping and gasping and dripping. Bucky didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. Instead, he watched the spill with a sick, loving sort of pride, then reached down, scooped his own cum with his fingers and smeared it over your breasts, painting you in it, mixing it with his best friend’s seed until your whole chest was slick with it. He held you there for a moment, painted and panting and caught in the liminal pleasure, before tilting your face up and licking a stripe from your collarbone to your jaw, tongue lazy and flat. Bucky’s mouth found yours, and you tasted the salt of Steve and yourself on his lips. You kissed him like you were dying, and Bucky kissed you back harder, swallowing you whole.
Steve’s voice burrowed into your ear with shocking gravity, arms closing around your limp torso as if to protect you from the world outside this narrow, unrepeatable moment. “You are so fucking beautiful ruined like this,” he said, voice half-reverent.
Bucky’s thumb pressed under your chin, tilting your face: “You want more, don’t you?” You did. That was the devastating truth of it. Even as your body ached and stung from orgasm, you wanted all the ways they touched you, every version of this night.
“Are you sure, Buck?” Steve asked, incredulous.
Bucky’s laugh was a bright, sharp crack in the haze, so full of delight it rang in your bones. “Oh, sweetheart. Steve has no idea what you’re capable of after a few more rounds.”
He bent over you, hands braced by your head, and pressed a kiss to the center of your brow—a benediction at odds with the lazy trail of his hand down your body, cupping your breast, then skimming the mess he and Steve had left there. He rubbed their slick together with an idle curiosity, like a child finger-painting, until Steve’s hand joined his, pinching a nipple between two careful fingers and rolling it until you arched up, spent muscles clenching with electric aftershock.
“We could let her rest,” Bucky said, tongue laving your earlobe as he spoke, “but why waste a perfectly good afterglow when you haven’t even fucked my wife in the shower yet?”
WE ALL KNOW I'M RARELY CAPABLE OF CUTTING SOMETHING DOWN
SO
I HOPE YOU'RE ALL HAPPY/RUINED RIGHT ALONGSIDE ME.
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