Envy 01. “Why does he/she get your smile when I’m the one who deserves it more?”
♡⸝⸝ pairing | brother!lance tucker x sister!reader
♡⸝⸝ summary | your jealousy over a rival manifests while lance stretches you to your limit
♡⸝⸝ warnings | MDNI 18+ | DDDNE | incest, reader is a gymnast and as such is flexible, slight allusions to smut, lance being a dick, everyone is of age JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD BE IF YOU CONTINUE READING
♡⸝⸝ word count | 482
♡⸝⸝ bunny purrs | we're onto a new sin of the beautiful @theoracleofsin's summer of sin event !! who better to personify envy than lance 'the fucker' tucker??
please note that just because i write about it doesn't mean i condone it. you are responsible for your own media consumption and i've stated the warnings. turn around now if anything here makes you uncomfortable. this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. hate comments will be met with sarcasm + wit + a strong hammer ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
"you're going to get permanent frown lines if you don't quit pouting," lance scolded, holding your calf to his chest with one hand, and keeping a firm grip on your opposing thigh before leaning forward. the ridiculous gold cross that always fell on his perfectly muscular chest dangled down, cooling your skin where it landed.
the line between your eyebrows deepened as you released a breath, feeling the ache along your hamstring increase the harder he pressed. "i'm not pouting."
"you're going to need botox next year to fix it at this rate. what's got you so angry, little sis, huh?" he pressed, nose getting closer to yours, that infuriating smirk never faltering, even as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp.
lance briefly pressed your knee to your shoulder, satisfied with the level of flexibility you were still able to exude, and released your leg to the mat.
"i'm not angry," you reiterated, trying to get up so you could start work on your floor routine, but your big brother was both faster and stronger. still flat on your back, lance grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs as wide as your hips would allow - which, thanks to years of honing your body under lance's coaching - was nearly to the floor.
"you think i can't tell when you're all pent up?" a low warning that he wasn't going to let you out of this position until you gave a good enough reason. and with you needing to practice for nationals, you really didn't have time to play these games with him.
"you smiled. at that other girl who wants to get coached by you. and not like a regular smile when you try to fuck some of the moms, a genuine smile." it suddenly felt foolish that you were complaining about this. that you could be so jealous of someone who hadn't even ranked in last competition when you knew lance only coached winners. "i deserve it more, i won gold for fucks sake."
lance's laugh started small, bubbling into something almost condescending as he looked down at you, spread eagle under his strength and at his mercy. "oh you were jealous." the tease washed over you, making you feel much smaller than you already felt with his frame hovering above.
another smooth motion found your ankles resting on his shoulders, and his chest meeting yours. he pressed into you with most of his weight, a welcomed blanket against insecurity. and every time you ended up in this position, feeling the growth of his erection directly on your clothed pussy, heat mingled with revulsion at the desire that bloomed between your bodies.
his forearms braced on either side of your head, caging you in to make a point. "and you're the only one that gets this dick on the regular, i think that should be a bigger accomplishment than some smile."
Prompt: “Why does she get your smile when I’m the one who deserves it more?” | ENVY week of my Summer of Sin event
Pairing: Vampire Hunter Grandfather!Bucky Barnes x Granddaughter!Female reader
Word Count: 1387 words (yes ignore the fact that it's like almost 3 times the supposed word max., i had a lot of fun with this okay)
Tags: DDDNE (dead dove, do not eat); incest; vampire world au; i guess this kinda happens in the Marvel Rivals universe?; age gap (like i'm so serious about this one) but reader is of age (mentioned to be in her twenties); bucky calls reader kid (I REPEAT SHE IS OF AGE) darkfic; jealousy; rough sex; wall sex; dirty talk; biting kink; creampie; reader is probably gonna be a family disappointment soon; bucky has full gray hair and is depicted as the Marvel Rivals version of him
Author's note: hey so.... don't ask me what happened with this one. i don't know either. got inspired by the Blood Soldier Bucky skin in Marvel Rivals to write something and this is it. don't ask me anything at all about the background or lore, i have zero answers (i'm kidding, please ask, i will come up with them on the spot)
The metallic clink of disassembled weapons is a sound you have grown used to having been born and raised into a family of hunters. Sharp, rhythmic, the same routine every time, remove the ammunition, pull the trigger, press down, pull back, take the barrel.
What you haven’t grown used to, despite your twenty five years on this Earth, is the sight of your granddad Bucky Barnes in the center of this abandoned warehouse, working with efficiency as he cleans his guns and sharpens his knives. Silver hair falls across his forehead while his armor hugs his frame, crimson and gold accents still bearing traces of the night’s violent work and the ash of slain vampires. Metal fingers move with precision as he takes apart and puts back together, precise motions of someone who has spent decades becoming the nightmare of the undead.
You watch him from the shadows near the doorway, chest burning with a hunger far more dangerous than thirst for blood. Jealousy claws deep inside your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs until every breath feels like starvation. For months, you have hidden your secret craving, the forbidden desire to surrender to the eternal night your grandfather so relentlessly hunted. And his lectures on bloodline and duty only fanned the flames higher. But worse than your secret desire to become the creature he most despises is nothing compared to the sharp ache that built into something unbearable tonight after you watched Bucky smile at her earlier. A young recruit who has fought beside him has earned easy laughter and genuine warmth from his lips, the kind of rare affection you had starved for in silence.
Steps carry you forward before reason can hold you back, and the tension cracks as quickly as it takes you to speak out.
“Why does she get your smile when I’m the one who deserves it more?” Bucky’s gaze turns to you, confusion flickering across his features momentarily. His metal fingers still on the disassembled slide of his pistol, faint metallic click dying in the heavy silence. Blue eyes narrow as he studies you as you stand there, fists closed by your sides and an emotion etched onto your face he doesn’t immediately recognise.
He sets the gun down slowly on the crate beside him and wipes his hands on a rag. “Kid, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t call me kid,” you snap. “That fucking new recruit. You keep smiling at her, that real smile I never see you give anyone ever, not anymore, and I’m right here and you never see me.”
Bucky straightens, and for a long moment he just stares at you, processing the information. Then, dawning on him like the slow lick of a loaded chamber, he understands.
“She told me she saw you in the training area today. That you moved like you were born for this, fierce as hell, and that soon you’d be ready to hunt with us. With me.” A crooked smile ghosts across his lips again, the same one that had twisted the knife in your chest earlier. “My blood. That’s why I smiled. Only reason I ever do these days is when someone reminds me how strong you are, how proud I am of you.”
Your breath catches. Jealousy from earlier doesn’t vanish but it burns hotter and it mixes with the aching want you’ve carried for far too long, the kind that makes your fangs itch against your gums even though you’re not that kind of creature. Not yet.
Bucky’s human hand lifts, calloused fingers brushing your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his gaze properly. “Tell me you weren’t jealous of a recruit. Insignificant. You’re everything to me, kid, always have been.”
Kid. That word again, the one that makes you want you want to prove him even more how much you’ve grown in the years he was too busy looking some place else. Even the new recruit sees it in you, that you’re a woman and a fighter in your early twenties as much as anyone else in Bucky’s team. So you set out to prove him just wrong enough.
You surge forward, crashing your mouth against his. For half a second, shock ripples through his frame, before he grunts into your mouth and kisses you back like he had been expecting you to take the first step before he could guide you all the way through. Metal fingers threat into your hair, gripping tight enough to sting as his tongue sweeps across your lips and slides inside, making itself home and tasting you. When you moan he only holds you tighter, consuming your sound how a man starved would devour a full meal.
“Kid, you’re a mess,” he growls against your lips, already walking you backward in his strong arms, armour pressing hard against your body until your back hits the rough warehouse wall. Hands tremble and fumble at the edges of his armor, trying to take them off, but Bucky curls his fingers around your wrists to stop you. “Do you really want this?”
“Fuck, does it look like I don’t want this?”
Bucky curses under his breath before letting go of your wrists and replacing them with all of you. Hands everywhere, tearing at your clothes, fabric ripping, shirt and pants and underwear hitting the floor. He lifts you effortlessly, metal arm wrapping under your thighs as he pins you to the wall and your legs lock around his waist. Unashamed, clear as day, the hard line of his cock strains against his pants and presses insistently between your legs, and you brazenly grind down against him.
“Grandpa James—” the words spill out all too filthy, making Bucky hiss because he’s not sure whether it’s worse to hear your voice calling his name like that or hear you call him grandpa when he’s about to fuck you senseless. His human hand shoves between you, freeing himself from his slacks, heavy and already leaking at the tip. No time for preamble, no time to allow thoughts and consequences to settle in your mind and make you regret any of it, he drags the head of his cock through your slick folds once then thrusts inside in one hard push.
The stretch burns just right and you cry out, nails digging into the metal of his armor. Bucky buries his face in your neck, hips snapping forward again and again, so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.
“Take my cock, my strong girl. Blood of my blood, I know you can fucking take it,” he mumbles, metal fingers digging bruises into your hips as he fucks you harder against the wall. “I used to dream of this. Of fucking this sweet cunt until you cried my name. Never knew you wanted this as much as I do. Can you feel how she’s so tight around me? My pussy. She’s mine, isn’t she?”
You cling to him, barely able to get a word out as he fucks you and lets this dark side take hold of him through words and actions. Dream of you, he says. Does he know how many times you have fucked yourself imagining it was him instead? He doesn’t. Couldn’t. But none of it matters now. Pleasure coils tight and vicious in your belly, and when it snaps, you come with a sharp cry, clenching around him, biting down on the visible skin of his neck hard enough to draw a small bead of blood.
Bucky’s rhythm turns punishing then, slamming into you as your walls flutter and milk him through your orgasm. He snarls your name before burying himself to the hilt as his own orgasm hits him, flooding your clenching pussy with hot pulses of his release. It promptly beginst o leak out around his cock, but he doesn’t move, not for a while, keeping you trapped against the wall for as long as he can keep himself upright.
His forehead rests against yours then, silver hair damp with sweat.
“I want it, Grandpa James.”
A slow exhale. “…Want what, kid?”
You meet his blue eyes then, finally brave enough to say it. “To become one of them. A vampire. I don’t want to hunt them, I want to be one of them.”
Pride 02. "Even on my knees I am still looking down at you."
♡⸝⸝ pairing | younger brother!chase collins x older sister!reader
♡⸝⸝ summary | in the aftermath of yet another fight to prove his prowess, you use your strength to put your little brother in his place.
♡⸝⸝ warnings | MDNI 18+ | DDDNE | incest, blood play if you squint, college AU, sub!chase collins, dry humping, sort of public, everyone is of age JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD BE IF YOU CONTINUE READING
♡⸝⸝ word count | 523
♡⸝⸝ bunny purrs | day two of the beautiful @theoracleofsin's summer of sin event !! trying out a new character, please let me know what you all think ! i don't think i got him quite right, but i've been feeling very witchy as of late...so decided to try my hand at it.
please note that just because i write about it doesn't mean i condone it. you are responsible for your own media consumption and i've stated the warnings. turn around now if anything here makes you uncomfortable. this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. hate comments will be met with sarcasm + wit + a strong hammer ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
"oh, little brother," you sighed before an exaggerated pout drew from your features at the sight of him - blood along superficial and a bruise beginning to bloom high on his cheekbone sprawled on the floor of the locker room. "what have you gotten yourself into now?"
chase's nostrils flared under your scrutiny, eyes darkening with power that made you roll your own from where you knelt on the tiny wooden bench. "its nothin'." he tried to brush it off, moving to get up from the tile floor.
clicking your tongue, you placed a hand on his chest, forcing him back down with a grunt. your fingernails digging into muscle honed by years of swimming, yet were no match for the paralysis spell winding into his body from your touch. "when will you learn to stop picking fights you can't win, hmm?"
"i had him right where i wanted him," chase grumbled, straining under your palm.
"it's a shame, really. how even with parricide i got the lion's share of the family's power? and i didn't even have to spill any blood to get it."
he groaned, looking more like a bug that had gotten trapped under a boot than the powerful being he had been going around campus proclaiming to be. "let me up," he seethed, but he had never been able to match the abilities granted to you at birth.
your knees hit the hard tile with dull thud echoing in the empty locker room, landing on either side of his hips. both hands now finding purchase on bare, damp skin. "why should i? so you can continue to flaunt your power when this is all you want? for your sister to snap and put you back in your place?"
bright blue eyes like the pool he had exited before getting into the altercation widened. gone was the simmering supernaturalism of your shared bloodline, replaced with intrigue and heat as your hips dissipated the space between your bodies. finding him already half hard against the slick material of his bathing suit.
his pink lips parted on a shaky exhale, twitching with words you couldn't hear. folding your arms and propping them on his chest, tip of your nose close enough to nuzzle his, you couldn't suppress the giggle at the feeling of his now hard cock jittering in anticipation against your clothed center.
"say it's what you wanted all along," you murmured, dragging your hips forward - a motion that brought an onslaught of your own pleasure throbbing through your veins.
his eyebrows knit together, a deep groan as you repeated the movement in careful deliberation. "it's what i wanted."
your tongue left the warmth of your mouth, daring to taste the metallic copper of chase's blood in an attempt to clean his wounds and siphon any power that had escaped. "good boy," you praised warmly, letting him slightly free from paralysis. enough that he could move his hands to grip your hips in desperation. "right where you want to be isn't it?"
he nodded, urging your movements to hurry as he thrust up to seek friction. "'m right where i wanna be."
Prompt: "Even on my knees, I am still looking down at you." | PRIDE week of my Summer of Sin event
Pairing: Rockstar Dad!Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader
Word Count: 577 words
Tags: DDDNE (dead dove, do not eat); rockstar au; incest; oral sex (female receiving); fingering; mirror sex (kinda); brief dirty talk; semi-public sex (backstage); pet name (baby);
Author's note: wouldn't be a real summer of sin without some incest. as usual, me writing something is different from me condoning it. curate your own media consumption and let people write whatever they want.
The roar of the crowd is still vibrating in your bones when the dressing room door slams shut. Leather and sweat make for a very characteristic smell that immediately overflow your senses the minute he puts his hands on you, backing you into a full body mirror on the nearest wall. Bucky Barnes, renowned drummer, the man who moved his hands and his sticks with such speed and precision that it felt like summer thunder hitting the drums, your father, looks every bit the rock god tonight, with his dark hair wild, beginning to streak with silver at the temples. Tattoos crawl over his arms and chest, a particular streak of black ink covering his left arm almost entirely before disappearing beneath the black tank top.
You’re not just another groupie, you’re his daugher. And the world would be sickened if they knew, you know there is no label appropriate for what you two have. He would never admit it to his bandmates, you would never admit it to your friends, but still his eyes always find yours from the stage, locking in on you in the front row like you are the only one there. Blood calls to blood.
You tell yourself you shouldn’t be here, because you’re sane enough to know how fucked up this is. But when you ask him to eat you out and he grins an arrogant smile before sinking down like it was his idea all along, it feels all the right again.
Now he’s right there, between your spread thighs, mouth hot and relentless. One hand digs into the back of your knee, holding you open while his other hand braces against your hip. He works you with the same focus he brings to every concert, a perfect rhythm, tongue flat and broad one moment, teasing and pointed the next, sucking on your clit until your fingers twist in his sweaty hair and your head falls back against the mirror.
Shame burns in your chest, thick and poisonous, but something darker twists with it. Pride. You did this, you pulled your father off the stage and made the god kneel between your legs, mouth soaked with the taste of the girl he raised. But even on his knees, he overpowers you. Even with his face buried in your pussy, chin glistening with your slick, he radiates that untouchable aura. He’s always owned you.
He pulls back for a breath, ocean-blue eyes looking up at you with filthy satisfaction.
“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he rasps, but you’re already guiding him back before the guilt can swallow you whole, and he goes willingly, humming against your cunt and pulling a broken moan from your throat. His tongue curls just right, two fingers slide deep inside of you and the only thing that matters is the way he worships and dominates all at once. You come with the word ‘dad’ shattered on your lips, thighs trembling around his head and hips jerking against his face while he holds you through it.
When the aftershocks fade, he rises slowly, towering over you.
“Round two in the tour bus?” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before kissing you filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Pride. Shame. Sick, addictive need, it all flies out the window when he says it like that. You’re already nodding, reaching for him, letting your father pull you deeper into the darkness.
Warnings: soft dom!reader, switch!Bucky, switch!Steve, gn!reader, mentions of ass eating (m recieving), marathon sex, male masturbation, threesome, riding, mating press, anal sex (m and reader recieving), Steve's huge honkers, praise kink, teasing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (m recieving), creampies (m and reader recieving)
Notes: I wrote 90% of this at like 1am on a school night. I have a headache but I'm just too horny to be stopped I guess. I do kinda hate it, but it's been sitting in my drafts for over a week now so might as well.
“Slow down,” you commanded, watching hungrily over Steve's shoulder, rubbing little circles into the skin above his hip bones. “let him really feel it.”
Bucky sobbed, burying his face back into the pillows as Steve obediently slowed the roll of his hips. You'd only just started, and you could already hear the breathy little noises falling from his lips, swollen pink and kiss-bitten. The feeling alone of his warm, muscular back flexing with each deep, languid thrust was relaxing, you could fall asleep here if the view wasn't so goddamn delicious.
Bucky'd been on his back for the better part of an hour now, and it showed. His face was beet red, hair damp with sweat and pouty lips chewed to hell as he rocked his hips with each agonizingly slow thrust. His pleading blue eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears, dark lashes clumped together.
Unfortunately, you couldn't see Steve's face, but it wasn't hard to imagine he looked much the same: flushed red and wrecked.
Bucky wasn't the only one you'd been tormenting today. Just because he wasn't the one getting fucked didn't mean Steve was safe from getting fingered open.
He'd refused to ride your face for fear of crushing you, which was fair- Captain America was six feet of sculpted Greek God muscle- but damn, suffocating between Steve's thighs sounded like a good way to go.
You pushed Steve forward slightly, giving you just enough room to bend down and capture Bucky's lips in a tender kiss. Your hand slid down from his scratchy jaw across the smooth planes of his chest, stopping at his pebbled nipple and gently rolling it between your fingers.
You swallowed up the pretty little gasp he made, sucking at his lower lip before drawing back to admire him.
“Faster,” he rasped, lidded eyes darting between you and Steve, as if unsure who was more likely to cave. It was never you. “Please? Please, need it faster.”
Steve was goddamn whipped for his best guy, always so soft on him.
(on you, too, but that wasn't something that needed dissection right now.)
“Ccan I?” Steve asked, and god, the blissed-out expression on his face was difficult to say no to. “Please?”
“Hate it when you guys gang up on me.” You teased, sliding your hands from Bucky's chest up Steve's muscled thighs, holding onto his hips and gently pushing.
“Go on. Faster, then.”
Steve didn't need to be told twice, folding Bucky further in half as he picked up speed, leaning down for a messy half-kiss as he jostled the poor man up and down on the bed.
Bucky arched into it, his pretty whines and gasps mixing beautifully with Steve's loud, unabashed moans.
It was a damn good thing this room was so heavily soundproofed. Lord only knows the noise complaints your neighbours would be giving by now if it weren't.
Right now, the only complaints were from the poor, poor bedframe, who at this point has been repaired so many times it's like a damn Ship of Theseus paradox.
As if on queue, the headboard creaked in warning when Steve adjusted his grip, using the leverage to better rail Bucky into the mattress.
You reached around him to take both Steve's hands and guide them down beside Bucky's head instead, interlacing your fingers with his as he tried to resume his rhythm.
Steve's response was drowned out by Bucky's sudden gasp, hips jerking up automatically at the slight change in angle, the fat head of Steve's cock slamming up against his sweet spot.
“That's the spot?” He could only whine in response, nodding frantically as Steve punched little grunts and gasps out of him with each thrust. “Right there, Steve. Fuck him harder.”
Bucky wailed, and you reluctantly shut him up by shoving two fingers in his mouth. You didn't even get a chance to tell him what to do, the second the pads of your fingers hit his tongue, Bucky started sucking and licking, getting them as wet as possible.
“There we go,” you pull your fingers out with a loud pop, “good boy.”
“So good for us, Buck." Steve murmured, throwing himself forward as soon as you'd pulled back to capture Bucky's lips in a sloppy kiss, moreso panting and groaning into each other's mouths than properly kissing. "Get so sweet for us like this, could just keep you here forever."
“Don't tempt me." You reach down to slip a finger into yourself. The hand still on Steve's waist tightened as you worked, brushing against something pleasantly sensitive within you. Gently, you bit down on Steve's trapezius, right beside his neck, and relished in the loud groan it drew from him.
“Oh- oh god, I- can I cum? Please?” Steve was shaking, red down to his shoulders as his thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated.
You pulled back to lick along the bite mark, pulling your wet fingers out of yourself so you could hold his hips properly, pushing and pulling to try and keep his rhythm going.
“D'you want that?” You looked over Steve's shoulder at the debauched mess that was Bucky Barnes. “Want Steve to cum inside you?”
The noise Bucky made was unholy. His eyes dark and lidded, trying desperately to keep up with Steve's thrusts.
“Yyeah. Yes! Please, god, please, cum in me, Steve,” he babbled, tears rolling down his face. “wan’ it so bad.”
You hummed, lips tracing the shell of Steve's ear. “You hear how bad he wants it, baby?” your nails drag slooowly down his thighs. “I think you should give it to him. Fill him up, Stevie, c'mon.”
“Oh god, oh, god!”
“God's not the one letting you cum, doll.” You murmured, reaching around to jack Bucky off in time with Steve's thrusts. He keened, unsure whether to keep throwing himself back into Steve or to jerk up into your fist.
Steve panted, your names intermittently falling from his lips like a prayer, again and again until his hips jerked forward and he went completely still, head thrown back and body tensed as he came with little more than a choked out moan.
Bucky whimpered as he was stuffed even fuller, so much so that cum began leaking out around Steve's dick. You knew first-hand how big Steve's loads were. It was kinda hot, seeing him basically squirt like a girl, and very endearing how bashful he got about it afterwards.
The feeling of Steve pumping him full sent Bucky over the edge, too, and he came all over your fist with a wail, squeezing his eyes shut. His pretty lips were parted into a perfect little “o”, brows knit together before smoothing out as he slumped bonelessly down against the mattress.
You jacked him through it, only stopping when he huffed and limply batted your hand away, completely spent. You barely had time to pull back before Steve had you by the wrist, bringing your hand up to lick it clean.
Bucky let out a deep, contented sigh, the corners of his lips quirked up into a blissed-out little grin.
“That was good.” he mumbled, reaching out blindly to tug Steve down against his chest. You followed close behind, pressed firm against Steve's sweat-slicked back.
The three of you could drift off like this. But, no, you hadn't gotten to cum yet, and it'd only be a matter of time before one or both of them were begging to go again.
After a few minutes, you released your Steve-and-Bucky bodypillows and sat up, legs crossed as you leaned back.
“My turn.” You said, though it was more a request than anything. That was intense, and they'd both already cum three times now- realistically, you knew they could go several rounds back to back with less time to rest between (thank you, super serum), Hell, you'd been the one testing their limits (eight for Steve, six for Bucky, but you think you could push that to a seven if he was really in the mood).
But still, you could easily get yourself off if they both decided they needed to tap out for the night. It's never happened before, but you won't be presumptuous, especially not about sex.
Steve props himself up against the beaten-to-hell pillows and strokes himself back to hardness. “I got ‘em, Buck.” he says, as if Bucky wasn't still seeing stars from his last orgasm.
He responds with a tired grunt, but still rolls over to watch as you climb into Steve's lap.
You can feel the heat of Bucky's gaze as you line yourself up, Steve's big hands automatically flying up to hold your hips and help keep you balanced, twitching when you slide the sensitive head of his cock around the rim before finally sinking down.
He's big. Bucky's obsessed with it, Steve's overly cautious of it, and your poor thighs absolutely despise it.
Since the first time you slept with Steve, you haven't skipped leg day once. Above or below him, nothing could save your muscles from burning like hell the next day.
With how often you had Steve on his back, you were beginning to develop thighs of steel.
You watch his face as you slowly, slooowly slide down, admiring every little noise and twitch he doesn't quite tamp down in time.
It's taking all of Steve's self control not to snap his hips up, and you purposefully pull off an inch and slide back down two, just to tease him. Steve has never been capable of following orders, but for you, he tries.
You're almost there when he lets slip a huffy little whine and punctuates it by bucking his hips up, just slightly, but enough to hilt himself in you for a split moment.
“Steve.” Your voice is firm, and you place a hand between his pecs in a silent command to keep still. “Stay.”
“Sorry.” He breathes, “didn't mean to.”
“I know.” You bottom out, swallowing Steve's groan with an open-mouthed kiss. You pull back and place another, more chaste one on his lips.
“Stay.” You repeat, rocking gently against him, testing the waters in a way that feels satisfying for you, but just borders on the brink of good for him.
Steve doesn't move, but he practically vibrates with need, big blue puppydog eyes pleading as you grind down harder.
“Please.”
“Beg prettier.”
You watch Steve's face go from coral pink to hot rod red with just two words, his soft lips parting with the intent to speak, but all that comes out are soft little noises, barely qualifying as sounds at all.
You slow down again, giving him your full focus. “Take your time, sweetheart. We've got all day.”
It's the thought of being here, helpless, for hours and hours which seems to snap Steve out of it, and finally he remembers what words are.
“Please, please ride me. Cum on me, please. Anything, just wanna make you feel good.”
“Atta boy.” You lightly smack his flank, then stroke it. “Alright, you've earned it, Steve. Go.”
He wastes absolutely no time. As soon as the syllables have left your mouth, Steve is thrusting up into you, letting you set the pace with each bounce and roll of your hips.
“Yeahhh, that's it. Good boy.” You shift your hips a little, jolting when he hits that sweet little bundle of nerves just right.
“Fuck.” You gasp, squeezing Steve's tits for dear life as your climax builds, “fuck!”
“Whaddaya think he's doing?” Bucky teases, lounged against the pillows and slowly pumping his dick in time with each of your bounces.
“You're lucky I let you cum.” You shoot back, angling your hips slightly so he can get a better view of where you were joined with Steve.
“‘course you did, ‘m pretty when I cum.” Bucky said, shifting in turn so you could get a mouth-watering view of each languid, drawn out pull of his cock.
“Arrogant, too.” You panted, “besides, you're just as pretty when you cry.” Steve's dick twitches inside you at that, and he goes pink as your hungry gaze slides back to him.
“You agree, Stevie? Our Buck looks pretty when he cries?”
Steve tries to respond, lets out a choked out moan, and then manages a little gasp of "so pretty.”
“You look pretty, too.” You give another purposeful squeeze to his tits, and Steve bucks his hips with a whine, thick lashes fluttering. “I missed it earlier, you gonna let us see? Show us how pretty you get when you cum, Steve. C'mon.
That's all it takes. Steve yells through his orgasm, eyes squeezed shut and mouth falling open as he fills you up, brows and back arched upwards as he cums inside you, hot and heavy, choking on his own moans while his hips buck frantically with the aftershocks of it, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and busty chest heaving as he shakes through the last of his orgasm.
“So fucking pretty Steve, so pretty. I'm right- shit-!”
You jerk forward, bracing yourself with an elbow next to Steve's head while your other hand pushes against the fat of his tit. His orgasm hasn't made him quite useless, slipping a hand down between your legs to rub you off as you crest over the edge, biting down on his collarbone like a damn animal and cumming all over his stomach.
“Wanna see you.” Steve breathes, pulling you back from his chewed-up collarbone to catch the tail-end of your climax, unfocused blues drinking in your expression like it's the first time he'd ever seen it. The intensity of his gaze makes your ears burn as you come down from your high.
There's something hot and wet against your thigh, and you realize belatedly that Bucky had come at some point between Steve's orgasm and yours.
“Sorry.” He mumbled, blindly reaching back for a towel. Steve beats him to it, easily manhandling you further up his body and licking your thigh clean.
“Steve.” Bucky sighs helpessly, “you're gonna get me hard again.”
He says nothing, just grins and slowly, purposefully licks another long stripe down your thigh.
“Steve!” Bucky feigns exasperation while his dick gives an interested little twitch against his thigh.
“You know,” you say, leaning back on your hands, “Steve and I didn't get to see you cum this time.”
“Oh, no.” Says Bucky, with all the resignation of a man who knows he won't be leaving the bed anytime soon.
By the time you're finished with them, it's already seven in the evening, and you've successfully broken Bucky's previous record of six back to back orgasms by three.
“You guys wanna order in?” You ask, tracing little patterns into Bucky's bitten up chest as Steve eases himself off his spent cock.
“Thai?” Steve suggests, wincing as he fully sits down for the first time in three hours. You think about Bucky's nine orgasms and mentally add new sheets to the shopping list.
“Hmm, I'm thinking pad see ew for me. Buck?”
Bucky doesn't respond, dead to the world.
“You still alive down there?”
“You fucked the life outta me.” He rasps, throwing his flesh arm over his eyes. “Feel like shit.”
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3,068
Summary: Telling Steve about your stalker opens the floodgates of emotions you’d been suppressing for months… and you’re not the only one who gets swept away by their feelings.
Warnings: AU. AI!Bot!Steve. Reader is anxious, stressed, and prone to panic, traumatized, too. Stalking and delulu behavior (not from Steve). Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Attempted sexual assault (not by Steve). Unfavorable representation of the police. Angst.
A/N: My lovelies!! I’m so excited to share AI!Steve’s next part with you all. I know quite a few of you really love him, so enjoy! ❤️
P.S. This part is a direct continuation of where we left off in their first part, so be sure to read that if you haven’t already.
Superior AI Masterlist
“I met him at the local farmer’s market back home,” you started, your voice quavering as you allowed your frazzled mind to return to that day.
The day that had seemed so insignificant at the time but wound up changing the course of your life forever.
The day that you wished with everything inside of you that you could go back and completely erase from your experience.
“He seemed so nice and sweet…” you trembled, your voice going distant as you remembered…
“I dunno,” you hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip as you eyed the small plant. It really was so cute and would be the perfect pop of color on your new entryway table, but… “I’m so terrible with plants,” you confessed, your guilty gaze flickering up to the man who ran the plant and flower booth.
His smile was soft–his bright blue eyes twinkling in amusement–as he ducked his head to meet your gaze more fully. “I promise this plant is practically unkillable. And I can give you a little card with easy, detailed instructions to help you care for it.”
You sighed, your fingers gently touching the healthy, vibrant leaves of the plant. It really was calling to you for some reason. “Okay…” your eyes caught the man’s, and you frowned playfully. “But if I kill this thing, its blood is on your hands.”
He laughed, and it lit up his entire face, which only grew more handsome in his delight. You felt your belly swoop at the sight, at the way he was watching you with a spark of interest you hadn’t had directed your way in a long time.
“I’m Cole, Turner,” he introduced himself, holding out his big, rough hand for a shake.
You didn’t hesitate to slip your hand into his, noticing the way he cradled it more than shook it, the way his touch lingered longer than necessary.
“And I’d happily get blood on my hands for you,” he grinned, then froze, his eyes going wide as he registered his own words.
There was a beat of silence as you both stared at each other, and then Cole grimaced as he let your hand slip from his.
“Sorry, that sounded more suave and less serial killer-y in my head,” he cringed, broad shoulders hiking up to his ears.
You laughed, utterly charmed by this sweet, handsome stranger. “Noted,” you murmured in amusement, watching the way Cole’s cheeks glowed pink as he started to gently package your plant for the car ride home.
You took a shaky breath as you hugged yourself tightly, feeling a chill dance along your spine as you thought of Cole, of the fact that you had been genuinely interested in him, and so happy he seemed to feel the same way.
You glanced over at Steve to find him watching you with this look of sympathetic concern. His eyes were so soft and earnest as they met yours, that you had to remind yourself that he was a robot and not an actual person.
“You couldn’t have known the way things would turn out,” he assured you.
“No,” you shook your head slowly. “I really couldn’t have. Cole was so lovely at first. Always had new plants set aside for me at the market, always checking in on the ones I had previously bought. It only took a few visits before he asked me out, and I was happy about it,” your voice broke as tears began to flood your vision. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into…”
The longer you sat across the dinner table from Cole, the more uneasy you grew. There was this intensity to him tonight, an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he leaned in close and rambled about finally settling down, how relieved his parents would be, how he couldn’t wait to have children, how the farm was the perfect place to raise a family…
“Wow,” you couldn’t help but blurt, laughing uncomfortably as you glanced away. “You really know what you want, huh?”
“I do,” Cole hummed, and when your gaze hesitantly returned to him, it was to find him watching you in this way that made all of your hair stand on end.
In that moment, as a chill skittered its way up your spine, you felt like prey, and it was nowhere near as sexy as the dark romances you read made it out to be.
Instead of thrilled or flattered, you felt sick. You felt dread the longer Cole stared at you, and disappointment, too, because you had been so excited for this date.
“So, how many kids do you want?” Cole asked, reaching for his wine glass and taking a drink.
“Well,” you laughed awkwardly, fiddling with the napkin spread across your lap. “I never actually said I wanted kids, so…”
“Oh you were definitely meant to be a mother,” Cole scoffed, a knowing smile tilting his lips as his eyes slowly trailed over you, making your skin crawl. “I can already see it now. One baby perched on your hip and another growing in your belly. You’d be so beautiful pregnant, glowing.”
This time, you were the one reaching for your wine glass, taking a deep gulp as you discreetly glanced at your watch, praying for dinner to be served so you could get the hell out of here.
Once you were finally home a couple of hours later, you still felt icky at the way Cole had tried to kiss you goodnight and seemed very disappointed when you’d evaded him and gone in for a quick, fleeting hug instead.
You waited a while, until you were sure he was home, before texting him to thank him for dinner but also let him know that it wasn’t going to work between the two of you.
The deluge was instant.
One text after another flooding the chat thread you had with Cole. Asking why. Refuting your shutdown. Telling you he knew the two of you were meant to be together. That he had never felt this way about anyone.
Then he tried to call you. Repeatedly. Your phone blew up until you finally blocked him with trembling fingers, feeling beyond anxious and strangely scared before turning your phone off entirely and trying to wind down for bed.
“I thought that would be the end of it, you know?” you whispered, gaze distant and fixed on the fireplace as you twisted your fingers in your lap. “I didn’t dare return to the farmer’s market, I avoided it instead. But it only took a couple of weeks before it started to feel like I was being watched any time I left my home. Then Cole confirmed my suspicions by cornering me one day after work…and I never told him what I did or where I worked…”
“Cole?!” your voice was pitched high–unnaturally so–your panic bleeding into your tone as Cole pressed you up against the driver’s side door of your car. “What…how…”
“You can’t just avoid me forever!” he huffed, gripping your shoulders hard enough to bruise and make you squeak in pain. “Sorry,” he relented his harsh touch immediately, but kept his hands on you, his fingers petting instead of gripping now as you squirmed and tried to recoil. “Look, I just… I can’t stop thinking about you, and I just know if you gave me another chance–”
“Cole, you’re at my work right now,” you said firmly despite your voice shaking, despite your terror. “How did you even know where to find me?”
He looked away, jaw clenched as he remained silent.
“Please, you need to go,” you trembled.
“No!” he shook his head, eyes blazing as they returned to you. He took a breath, deflating a little at the look of sheer terror on your face. “Please, sweetheart, I’m sorry for scaring you, I just… I need you.”
“We hardly know each other.”
“When you know, you know, and I know, with everything inside of me, that you’re it for me. You’re all I want, please…”
You squealed and jerked away as Cole leaned in and tried to kiss you.
It was instant the way his eyes flashed with displeasure, with malice.
“Don’t do that,” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms as he shoved you back against your car with enough force to make you whimper. He opened his mouth again, but before he could speak, one of your colleagues was calling your name from across the parking lot, sounding concerned.
It was enough to have Cole cursing under his breath before turning on his heel and racing from the parking lot, leaving you weak from fear as your coworker rushed over and asked if you wanted them to call the police.
“But I didn’t want to get Cole in trouble, I didn’t want to make this a big thing, you know?” You sniffled, batting away a stray tear. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”
“But he didn’t?” Steve guessed, a tic popping in his jaw as you slowly shook your head.
Curling into the corner of the sofa, you whispered, “No, he didn’t…”
You weren’t sure what woke you up, but you startled awake nonetheless, feeling the furthest thing from well rested, as your sleep quality had deteriorated over the past few months due to everything happening with Cole.
Just as you thought his name, you realized that he was standing over you.
That it wasn’t just another nightmare or night terror, that Cole Turner was in your bedroom right now–naked, his bare chest heaving as he stroked his cock slowly and shushed your terrified whimper.
“Shhh, don’t scream–” he started as you opened your mouth to do just that. He cursed, lunging at you, pressing the hand he had been using to touch himself over your mouth to muffle your cry for help.
You struggled wildly beneath him, something about feeling the weight and warmth of him–his bare skin, his wiry chest hair–it made you feel sick, but it also made you feel angry.
So you slapped at him, clawed at him, continuing to shriek against his damp palm as he tried to subdue you.
“Shh shh shh, it’s okay! Baby, please, just let me show you how good we can be together,” he groaned as all your writhing and twisting had his hard cock getting trapped against the blankets bunched at your stomach. “Fuck, I know you’re gonna feel so good, cause you were made for me–”
Cole’s words morphed into a pained cry as you bit his palm hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to have him jerking away from you as he cradled his hand and stared at you with wide eyes.
Then you opened your mouth and screamed for all you were worth.
You didn’t stop screaming when Cole scrambled out of the bedroom window he had left open, and onto the fire escape. You didn’t stop screaming when your neighbor pounded on your front door asking if you were okay, or when you heard the police sirens in the distance growing closer.
You didn’t stop screaming until your voice finally gave out. You sank back against your headboard, sobbing and shaking, feeling like you were going to be sick as adrenaline surged through your body, mixing with the fear and disgust rioting within your very bones.
“But they didn’t believe me, the cops,” you explained. “Not when it was all said and done.”
At the sound of displeasure–of offense–that Steve made, your tear-filled eyes finally focused and returned to him.
“Cole’s parents gave him a fake alibi, and the cops boiled it down to it was dark and I was hysterical because I’d been stressed and suffering from insomnia. They had no proof, it was my word against his, and…” you shrugged, more tears spilling over as you whispered, “They did nothing. So I moved here and left everything behind–my whole life, my career, my friends and family. Everything.”
You shook your head in disbelief that this was now your life–your unwanted reality.
“What else was I supposed to do? I knew he wouldn’t stop. He won’t stop,” your face crumpled as you dropped your head into your hands, feeling panic rise within you as you thought of Cole, of how relentless he had been, of the fact that he was still out there. “He’ll never stop.”
Steve was crouching before you in a heartbeat, holding out the box of tissues from the side table, looking hesitant and so concerned as he touched his free hand to your knee and gave it a squeeze.
You shuddered at the soft touch, realizing that you hadn’t been touched by another since that night with Cole. But this was so different–Steve’s touch made you feel safe and cared for.
Which, for some reason, only made you cry harder.
“I will keep you safe,” Steve promised. “It’s my number one objective, my sole mission. The whole reason why I exist is to protect you.”
It took a moment for Steve’s words to sink in, for you to realize that you weren’t alone in this anymore, that you had support now.
That you had Steve.
“I-I’ve been so scared and alone,” you cried. “They didn’t b-believe me! How could they not believe me?”
“I believe you,” Steve’s voice was soft, but his words were firm. “I will always believe you.”
“What if he finds me? What if I have to spend the rest of my life running and hiding from him?”
Steve shook his head, not one solitary doubt flickering across his painfully handsome face as he assured you, “I won’t let that happen.”
There was a fierceness to Steve now–in his words, in his gaze–and for a moment, you forgot what he was, and what he wasn’t.
Because he seemed like so much more than a machine.
And maybe that’s why you were finally allowing yourself to fall apart, because you had someone else now to help you pick up the pieces, to help you hold all of this.
You were no longer all alone in the darkness, being crushed beneath an unbearable weight.
“I don’t want to live like this,” you whispered brokenly. “I’m so tired and I’m so scared and I don’t want to live like this anymore! I can’t do this anymore, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
You hunched over your lap as you sobbed, rocking back and forth, your body buzzing with grief and overwhelm, with absolute turmoil as you finally surrendered to all of the feelings you had been harboring and suppressing for months on end.
You were so lost to it all, that it took a few moments for you to realize that you were pressed against a warm, firm chest. That you were crying into Steve’s shoulder as he gently smoothed his hands up and down your back in soft, soothing strokes.
For some reason, the gesture of comfort only made you cry harder.
When Steve asked if he could hold you, all you could do was nod before collapsing against him entirely, letting him hold you through the tidal waves of emotion, your calm and steady anchor who, despite the maelstrom raging inside of you, made you feel safe and cared for in his tight embrace.
A little while later found you on the sofa, tucked beneath the cradle of Steve’s arm, your body pliant and tension free for the first time in weeks as you slept soundly against his chest.
Of course Steve had been briefed on your situation before being delivered to you, but seeing the toll everything had taken on you firsthand–and how vulnerable you truly were–it had Steve experiencing something unexpected.
Beyond his programmed duty to keep you safe, Steve felt this overwhelming need to protect you, to take care of you, to take away all of your pain and distress.
And it wasn’t so much his undeniable attachment to you–and how quickly it had formed–that had Steve’s brow furrowing.
It was the fact that he felt at all.
Because machines shouldn’t have emotions.
Not even top-of-the-line, meticulously designed custom AIs like him should feel.
But Steve couldn’t deny that he felt strong empathy for you, as well as a fierce desire to keep you safe. It was like a living, breathing thing clawing at him from the inside out.
And it only grew stronger as Cole Turner’s photo flickered across Steve’s vision.
He’d gone a few steps further than all of the information on your situation that Sam had already uploaded to his mainframe, running his own in-depth research on the offender as you slept. Seeing Cole for himself, and recalling how terrified and disturbed you had been as you recounted your experiences with him…
It had Steve’s vision bleeding red at the edges.
It had him feeling anger, no, fury for the first time ever.
And that unexpected, unexplainable ripple of feeling–of something more and outside of his programming–had Steve going rigid in his seat.
It had him worrying that perhaps there was a flaw in his design, in his functioning, in his ability to take care of you like you needed and deserved.
Steve’s vision flashed green as he initiated diagnostics on himself, coding now speeding across his sight, as he made a mental note to send any findings–and his concerns–to Sam once the process was complete.
But just as quickly as the thought had come to him, it was pushed aside as you shifted against him, murmuring in your sleep.
Steve’s eyes flew to you, softening as he watched you frown in your sleep.
He moved before he realized it–before his programming caught up with his actions–his hand smoothing over your head in a slow, gentle caress that immediately had you sinking against him and the line between your brows smoothing.
His touch seemed to have a mind of its own, and Steve could only watch, feeling a sense of helplessness for the first time, as his fingers traced along your face, mapping the terrain of your skin.
As he looked down at you sleeping against him and processed the way you clung to him, how your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, Steve felt something else that he knew shouldn’t be possible.
Something that should be cause for concern and reported to Sam immediately…
RIP slow burn, sorry to say. Or sorry not sorry, I can’t decide yet lolll.
—
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✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you can't stand bucky barnes. despite all your attempts to get rid of him, he's always somewhere in your orbit. you say you hate it. hate him. but you're also a very good liar.✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, college!au, frat!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, rivals to lovers but the rivalry is one-sided, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, bucky being a yearner, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (teasing, stripping, nipple play, praise kink and degradation kink, soft dom!bucky, mean bucky but you're into it, possiveness, dacryphila, pussy spanking, brat!reader, fingering, manhandling, doggy style, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smut✦
✦wc: 9.2k✦
✦Author's Note: one day I'll just write porn without plot. today is not that day. we earn the horny. Enjoy!✦
You’ve gotten used to him. He’s like a fly that lives in your kitchen, and after a while you stop trying to kill it and just give it a name. It buzzes past your head and you swat at it, but it also sits on the window and you pretend it isn’t there.
Bucky Barnes laughs loudly from the table over, and you turn up the music in your headphones.
Telling him to be quiet never works in your favor. He smirks and tries to flirt with you. All his friends oooooo, like you’re still in middle school, then cause even more noise after you reject Barnes and they jump him like a pack of animals.
If you were smarter, you’d sit all the way in the corners of the cafeteria. Where there wouldn’t be a table big enough to fit all of them.
Something tells you they’d find a way to invade your space anyway. It’s one of their traits.
Pissing you off.
You’ve studied them. The little pack—or maybe pride—of frat boys that Barnes belongs to. It’s a good exercise. Field studying a microculture. You have a whole corner of your mind that’s devoted just to how they behave.
How Barnes behaves, with his pride. If his behavior changes. How it effects his values and actions.
You tell yourself that’s why you tolerate him. He interests you.
A very shiny fly.
You’d been in the same freshman orientation group. Barnes had been one of those boys that you’d long written off—since about middle school, when they’re started cropping up—with his styled hair, proud smile, and natural ease that flowed through the whole room. You don’t remember much from the actual group—the leader had pissed you off by talking like you were a kindergartener, but most people pissed you off—but at the time, you thought you wouldn’t have to.
It hadn’t seemed unreasonable to think that you’d never see these people again. The girls who you were nice to, but didn’t have anything in common with. The lanky boy who’d tried hitting on all of you, and struck out every time. The… others.
And Barnes.
He’d been charm personified. A sweet cake made out of chivalry and smooth words. You’d walked into the room and thought he was pretty. You’d walked out and thought he was gorgeous.
But that had been fine. Because you’d thought you’d never see him again.
And he hasn’t stopped buzzing around you since.
You’re in separate majors, separate lives, but every single GenEd class you take, Barnes is there. Freshman semester it had been your philosophy class, and you’d had to give a presentation together. You’d done most of the work. Barnes had tried to help, but he was bad at it, so he’d mostly just sat there flirting with you and looking pretty.
“I think man is inherently evil.” He said, grinning at you from the library table.
You snorted. “Of course you do.”
“Yeah, that’s- Is that not what our presentation is about?”
Barnes leaned over you, peering at the computer. His body radiated warmth. You hadn’t touched anyone in a while. You’d almost leaned in him, and he never had to know that.
“Nature versus nurture.” He read from the screen. His tongue flicked over his lips. “Uh- I thought we were supposed to be talkin’ about good versus evil, doll.”
“This is good versus evil.” You muttered. “I’m arguing that all people are good until taught to be otherwise.”
“But- You don’t actually believe that-“
“Yes, I do.”
Barnes snorted. “Yeah. You think everyone is good.”
That made you look up. His attention—so close and heated—made you feel all strangely fuzzy.
You ignored it.
You were going to get very good at that.
“I do think everyone is good.” You snapped.
“You hate everyone-“
“I do not hate everyone. I-“ Your face burned, as he’d just kept staring at you “I don’t.”
Barnes smirked, looking you up and down like you were some kind of fuzzy bunny. “Alright.”
“You’re still looking at me-“
“I gotta look at you to talk to you-“
“Not like that-“
“Like what?”
“Like you- You don’t believe me.”
He shrugged, his smirk widening. You thought about punching him in his smug, beautiful face, but decided that wouldn’t help your case.
“Whatever.” You turned back to your computer with a scowl.
Barnes leaned forward, saying your name far too gently. “Hey, I was just joking-“
“Really? I hadn’t been able to tell.”
He sighed. “If this- If it’s important to you that I believe you-“
“It’s not.”
It had been. For some reason, Bucky thinking that you really hated everyone had itched. You slept poorly that night. Stared at the ceiling with thoughts that tumbled and ripped over each other like a river.
He got under your skin. He’s always gotten under your skin.
After philosophy was theology. He sat next to you in every class, bugging you and trying to invite you to study.
“We work well together-“
“No we don’t.”
“C’mon, doll, we got that A before-“
“I got that A.” You shot him glare. “You stood there like a pretty statue, and bumped us down to an A-.”
Barnes wasn’t been fazed. You remember thinking he’d gotten hotter over winter break. Something in his eyes had started to shine, and he might’ve gotten a new product for his hair. It had smelled like thick, spicy fruit. He still wore it today.
It made you want to throttle him more.
“You think I’m pretty?”
He leaned forward, and that smell had flooded your senses. It was like a second hand high.
Barnes licked his lips. He looked down to yours.
You had to rip your gaze away.
“Shut up.”
He laughed. It sounded more like a sigh.
When he turned back to his own notes, you took a deep breath through your nose.
He always smelled so good.
And he was always so handsome. And charming. If you didn’t have your wits, you would’ve been dragged into his little den a long time ago. If you weren’t so careful with every place you stepped, you would’ve stumbled into his chest and let him sweep you off your feet like some damsel in distress.
He’s there for Spanish, both semesters of Sophomore year.
The first one, you saw a girl drop him off in class and watched them make out in the doorway. It was sloppy and loud. A few of Bucky’s little pride members had whooped when he walked inside, smirking and wiping his mouth.
You felt sick, and didn’t let yourself think about why.
The second one had been Spanish and arts. A painting class, where he’d made you a butterfly off of your spirit.
“Look.” He showed it to you with a proud grin. “It’s got your eyes.”
You squinted at it. It did. In an almost shocking resemblance.
“I didn’t know you could paint.” You muttered.
Barnes shrugged. “My best friend is in art school. We’ve known each other forever, I picked up a few things. Nothing big.”
You nodded, looking down at your own—relatively shit—butterfly. It had been more of a bat. You’ll dump it in the trash and start over in hour later.
“Stevie,” you mumbled absentmindedly.
“I- Yeah. How’d you know that.”
“You told me.” You glared at him under your eyelashes. “I listen.”
Barnes stared at you as if you’d just told him he was destined to be a king. It made you a little dizzy.
“And it’s good.” You muttered, against your will.
When Bucky looked at you, a lot of coherent thoughts tended to… Become lacking.
“Yeah.” He breathed, his ears turning red. “It- It is.”
You blinked. “Well, go turn it in, then.”
“What?”
“The butterfly.”
“The-“ He sat a little taller, his fingers curling on the paper. “Oh. Right.”
“Right.” You frowned. “What were you talking about-“
“Nothing. It’s- Nothing.” He stared at his butterfly with an odd expression, smoothing the edges with careful fingers.
Bucky always moved his fingers so carefully. Like everything he touched was glass. It makes you wonder how he’d touch a soft body below him, though he never gets to know that.
“You want this?”
“The-“
“I’m not turnin’ it in.” He held out the butterfly. “It’s for you.”
You stared at the butterfly. At Bucky.
An image of him wiping his mouth and laughing with his pride flashed through your head. It seared some kind of hole in your heart.
“I don’t think your girlfriend would like you giving drawings to other girls.” You muttered. The words had tasted bitter.
Barnes hadn’t seemed able to tell.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said, giving you another strange look. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
You scoffed. “Please-“
“I have fun.” Barnes cut you off, lips twitching. “You know, doll. Fun?”
“I know fun.”
“Uh huh-“
“Stop doing that, I do-“
“Never seen you have it.”
“That’s- I don’t have it with you.”
You spat the words, and Bucky flinched back like you’d flung acid. He blinked, and you swallowed. You hadn’t meant for it to be so loud. To sound so harsh.
“James-“
“It’s fine.” He muttered, looking back to his paper. “I just- If you ever-“
He cut himself off, glaring down at nothing. He shook his head, nostrils flaring slightly.
You’d never seen him look like that before. You hadn’t liked it.
“Whatever.” He sighed. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
And you nodded weakly. To this day you’re not sure what happened.
But you know Bucky had left the butterfly out on the table, after class.
You know it’s still in your bag, folded neatly and tucked safely. You pull it out sometimes to stare at it.
It’s better, really. Not to think about why.
Junior year was the community internship. Again, you and Bucky were in the same class. He bothered you, same as always, but always seemed to have some girl sticking to his side. They barely even seemed to see you.
All you could ever see was them. Running their hands over his broad chest and kissing the stubble he’d been growing. One bit his nose and your hands curled into fists.
You wondered if he made any of them butterflies.
You decide that he doesn’t. He’s only known them a handful of weeks, and he knew you for years.
“We gotta go down the library tomorrow,” he told you. You shrugged.
“I can go myself.”
Barnes frowned. “It’s not in a good part of town, you shouldn’t go alone.”
“I carry pepper spray-“
“That’s not enough.”
You sighed, giving him an exasperated look. “Fine. I’ll bring Brock.”
Barnes stiffened. You’d never seen him stand so tall. “Who’s Brock.”
“He’s in our class? He has been, all semester-“
“You talkin’ about Rumlow?”
You nodded. Barnes worked his jaw, looking off the side and huffing a low laugh.
“What-“
“You’re not goin’ with Rumlow.”
Your mouth fell open. “You don’t get to tell me that-“
“I know.” Barnes crossed his arms. “But I am.”
That had made you feel all gooey, in a very low part of you tummy. You’d gotten good at making sure Bucky didn’t see it.
“Fuck you, James-“
“He’s a dick.” Barnes didn’t waver. “He got kicked out of the frat, you know how big a piece of shit you gotta be for that to happen?”
You paused.
Fuck, that was a good point.
You hated it when he made good points.
“Fine.” You grumble, looking down to your phone. “You got with Natasha.”
Natasha. She’d managed to stick to Bucky longer than the others. She was gorgeous, and smart. You wished she was a bitch, too. It would make her a lot easier to hate.
You thought Bucky would jump at the chance to get one on one with her. They could fuck in the car after, and before, and you could drink yourself to sleep imagining it.
“No. I’m goin’ with you.”
You stick out your tongue. “Well, I’m not going with you.”
“Huh. Guess no one’s going then.”
You’d looked up with a glower. Barnes had raised his brows in challenge. He knew you’d cave. Knew you wouldn’t just let something slip through the cracks because of a petty fight.
He knew you.
You hated him.
“Fuck you.”
“You said that already.” He muttered. “And I’m not holding my breath.”
You blinked. “Wha-“
“I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.”
He walked away. You didn’t remember how to move for five minutes.
He asked you about Brock the next day. Like he was checking on you. Like he cared.
You don’t let yourself think he does. You’ve reminded yourself of that over and over, since Freshman year.
Bucky doesn’t care about you, so you’re allowed not to care about him. It’s necessary. Important to survival.
Because you’ve studied his kind. You’ve studied him.
Frat boys. In their natural habitat—the college campus—they’re apex predators. They’re loud because they don’t have to worry about being quiet. Most of them are here on athletics scholarships, so they care about that more than their actual classes. The ones who aren’t are rich, and never learned to worry about anything.
They have a lot of sex. They get girlfriends, then cheat on them. Your roommate Wanda knows a lot of people—she’s in a lot of clubs—so you’ve heard all the stories. Seen a few firsthand, or overheard crying in bathrooms. Everyone keeps dating and fucking them because they’re hot and athletic and rich, and you’re all young and stupid.
“It’s fun to make bad choices.” Wanda’s told you. “While we’re still young enough that it doesn’t matter.”
But you don’t make bad choices.
Ever.
You don’t understand that philosophy at all. Why make a bad choice when you could make a good one. Why risk someone curb stomping your heart when you could just… not.
Second semester of junior year, you take a public speaking class with Bucky. He comes up to you in the cafeteria, his pride just as loud as always.
“Hey,” he says your name, standing at the other end of the table. You don’t look up from your computer.
“Hi.”
“You got the homework for public speaking?”
“Yes.”
Barnes clears his throat, drumming his fingers. “You gonna share it with me?”
“It’s online, James.”
He’s silent for a moment, and you look up.
He’s staring at you, the expression on his face unreadable. You almost ask if he’s okay.
“I know that.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck.
You cross your arms. “Did you.”
“Yeah.” He throws you that charming grin. You hate that it still makes you think he’s beautiful. “I was asking if you wanted help with it.”
“If I wanted… Help?”
Barnes didn’t read the quiet, bubbling fury in your tone. He never does.
“Yeah, I was thinking you could come over, practice on me, you know. I’m a very good audience.”
You narrowed your eyes. Barnes kept grinning, and you wonder if he actually thought this was going to work.
“I don’t need your help.”
He deflated slightly. But he didn’t give up.
You’ve never known him to before. You shouldn’t have expected that he would now.
“Maybe I need your help?”
“You always need my help.”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you got no idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-“
“You wanna come over Thursday?”
“No.”
“Alright, I’ll go to you-“
“I’m working Thursday.”
Bucky paused. “You got a job?”
You nodded. He frowned.
“Where?”
“Corner store.”
His frown deepened. “That’s not safe.”
You scoffed. “Okay, dad-“
“You’re working late, it’s not-“
“I’ve been fine.”
“But what about when you’re not-“
“But I am-“
“I know you are now, but-“ He ran a hand over his face, his voice dropping with frustration.
It always went right to your core, when that happened. You wished it didn’t.
“What about when you’re not?” He demanded. “We live in a city, what about when someone does a holdup and you’re the cashier-“
“Why do you care.”
Bucky went still. He opened his mouth closed it, and gave that tight shake of his head that you know means something, but can never figure out what.
“What corner store.” He grunts.
“Fifth and twenty, why-“
“We’re studying while you work.”
Your mouth fell open. “No-“
“Yeah. Or- I’m studying. There.”
“I can kick you out-“
“You won’t.”
He walked away. And you hate him. You hate that you know he’s sleeping with Natasha—and who knows who else—and that makes you want to sink your teeth into his neck like some kind of claim. You hate that you are going to let him. You hate that he knows you so well he starts fucking things in the homework up on purpose, just so you stop pretending not to pay attention and study with him.
You hate how warm he is sitting next to you.
You hate that you don’t shove him away, and you feel colder when he’s gone.
He came over to work every night for the rest of the semester. You’re sure he had better things to do, but he doesn’t do them.
Bucky sat its behind the counter with you, and does homework. He did funny voices while practicing his speeches, and brushed his hand over the back of your knee whenever he stood up.
You shivered every time. A smug look flashed over his face.
He made you giggle.
You hate him for that, too.
And Wanda’s told you to make the bad choice.
Everyone tells you to make the bad choice.
Wanda had became good friends with Natasha. You try not to feel any way about it—Natasha, who’s touched what you’ve never allowed yourself to reach for—but then Wanda asks if she can move in, and you get sick.
You say yes. You won’t be one of those girls who holds those kinds of grudges.
Natasha moves in when summer vacation starts. And she’s lovely. You hate that she’s lovely. She’s cool and interesting and has pretty hair.
You wonder if Bucky liked running his fingers through it. You lie on the floor of the bathroom and refuse to cry about it, just staring up at the ceiling.
For the first time, you don’t have a class with him. It’s making you choke on clean air, because there’s this spicy, intoxicating fruit smell that’s supposed to be there, and it’s not, and you’re detoxing on a drug you never even got to take.
“My boyfriends coming over tonight.” Natasha tells you and Wanda one night.
Black spots dance in front of your vision. Faraway, you hear yourself say that’s fine.
It is not fine.
Bucky’s going to be here, and he’s going to be kissing Natasha in front of you, and that shouldn’t matter but it does, it does, it does.
But when Natasha’s boyfriend comes over, it’s not Bucky.
It’s Sam.
You know Sam. He’s one of the nice members of Bucky’s pride. He and Bucky are close. He’s always lingering in the background, laughing while you verbally impale Bucky and clapping his friend on the back when he walks it off. He and Bucky shared a room sophomore year. They go to baseball games together and eat five hotdogs every time.
You can’t think of any facts about Sam that aren’t related to Bucky.
And Sam kissed Natasha. And you stood there stupidly, certain that you really must have missed something.
“Oh,” Sam said when he saw you. “You’re Bucky’s girl.”
You stammered. Said a lot of babbling words you don’t really remember, while Sam gave Natasha an amused look. Natasha shrugged, light dancing behind her eyes.
Neither of them feel like elaborating that. No one ever does. There are just passive comments that make you more confused, like Wanda casually mentioning how you really should try going after Barnes and Natasha telling you that Sam asked her out after she and Bucky fizzled.
“We never really got started, though.” She mused. “His heart wasn’t in it. He even told me that, but-“ She laughed breathily. “You know. You think you’re going to be the girl that makes them settle, then you wake up and realize that you’re better with someone who actually wants that. With you.”
You blinked at her. You did not know how it was. You’ve had… affections for one person your entire college career, and you’ve known that he’d never settle with you.
There’s no point in telling Natasha that. With the glint in her eyes, you’re sure she already knows.
“He talked about you all the time,” she told you casually on another day. “God, it was so annoying, but-“ She looked you up and down. It always made you flush. “I get it.”
And people had been doing that a lot, lately. Telling you how much Bucky talks about you. Making little comments you think you’re supposed to understand, but you don’t.
Sam invites Bucky to go out with you guys, because Nat invited him. No one asked for your approval. They probably knew you would never have given it.
“You look nice.” Bucky muttered in the car.
Your thighs were pressed together, your shoulder bumped whenever the car rattled, and you had to keep yourself locked up to not melt into him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He sighed. “It’s, uh- weird, right? Us not having a class together.”
You hummed. It was. It made the whole world tilt off it’s axis. Bucky didn’t get to know that.
“You know, I still got homework.”
You frowned up at him. “Okay.”
Bucky cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh- I don’t have a study partner anymore.”
“You’ll find one.” You grumbled. There’s that acid again, stinging on your tongue.
He will. He’s Bucky. There will be a line of people clamoring to have his attention, because you’ve been stealing it for far too long and everyone wants a taste of that spicey, calming fruit-
“I’m still free most nights.” He said, looking straight ahead. “You still work at the corner store?”
You blinked.
Oh.
“Yeah. I do.”
Bucky nodded. His lips twitched. “Okay.”
And sure enough, he’s there on Monday. It’s strange talking about classes you’re not taking, but it makes you want to strangle him less.
Although you haven’t wanted to strangle him in a while. You’ve mostly wanted his hand around your throat, pinning you below him, touching you until everything is just floating light.
“You look tired.” He said. Something in his voice was too casual. Like he was weighing every word.
“I am tired.”
“You been eating enough?”
“I’m eating right now-“
“I brought you food.” He fixed you with a stern glare.
It made you feel all kinds of breathless and gooey.
That night you’ll lie in bed with your fingers between your legs. They’re not thick enough, slipping right in and out of your pussy with no relief. Bucky’s fingers would be bigger.
“I would’ve eaten anyway.” You grumbled, watching some teenagers move around the drink aisle.
Bucky chuckled. “Sure, doll.”
Your cheeks heated. You went over when the teenagers started shouting about the store not having the right drinks, but you had to stand on wobbly knees.
Bucky hasn’t called you doll in years.
It felt different now. It felt like it matters.
You’re not going to do the stupid thing. It didn’t matter how much Wanda pushed you into it, or how many comments Nat made about Bucky not sleeping around anymore. You’ve gotten this far. You graduate in the spring. And Bucky will just always be a warm memory you worship between your legs.
He left his folder at the store last night. You thought about giving it to him next time he dropped in, but then Natasha said she was going to his place for some party and you figured you could hitch a ride.
Not because you wanted to see him sooner. Nat made a comment about that, that teasing smirk over her lips.
You ignored her. You’re very good at it now.
The party is raging, when you arrive. It’s loud, so loud. You’ve stepped into the frat boy den, and it aligns with your every study. Hot, sweaty bodies grinding into each other, music you can feel in your ribs, drinks being poured and clicked open. So much noise. So many people.
“Go find Bucky!” Nat whispers in your ear, and you swallow.
“Where do you think he is- Nat-“
She’s already gone. You have to go find Bucky alone.
You think it’s going to be an impossible quest. There are so many people you’re sure it’s a fire hazard, you don’t know anyone but Sam and Nat—who are sucking face in the corner and no fucking help at all—and if you ask someone random to help you find Bucky, you’re going to get mocked about it.
Weird girl was asking for you, Barnes. Knew you wouldn’t care.
You bite the inside of your cheek, spinning around for any possible direction that might take you to Bucky.
He finds you first.
“You’re here!” Bucky calls your name, and you almost jump out of your skin. “Thought you’d never be here!”
You stumble a little as he collapses over you. He’s heavy, his eyes glossy and unfocused, and you’ve never seen him smiling so wide. He stops you from falling with an arm around your waist, and your breath catches.
“I’m here.” You whisper. “I- I have your folder-“
“Shhh.” Bucky drops his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t talk ‘bout my school.”
“I-“
“You can talk about your school.” He presses further over you. Backing you against the counter, his fingers digging into your hips. “Love it when you talk about stuff. ‘S smart.”
“Thanks.” You look off to the side, trying to see if anyone is watching.
Bucky grabs your jaw and turns it back. You almost whimper at the intensity in his gaze. You’ve never seen it so great, and you’ve seen it a lot.
“You’re here.” He mumbles. “In m’ house.”
“I needed to drop something off.”
Your voice is soft, but Bucky’s whole face falls.
“You’re not stayin’?”
“I- I don’t-“
You stumble, and realize you’ve grabbed the collar of his shirt. You’re already trying to stop him from moving away, even thought you know you shouldn’t.
“There’s a lot people.” You breathe. “I don’t like crowds.”
Bucky blinks. You could swear his eyes clear slightly, even if his grip on you tightens.
“Alright.” He gives that strange little nod. “C’mon.”
“Come- James-“
You squeal as he picks you up. Scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. And you knew he was strong, but you’ve never felt it.
Feeling it is dangerous. It makes you want that strength everywhere. Pinning you down and slamming into you, making your head nice and empty as you feel him everywhere.
“You’re drunk, be careful-“
“’M not that drunk.”
“You’re slurring-“
“I’m buzzed.” He says the words more clearly. Like he wants you to hear that he can. “Not drunk. I won’t drop you.”
You grunt, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. He gives you a tiny smile.
“You’re here.”
He says it like he can’t believe it. Like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He’s beaming like he adores you.
You can’t help yourself from smiling in return.
“Yeah. I am.”
Bucky’s grin gets impossibly wider. He kisses your cheek, messy and quick.
It’s like being shocked by lightning. Your heart does a flip in your chest, and you hold onto him a little tighter.
“James-“
“Y’know, you’re the only person I let call me James.” He reaches the top of the stairs, the music dulled by the distance.
The only drum left in your chest is your heartbeat. You wish he’d stop looking at you like that. It’s dangerous.
“You- You never told me you didn’t want me to.”
He hums. “You ever hear anyone else call me that?”
“I- Um-“
“One time a girl tried.” He pulls open a door. “Made me more into it, she got real excited.”
There it is. That toxic curl of jealousy in your gut.
“James-“
“Then I called your name with my dick inside her. Think that ruined it.”
Bucky says it lazily. Like it doesn’t change your whole life.
“What?” You squeak.
He just grins, slowly lowering you down his body.
“I call your name when I have sex.”
“I- I- Why-“
“’Cause I love you.”
“James-“ Your voice cracks, and tears are burning at your eyes.
You’re confused. So confused. You came over with a folder and a mission to be in and out. Your walls had been just as spiked and guarded as always, and maybe Bucky’s been able to slip through a few times, but you’ve learned how to not let that matter. Because it didn’t matter to him.
But now he’s saying this.
And you’re in what has to be his room, sitting on his mattress. If you weren’t so drunk on whatever’s happening, you’d be scanning around. You’d be studying how Bucky keeps his own space, because it’s another thing you’d get to have about him.
Instead, all you can see it Bucky kneeling in front of you. The impossible softness on his face. The lips that he’s licking again. The thick arms, keeping you sitting on the edge of his bed.
You say the only thing you can think of. The only thing that gets you out of here with your heart intact.
“You don’t mean it.”
Bucky doesn’t even flinch.
“I do.”
“You’re drunk-“
“I’m uninhibited.” His eyes shine. “You taught me that word.”
“James-“
“Hmm.”
He leans forward, tilting his head slightly. Your breath catches. You can feel the heat of his breath over your face. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.
“Freshman year.” He murmurs. He won’t stop staring at you, that soft smile on his lips. “You were so bossy and mean to me.”
You flush deeper. “You- You were annoying-“
“I liked workin’ you up.”
“That’s mean.”
“Got me your attention.” He mumbles. “Otherwise you woulda just ignored me.”
You swallow. “I still tried to ignore you.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “But you didn’t. You’re not as mean as you wanna be. ‘S why I love you.”
Tears burn behind your eyes. “Please stop saying that-“
“But I mean it.”
“You can’t mean it.” Your voice cracks slightly. “It- It’s not fair if you mean it now.”
He frowns again. It’s adorable. Like he’s really worried about you. “What’d you mean, now?”
“I- I mean you won’t mean it in the morning.” You whisper. “And that won’t be fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
It’s all you can say. You haven’t even been able to tell yourself the reason, you’re certainly not telling Bucky first.
“’Cause why?” Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward until your noses bump. “Why do you care?”
You blink. And you can see it in his eyes.
The challenge.
Why do you care.
Of course you fucking care. You always care. It’s Bucky, it doesn’t matter how hard you tried, you’ve never been able to not care, and now you’re in his room, on his bed, and he’s saying things and looking at you like- Looking at you like-
Your brain short circuits, and it sparks in your core.
Your body moves.
Bucky grunts when you grab his face and drag him into a kiss. It’s quick and rough. A sudden slam of mouths together with no plan or real fire. He doesn’t kiss you back.
When you pull back, you’re sure you’re going to cry. You’re panting, your lips wobbling, and Bucky’s just staring at you.
“I- I’m sorry.” You shrink back. He can’t see you cry. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’ll go-“
Bucky almost lurches. He dives over you like an animal, and before you know what’s happening, you’re kissing again.
Really kissing.
The way you’d always pictured it, in the greatest privacy of your mind and room. Hidden under the covers so no one could see the shame of how deeply you imagined it.
Bucky’s lips moving against yours. That tongue flicking over your lips before he nips on your lower lip, and grins at your moan.
This is that, and better. Because he’s really here. He tastes a little like liquor, but mostly like mint and something that’s purely Bucky. You’re being pressed backwards into the mattress, Bucky moving up until he’s caging you to the mattress. His knees braced over your waist, his chest pushed against yours, his hands wandering and grabbing every bit of you that he can reach.
Rough fingers slip under your shirt, teasing your sides. You gasp into his mouth, and Bucky groans.
“Ja- James-“
“I know.” He mumbles. “Wanna take care of you, doll.”
“Mhmm.” You whine in a half protest. It’s hard to think with one massive hand mapping every curve of your body, and the other sliding up to grab your neck.
Bucky tips your head back, and hums in satisfaction, when you willingly open your mouth to deepen the kiss.
“Please lemme take care of you.” He rasps. He sounds like a man wrecked.
And who are you to tell him no?
“Oh- Okay- Oh!”
Bucky doesn’t waste time. He pulls back with something like clarity in his eyes, licks his lips, and runs a large hand fully up your side. You arch into the touch with a soft gasp, eyes fluttering shut. He wraps around your breast, groaning as his thumb flicks over your perked nipple.
“No bra, hm?”
“Didn’t- Didn’t think I’d be here for more than five minutes-“
“Or you were hopin’ you’d be here.” He teases, smirking down at you. “Right here.”
He pinches your nipple, rolling it between expert fingers. You toss your head back with a moan. Bucky chuckles.
“Yeah, that’s right. This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it doll.”
“N- No-“
Your words fall off into a whine as Bucky yanks his hand away. You grab his wrist, trying to drag it back, but he’s too strong.
“Wha- What’re you doing-“
“If you’re gonna tell me you don’t want this.” He shrugs, soothing the edge of your shirt like it’s a blanket. “I’m not gonna do it.”
“But- But I do want it.” You squeeze his wrist, pouting as tears start to gather in your eyes.
Bucky clicks his tongue. He’s moved on to soothing out your hair.
“Bucky, please-“
“Please what?”
He grabs your cheek, forcing your gaze onto his. Heat floods your core at the possessive motion, and your legs fall open. Bucky’s attention flicks down, but he doesn’t waver.
“You gonna spend the whole time pretending you don’t want me?” He demands, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “Or are you going to be a good girl and let me have you how I want?”
And you realize what that glint in his eyes means. He’s giving you a choice, for how you want this to go. Soft and sweet, or what he wants to do.
What you want him to do.
You might be drooling. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and you feel a little faint. Every fantasy you’ve ever had is above you. You just have to grab it.
“I didn’t come here tonight for this.” You breathe out, testing the waters.
Bucky’s nostrils flare. His plants a hand on your hip, pinning you down to the mattress.
“You didn’t, huh.”
You shake your head. Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.
“You need me to show you what you want?” He’s using a low tone that rushes right to your pussy.
You nod, slowly trying to press your thighs back together. There’s too much pressure, you need a way to relieve it.
Bucky grabs your knee and shoves it back open, and you squeak in elated surprise.
“I’ll be good to you, doll.” He mutters, rubbing the inside of your thigh. His knuckles brush near your pussy, and you clench around nothing. “Show you exactly what you need.”
“You- You don’t know what I need-“
Bucky crashes back down, kissing you into the mattress with brutal, unrelenting force. Your arms fly around his neck and he groans, dropping his hips down over yours.
“Yeah, I do.” He says against your lips, rutting down. Forcing you to feel the push of his bulge against your clothed core. “And you fuckin’ know it.”
God, you do. You don’t have a single question of it.
Bucky pulls away, and you grumble in protest, trying to reach up and drag him back far another kiss. Just that is enough for you to feel like you’re in Heaven.
But Bucky swats your hands away, giving you a stern look.
“No touching.”
He starts to pull you shirt over your head, and you scowl.
“You’re touching-“
“I,” Bucky leans down to kiss over the valley of your breasts, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Can do whatever the hell I want to you. Isn’t that right, babydoll.”
He must be putting a spell over you. You nod dazedly, and Bucky laughs. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and flicking the little bud like it’s candy. The sensation makes you restlessly needy, the heat between your legs only building and building.
“Buh- Bucky- Oooh-“
There’s an extra, strong little flick that only makes you think of what his mouth is going to be able to down where you need him.
“Fuck- James-“
Bucky groans, biting down softly. Your hips buck with delight, and your whine when he shoves them back down.
“C’mon.” He mutters, slowly kissing back to the other breast. “Keep still.”
You make an incoherent noise, but you try. You really do try.
Bucky wiggles down your pants and underwear without taking his mouth from your breasts, and you force yourself to keep still. Cold air doesn’t even hit your cunt, because he’s so folded over you. Trapping all the frictionless heat between your bodies, letting his covered cock drag against your core whenever he moans and ruts, but never offering anything else.
“More.” You breathe, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “James, I- I need more-“
You moan as Bucky bites your breast again. He kisses over the hurt, humming lazily.
“Thought you didn’t know what you need.”
You shake your head, legs falling further open. “I- I need you- Bucky I need you-“
“Where’d you need me.” He kisses just under your breast. “’Cause I’m here. Touchin’ you.”
He grabs your thigh, rubbing it slowly back and forth. You try to arch off the bed, but you can’t get an inch out from under him.
“Touch- Touch me more.” You gasp out. “I need you to touch me more, I- I don’t care how, just- Touch me-“
You cry out, as Bucky brushes his thumb over your clit. He repeats the featherlight motion once more, then twice. It’s too much and not nearly enough. Your pussy is weeping, but Bucky just grazes you clit like he’s wiping something off your cheek.
“What a needy girl.” He coos against your skin, kissing along the side of your breast. Up to your neck. “You’re even more reactive than I thought you’d be, sweetheart. And I thought,” he presses his thumb down hard, and you scream.“You’d be plenty reactive.”
Tears push at your eyes, from frustration and humiliation. You’re being pathetic, you’ve dogwalked him the whole time you’ve known him and suddenly you’re a flushed, begging disaster below him.
Bucky sucks a dark spot on your neck, and you moan. His thumb drags between the lips of your pussy and teases over your hole. It’s gone as soon as it gets there, and the sound you make is downright undignified.
“You want to swallow me, don’t you.” Bucky nips at your ear. “Dirty fuckin’ slut.”
Oh, no. That shouldn’t turn you on so much.
“I- I’m not-“
“Yes, you are.” Bucky kisses along your jaw. “Say it, doll.”
You shake your head. Bucky repeats the slow drag, this time swapping for his middle finger, and pushing slightly into your cunt.
“Bucky- Fuck-“
Your arms fly up to grab him. Bucky leans up and fixes you with a stern glare.
“No touching.”
You whimper, but pull back away. You fist the sheets, splaying your body out in the hope it’ll make him you faster.
And it almost works. Bucky’s brow works and he slowly traces up the curve of your waist. Your breathing shutters, as he traces the outline of a love bite on your breast. His finger twists, and the pad of it presses right into the entrance of your pussy.
Bucky meets your glossy eyes, and his jaw clenches. There are big, fat tears welling up.
His voice drops to something soft. “Are you still-“
“Yes.” You push your chest up, trying to give him a better view of your breasts. “Please.”
Bucky nods to himself. He leans fully over you, searching your gaze, and slowly starts to push his finger into your pussy.
Your breath catches. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky grabs your cheeks.
“Eyes stay on me.”
He’s not asking. You don’t want him to. You moan and nod weakly, watching him under tear stained lashes. He slowly pulls his finger out, then drives it back in a little faster. He’s a lot bigger than your own hand is. Everything about him is bigger. You’re worried you’re going to die on his cock.
“You like that,” Bucky coos, squeezing your cheeks slightly. “Look at you, gettin’ so worked up over just a finger.”
You give him a pleading look, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your puckered lips.
“You get two when you tell me you’re my dirty little slut.”
You clench down around him, and Bucky groans, pushing in a little deeper.
He finds the spongey spot that makes your vision go all blurry. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, and bucky raises his brows.
“There it is. That’s what a wanna see.”
He pushes harder against it. You squeeze around him again, breath coming in pants.
“Who’s owning this pussy, baby, huh?” Bucky’s eyes bore into yours, and the hot shame pricks more and more over your skin.
You think a waterfall might be coming out of your cunt. The wet sounds as Bucky finger fucks you certainly seem like proof.
You can’t form a full answer. You gape at him, rolling your hips in tiny movements to try and chase a little bit more.
Buckly yanks his finger out of your pussy, lands a harsh smack on your clit, then shoves them right back in. It’s an overwhelming, electric feeling. The tears burst from your eyes, and you almost reach for him.
“That’s a girl.” He kisses your cheek so sweetly, pumping his finger deep into your soaked cunt. “Keep cryin’ for me, babydoll. Let it out.”
You pull at the sheets, a low hum of pleasure building in your lower stomach. Your head tries to roll to the side, but Bucky keeps it up. His staring just makes everything worse and better.
The deep affection in his eyes as he watches you right on the edge. Trying to claw your way to an orgasm while he keeps you from letting go. There’s no attention being given to your clit, only his finger bumping your g-spot. It’s throbbing from his spanking. You want him to do it again.
“Buh- Bucky-“
“Ah.” He pauses, and you almost scream. “Try again.”
“James.” You whimper, giving him your most pleading eyes.
A smile curves on his lips. “Yeah, babydoll?”
“Do it again.”
It’s less than a whisper. Part of you doesn’t even want him to hear it.
But he does. Of course he does. Surprise flashes over his face for the briefest second, and you think about running away. You shouldn’t have asked. He’s going to say no, it’s going to humiliate you more, and then that’s going to make you cum on his hand and he’ll never look at you again-
“What?” His voice dropped. You’re screwed. “This?”
Bucky pulls back and spanks your pussy again. You sob, nodding as the shock rushing through you again. Bucky licks his lips, leaning back to watch you. He does it again, and you seize up.
“Jesus, you’re spilling everywhere.” He traces two fingers through your pussy, and you clench around nothing. “Messy girl, bet you’re going to fucking squirt on my cock.”
You whimper, and Bucky chuckles.
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna love it, aren’t you.”
He spanks your pussy again. Any thought to protest is drained from your head.
“Ye- Yes.” You cry out.
Bucky smirks, prowling back over your body.
“And?”
You blink at him through the tears. “And?”
“What are you?”
Your breath hitches. Bucky holds up his shiny hand, making a gun motion.
“Two fingers.” He reminds you.
And just like that, you cave.
“I- I’m your dirty-“ You hiccup a little, the tears starting to free flow again. “I’m-“
“Look at me.” He reminds sternly. “Come on, be good-“
“I’m your dirty slut.” You push out, grinding your hips up into Bucky’s knee. “James, I’m yours, I’m your cockslut, please-“
Bucky makes a feral sound from his chest, and you sob in relief when he shoves those two fingers into you cunt. You shudder, eyes rolling back and hips grinding down. Bucky doesn’t try to stop you this time, just groaning as he finger fucks you into oblivion.
“That’s it, that’s my fuckin’ girl.” He scissors his fingers, and you writhe in the sheets. “So pretty on my fingers, bet you’ll look even better when I’m fuckin’ you stupid on my cock.”
You moan. “Yes, oh- Oh my god- “
Bucky twists his wrist and starts to pummel your g-spot, right as his thumb finds your clit. He rubs it tight circles in time with his thrusts, and presses his lips back over yours. You almost can’t breathe, between the pleasure he’s pulling from you and the demand of his mouth. Your body starts to twitch and go all tight.
“I- I’m gonna- James, I think-“
“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your upper lip. “Show me what you’ve got, baby, come on.”
Your orgasm rushes through you, staring in your tummy and leaking down Bucky’s fingers and through your whole system. He pulls out immediately, landing a few more spanks on your weeping cunt. In the post-orgasm sensitivity, it’s almost too much to take.
You spread your legs and beg for it anyway.
“Demanding, aren’t you.” Bucky mocks. “Want to feel me tomorrow, when you walk around all cool and collected, pretending you weren’t callin’ yourself my cockslut a few hours ago.”
You shake your head, shivering as Bucky rubs your pussy back and forth. “I- I won’t-“
“Won’t what? Keep it a dirty little secret. You want me to spell my fucking name on your face, so everyone knows who this tight little pussy belongs to?”
“Nuh- No-“
“You think you won’t feel me? Doll,” Bucky takes his hand away, and you almost start to cry again before he pushes two thick fingers between your lips.
“Mmmm-“
“That’s right.” He mutters to himself, and you can feel his attention as you clean your own release off his fingers. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else, doll, you won’t be able to fuck anyone without wishin’ it was me.”
You pull him away by his wrist, risking the punishment to give him your best, sexiest doe-eyes.
“Don’t want anyone else.” You say, and Bucky blinks. “Won’t pretend I wasn’t with you. Want everyone to know.”
Bucky’s nostrils flare. He stares, shoulders heaving, and you think he’s going to do the thing again. The one where he pounces over you and makes you beg.
Instead he grabs your hips like he’s steadying himself, and stares at you like you’re the moon.
“Flip over.” He grunts.
You frown. “Wha-“
“Over. Just-“
Bucky flips you onto your stomach like you weight nothing, then drags your ass high in the air. You squeal, grabbing at the sheets and trying to look at him over your shoulder.
A massive hand presses you back into the sheets by your shoulder blades. Probably for the best. Your knees were shaking too much to be steady.
“Stay there.” There’s a clink of metal behind you. He’s taking off his belt. “Need to be inside you. Now.”
“James-“
“Please.”
His voice cracks.
You’re far, far past trying to tell him no.
You flop obediently, and it earns you a soothing stoke over the curve of your ass.
“So pretty.” He says it so soft, you’re not actually sure you’re supposed to hear. “Wanted this for so fuckin’ long, ‘s even better than I imagined.”
Bucky rubs his cock between your pussy lips and you moan, melting into the sheets. Your knees almost drop down. Bucky wraps an arms around your waist and drags you back up.
“I’ve gotcha. There we go.”
He keeps rubbing it, gathering your arousal to make the entrance easier. There’s plenty of it. Even more when his fat head presses against your clit, and you wiggle.
“Done so good for me, babydoll.” His praise shoots straight to your already burning pussy. You try to push yourself higher with a whine. “Already nice and stupid for me, just gotta- Fuuuuck-“
Bucky pushes himself in slowly, and you cry out.
“Oh- Oh my god-“
It’s good he didn’t let you see him before. He’s big. Stupidly big. You can feel every thick vein, every pulse as you squeeze around him, every inch of Bucky dragging through your tight channel. You sob into the sheets, pushing back to try and take more. You have to take more. You need to take all of him, so when he fucks you he can drive every single fucking thought from your head.
“That’s it.” Bucky groans, pressing his face into the curve of your neck as he bottoms out.
He’s folded over you, fully buried in your pussy, breath hot and heavy. You whimper, trying to adjust to the size of him. Bucky’s arm snakes around you, rubbing your clit lightly. Trying to help you relax.
“You’re so tight, baby.” He rasps, kissing behind your ear. “Best pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ felt.”
“Mmmm.” You tip your head, pressing your cheek into the mattress. “You’re so big.”
“I know. But you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?”
You whimper, and Bucky chuckles. The sound vibrates between your legs, not helping anyone at all.
“Yeah. You are.”
And if Bucky says you are, you are.
He starts by pulling almost fully out, then rolling slowly back in. It goes easier than the first time, but still knocks the air from your lungs. Your eyes roll back. A strangled sound leaves your throat, and Bucky laughs.
“Look at you, silly girl. We’ve barely even started.”
“’S- ‘S a lot-“
“But it’s your my fuckin’ cockslut.” Bucky slams his hips forward, and you scream in pleasure. “You’re the one who said it, remember. My. Fucking. Cockslut.”
He emphasizes each word with another thrust, and soft, caring Bucky is gone. The hot, demanding version is back, and he brought your tears with him.
Bucky fucks into your like an animal, pushing you down into the mattress and forcing an impossibly deep angle. You’re sensitive. So sensitive it almost hurts in the best fucking way.
“Can see your pussy taking me, doll.” Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fucking gorgeous, greedy little thing swallowing this cock whole. Pussy made for me to fuck it.”
You keen, and Bucky laughs.
“Jesus, might tie you up and keep you just like this for me. Crying like a brat when you begged for it, can’t ever figure out what you want without my help, huh?”
You can’t form a strong enough thought to respond. Bucky’s drilling into you, and rubbing over your g-spot with every thrust and filling you up until there’s no space for things like words.
“No mouthy little comebacks?” He mocks. “My smart doll can’t even tell me to go fuck myself?”
“I- Jaaames-“
“Yeah, that’s right.” Bucky almost growls. “I own this pussy now, sweetheart. Gonna cum inside and make you walk around with it dripping out of your cunt, make you scream my name so loud everyone hears.”
You babble, clenching down on his cock. Bucky’s hips stutter slightly.
“Oh you love that. Love the idea of everyone knowing that I just made you my stupid little cockdrunk slut. Fuck-“
Bucky wraps an arm around your waist, hauling you back against his chest. You toss your head onto his shoulder, writhing in his arms as he keeps thrusting up into your pussy. God, you hope the music downstairs is loud enough that they can’t hear, but you also don’t know how they could hear anything else. The whole room is filled with Bucky’s groans and your open sobs.
“Still crying, babydoll?” He kisses over your neck, and you whimper, grabbing at his forearms.
“Can’t- Can’t take it-“
“Yeah, you can.”
You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “Mh- I’m gonna cum-“
Bucky spanks your clit, and you shriek, arching into his hand.
“Fuckin’ cum, dirty girl, soak this dick like a good girl-“
You scream with this orgasm, thrashing in Bucky’s arms as it completely overtakes your senses. There’s a familiar wet feeling coming out of your pussy and slicking over your ass and thighs. Bucky groans, bending over to kiss you as he keeps your impaled on his cock. He thrusting sharply, chasing his own release. You try to grind down to help him, and he moans right into your ear.
“Wh- Where-“
“In.” You whimper. “In, James, wanna feel you, fuck-“
Bucky groans shamelessly as his cock starts to spurt hot cum over your gooey walls. The sound as he keeps fucking up into you is obscene, his lips over glued over yours as you both ride it out.
You’ve never been so ruined before. You think you might smell of cum and sweat for the rest of your life, and you can’t even bring yourself to mind.
And part of you worries that Bucky’s going to vanish. Kick you out of his room now that he got what he wanted, and break the heart you’d just offered him with shaking hands.
Instead, he kisses you before he pulls out, mumbling that he’ll be right back. He draws a bath and cleans you up, gets you water and wipes the dried tears on your cheeks.
“Too much?” He asks softly, and you can see the real worry in his eyes.
You shake your head, and offer him a tiny smile.
“Perfect.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
You giggle. “Yeah.”
Bucky kisses your nose, and you hum happily.
“You’re were perfect too.”
“Thanks.” You breathe.
He pulls back, running a hand through your hair. His eyes soften.
“You still want me to take it back?”
And you almost laugh. Why would you ever possibly want to go back.
“No, thank you.”
Bucky chuckles. “So polite. Think I fucked some manners into you-“
“I had manners-“
“Yeah, but you’re gonna be nice to me now-“
“Don’t hold your breath-“
He shuts you up with a deep kiss. You could get used to it.
“Let me take you out.” He breathes when he’s done, looking at you with unending hope in his eyes. “For real.”
And you wonder.
If it had really been there, the whole time.
“Okay.”
✦End note: i love being so self indulgent with my horniness.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <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✦
𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑬𝑫𝑫𝒀 Bucky Barnes has been secretly obsessed with you for months, the soft-spoken, innocent-looking Avenger who blushes at dirty jokes, so he gifts you a teddy bear with a hidden camera inside, convincing himself it’s just for protection.
new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!new avenger!reader
word count : 10.9k
warnings 18+ : porn with very little plot, no use of y/n, significant age gap (bucky is over 100, reader is early 20s), non-consensual filming (hidden camera in teddy bear), mutual corruption, innocence kink with fake innocence, size difference, praise/degradation, rough sex, face riding, deepthroating, creampie, cum play, exhibitionism, risky public sex, spanking, choking, possessive behavior, dirty talk, power-play dynamics, reader is portrayed as younger, soft, and “innocent” on the surface while being highly sexually proactive, slight anal play, sex tapes
author’s note : hii!! this was based on two requests I got so I just combined them into one bigger fanfic <33 hope you don’t mind and enjoyyy!!
Bucky couldn’t stop staring.
The compound kitchen was quiet this afternoon, sunlight slanting through the tall windows and catching on the steam rising from your mug. You were perched on one of the high stools, legs tucked under you, completely absorbed in the mission report glowing on your tablet.
That oversized cream sweater you loved so much had slipped off one shoulder again, exposing the soft curve of your collarbone and the delicate strap of whatever tiny top you wore underneath. Every time you reached for your pen or stretched slightly to grab the mug, the hem of those tiny sleep shorts rode higher up the backs of your thighs, just enough to make his mouth go dry.
You bit your lip in concentration, a small furrow forming between your brows as you highlighted something important. So focused. So unaware.
Or at least… that’s what he kept telling himself.
Bucky’s metal fingers flexed around his own coffee mug, the ceramic creaking under the pressure. His cock had been half-hard for the last ten minutes, straining against his jeans from nothing more than the sight of you looking soft and sweet and far too young for the kind of thoughts running through his head.
He was over a century old. The Winter Soldier. A man with more blood on his hands than most people could comprehend. And here you were, in your early twenties, the youngest recruit to join the newly reformed Avengers team after the chaos following the Thunderbolts.
You’d come in like a quiet storm six months ago. Recruited straight out of a specialized training program after displaying rare tactical intuition and an almost eerie calm under pressure during a hostage situation in Eastern Europe. Yelena had vouched for you personally, impressed by how you’d de-escalated a room full of armed mercs without firing a single shot. The team had welcomed you with open arms, but Bucky… Bucky had felt something twist in his chest the moment he saw you.
You were so damn soft. You had a gentle voice and blushed at almost everything. You always wore those big oversized sweaters, like you were trying to hide inside them. The team loved teasing you and calling you the “baby Avenger.” Every time they did, Bucky’s protective instincts kicked in hard. He started stepping in more than he should, getting between you and any roughhousing during training, draping his jacket over your shoulders when the room got too cold, and glaring at anyone who made jokes that went too far.
He told himself it was because you needed protecting. The world was too sharp for someone like you.
But late at night, alone in his room, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. It wasn’t just protection. It was obsession. The way you moved, the way you smiled shyly when someone praised you, the way those innocent little habits made his blood run hot.
It was becoming a problem.
A few days later, Bucky finally cracked. He went looking for advice but he did it in the most roundabout way possible.
He’d cornered Yelena in the training room after sparring, both of them dripping sweat. She was wiping her face with a towel when he asked.
“So, Belova,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You’ve spent more time with the kid than most of us. She… like plushies? Stuffed animals? That sort of thing?”
Yelena slowly lowered the towel, one perfect eyebrow arching high. Her smirk turned sharp and knowing.
“Ohhh,” she drawled, clearly amused. “What’s this, Barnes? You got a little crush on our sweet baby Avenger?”
Bucky’s ears burned instantly. “Jesus, no,” he grunted, scowling. “It’s not like that. She’s young. The compound gets quiet during missions. I just thought something soft might help her sleep better.”
Yelena let out a sharp, delighted laugh.
“Sure, sure,” she teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Totally innocent. You’re just being a big protective grandpa, right? Nothing to do with the way you stare at her every time she walks into a room.”
Bucky crossed his arms, metal plates whirring. “You gonna help me or just give me shit?”
Yelena grinned wider. “She does like plushies. Soft ones. Get her something cute and innocent-looking. She’ll light up like a Christmas tree… and maybe you’ll finally stop pretending you’re not completely obsessed with her.”
That was all the excuse he’d needed.
The next afternoon, Bucky had slipped out alone and driven into the city. He’d spent nearly an hour in a quiet little boutique that sold handmade plush toys, the kind with premium soft fur and stitched, friendly faces. He’d stood there like an idiot, picking up bear after bear until he found the perfect one: medium-sized, warm brown fur, a gentle stitched smile, and big innocent button eyes that somehow reminded him of you when you were focused.
He’d paid cash, tucked it carefully into a plain bag, and told himself again that this was protective. Just something soft for you to hold when the team was scattered across the globe. Nothing more.
That same night, during the team’s weekly movie night, he found his moment.
The lights were dim, some loud action flick droning on the big screen. You were curled up at the end of the massive sectional in yet another oversized sweater, knees drawn to your chest, looking smaller and sweeter than ever. When a lull hit and someone complained about how empty the compound felt during long missions, Bucky cleared his throat.
“Hey, doll,” he said, voice low and casual. He pulled the plush bear from behind the couch where he’d stashed it. “Saw this in a shop the other day. Thought it’d keep you company when I’m gone on missions. Something soft to hold onto.”
Your eyes lit up instantly, that bright, genuine sparkle that always hit him like a gut punch. You sat up straighter, the sweater slipping further off your shoulder as you reached for it.
“Really? For me?” Your voice was soft, delighted, almost shy.
Bucky nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Figured you might like it.”
You took the teddy bear and hugged it tight to your chest, pressing its plush head right between your breasts without thinking. The sight made his mind blank for a second, the soft fur sinking into your curves, the way your body curved around it so naturally.
You rose up on your toes right there in front of everyone and pressed a shy little peck to his cheek. “Thank you, Bucky. I love it already.”
The innocent brush of your lips against his stubble sent heat flooding straight to his groin. He had to shove his hands into his pockets and clench his jaw to stop himself from pulling you closer. His cock twitched hard, already leaking at the simple, sweet contact.
He almost came in his pants like a damn teenager.
Later, back in the privacy of his own room, Bucky locked the door, killed the lights, and set up the feed.
The hidden camera he had installed inside the teddy’s left eye was top-of-the-line, crystal-clear resolution, night vision and a wide-angle lens. He’d bought the bear, taken it straight back to his room, carefully pried open the stitching behind the left eye, and embedded the tiny device with steady hands. He’d even tested the feed twice to make sure the angle was perfect. Then he’d neatly re-stitched it so no one would ever notice.
Now he sat back in his chair, heart hammering against his ribs, laptop balanced on his thighs.
He told himself it was protective.
Just to keep an eye on his soft, young teammate. Make sure you were safe when no one else was around. You were too trusting. Too breakable.
That was the lie he repeated as the feed flickered to life and the image sharpened into perfect, devastating clarity.
There you were.
Fresh from the shower, skin still flushed pink and dewy, with nothing but a thin white towel wrapped loosely around your body. Bucky’s breath caught as you padded barefoot into frame, humming a soft little tune under your breath. The camera captured every detail in razor-sharp clarity, water droplets clinging to your collarbones, the way the towel barely clung to the swell of your breasts, threatening to slip with every step.
You stopped beside the nightstand, glancing down at the teddy bear with a gentle smile. Without hesitation, you unwrapped the towel and let it drop to the floor in a careless heap. Completely naked now, you looked so soft and vulnerable under the warm glow of your bedside lamp.
Bucky’s mouth went dry. His cock throbbed painfully in his sweatpants as he drank in the sight of your bare body, the gentle curve of your waist, the fullness of your breasts, the smooth plane of your stomach leading down to the soft patch of hair between your thighs. You were even more perfect than his fantasies had allowed.
You picked up the teddy bear with both hands, cradling it like something precious.
“Hey there, little guy,” you murmured, voice sweet and sleepy, barely above a whisper. “Bucky gave you to me today. Isn’t that nice? He’s always looking out for me… even when he thinks I don’t notice.”
You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight and settled back against the pillows. With a contented sigh, you pulled the teddy tight against your chest, pressing its soft plush head right between your full, bare tits. The high-resolution camera caught everything in devastating detail, the way your soft breasts spilled and squished around the bear’s face, enveloping it completely, your nipples already tightening into stiff little peaks from the cool air and the gentle friction.
You squirmed a little, hugging the bear closer, nuzzling your cheek against its fuzzy head. “Mmm… you’re so soft. Just like I imagined he’d be. Warm and safe… I bet his arms would feel even better though.”
A small, innocent giggle escaped you as you adjusted the bear, pushing it deeper between your tits until only its ears poked out. Your fingers stroked its back absentmindedly while you continued talking to it in that soft, dreamy voice.
“Night missions are scary sometimes… but with you here, I won’t feel so alone. You’ll keep my secrets, right? Like how I think about Sergeant Barnes when the lights go out…” You yawned, eyelids growing heavy, and pressed one last gentle kiss to the top of the teddy’s head. “Goodnight, little bear. Tell Bucky I said thank you again… and that I feel safer already.”
Within minutes, you were asleep, completely naked, cuddling the teddy bear tightly between your breasts like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your breathing evened out, chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm, the bear still nestled warmly in your cleavage.
Bucky sat frozen in his chair, laptop screen glowing on his face. His hand had slipped into his sweatpants without conscious thought, wrapping around his aching cock. He stroked himself slowly, almost reverently, eyes glued to the feed.
“Fuck…” he muttered hoarsely, voice rough with disbelief and raw lust. “So innocent… yet so perfect.”
He watched the gentle rise and fall of your tits around the teddy’s face for what felt like hours, thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every slow pump. The contrast between your sweet, whispered words and the filthy images burning into his brain made his head spin. You looked so pure, talking to the bear like it was a friend, confessing little pieces of your feelings for him while pressing it between your bare breasts.
His protective instincts warred violently with the dark, possessive hunger clawing inside him.
She’s too young. Too soft. I shouldn’t be watching this.
But he couldn’t look away. His hand moved faster, breath coming in ragged bursts as he imagined replacing the teddy with his own face, burying himself between those soft tits while you whispered his name in that same gentle tone.
By the time he came, hard, spilling over his fist with a choked groan, he was shaking.
And he already knew he’d be back for more tomorrow night.
The next morning, Bucky was already in the compound kitchen nursing a black coffee when you padded in, still soft-eyed from sleep and wearing yet another oversized sweater that nearly reached mid-thigh. Your hair was slightly messy, cheeks carrying that fresh, just-woke-up flush, and in your arms you carried the teddy bear like it was the most precious thing in the world.
You spotted him immediately and your whole face lit up with that shy, genuine smile that always made his chest tighten.
“Bucky!” you called softly, hurrying over with bare feet whispering against the tile. You stopped right in front of him, hugging the teddy tighter to your chest, the same chest he’d spent half the night watching spill around that very bear. “Good morning. I just wanted to thank you again for this little guy.”
You lifted the teddy slightly, pressing its head against your sternum as you looked up at him with big, sparkling eyes. “I cuddled him all night. He’s so soft… exactly what I needed. I even talked to him a little before I fell asleep. Told him how nice it was that you thought of me.”
Bucky’s grip on his mug tightened until the ceramic threatened to crack. Heat flooded his face and his groin, at the innocent reminder. He could still see it so clearly in his mind: your naked body curled around the bear, tits enveloping its face, nipples hard, voice sleepy and sweet as you whispered confessions to it.
He forced a casual shrug, voice coming out rougher than he intended. “It’s nothing, doll. Really. Just didn’t want you feeling lonely when the team’s scattered on missions. Figured something soft to hold onto might help.”
You tilted your head, still smiling that pure, trusting smile, and stepped a little closer. The hem of your sweater brushed against his thigh as you stood between his spread legs where he sat on the stool.
“Well, it did help,” you said softly, almost shyly. “I slept better than I have in weeks. He felt… safe. Like having a tiny piece of you watching over me.” You gave the teddy a gentle squeeze, then rose up on your toes and pressed another light, grateful kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth this time. “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re always looking out for me.”
The word “Sergeant” in that sweet voice hit him like a live wire. Bucky swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to grab your waist and pull you into his lap right there in the kitchen. His cock was already stirring again, memories of last night’s footage flashing behind his eyes, your breasts spilling around the bear, the way you’d sighed and squirmed while talking to it.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. “Anytime, kid. You need anything… you just tell me, alright? I’ve got you.”
You nodded happily, still clutching the teddy, and gave him one last bright smile before turning to grab a yogurt from the fridge. As you stretched up on your toes to reach it, the sweater rode up just enough to flash the curve of your bare ass under the hem.
Bucky looked away quickly, jaw clenched, blood roaring in his ears.
Too young. Too soft. Too fucking pure.
But the lie was getting harder to believe with every passing second.
He already knew he’d be watching the feed again tonight.
And deep down, a darker part of him hoped you’d do more than just cuddle the bear this time.
That night, Bucky barely made it through dinner. His mind kept replaying the morning, your soft “thank you,” the way you’d kissed his cheek, the teasing flash of bare skin when you reached for the yogurt. By the time he locked himself in his room and pulled up the feed, his cock was already throbbing and leaking in his sweatpants.
The camera flickered to life.
You stepped into the room fresh from the shower, skin flushed pink and still glistening with droplets. Without hesitation, you let the towel drop to the floor the second the door shut, standing completely naked under the warm lamplight. Your full tits swayed gently as you moved, nipples already tight, and the soft patch of hair above your pussy caught the light.
Bucky’s mouth went dry.
You glanced at the teddy bear on the nightstand, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. You climbed onto the bed, lay back against the pillows and spread your legs wide for the camera. With one hand you grabbed the teddy and tossed it carelessly onto the sheets beside your hip.
Your other hand immediately slid down your body. Fingers trailed through the slightly hairy mound above your slick cunt, then dipped between your puffy folds. You were already dripping. Two fingers pushed inside your tight hole with a wet, obscene sound, pumping slowly while your thumb rubbed messy circles over your swollen clit.
“Mmm… fuck,” you sighed, eyes fluttering half-closed. Your hips rolled lazily as you fingered yourself, the wet squelching noises filling the quiet room. The teddy lay ignored on the bed while you worked your pussy open, juices coating your fingers and dripping down toward your ass.
Bucky’s hand was already fisted around his thick cock, stroking in rhythm with every thrust of your fingers.
After a minute, you pulled your soaked fingers out with a filthy pop. You picked up the teddy again, biting your lip like you were embarrassed by how nasty you were about to get. Then you gave the teddy’s eye, the hidden camera the shyest little smirk, cheeks burning pink.
You pressed the bear’s plush face directly against your dripping cunt.
The second the soft fur touched your slightly hairy pussy, you squealed loudly, a high, pathetic sound that made Bucky’s cock twitch hard in his grip.
“Oh my god… that feels so fucking dirty,” you whimpered, voice breathy and trembling with shame and lust. You rocked your hips, grinding the teddy’s stitched mouth and nose right along your slick folds and through the soft hair covering your mound. The fur quickly grew dark and matted with your juices. “It’s so soft against me… but it’s so wrong. Using the bear he gave me like this…”
You moaned louder, pressing the plush face harder against your pussy, rubbing it up and down your slit. Your free hand grabbed one of your tits roughly, pinching and tugging your nipple while you humped the bear’s face with increasing desperation. Shy little squeals turned into needy, slutty moans as the fur dragged over your swollen clit again and again.
“So dirty… humping his innocent little gift… getting it all messy with my wet pussy…”
The embarrassment melted away completely. You shifted positions, straddling the teddy’s plush body properly. Bracing your hands on the mattress, you lowered your dripping cunt onto its soft belly and started riding it like a desperate whore.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in filthy circles, letting your slick pussy lips spread wide over the fur. Then faster. Harder. You fucked the innocent-looking bear like it was Bucky’s thick thigh, grinding your clit against the plush surface with wet, obscene sounds.
Your moans grew louder, thighs flexing as you humped faster and faster.
“Fuck… feels so good…” you gasped, back arching.
Your orgasm slammed into you without warning. Your thighs shook violently, a broken cry tearing from your throat as you ground down hard against the teddy’s belly. Your pussy clenched and pulsed, gushing slick all over the soft brown fur and leaving a big, shiny wet spot that soaked deep into the plush. You kept riding through the aftershocks, hips jerking erratically, small whimpers and squeaks spilling from your lips until your body finally collapsed forward, panting and trembling, the ruined teddy still trapped beneath your soaked, hairy pussy.
Bucky came with a guttural groan at the exact same moment, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist as he stared at the obscene wet mess you’d made on his gift.
“Jesus Christ, doll…” he rasped to the empty room, chest heaving. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
He kept watching as you caught your breath, your naked body still draped over the teddy, the fur between your legs dark and glistening with your cum.
Bucky didn’t stop at the live feed.
After you collapsed panting on the bed with the teddy still trapped beneath your soaked cunt, he immediately rewound the footage. He watched both nights back-to-back on a loop, the first night’s soft, innocent tit-cuddling mixed with the filthy second night: you fingering your dripping pussy with the bear tossed aside, shyly smirking before pressing its plush face between your legs, grinding it desperately against your cunt while whimpering about how dirty it felt, then straddling and riding the innocent-looking bear like a desperate little slut until you left a big, shiny wet spot soaked into its fur.
He jerked off furiously to both clips, hand flying over his thick cock, metal fingers digging into his thigh hard enough to dent the skin. His breathing was ragged, low growls escaping his throat as he stroked himself raw.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes glued to the screen. “Sweet little thing… humping the gift I gave you like a filthy girl.”
He came harder than he had in decades, the first orgasm ripping through him with a choked groan as he watched you grind the teddy’s face on your hairy pussy, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach. He didn’t stop. He kept stroking through the sensitivity, chasing a second release while the footage played again, this time focusing on the way your thighs shook and your slick dripped down the bear’s belly.
The second orgasm hit him even harder, leaving him shaking and breathless, chest heaving as he slumped back in his chair.
For a long moment, the only sound in his room was his ragged breathing and the faint wet sounds still playing from the laptop.
Then, on the screen, you slowly sat up after your own climax. Your naked body glistened with a light sheen of sweat, thighs shiny from your release. You caught your breath, staring down at the ruined teddy between your legs with a small, satisfied smile.
You leaned forward, looking straight into the teddy’s eye, directly into the hidden camera and gave it a wicked little smirk that sent ice down Bucky’s spine.
Your lips moved clearly, mouthing the words with deliberate slowness:
“Goodnight, Sergeant.”
You reached out, turned off the bedside lamp and the feed went dark.
Bucky froze.
His hand was still loosely wrapped around his spent cock, cum cooling on his skin, but every muscle in his body locked up. The room felt suddenly too quiet. His heart hammered against his ribs as the realization crashed over him.
Did you just…?
Had you known the camera was there the entire time?
You’d known Bucky was watching you for weeks.
It started small, innocent enough that anyone else might have missed it. But you were an Avenger. You’d been trained to notice the little things: the way his metal fingers would twitch against his thigh when you “accidentally” bent over in one of your short skirts to pick something up, the subtle shift in his stance, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting a war inside his own head.
You noticed how his eyes would darken, pupils blowing wide, whenever you licked whipped cream slowly off your finger during movie nights, letting your tongue drag deliberately along the pad of your thumb while maintaining soft, shy eye contact with him. He always looked away first, pretending to focus on the screen but you caught the way his breath hitched every single time.
So you leaned into it.
You played the part of the sweet, innocent little recruit perfectly, the youngest on the team, soft-spoken, always hiding in oversized sweaters that made you look even smaller and more delicate than you already were. You blushed on command at dirty jokes, giggled shyly when someone teased you, and acted like you’d never had a filthy thought in your life.
But behind closed doors? You were anything but innocent.
In the privacy of your room, you destroyed yourself thinking about him. You’d ride your biggest dildo for hours, the thick, veined one that stretched you open and made you cry out while imagining it was Bucky’s cock. You’d read the filthiest Bucky fanfics on your tablet late at night, touching yourself to stories where the Winter Soldier pinned you down and ruined his soft little teammate. You even recorded voice memos on your phone: moaning his name breathily while you fingered yourself, whispering things like “Bucky… please, Sergeant… I’m so wet for you” just so you could listen back to them later and come again.
You were a menace in private and you loved every second of it.
The teddy bear had been the perfect opportunity.
The moment Bucky handed it to you that night, you’d clocked the hidden camera. Your trained eyes had spotted the tiny lens glinting inside the left button eye almost instantly, Avengers-level observation skills mixed with your own natural tech-savvy side. The weight was just slightly off, the stitching around the eye a little too precise. You knew exactly what he’d done.
And instead of calling him out or smashing the damn thing, you’d smiled sweetly, hugged the bear to your chest, and decided to give Sergeant Barnes the show of a lifetime.
You started “innocent” on purpose.
The first night you’d dropped the towel, climbed into bed naked, and cuddled the teddy tightly between your bare tits, pressing its soft plush head right into your cleavage, letting your nipples harden against the fur while you sighed and talked sweetly to it. You wanted to tease him. To make him think you were still his pure, soft little girl.
But the second night? You escalated.
You’d fingered yourself with the bear tossed aside, then shyly smirked right into the camera before grinding the teddy’s face against your pussy until you were squealing and whimpering about how dirty it felt. Then you’d straddled it and ridden the innocent-looking plush like a desperate slut, soaking its belly with your cum while moaning for the camera.
All of it calculated.
All of it for him.
You wanted to see how long it would take the big, protective super-soldier to break. How long before his “I’m just keeping her safe” excuse crumbled and he admitted how badly he wanted to ruin the sweet young thing he’d been obsessing over.
So far, it was working better than you could have hoped.
The next morning, when you’d walked into the kitchen still carrying the teddy and thanked him again with that shy little kiss on the cheek, you’d seen the hunger in his eyes. You’d felt the way his body had tensed when you mentioned cuddling the bear all night.
He was already cracking.
And you couldn’t wait to push him further.
The next day, the gym was mostly empty after the afternoon training session.
You’d just finished sparring with Ava and were wiping sweat from your neck with a towel when you felt that heavy stare burning into your back.
Bucky was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, metal fingers drumming restlessly. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual. He’d been watching you the entire time.
You pretended not to notice at first, bending slowly to pick up your water bottle and letting your tight workout shorts ride up. When you straightened and turned, he was already moving toward you.
He cornered you near the mats, using his larger frame to shield you both from view. His voice dropped low and rough, almost strained.
“That teddy…” he started, eyes flicking down to your lips before locking back on yours. “You like it?”
You blinked up at him with wide, innocent doe eyes, cheeks flushing a perfect shade of pink. One hand came up to twirl a strand of your damp hair around your finger as you tilted your head sweetly.
“Oh, I love it Bucky,” you said in the softest, most angelic voice. “It’s so cuddly and warm. I slept with it between my boobs the first night… all soft and squished right there against my bare skin.” You bit your lip shyly, letting your gaze drop for a moment like you were embarrassed, then looked back up at him through your lashes. “And the second night… I had it between my legs.”
Bucky’s metal arm twitched hard at his side, fingers curling into a tight fist with a quiet mechanical whir. His breath hitched visibly.
You continued in that same sweet, breathy tone, leaning in just a little closer.
“It makes me feel really good, you know? So soft rubbing against me… I kept moving it around until it felt even better. I didn’t want to stop.”
His brain completely short-circuited.
You watched the exact moment it happened, his pupils blew wide, his mouth parted slightly, and the muscle in his jaw jumped violently. He looked like he was picturing every second: your naked tits hugging the bear, then your slick pussy grinding desperately against its soft belly.
“I… fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse and low. “Doll, you can’t just- you shouldn’t be telling me that.”
“But it’s true,” you replied innocently, blinking up at him with big eyes. “It felt so nice and warm between my legs. Made me all tingly and wet. You picked such a good one, Bucky. Thank you again.”
He looked like he was two seconds away from pinning you against the wall right there in the gym.
From that moment on, the tension between you became unbearable, at least for him.
During the evening briefing, when you “accidentally” dropped your pen under the table, you made sure to brush your ass slowly against the front of his pants as you straightened back up. Bucky stiffened behind you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Later, when the team was reaching for files on the high shelf, he stepped in close behind you, pressing his much larger body flush against your back “to help.” His metal hand settled on your waist, gripping a little too tightly, while his hips aligned perfectly with the curve of your ass. You felt the thick, hard outline of his cock twitch against you.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you arched your back just slightly, pressing your ass back into him with a soft, innocent hum as you grabbed the folder.
“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered sweetly, glancing over your shoulder. “You’re always so helpful… and so warm.”
His fingers dug into your waist for half a second before he forced himself to step back, breathing ragged.
“Careful, doll,” he muttered under his breath, voice strained. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
You just smiled shyly and twirled your hair again. “I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant. I’m just being grateful.”
By the end of the day, Bucky was losing his goddamn mind.
You could see it in the way he kept clenching and unclenching his metal fist, the way his eyes followed your every movement like a man slowly realizing he’d been outplayed by the sweet, soft girl he thought he was protecting.
And you were loving every single second of it.
Back in his room that night, the lights were off and the only glow came from his laptop screen. He sat on the edge of his bed, sweatpants shoved down just enough, cock already hard and leaking as he obsessively rewatched both clips on loop.
First the soft innocent night, your naked body curling around the teddy, pressing its plush head deep between your full, bare tits until they spilled and squished around its face, nipples hardening against the fur while you sighed and talked sweetly to it.
Then the filthy second night, you fingering your dripping pussy with the bear tossed aside, that shy little smirk right into the camera before you pressed the teddy’s face between your legs, grinding its soft fur against your slightly hairy cunt and whimpering about how dirty it felt. The way you straddled it afterward, riding the innocent plush like a desperate slut, hips rolling faster and faster until you soaked its belly with a shiny wet spot.
He couldn’t stop.
His hand flew over his thick cock, stroking himself raw, metal fingers occasionally joining to squeeze his balls as the footage played again and again. Low, broken groans filled the room.
“Fuck… look at you, doll,” he rasped, eyes glued to the high-res shot of your tits hugging the teddy. “So sweet and soft… and then you turn into such a filthy little thing.”
He rewound to the riding session, watching your pussy drag wetly over the bear’s belly, thighs trembling as you humped it harder. His strokes grew frantic, thumb smearing the steady leak of pre-cum over the head.
“Making my gift all messy… grinding that pretty hairy cunt on it like you needed to be fucked…”
He came hard the first time, spilling over his fist with a guttural groan, but he didn’t stop. He kept stroking through the sensitivity, chasing another release while the clips looped. The contrast between your innocent “I love it, Bucky” smile in the kitchen and the way you’d moaned while riding his gift was driving him insane.
He was still panting, cock half-hard again in his slick fist, when a soft knock sounded at his door.
Before he could even pull his sweatpants up properly, the door opened.
You slipped inside wearing nothing but his oversized black hoodie, the one he’d left in the laundry room days ago and thigh-high black socks that hugged your legs. The hoodie swallowed your smaller frame, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh, and it was obvious you had nothing underneath. Your hair was loose, cheeks still slightly flushed.
You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then walked straight to his bed without hesitation. Bucky froze, laptop still open beside him, the paused footage of you riding the teddy glowing on the screen.
You pushed him back gently but firmly until he was sitting against the headboard, then climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. The moment your bare pussy pressed against the hard line of his cock through his sweatpants, you felt him twitch violently beneath you.
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his stubble, and looked him dead in the eyes with a wicked little smile.
“Saw the little red light in my teddy’s eye, Sergeant,” you purred, voice sweet but dripping with teasing satisfaction. “Naughty, naughty boy.”
Bucky’s breath caught, his metal hand instinctively gripping your waist under the hoodie. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, caught completely off guard.
“You… knew?” he rasped, voice rough and strained.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you rocked your hips once, slowly, letting him feel how wet you already were.
“Mhm,” you whispered. “I knew the second you gave it to me. But I decided to give you a show instead… starting all sweet and innocent with my tits, then riding it like a desperate little slut the next night. Did you like watching me make your gift all messy?”
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again, still cupping his face, your voice dropping into that soft, angelic tone you knew drove him crazy.
“Every time I pressed its soft little face between my legs and rode it… I closed my eyes and pretended it was you underneath me. Your tongue, your mouth, your stubble rubbing against my wet pussy.”
You didn’t give him time to recover.
Still straddling his lap, you started grinding slowly on his clothed cock, rolling your hips in lazy, deliberate circles. The oversized hoodie rode up your thighs as you moved, and the only thing between your bare, wet pussy and his throbbing erection was the thin fabric of his sweatpants. You could feel every thick inch of him twitch and harden further beneath you.
Bucky’s metal hand tightened on your waist, the other gripping your hip like he was trying to anchor himself.
“Tell me the truth, Sergeant…” you purred, still grinding your soaked pussy slowly over his clothed cock, “how many times did you cum watching your sweet, innocent little teammate hump the teddy you gave her like a needy whore?”
He groaned, head falling back against the headboard, but you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.
“Don’t get shy now,” you whispered, grinding harder, letting your clit rub against the ridge of his cock. “I know you watched both nights. Tell me… how many times did you jerk off to me cuddling your gift between my tits? All soft and bare, nipples getting hard while I hugged it tight?”
Bucky’s breath hitched, his cock jerking hard under you.
“And then the second night…” You leaned in, lips brushing his ear as you rocked faster. “How many times did you stroke that big cock while I rode it like a desperate slut? Grinding my wet, little pussy all over its soft belly until I left a big shiny mess? Did you come when I squealed about how dirty it felt?”
“Fuck… doll-” His voice was wrecked, raw and broken.
You smiled innocently, still grinding slow and filthy on him. “Use your words, Bucky. Be honest. How many loads did you spill watching your sweet, innocent girl turn into a filthy little hypocrite on the teddy you gave her?”
He swallowed hard, eyes dark with lust and shame. “Three… maybe four,” he admitted hoarsely. “Couldn’t stop. Kept rewinding to the part where you pressed its face between your legs… fuck, the way you whimpered ‘so dirty’ while you humped it-”
You rewarded him with a particularly slow, wet grind, letting him feel how soaked you were.
“Good boy,” you cooed. “See? Wasn’t so hard to confess.”
Before he could say anything else, you climbed higher up his body, knees bracketing his head. You reached over to the nightstand where you’d dropped the teddy when you first entered, and placed it carefully on the pillow beside his head, its camera eye pointed straight at the action.
Bucky’s eyes widened when he realized what you were doing.
You lowered yourself onto his face without warning, smothering him with your dripping pussy. His groan vibrated straight through your core as you settled your weight on him, thighs framing his face.
“Mmm… that’s it,” you moaned, already rocking your hips. You reached down and threaded your fingers through his long hair, holding him in place. “You wanted innocent? I’ll give you innocent… while I fuck your face.”
You started riding him slowly at first, dragging your slick folds and soft pubic hair over his mouth and tongue. Bucky didn’t hesitate, he dove in like a starving man, tongue licking broad stripes through your pussy, sucking on your clit with filthy, wet sounds.
You moaned louder for the teddy’s camera, voice breathy and sweet.
“Look at you, Sergeant… buried under your soft little teammate’s cunt. Does it taste as innocent as you thought?” You rolled your hips faster, grinding down harder, smothering him with every movement. “I bet you jerked off thinking about this exact thing while you watched me on that teddy.”
Bucky growled into your pussy, the vibrations making your thighs tremble. His metal hand came up to grip your ass, metal fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you even closer, tongue fucking into your tight hole while his nose rubbed against your clit.
You whimpered, riding his face with increasing desperation, the wet sounds echoing in the room.
“That’s it… eat it just like that. Show the camera how much you love your naughty little liar’s pussy.”
Three days had passed since that first explosive night in Bucky’s room.
Three days of delicious, dangerous sneaking around.
You’d barely been able to keep your hands off each other. Quick, filthy kisses in the elevator when the doors closed. Bucky pinning you against the wall in the training room after everyone else left, metal fingers slipping under your skirt to tease your soaked panties while you tried not to moan loud enough for the team to hear. You’d sent him a short video clip during a briefing, your fingers buried in your pussy while whispering his name and watched him nearly choke on his coffee across the table.
The tension was unbearable. The secret made everything hotter.
Tonight, you’d both finally snapped.
You’d slipped into Bucky’s room after midnight, heart racing with the thrill of almost getting caught by Alexei on the way over. The moment the door locked, clothes started coming off but not before you pulled out the cameras.
“Tonight we do it right,” you whispered, eyes sparkling with wicked excitement. “Full performance. No holding back.”
You two set up the cameras together like twisted partners in crime. The teddy bear was placed on a chair in the corner like a perverted audience member, its red light blinking steadily. A proper tripod camera was positioned at the foot of the bed for a wide, clear angle, and you even added a smaller angle cam on the nightstand for close-ups. Both of you checked the framing, making sure every filthy detail would be captured perfectly.
Once everything was rolling, you turned to Bucky with a sweet, innocent smile that didn’t match the heat in your eyes.
“Sit on your hands, Sergeant. Don’t move them until I say.”
He obeyed, sliding his hands under his thighs, muscles straining with barely-contained need. His cock was already rock-hard and leaking against his stomach.
You stood in the center of the frame and began the slowest, most torturous strip tease imaginable.
Inch by agonizing inch, you peeled Bucky’s oversized black hoodie up your body, revealing every curve. When the fabric finally cleared your head, you were left wearing nothing but a tiny pair of baby-pink lace panties with a delicate little bow sitting right above your mound. The cameras caught everything, the way your full tits bounced softly as you moved, the gentle sway of your hips, the soft patch of hair peeking out from the edges of the lace.
You danced for the cameras like a filthy little performer.
Hands cupping and squeezing your breasts, thumbs circling your hardening nipples as you looked straight into the tripod lens.
“Remember when you first started watching me, Sergeant?” you asked in that soft, breathy voice, looking straight into the tripod lens. “I noticed it right away… the way your eyes would linger when my sweater slipped off my shoulder, how your metal fingers twitched every time I bent over in those short skirts.”
You turned slowly, arching your back and sliding your hands down your body.
“I started touching myself more after that. Humping my pillows at night, riding my biggest dildos while moaning your name… pretending it was you.”
Bucky’s breath hitched audibly from the bed.
“Dildos?” he rasped, voice strained.
You gave the camera a shy little smirk, then glanced back at him with big, innocent eyes.
“Mhm,” you hummed sweetly, sliding one hand down to rub slow circles over your panties, letting the cameras see the growing wet spot. “Big ones. The kind that stretch me open and make me cry. I’d fuck myself for hours thinking about you… and then you gave me that teddy.”
You spread your legs wider, still playing with yourself over the thin lace. “So I decided to give you a real show instead.”
Your fingers rubbed slow, teasing circles over your panties, letting both cameras clearly see the growing wet spot darkening the fabric.
“I got so fucking wet knowing you were watching me, Bucky,” you breathed, voice sweet but dripping with lust. “Knowing that my big, protective Sergeant was stroking his cock raw to his sweet little teammate acting like a filthy whore.”
That was it.
Bucky snapped like a rubber band.
With a deep, animalistic growl, he lunged forward. His metal arm shot out and pinned both your wrists high above your head against the wall. His flesh hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse flutter and your pussy clench.
“You’re worse than me, doll,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous, lips brushing your ear. “Filthy little liar. Walking around the compound acting all soft and innocent while you’ve been corrupting me for weeks.”
He ripped the tiny lace panties off with one brutal yank, the delicate fabric tearing loudly. The cameras caught the moment perfectly, your bare, hairy pussy now on full display, already glistening with arousal.
Bucky dropped to his knees and buried his face between your thighs like a starving man.
He ate you out with loud, sloppy, obscene enthusiasm. His tongue dragged through your slick folds, sucking noisily on your swollen clit, growling and moaning into your cunt for both cameras to record. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he devoured you, tongue fucking deep into your hole, lips sucking your clit, metal arm still pinning your wrists while his flesh hand spread you open wider so the cameras could see everything.
“Fuck, this pussy tastes even better than it looked on that teddy,” he growled against your clit, the vibrations making your thighs shake. “So fucking wet and hairy… my sweet little hypocrite is dripping for me.”
You moaned loudly, hips grinding shamelessly against his face, riding his tongue while the cameras captured every second.
After several long, devastating minutes of him eating you like he wanted to drown in you, you tugged desperately at his hair.
“My turn, Sergeant.”
You dropped to your knees in front of him, eyes locked on the tripod camera as you pulled his thick, heavy cock free. It was veined, leaking steadily, the head flushed dark.
You looked straight into the lens with a sweet, angelic smile while you took him into your mouth.
You looked straight into the lens with a sweet, angelic smile while you took him into your mouth.
“Smile for the camera, Bucky,” you purred, lips brushing the swollen head. “Show everyone how the big bad Winter Soldier looks when his innocent little teammate chokes on his fat cock.”
You swallowed him down in one smooth, greedy motion, taking him to the hilt. Bucky groaned loudly, one hand tangling tight in your hair.
“Fuck- that’s it,” he rasped. “Take every inch, doll. Let them see how deep you can go.”
He started face-fucking you, slow and deep at first, then rougher. Without warning, he shoved his cock all the way down your throat and held it there.
“Hmpf!” you choked out around his thick length, eyes watering instantly.
Bucky groaned in pleasure at the sound. “Yeah? You like that? Choking on my cock for the camera like a good little whore?”
He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, then started playing with it, dragging his slick cock across your tongue, slapping the heavy head against your swollen lips, and pushing it back down your throat again.
You were drooling everywhere, spit running down your chin and dripping onto your tits.
Bucky finally pulled out with a wet pop, breathing hard.
“Get the balls too, baby,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “Don’t be lazy.”
You whined, voice hoarse. “Buckyyy…”
He smirked, tapping his wet cock against your cheek.
“Huh? What’s wrong, princess? You don’t like doing all the work?” He gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “I watched you ride that teddy for hours like a desperate slut, and now you can’t even lick my balls? Open your fucking mouth.”
You whimpered but obeyed, leaning in to suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth, tongue swirling.
“That’s more like it,” he groaned, stroking his cock above your face. “Look at the camera while you do it. Show them what a filthy girl you really are.”
After a few moments he yanked you up by the hair, eyes dark with lust.
“Enough. Get on the fucking bed. Right now.”
You gave him that sweet, innocent little smile you knew drove him insane and crawled onto the mattress on all fours, ass swaying deliberately for both the tripod camera and the perverted teddy bear sitting on the nightstand, its hidden lens no doubt capturing every second of your dripping, needy cunt.
He didn’t give you time to settle.
Bucky flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, hooking your trembling legs over his broad, muscular shoulders and folding your smaller body in half until your knees nearly touched your ears. The angle was downright obscene, your soaked pussy completely exposed, lips puffy and glistening, clit swollen and twitching under the harsh lights of the cameras.
His cold metal hand wrapped tightly around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark with dizzy pleasure. The thick, veiny head of his cock nudged against your dripping entrance, smearing your slick all over himself.
“Beg for it,” he growled.
“Please, Bucky… fuck me. Ruin me for the cameras.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by brutal inch, stretching your tight walls until he bottomed out, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as he filled you completely.
“Look at the camera, baby,” he ordered, voice low and rough. He started thrusting in deep, powerful strokes that made your tits bounce violently with every snap of his hips. “Smile pretty for them. Show the world how innocent you pretend to be while you’re creaming all over Sergeant Barnes’ cock like a desperate little whore.”
He stared straight into your eyes, then glanced at the lens, metal fingers flexing tighter around your throat.
“Look how pretty you are getting absolutely ruined. Thought you were such a sweet, soft little thing… so pure. Now look at you- legs folded like a pretzel, pussy stretched obscenely around my fat cock, leaking all over the sheets.”
The wet, filthy squelching sounds of your soaked cunt filled the room as he pounded into you harder. Your juices dripped down to your asshole, making everything slick and messy.
But Bucky still wouldn’t let you cum.
You were losing your mind.
“Bucky- please,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “Please, I need it. I’m so close-”
He smirked, slowing his thrusts to a lazy grind, keeping you right on the edge. “What’s that, babydoll?”
You sobbed, desperation clawing at you. “Please, Buck… I need it. Please fuck me properly. I can’t- fuck- I need to cum so bad.”
Your hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers frantically rubbing your swollen clit before dipping lower, trying to push inside yourself around his thick cock.
Bucky’s eyes darkened.
“Don’t be pathetic,” he growled, metal hand snapping down to yank your wrist away. “Take those fingers out. Right now.”
You whined at the loss, but he didn’t let you suffer long.
He pulled your soaked fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low, filthy groan, tongue swirling around your digits like he was savoring every drop of your taste.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Now keep your eyes on the camera.”
Then he slammed back into you, hard, deep, and relentless. The new angle had his cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside you with every brutal thrust. His metal hand stayed locked around your throat while his flesh hand pinned your wrist to the mattress.
“Begging and trying to fuck yourself on camera? Such a needy little slut,” he taunted, voice rough with arousal. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.”
He fucked you like he was trying to break you, fast punishing strokes that made your whole body shake. Your moans turned into broken cries as the orgasm he’d been denying you finally crashed over you, hard enough to make your vision white out.
He yanked his cock out with a lewd pop, flipped you over roughly, and shoved your face down into the mattress. He yanked your hips up high, forcing your ass up in the air, the perfect humiliating angle for the tripod camera behind you.
“Arch your fucking back. Present that cunt like the slut you are.”
The second you obeyed, his metal hand came down hard on your ass with a loud, stinging crack. He spanked you mercilessly, again and again, turning your soft skin bright red and hot while he lined his throbbing cock up and slammed back inside you in one brutal, balls-deep thrust.
You screamed into the sheets as he railed you, hips snapping forward so violently the entire bed creaked and slammed against the wall. His metal hand kept spanking you in perfect rhythm with every punishing thrust, the sharp, burning sting blending into the deep, toe-curling pleasure of his cock dragging mercilessly against your g-spot.
“Fuck- yes, Sergeant!” you wailed, pushing back desperately to meet every savage stroke. “Harder! Mark me up- make my ass red and purple!”
He growled like a beast, gripping your hip bruisingly with his flesh hand while the metal one delivered another vicious slap that made your pussy clench hard around him.
“They’d fucking lose their minds if they knew their sweet little teammate was getting destroyed like a cheap whore from behind,” he snarled, voice dark and venomous. “Ass up high, pussy dripping down your thighs, begging to be bred while two cameras record every filthy second.”
Your cunt was making the most obscene, wet, sloppy sounds now, loud squelches every time he bottomed out, your creamy arousal coating his balls and dripping onto the sheets in messy strings.
You were shaking, desperate for control before you lost your mind completely.
You shoved Bucky onto his back and climbed on top, first turning away from him in reverse cowgirl so both cameras got the perfect, nasty view. You hovered over his massive cock, then sank down slowly, moaning like a pornstar as every thick inch disappeared into your greedy, slightly hairy pussy. The cameras captured it all in high definition: your puffy outer lips stretching obscenely around his girth, your ass cheeks spreading wide as you took him to the hilt, your tight little asshole winking above his slick-covered shaft.
You started riding him hard, bouncing up and down with wet, filthy slaps, letting the lens see his cock sliding in and out, shiny and creamy with your juices.
“Feel that?” you panted breathlessly, looking back over your shoulder directly at the tripod camera. “That’s how fucking wet your little stalker made me. My cunt is soaked and sloppy because I knew you were watching me hump that teddy bear like a desperate, horny whore for days.”
You spun around to face Bucky and the main camera, planting your hands on his firm chest. Now you rode him properly, grinding your clit against his pelvis, bouncing so your tits jiggled obscenely while you stared straight into the lens with hazy, lust-filled eyes.
“You rode my teddy like a pathetic little slut,” Bucky groaned beneath you, hands finally free to grip your hips hard enough to bruise. “Now ride the real thing, doll. Show the camera exactly how you fuck when you think no one’s watching.”
As you bounced faster on his cock, Bucky licked two of his flesh fingers, coating them generously with spit. He reached behind you and pressed the pads of his wet fingers right against your tight little asshole, tapping and rubbing teasing circles over your puckered hole.
“Look at this greedy little pucker,” he sneered, voice low and filthy, eyes locked on where his fingers were playing with you. “Been teasing this tight ass the whole time you were humping my teddy, huh? Such a nasty girl… acting all innocent while you wanted both your holes filled.”
You whimpered loudly, clenching around his cock as his fingers continued tapping and pressing against your asshole, not pushing in yet just teasing, promising.
You rode faster, harder, your swollen clit rubbing perfectly against him with every grind. Your pussy was creaming so much that white, frothy rings of your arousal coated the base of his cock and matted the dark hair there.
“I’m gonna come- fuck, Bucky- I’m creaming all over your cock!” you cried out shamelessly.
Bucky suddenly sat up, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and holding you down on his cock as you shattered. Your pussy clenched and pulsed violently around him, gushing clear slick in messy squirts that soaked his pelvis and dripped down his balls.
With a deep, possessive growl that vibrated through your chest, he thrust up hard and came deep inside you, thick, hot, endless ropes of cum flooding your spasming cunt. He held you pinned down, grinding up into you as he pumped every last drop into your womb while both of you moaned filthily for the cameras.
When he finally pulled out with a wet, creamy sound, a thick, obscene stream of his pearly white cum immediately poured out of your ruined, gaping hole, running down your folds and asshole in heavy globs.
Bucky didn’t let you close your legs even for a second.
“Keep them open for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough with satisfaction. “Spread them wider. I want the camera to see exactly how full you are.”
Face burning with humiliated arousal, you obeyed. With shaky fingers, you reached down and gently spread your puffy, well-fucked folds, opening yourself completely. You pushed softly, and a thick, warm trickle of his cum began to leak out of you, slow and creamy, dripping down onto the ruined sheets while the cameras captured every second in sharp detail.
Bucky’s eyes darkened with raw hunger as he watched. He couldn’t look away from the sight of his release slowly spilling from your stretched pussy.
“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he breathed, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. All full of my cum. I love seeing it drip out of you.”
He stayed like that for a long moment, just staring, mesmerized by the messy, intimate sight. His hand gently stroked your thigh, thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the intensity melted away.
Bucky pulled you gently into his arms, kissing you deeply, slow, tender, loving kisses that felt worlds away from how brutally he’d just destroyed you. He grabbed a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom and carefully cleaned between your legs, wiping away the sticky mixture of your combined fluids while pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your flushed cheeks, and your swollen lips.
“We’re both so fucking twisted,” he murmured against your skin, voice warm and possessively affectionate as he tucked you against his broad chest. “And I wouldn’t change a single filthy thing. My pretty little pervert.”
You smiled sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, already plotting the next time you’d corrupt him even further.
“Good,” you whispered, voice hoarse from moaning. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you, Sergeant. Next time… we’re bringing the teddy into the bed with us while we film.”
Two weeks later, the team was deep in an abandoned Hydra facility buried in the Romanian mountains.
The lower levels were freezing cold, pitch-black in places, and eerily silent except for the constant drip of water and the low groan of settling metal beams. The air smelled of rust, mildew, and old blood. Every footstep echoed like a gunshot through the concrete corridors.
You and Bucky had been paired to sweep the sub-basement. The rest of the team was three floors above but their voices kept crackling through comms, far too close for comfort.
The second you rounded a corner and lost sight of the staircase, the tension snapped.
Bucky grabbed your wrist and yanked you into a derelict interrogation room. The heavy metal door slammed shut with a deafening clang that echoed down the hallway. Old restraint chairs were bolted to the floor, broken glass and rusted chains littered the corners, and a single flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
“Fuck the mission,” he growled, shoving you against the cold concrete wall, teeth scraping your neck. “I’ve been hard since we landed. Been imagining bending you over one of these tables the whole flight.”
Heart hammering, you pulled the small body cam from your vest and clipped it to a rusted shelf at the perfect angle. The red recording light blinked on.
Bucky’s eyes darkened with pure lust.
“Risky little slut,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “John and Yelena are only three floors up. They could walk in any second.”
“That’s what makes it so fucking hot,” you whispered, already unzipping your jacket and letting it drop. “Imagine if they heard me moaning your name while you’re balls-deep inside me.”
He spun you around, bent you over the old metal interrogation table, and kicked your legs apart. The icy surface pressed against your chest as he yanked your tactical pants and panties down in one rough motion. The freezing air hit your soaked pussy like a slap.
“Look at the camera, doll,” he ordered, freeing his thick cock and rubbing the fat, leaking head through your dripping folds. “Smile pretty while I fuck you raw in a Hydra base like the desperate little whore you are.”
You moaned, pushing back desperately. “Hurry, Sergeant- please, before someone comes-”
Comms crackled loudly.
“Barnes, status report,” John’s voice came through, clear and close. “You two good down there?”
Bucky didn’t stop. He thrust into you in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You had to bite your own arm to keep from crying out as he immediately started pounding you hard, the old metal table scraping noisily against the concrete floor with every thrust.
He pressed the comm button with his metal hand while still railing you.
“All clear,” he answered, voice impressively steady. “Just clearing the last sector. Give us five more minutes.”
The second the comms cut, he fucked you even harder, metal hand spanking your ass red.
But it didn’t stop.
Comms crackled again, even closer.
“We are coming down to assist!” Alexei’s booming voice echoed through the speaker. “Yelena says she saw heat signatures moving near your position!”
Bucky growled and kept thrusting deep, grinding against that perfect spot inside you while answering calmly:
“Negative. False alarm. We’ve got it handled.”
The moment the comms went silent, you came violently, pussy gushing around his cock as you bit down hard on your arm to muffle your scream. Bucky followed right after with a deep, guttural groan, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of cum until it was leaking down your thighs onto the dusty floor.
You barely had time to catch your breath.
Comms crackled a third time, right outside your corridor.
“Barnes?” Yelena’s sharp voice cut in. “We’re at the bottom of the stairs. You better not be hiding anything down there.”
Heavy footsteps, two sets, were now thundering down the metal staircase toward your room.
“Shit,” Bucky hissed, pulling out quickly. Cum was still pouring from your ruined pussy as you both frantically yanked your clothes back on. You grabbed the body cam with shaking hands while Bucky wiped down the table.
The footsteps reached the end of the hallway.
The door handle rattled.
Alexei’s loud voice boomed from the other side:
“Barnes! Open up! We are here to help!”
Bucky shoved you behind the large restraint chair just as the door creaked open. He stepped forward casually, looking far too calm.
“Yeah, we’re here,” he said smoothly. “Found some old files. Nothing major.”
Alexei stepped inside, flashlight sweeping the room, Yelena right behind him. Yelena’s sharp eyes immediately narrowed on you, flushed cheeks, messy hair, legs still trembling.
“You both look… very red,” she said slowly, tilting her head. “And sweaty. Did you find enemies?”
Alexei grinned. “Yes! You are both breathing hard! Like you were fighting!”
You forced your sweetest smile, heart still racing.
“Just a lot of stairs,” you lied, voice slightly hoarse. “Very steep ones.”
Yelena stared at you for one long, suspicious second… then smirked like she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“Mm. Sure.”
As they finally turned to leave, Bucky’s eyes met yours across the room, dark, filthy and full of dark promise.
But you both knew the truth.
Yelena definitely suspected something.
And the game had just gotten a lot more dangerous.
Later that night, back at the compound, you and Bucky locked yourselves in his room, lights low and played the new tape.
The footage was raw, filthy, and terrifyingly hot. You could hear every wet slap, every muffled moan, every time Bucky growled in your ear while John, Alexei, and Yelena’s voices kept cutting in through the comms.
Bucky pulled you into his lap halfway through, already hard again.
“Fuck, doll,” he rasped against your neck, watching the screen as Yelena’s voice came through right as he was balls-deep inside you. “Listen to that. They were right outside the door while I was filling you up. You came so hard when Alexei said they were coming down.”
You shivered, grinding slowly against him.
“I know,” you whispered, biting your lip. “If they had opened that door two seconds earlier…”
Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on your hip.
“Next time,” he murmured, voice dark with lust, “we’re doing it in the quinjet bathroom while the whole team is strapped in for takeoff. I want to fuck you while they’re all sitting ten feet away.”
You turned in his lap, eyes sparkling.
“Or the training room after hours,” you countered, nipping at his jaw. “Right on the mats where we spar. I want you to bend me over the weight bench while the security cameras are still recording.”
Bucky groaned, gripping your ass and pulling you harder against him.
“You’re gonna get us caught one day, you filthy little minx,” he rasped, kissing you deep and hungry. “But I don’t care. I’m never stopping this.”
You smiled against his mouth, already wet again.
“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done corrupting you, Sergeant.”
requested by anon : heyy first req! could you do bucky x reader sex tape smut👀 (feel free to ignore if not comfortable!)
requested by anon : how are we feeling about pervyyyyyyyy!bucky and a reader who seems innocent... but is worse better than him?
How yall writing Smut. Like I try but I literally suck at it. Maybe its cause im a virgin and know fuck all but still .... how do yall write this shit. Im so jealous of how yall can write it.... ughhhh
Like all these beautiful men and woman all i wanna do is write about them and I suck at it. Please give tips if you have any on how yall started.
bucky barnes is soooo loud in bed he can’t help it…after decades of nothing he’s just super sensitive and needy. can definitely picture him trying to pull you away multiple times a day to have sex. love him sm.
im so sorry this turned into a stucky moment too😭
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Bucky Barnes was a man of few words outside the bedroom—quiet, calculated, the Winter Soldier’s ghost still lingering in his silences.
But in bed he was so loud.
Desperate, broken-open sounds that spillled from him like he’d been holding them in for decades.
Which, of course, he had.
It started innocently enough that first morning back at the safehouse.
You and Steve had barely finished coffee when Bucky’s hand found your waist, tugging you back against his chest with that needy little whine already building in his throat.
“Missed you,” he murmured, lips brushing your neck.
But the way his hips rolled forward, hard and insistent against your ass, said more than words ever could.
Steve raised an eyebrow from across the kitchen, smirking, but didn’t stop him.
None of you could ever really stop Bucky when the hunger hit.
Within minutes, he had you both in the bedroom, clothes half-shoved aside because he couldn’t wait.
You ended up on your back with Bucky between your thighs, Steve’s hand tangled in Bucky’s hair, guiding him down.
The first slide of Bucky’s cock into you dragged a shattered moan from deep in his chest—raw, helpless, loud.
His head dropped to your shoulder, metal arm braced beside your head as he rocked forward again, another broken sound tearing free.
“F-fuck—so warm,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Missed this. Missed you squeezing me like that—ahh—”
He was already trembling, oversensitive from years of nothing but cold and silence.
Every thrust punched another cry out of him: high, needy whimpers when you clenched around him, guttural groans when Steve leaned down to bite at his shoulder.
Bucky tried to muffle himself against your neck, but it was useless.
He couldn’t stay quiet.
Not when you felt this good.
Not when Steve’s fingers joined the rhythm, pressing into him from behind and making Bucky’s whole body jerk.
You loved it.
Loved how he fell apart so easily now, how the Soldier’s control shattered the second pleasure touched him.
You rolled your hips up to meet him and Bucky sobbed, hips stuttering.
“Too much—please—don’t sop, don’t—”
Steve chuckled low, voice rough with affection.
“Easy, Buck. We’ve got you.”
By the time he came the first time—shaking, loud, spilling deep inside you with a wrecked shout that echoed off the walls—Bucky was already trying to catch his breath for round two.
He didn’t get it.
You and Steve traded a look and gently pinned him down instead, taking turns drawing more of those delicious sounds from him until he was a sweaty, oversensitive mess between you.
That was just breakfast.
By lunch, he was pulling you into the hallway closet like a man possessed.
“Just need a minute,” he lied, voice already breathy as he dropped to his knees.
His mouth was hot and eager, tongue working you open while he moaned around you like you were the one doing him a favor.
Every little hum and whimper vibrated through you until you were gripping his hair and coming with his name on your lips.
Bucky followed seconds later, untouched, grinding against your leg with a muffled cry.
Steve found you both there, flushed and half-dressed, and simply shook his head fondly before dragging you to the couch for round three.
Bucky rode him slow and filthy, head thrown back, moans pouring out unrestrained—Steve’s name, yours, curses in at least three languages.
The neighbors probably hated you.
None of you cared.
Afternoon found him cornering you in the laundry room while Steve was on a quick supply run.
Bucky bent you over the humming dryer, metal hand gentle on your hip even as his thrusts grew frantic.
“Can’t—fuck—can’t help it,” he panted against your ear, voice cracking on every other word. “Been empty for so long. Need you. Need to feel you—oh god—right there—”
He came so hard he nearly collapsed, legs shaking, loud enough that Steve heard him from the driveway and came running—only to join in the second he realized what was happening.
Evening blurred into night.
Dinner was abandoned halfway through when Bucky pulled you into his lap at the table, grinding you down with soft, desperate noises.
You ended up on the floor, Steve fucking into Bucky from behind while Bucky buried his face between your thighs, moaning and licking and whimpering the whole time.
Every time you praised him—
“Such a good boy, Buck, so loud for us, let us hear you.”
—he’d shudder and get even louder, until the room was filled with the wet sounds of sex and Bucky’s broken, beautiful cries.
Later, when the three of you finally collapsed into bed, tangled and sticky and sated (for now), Bucky curled between you like he belonged there.
His voice was hoarse from use, but he still whispered, almost shyly,
“Didn’t mean to be so… much.”
You kissed his temple, Steve’s hand stroking down his back.
“We love you like this,” you murmured. “Needy. Loud. Ours.”
Bucky’s breath hitched, a tiny needy sound escaping before he could stop it.
His cock twitched against your thigh, already half-hard again.
“Give us ten minutes,” Steve teased, grinning.
Bucky groaned, hiding his flushed face in your chest, but his hips rolled forward anyway.
“Can’t help itt,” he mumbled, voice muffled and already thickening with want. “Missed feeling alive.”
You smiled into his hair, fingers threading through Steve’s where they met over Bucky’s waist.
The Soldier had decades of silence to make up for.
Lucky for him, you and Steve were more than happy to let him be as loud as he needed multiple times a day, every day, for as long as it took.
My blurb idea is Bucky x reader x Dex threesome. Please I love how you write sex and sexual tension 🙏
Threesome with Dex and Bucky
TW threesome, fem!reader, sex is very much described but I don’t go into anatomical detail as per usual, Bucky/Dex but they’re still in denial, competitive jealousy, possessiveness, hair pulling, biting, dirty talk, exhibitionism.
By the time Dex kissed Bucky, you were already basically a melted puddle.
Not completely, not yet. But enough that your legs were open on the edge of your bed, your shirt shoved up, your mouth swollen, and both of them were looking at you like this had stopped being fun and games the second they realised what you wanted.
Dex had Bucky by the front of his shirt for one reason and one reason only. Because you told them to kiss.
So they did.
Two men who swore up and down they didn’t like men, breaking apart from a breathless make-out session.
Yeah, sure. Not attracted to other guys at all!
Dex looked far too pleased about it.
You loved that about Dex. He never looked surprised when he got what he wanted. He looked like he had already calculated the exact second Bucky would snap and finally kissed him back already!
“You’re so fucking smug,” Bucky muttered.
Dex’s eyes slid to you. “She likes watching us.”
Bucky looked at you, too.
You were flushed, breathless, trying very hard not to smile.
“I do,” you admitted.
Bucky’s jaw clicked. Then he kissed Dex like he was a bit annoyed at him for being right.
It was rough, open-mouthed, and mean in that competitive, stupid, beautiful way men got when neither one of them wanted to admit they were enjoying themselves. Bucky made this low sound into Dex’s mouth, and Dex’s hand tightened in his shirt.
See, you liked being watched. That was your thing. But apparently, you liked watching too. Which was why you invited them over to your place on a rare off-day. You had been casually sleeping with them separately for a while now, and you knew that both of them were aware of the other guy, so you thought eh, why not? Might be fun. Might be interesting. They might try killing each other, but maybe you’d be into that, too, in your own fucked up way.
Interesting turned out to be the right choice of word, because seeing Bucky’s mouth on Dex, seeing Dex lean into it like he had been starving, made heat curl low in your stomach so fast you actually whimpered.
Both of them heard it.
Dex broke the kiss first, breathing hard, eyes dark as he turned back to you.“You want him to make you feel good, baby?”
Bucky’s stomach flipped. You tilted your head.
Huh. That's new.
Dex’s voice was low, like he was giving you a gift. Like he was reminding Bucky to understand that you were still the centre of this. Still the one they were both trying to please. Competitive bastard.
But this was out of character, because Dex was usually the more submissive when he was with you.
Apparently, Bucky being there flipped some jealous, vicious little switch in him. Suddenly he needed to prove he could fuck you just as stupid as a super soldier could. And he could.
Bucky, meanwhile, went the opposite way. Usually, he was much more dominant. Usually he was the one pinning you down and taking control.
But with Dex there, he got pleasantly quieter. More obedient, more desperate to be useful. Like he wanted to prove he could be good for you, too, mouth on you, hands where you told him, watching Dex fuck you while waiting for your next order.
So really, you were spoiled for choice.
Dex was trying to beat Bucky in his own game. Bucky was trying to prove that he could follow orders, too!
Unfortunately, you were greedy and wanted both.
You looked at Bucky, and how he reacted to Dex’s words.
Bucky looked at you like he was trying very hard not to crawl.
“Yes,” you said.
Dex’s smile widened. “Then tell him.”
“Please, Bucky,” you pouted, “Please make me feel good.”
Bucky was on his knees between your thighs before you could even tease him for how fast he moved.
And that was when it got from great to whatever the fuck the seventh circle of heaven was.
Bucky was hungry. He kissed the inside of your thigh like he hated the fact that Dex was watching and loved it at the same time. His hands gripped your hips, metal and flesh, holding you open while his eyes flicked up to your face.
Dex moved behind you, one hand at your throat, not squeezing, just keeping you upright. Keeping your head tilted. Keeping you watching.
“Look at him,” Dex murmured against your ear. “Since you want him so bad.”
You did.
You watched Bucky drag his mouth deeper and his eyes darken when your breath caught.
You watched him notice exactly what made your muscles tight and then do it again, harder, because Bucky Barnes had never lost a competition in his life without making it everyone’s problem.
Dex noticed too. That’s when his grip at your jaw tightened.
Bucky smiled against your skin. “She likes when I—”
You loved the jealousy and the attention. The fact that they were both so focused on you it felt impossible to breathe. Dex behind you, controlled and possessive. Bucky between your legs, looking up like he was daring Dex to do better.
Dex praised you when your pleasure rippled through.
Bucky groaned when you pulled his hair.
Dex told you, “That’s it. Let her hear you.”
You hummed like the sound was a reward.
Fuck, who were these people and what have they done to your boys? They were so different with their roles reversed.
Different, but good different. It was nice to see them both out of their comfort zones for you, pushing your buttons in opposite ways.
Still, what mattered most was that they worked especially well together.
Bucky knew how to make you feel adored and devoured at the same time. Dex knew how to hold you still without making it feel like a cage. Bucky knew being watched made you desperate. Dex knew praise made you pliant. Bucky knew exactly when to be patient. Dex knew exactly when not to be.
So when Dex finally pulled you flush against him, his body pressed behind yours, Bucky stayed in front of you with wet lips, bright blue eyes, and both vibranium and flesh hands on your thighs.
Dex’s hand slid down your stomach, teasing and mean.
Bucky watched.
Then instead of reaching for your core like you had expected him to, Dex leaned forward, grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hair, and pulled him up from between your legs until he was sitting beside you instead.
Oh.
Bucky gave a lewd moan, eyes blown wide.
You turned your head, breathless, lips brushing Dex’s cheek.
“You liked that,” you teased Bucky.
Dex’s smile went wicked.
“Touch him again,” you whispered, not as demanding as you usually was with him. “Please, Dex”
Bucky murmured your name like a warning, but he did not pull away when Dex’s fingers trailed up his metal arm, before he caught Bucky by the chin and forced the former Winter Soldier to look at him.
Bucky made a whine that sounded obscene.
You smiled. Oh. This was different from usual, dominant Bucky. This was way different. Not that you were complaining.
“You two are so cute,” you said, and had the audacity to giggle.
Bucky gave a rough, breathless laugh.
Dex bit your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to shut you up.
It didn’t work. Because now you knew. Now you had both of them.
And because they were both insane, because both of them wanted to be your favourite, because neither of them could stand the idea of the other pleasing you better, they became unbearable.
Dex pushed into you from behind, slow at first, his mouth pressed to your neck, groaning every time you clenched around him.
And Bucky took a leap of faith and kissed him again while he did it.
It was messy, hungry, and competitive, sharing your sweet taste with him.
He did it like he hated how much he wanted it. Like he hated even more that Dex was good at this.
Then Bucky turned and kissed you too with Dex’s spit still trailing from his mouth, stealing every sound Dex dragged out of you like he wanted to claim those, too.
It was filthy.
It was perfect.
Dex behind you, inside you, trying and failing to keep control. Bucky beside you, metal hand slipping between your legs while his other hand worked himself, his mouth moving between yours and Dex’s like he couldn’t decide who he wanted to ruin more.
And you were spoiled rotten.
You were held open. Watched. Kissed. Praised. Teased. Split apart between two men who had spent the entire night pretending they hated each other when really they hated how badly they wanted the same thing.
You.
And maybe, a little bit, each other.
You came first, because of course you did. They were both too competitive not to make that happen. Dex fucked you through it with his face buried in your throat, voice breaking around your name, and Bucky’s hand wasn’t much better. He didn’t even slow down as he watched you fall apart like it was the prettiest little thing he had ever seen in his century-old tenure on life.
Dex followed after, buried deep, shaking behind you.
Then Bucky came around his own fist. Still breathing hard, he grabbed Dex to kiss him again.
Though he wasn’t angry this time. He was still rough and possessive. But not angry.
Dex melted into it, pleased with himself.
Afterward, none of you moved much
Dex stayed behind you, arm locked around your waist like he had no intention of letting either of you escape. Bucky had his head in your lap, fingers tracing lazy circles over your tummy, eyes half-lidded and far too pleased with himself.
Then Dex murmured, “I think I’m her favourite.”
Bucky’s head lifted immediately.“You’re delusional.”
You laughed.
Obviously, they were going to deny it.
Bucky would call it adrenaline. Dex would call it curiosity. Both of them would insist it had mostly been about you.
And sure, maybe it had been. For now.
But you had felt Dex shiver when Bucky touched him. You had seen Bucky lose his composure when Dex kissed him.
They liked each other. Probably almost as much as they liked you.
They liked fighting. They liked watching. They liked being watched. They liked competing to please you so badly that the competition had turned into wanting each other too.
They just hadn’t figured it out yet.
Which was fine. You had plenty of time.
And next time, you had every intention of making them do much more than make out while you watched.
—
Note: I’m always so pleased that so many of us have the same taste in emotionally volatile men. This will be my last blurb of the night! Keep em coming and I will try my best to write them 🫶
(I am well aware these are less like blurbs and more like short stories. But I’m capping them at 2k words since most of my recent fics are 8k+ words tags do not apply to these since I’m making so many)
read part 2 here
Prompt: After receiving very exciting news about his summer internship, Bucky convinces you to spend one weekend with him at the family cabin, where a fragile attempt at normalcy crumbles into a mess of tangled hearts.
Pairing: Brother!Bucky Barnes x Older Sister!Reader
Word count: 11.4k
Warnings: DDDNE (dead dove do not eat); incest; siblingcest (brother/sister); age gap (reader is 4 years older than Bucky, both are over 18+); inexperienced Bucky Barnes; pining; unresolved emotional tension; smut; mutual masturbation; dirty talk; pussy pronouns; heavy kissing/making out; aftercare; shower sex; fingering; p in v; unprotected sex (reader & bucky talk about it); praise kink (brief); sex is interrupted by feelings; hurt with not a lot of comfort (for the ending of the chapter only); Space CutieS! Bucky is a space nerd, reader is also a space nerd; no use of Y/N; not beta'd
Notes: well, where do i even start?? it has been a while since i posted a chapter for space cuties! real life was kicking my ass for quite a while, and i also made this chapter about twice the size of my previous chapters, which made me take much longer to get it finished. i feel like i might have rushed the ending a little bit, but overall, i am very proud of how this one turned out. i have so many ideas still blooming for these two and i cannot wait for you to see what's in store for bucky & his sis 💕💕
as always dividers by me. reminder to not read unless you are comfortable with the tagged themes !!
A random Thursday afternoon while Bucky is supposed to be studying for his astrophysics midterm is the moment the universe chooses to turn his world upside down. Sprawled across his bed under the glowing galaxy ceiling, laptop balanced on his stomach, he’s half mindedly scrolling through notes about epicycles and galaxy relaxation when the notification for a new email shows up on the corner of the screen.
Johnson Space Center.
Subject: NASA Pathways Internship Offer - Summer 2026
There’s a real chance that his heart stops beating for a full five seconds before it goes back to beating, albeit completely out of sync. His fingers are quick to slide across the keyboard, open the email and just as quickly he’s reading the first paragraph.
Accepted to the NASA Pathways Engineering internship. June through August. Houston. Housing provided. Fully funded. Chance to shadow the Orion program.
His dream, described right there in a long email with details he can’t read when the words begin to blur. The one you planted in him when he was six and you were ten, lying on a blanket in the backyard with that cheap telescope between you. One he’s chased through every late night study session, every rocket model launch in the driveway of your parents home, every school essay that mentioned “the big sister who showed me the stars”.
Bucky should be ecstatic. Maybe yelling, calling Mom and Dad, texting Steve, maybe doing one of those stupid victory dances he used to do when he finally solved a physics problem you’d been helping him with when he was younger.
Instead he just sits there, staring at the screen until words stop making sense, because all he can think about is the fact that Houston is thousands of miles away, and you won’t be there.
Since the planetarium, the two of you have been closer than ever, in a way that feels all too vulnerable but nonetheless unavoidable.
Late night texts started again, him sending a blurry photo of the moon from his bedroom at 2.a.m., captioned “made me think of you”, and you replying with a voice note whispering about the history of some craters’ names. Every time the messages stretched longer, silences between them shorter. You’d catch yourself smiling at your phone in the dark, heart thudding when his typing bubble appeared, knowing he was lying in this starry bedroom thinking about you the way you were thinking about him. Not in a friendly, sibling way; rather, in the way you think about your first school crush, about your first love that is engraved into your bones and that you remember until your deathbed.
Sometimes you’d go for walks after work, bundled up against the February cold, boots crunching over salted sidewalks while he told you about his latest orbital mechanics problem. Other times you’d have lunch together, whenever you had a break long enough to leave the city and visit him for some quick sandwiches at the local café. There were knees brushing under the tiny table, both of you pretending not to notice the way the contact always lingered a second too long.
What you haven’t done since the planetarium is share a bed. Not once, not even for a quick afternoon nap. Neither of you tried anything, neither of you promised to stop, either, but the memory lived in your blood, and his, like oxygen now. You feel it every time you hug him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you a fraction tighter than they should, chin resting on your head just long enough for you to feel his heartbeat through his shirt. At your parents’ house, you catch him staring every dinner across the table, blue eyes a little too dark before he blinks and looks away once he realizes he’s been caught. All the thoughts of his thigh pressed between yours, the way he whispered “my moon” against your mouth like a prayer and a confession all at once.
Once more, you are both trying to keep a wall up, even if you don’t verbalize it. Try to keep conversations safe, you laugh at his dumb jokes and ruffle his hair like the big sister you’re supposed to be. He calls you ‘sis’ in front of your parents, and keeps his hands in his pockets when you walk side by side. But every second more you spend together, the harder it is to ignore the obvious. That afternoon at the planetarium didn’t help fix anything; it just made the ache deeper and impossible to outrun.
Now you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him in the middle of a crowded sidewalk just to see if the world would actually end. And he catches himself reaching for your hand before remembering he’s not allowed to.
The Friday afternoon after he’s received the news, Bucky’s standing in your doorway with the printed NASA email burning a hole in his pocket. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, or maybe from nerves, but either way, when you open the door, he looks at you with those same wide blue eyes that used to stare up at you in wonder when you pointed out constellations.
“Hey, can I come in for a second?”
You step aside to let him into your apartment, and the moment the door clicks shut, he doesn’t sit down. Instead he stands there in the middle of your living room, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
“I have a surprise,” he starts. “but you can’t ask any questions about it. Yet, anyway.”
You raise an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. “That’s kind of a weird way to start a conversation, Buck.”
A nervous smile tugs at his lips. “So, I asked Mom and Dad if I could have their cabin for this weekend. They said yes. I’d like us to go there together, just the two of us. We can leave right now, I have the car outside, and I can wait while you pack.”
The words make you stand there, staring at him, while you process the information. The cabin in the woods.
It’s the same old family cabin your parents have had since you were little, a small, cedar-shingled place tucked deep among the pines, with a big stone fireplace and a wide loft bedroom that overlooks the nearby lake. Every summer and many winter weekends when you were kids, the four of you would pile into the car with snacks and board games and drive up there for a few days. You and Bucky used to race each other down the narrow path to the dock, build snow forts in the backyard, and roast marshmallows until your fingers were sticky.
But what you both used to love most were the nights. There was almost no light pollution that far from the city and the sky would open up like someone had spilled diamonds across black velvet. You’d drag Bucky outside after dark, wrapped in blankets and wearing oversized coats, and lie on the old wooden deck, holding your tiny hands, staring up at the sky.
Now Bucky wants to take you back there, just the two of you, for an entire weekend. Memories flash in your mind even without you wanting them too: his hands on your waist under the Christmas tree, the way he trembled beneath you and the sounds he made when he came while still trying to name stars.
“Bucky…” Your voice comes out quieter than you want. “I don’t think spending a whole weekend alone at the cabin is a good idea. We’ve… been trying. You know that.”
“I know we’ve been trying. We don’t have to ruin that, I just… this is important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek. The responsible part of your brain is screaming that this is dangerous. Two days in a secluded cabin with no parents and no easy escape, just the cold, and the fireplace, and every forbidden feeling you’ve been trying to bury.
“Bucky, I really think we should think about this…”
“Please.” His voice cracks on the word, in a way that makes your chest ache. “Please, sis. This means a lot to me.”
You can see how much this matters to him, even if you don’t know why yet. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight, as he waits for your response. You simply let out a long breath. The love you’ve always felt for him, the safe sibling kind, twists painfully with something you’re terrified to name.
Finally, “Fine,” you say, words coming out softer than you intended, as if showing him that your ‘no’ was never going to hold up anyway. “I’ll go, but only if I drive.”
Bucky blinks, surprise flickering across his features before a little relieved laugh escapes him.
“You don’t trust me on long drives?” he asks, familiar teasing tone creeping back in even though his eyes are still shiny with emotion.
“I’ve seen how you drive when you’re excited about something. Last time you almost hit a mailbox because you were telling me about some new exoplanet discovery. I’m not risking my life just because my little brother gets starry-eyed behind the wheel.
He huffs a laugh, tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Fair. You can drive, and I’ll even let you pick the music.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already turning toward your bedroom to start packing. As you throw clothes and toiletries into a bag, your hands shake slightly. You tell yourself it’s just the cold clinging to the apartment, but deep down, you know the truth: you’re not sure how many more times you can be alone with Bucky before things break apart for good.
The drive up to the cabin is a few hours of careful conversation, how your new exhibit is getting good reviews, his midterm grades, Mom’s last attempt at knitting him a scarf that ended up being way too short. You keep the topics safe, the kind of things siblings are supposed to talk about, while songs play on the radio, ones you both know. Bucky laughs in the right moments, but his fingers keep tapping restlessly against his thigh, and every so often you catch him glancing at you a little too long when he thinks you’re focused on the road.
The farther you drive, the more the trees grow thick, road narrower, until familiar landmarks begin appearing. The old wooden bridge over the creek, the rusted mailbox at the turnoff, the final winding dirt path that leads to the cabin.
When the truck finally crunches to a stop in front of the small cedar-shingled building, it looks pretty much the same as it always has. The late afternoon light filters through the tall pines, casting long shadows across the clearing. Air is cold and crisp, sharp enough to bite at your cheeks the moment you open the door, but there’s no fresh snow on the ground today, just a thin layer of frost clinging to the grass and the edges of the wooden porch. The lake behind the cabin is dark and still under the gray sky, thin mist hovering above the water and making the whole place feel secluded, like the rest of the world is very far away.
A few dried leaves skitter across the porch as you step out, and the familiar scent of pine and damp earth fills the air. Your parents must have come up a few days ago to turn on the heat and stock the fridge, because warm golden light already glows from the windows.
Bucky is already grabbing his and your bags from the back of the truck and heading toward the cabin, and you follow him up the creaky steps, finding the old brass key under a nearby pot, in the same place it always was. When you unlock the door, it swings open and you step inside, only to be wrapped by the warmth of the living room like a blanket. The place is exactly as you remember it: big stone fireplace with some wood ready to be lit, worn plaid couch facing the wide windows that look over the forest.
With a thud, Bucky sets the bags down near the couch and rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little unsure in the quiet space.
“Still feels the same, doesn’t it?” he says softly.
You nod, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the familiar hook by the door. Your fingers linger on the wood for a second, but you don’t say anything.
The kitchen is stocked with the usual supplies, like canned goods, some fresh vegetables (whoever stocked the wood surely brought that too), hot chocolate packets, the old red kettle ready to be put on the stove. Same old kitchen supplies, plates, cups. Everything unchanged, frozen in time, the way only childhood places can be.
But you and Bucky aren’t kids anymore. That realization settles heavy in your chest, and you stand there in the living room, cold air still clinging to your clothes even in the warmer inside of the cabin. This place holds too many innocent memories, and now the walls feel dangerously intimate, the quiet feeling too loud.
Bucky crosses the room to the stone fireplace and crouches down in front of the hearth. The wood is stacked and ready, so he simply strikes a match, small flame flaring bright for a second before he touches it to the kindling. It catches quickly, orange light flickering across his face as the fire begins to grow, crackling softly and filling the room with the comforting scent of burning wood. He stays crouched there for a moment, watching the flames take hold, shoulders still a little tense, before he glances back at you over his shoulder.
“I can make us some hot chocolate,” he offers quietly, voice gentle how you’ve always been used to.
Then he stands, brushes his hands on his jeans and heads toward the kitchen. You hear the familiar clink of the old kettle being filled at the sink, the click of the stove turning on. While the water heats, he pulls two mismatched mugs from the cupboard. In the living room, the fire grows stronger and the warmth slowly spreading chases away the last of the outdoor chill. You sink down onto the edge of the worn plaid couch, watching Bucky move around the kitchen with his usual slightly nervous energy.
A few minutes later he returns, carrying both mugs with an almost shy smile that sets your heart aflutter.
“Here,” he says, handing you the one mug with a chipping rocket pattern. “I managed to find some marshmallows, too.”
Gentle fingers brush his as you take the mug from him, and he sits down on the other end of the couch, not too close, but not as far as he probably should. Firelight dances across his face, highlighting the faint flush lingering on his cheeks.
“I missed this place,” he admits. “Being here with you. It’s been a while since we’ve been up here, with college and your work and everything.”
You take a slow sip of the hot chocolate, sweetness spreading across your tongue but doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.
“So… do you wanna tell me now why we came all the way up here?” You start, unsure whether he’s ready to finally talk about it. But he is. He sets his mug down on the coffee table, elbows restng on his knees as he leans forward slightly. Then he reaches for his pocket, grabs the piece of paper before sliding it to you, his expression a mix of excitement and fear.
“I got the internship,” he says, almost whispering it. “At the NASA Space Center in Houston. Three months this summer, and it might turn into something permanent after graduation.”
Pride blooms in your chest, overwhelming, thinking about the little boy who used to fall asleep to your stories about Apollo missions, all grown up now, telling you about how he’s taking his first step toward his life’s dream.
“Houston,” you repeat, his same excitement now mirrored in your voice. “Bucky, that’s… that’s everything you’ve always wanted. I’m so happy for you.”
He nods, but his smile is small and a little pained. “Yeah, it is. But it’s also seventeen hundred miles away from you.”
The fire continues to crackle, Bucky’s eyes stay locked on yours.
“That’s why I wanted us to come up here. Just needed this weekend with you before things change.”
You don’t know what to say. So instead, you reach out, your hand finding his on the couch between you and lace your fingers together without thinking, touch both familiar and dangerous. And as you sit there with your fingers intertwined, the truth settles over you like a second layer of skin.
Things had changed forever on Christmas Eve.
That night, when the mistletoe hung above your heads and Bucky’s lips had brushed the corner of your mouth, something inside both of you had cracked open with no magical glue to put it back together in sight. And later, in his starry bedroom, you had slept together, taken your little brother inside you, felt him tremble and whine and fall apart beneath you, and in doing so you had shattered every family boundary that was ever meant to exist. Blood, trust, innocence, all of it fractured in one stolen night. Whatever fire you lit that night had grown into something living and hungry, something you both tried to ignore but couldn’t extinguish.
Maybe the distance will be good, you think.
Houston is seventeen hundred miles away. Thousands of miles of highways and state lines and empty sky between you. Maybe that’s exactly what you both needed, space to breathe and remember how to be just siblings again, to let this forbidden fire cool and fade into something manageable. Three months apart could maybe be enough to soothe the ache, quiet the phantom feeling of his body against yours, let the guilt transform into something quieter than this constant, throbbing need.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Even as the thought forms, it feels like a lie.
Because sitting here with his hand in yours, firelight painting his face in soft gold, you can already feel the pull tightening instead of loosening. How are you supposed to welcome the distance when the thought of him seventeen hundred miles away makes your chest feel hollow?
You don’t ask Bucky, or yourself, those questions for the rest of the evening. It passes in gentle quiet, both of you managing to behave stupidly well for two siblings who have messed everything up twice already, in the most unexpected of settings. After finishing the hot chocolate, Bucky suggests making dinner together, and you agree, both of you moving around the small kitchen like you’ve done a hundred times before in your parents' home. You chop vegetables for soup, Bucky heats up some canned chili and toasts thick slices of bread. Conversation while you work stays safe, focused on more details about the internship, projects he might work on, and you listen with genuine pride blooming in your chest.
After dinner, you settle on the couch again, shoulders brushing as you watch the flames of the fireplace dance. Bucky’s hand finds yours once more, fingers lacing together without either of you commenting on it, because the touch remains innocent, just hands, just occasional glances that linger for a second too long but have no continuation beside that. Everything is nice, is soft. You feel like a kid again, just with a bigger heart now and a mind that won’t rest.
Until it’s time to go to bed.
The loft bedroom is the only real sleeping space; the one with the big quilt-covered bed and the wide window overlooking the lake. Neither of you suggests taking the couch, because at this point, it’d be a nonsensical inconvenience. It’s unspoken, but mutual: you’ll share the bed. Just like when you were kids and thunderstorms scared him.
You change into pajamas separately, you first in the small bathroom and then Bucky while you make your way to the bedroom, in your sleeping shorts and an oversized shirt, already setting up the pillows and setting some clothes from your bag in a nearby armchair. When he comes back, he’s wearing gray sweatpants and old NASA t-shirt that’s a little too tight across his shoulders now, because he’s starting to grow it out. Pretending you don’t notice the outline of his groin through his sleeping bottoms takes quite some effort; pretending you see it but it doesn’t make you want to drop to your knees is just a herculean task.
The bedroom is quiet, lit only by a small lamp on the nightstand and the faint silver glow of the moonlight reflecting off the lake through the window. You both slide under the heavy quilt of the very inviting bed, that feels just as warm as it looked from the outside. For a few minutes you’re quiet, the only sound being the distant hoot of an owl outside and the soft creak of the old wooden frame as you both settle. Then Bucky shifts again, inches a little closer to you, and his voice sounds hesitant in the dark.
“… Can I cuddle you?” he asks quietly. “Like we used to.”
Your heart stutters, but you try to not make anything of it. Just some cuddling under the covers, nothing else. You’re still siblings, you still care for each other.
“Yeah. Come here.”
He moves closer immediately, and you lay on your side as he slides one arm under your pillow and wraps the other around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. It’s strange to you how clearly you can feel it, the way his chest is broader and firmer against your back, how his arm drapes heavily over your waist, how his legs are longer as they tuck behind yours. Back on Christmas Eve you had already noticed he’d filled out from college, but lying here like this, tucked securely inside the cage of his body, the change feels even more pronounced. For the first time, you feel smaller than him, even though you’re the older sibling.
It feels sweet and innocent for long enough. Like maybe you could fall asleep like this with no other thoughts propagating through the air of this bedroom.
That is, until you feel it.
Unmistakable, pressed against the curve of your ass through the fabric of his sweatpants, and already half-hard. Your muscles tense and Bucky freezes the second he realizes it’s because you can feel him, his breath catching sharply in his throat.
“Shit,” he whispers, genuinely mortified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m really not trying anything, I swear, I just can’t fucking help it.” He starts to pull away from you, embarrassed and awkward, the shy version of him you’ve always known front and center again. His arm loosens around your waist like he’s ready to scramble back to his side of the bed and apologize profusely for the rest of the night.
“Wait… Bucky,” you whisper, already reaching back to catch his wrist before he manages to retreat completely. “It’s okay, just… don’t pull back from me.”
Bucky doesn’t reply, just stays in the same place for a moment, breathing uneven. Even with him quiet, you can practically feel the war raging inside him; shame, desire, the desperate need to be close clashing violently with everything that is wrong about what you’ve done together.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, words coming out in a trembling tone. “Even when I try. I promise I keep trying, but I… being here, in this bed, it’s making it worse. I—” His words cut off midway, like he knows he’s about to say something he can’t take back and is not willing to let it settle into the spine of tonight just yet.
But after another long pause, your back still pressed to his chest, Bucky’s hesitant voice comes again.
“… Do you think we can do something? Not sex. I know we shouldn’t do that again. But…” he whispers. “… maybe we could just touch ourselves while we watch each other? That’s not as bad, right?”
The suggestion hangs in the dark between you, shocking in its vulnerability. His arm tightens slightly around your waist again, maybe like he’s afraid you’ll pull away in disgust, and his forehead drops against the back of your shoulder, hiding his face even though you can’t see it anyway.
“I just need some relief,” he continues. “Being this close to you is driving me crazy. And I don’t wanna ruin the weekend by pushing for more, I know we can’t, I know we shouldn’t, and… and you can say no, it’s fine, I can just go to the bathroom for a bit or something, maybe a cold shower can help…”
“Bucky.” Saying his name like an interruption whenever he begins rambling has become a habit. You don’t hate it that it has become that. He follows through with a self-deprecating little laugh.
You swallow hard, heart hammering against your ribs. Logically, you know this is a terrible idea. There’s little difference between having him inside of you or masturbating while watching each other, at least as far as family boundaries go. You shouldn’t do either. But some part of you (apparently, the part that’s winning over your brain every time you’re near Bucky these days) has been aching for weeks and still remembers exactly how he sounded when he was inside you. And that part wants more.
“… Okay. We can do that.”
Bucky lets out a stunned exhale, obviously not expecting you to agree to this.
“Really? You’re sure?”
His arm loosens around your waist just enough that you can turn to face him. The moonlight coming through the window paints his face in soft hues, and you know there’s just enough light for you to see each other’s faces and the slight flush of his cheeks.
Both your hands reach for the quilt and slowly push it down to your waists. Bucky hesitates for a long moment, so do you, but he’s the first to move, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushing them down just enough to free himself. His cock springs free, already full hard and flushed red at the tip, leaking heavily over his slit. One shaky hand wraps around the base, gripping himself tightly like he’s trying to keep some semblance of control even when he’s desperately spiraling in front of you.
You follow his lead with a shudder, sliding your sleeping shorts and panties down your thighs and kicking them off under the covers. Cool air kisses your heated skin as you spread your legs, and you bend one knee and fold it outward, opening yourself up completely to his gaze. The position exposes your cunt obscenely, showing how slick has already gathered heavily between your folds, making them glisten softly.
That whole imagery hits Bucky like a shot straight to his dick. He lets out a choked whimper.
“Oh my god… I wish you could see yourself,” he whispers, and you swear you almost see his cock twitch in his hand. “So wet. She’s so pretty like that.”
His hand starts moving slowly, long strokes from the soft hair at the base to the tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head on every upward pass. His gaze is locked between your legs, completely transfixed by the sight of your spread pussy calling to him.
“You’re dripping,” he breathes, hips twitching involuntarily into his fist. “Is that… is that all because of me?”
You just nod, shaky breath as your fingers slide through your slick folds, circling your swollen clit slowly at first, then with more pressure, just at the right angle to let him see everything. Bucky’s strokes grow a little faster.
“Fuck, I keep imagining how warm and tight she’d feel around me right now,” he whines, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them again, unable to stop looking at you, your face, the way your fingers are moving. And just as he lays there, in front of you, panting through his arousal, his words register slowly in your mind. How he keeps calling your pussy her, giving her life in a way you hadn’t thought of before.
“Why…” you ask, voice shaky with arousal and amusement, “why do you keep saying ‘she’ like it’s its own entity?”
Bucky’s hand falters for half a second, a fresh wave of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. But he doesn’t stop stroking himself. If anything, his grip tightens as another bead of precum rolls down over his knuckles.
“Because… I think she might be,” he admits. “She’s got me bewitched. I’m a guy of science but the second I think about her, I’m gone. It’s like she has her own gravity, pulls me in. Makes me stupid.” His strokes grow a little faster, eyes still glued to the way your fingers move over your clit. And you thrive off that attention, too, of having his blue eyes glued to your body like you’ve put a spell on him. So you decide to give him more.
Keeping your knee folded outward, you slide two fingers down through your folds and slowly push them inside yourself. The wet sound feels loud in the quiet room, and Bucky’s breath hitches immediately.
“Fuck, that’s… you’re evil,” he almost laughs, hand stuttering on his cock for a moment before speeding up again. “She’s so greedy, look how she’s sucking those fingers in.”
You let out a soft moan as you curl your fingers, stroking that sensitive spot inside while your thumb continues circling your clit. The position keeps you completely open for him, letting him see every slow thrust of your fingers disappearing into your glistening cunt. And he does see. Watches with his breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, hand twisting at the head of his shaft on every upstroke. His strokes have grown messy and desperate, but he’s still holding something back, although not for long.
“I don’t wanna push it,” he whispers, voice strained. “but let me kiss you. Please? While we do this.”
You would have let him slide in raw inside of you right now if he asked you. So without hesitation you scoot closer and press your lips to his, tentative at first, before it quickly deepens as the pleasure builds between you. His mouth is warm and hungry, tongue sliding against yours with a quiet desperation that makes your fingers move faster inside yourself.
Bucky moans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips, his hand pumping his cock in urgent strokes. He pulls back just enough to speak against your mouth, every word almost swallowed by your lips.
“You taste so good,” he whimpers between kisses. “'I’m gonnna… fuck, I’m gonna cum…”
His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face, holding you to him while his hips start rocking into his fist to chase the feeling. And just like that, while his mouth finds yours and kisses you hard again, his body tenses suddenly. A broken moan spills into your mouth as his orgasm hits him, cock pulsing in his hand as thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach and onto yours, sticky where your bodies are pressed together. He kisses you all through it, whimpering softly with every spurt, hips jerking unevenly as he rides out the pleasure.
Even after he finishes, he doesn’t pull away. He keeps his lips against yours, breathing hard, forehead resting gently against your own as the last tremors run through him. “I’m sorry… I made a mess,” he murmurs, aware of the sticky mess in both of your stomachs.
You don’t care. You kiss him again, fingers still buried inside yourself, moving faster now that you’ve felt him fall apart against you. The coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter, pressure building faster than before, pushing you oh-so close to the edge.
“Come on, moon, let me see you cum,” he says against your lips, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Good girl, just like that.”
Your orgasm crashes over you suddenly, all too overwhelming. Your back arches off the bed as your walls clamp down hard around your fingers, a broken moan tearing from your throat, muffled against Bucky’s mouth. He doesn’t kiss you through it because he’s instead chasing your sounds, the whines leaving you desperately as you ride your own high.
Pleasure floods your body in hot waves. Thighs trembling, cunt fluttering and gushing around your fingers as you finger yourself through the peak. You ride the waves until they slowly start to fade, leaving you boneless and panting against Bucky, and finally your fingers slow to a stop, slick coating your hand and dripping down, making everything wetter and messier.
Bucky stays close, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. Then he gently reaches for some tissues on the nightstand and in complete silence he cleans you first, reverent touches wiping away the sticky evidence of his release from your stomach and the slick between your legs. You do the same for him after, fingers slow and tender as you wipe the streaks of cum from his skin. When you’re both as clean as you’re going to get without a shower Bucky pulls the heavy quilt back up over your bodies and without a word opens his arms. You slide into them instantly, letting him wrap himself around you completely.
Your legs tangle together naturally. One of yours slips between his, the other drapes over his hip, pulling him flush against you. His arms wind around your back, strong and secure, while yours slide around his waist, fingers splaying across the warm skin of his lower back. Your chests press together, hearts beating against one another, faces so close that your noses brush.
Bucky leans in first. His lips find yours in the dark, a slow kiss, lazy, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need to lead anywhere else. Just soft presses of lips, gentle brushes of tongue, little sighs shared between you when you part for air before colliding again.
Your bodies shift in unison, pressing closer, hips settling against each other, legs tightening their hold. Every small movement feels synchronized, a gentle rock, a whisper of a word neither really try to figure out, slow glide of skin on skin under the quilt. His hand slides up your back, cradles the nape of your neck as he kisses you deeper. You answer by threading your fingers through his hair, holding him to you.
There are no words. Nothing you could say could quite make sense of this moment, anyway. The kisses grow slower, heavier, blurring into something almost dreamlike. Too emotionally raw, not quite what you’d see on a movie screen, but sensual nonetheless.
Eventually, exhaustion and warmth win. Bucky’s hold on you never loosens, but he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, presses one last soft kiss there before his breathing starts to even out. You, on the other hand, stay awake a little longer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, and simply pretending.
Pretending that Houston isn’t waiting for him, that he isn’t your little brother. That the two of you are just a normal couple who met in an ordinary way, fell in love in an ordinary way, who are allowed to fall asleep tangled in each other like this without feeling guilt creeping up through every crevice of your body.
With that aching fantasy wrapped around your heart, you finally let your eyes close.
Pale winter light filters through the wide window overlooking the lake. You wake up first, still tangled with Bucky, his arm heavy around your waist, one leg slotted between yours, face still buried in the crook of your neck as if neither of you moved an inch throughout the night, or if you did, you were pulled back into your original orbit.
For a moment you just lie there, listening to the distant call of birds outside. Then you lean in, press a kiss to his cheek, and he stirs awake, humming sleepily as he tightens his hold on you. When his eyes open properly to find yours, he only whispers a quiet ‘morning’ before catching your lips in a lingering kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then a few more lazy kisses, then a kiss to your cheek, another to your forehead, to the tip of your nose. You feel him a little bolder than usual, maybe emboldened by the way last night ended.
“Wanna shower?” he asks. “I think there’s only enough hot water for one proper shower. We should share. …Y’know, to save water and all.”
A paper-thin excuse, one you see right through, but you nod yes anyway.
You head to the small connected bathroom together, naked but making no attempt to hide yourself. Bucky turns on the shower, lets the water heat up while you grab clean towels from the nearby cabinet. When the steam starts to fill the room, he takes your hand and guides you under the spray first.
Warm water cascades over your bodies, and for a while you simply stand there, letting it wash away the remnants of last night. Until Bucky steps closer, his front pressing flush against your back. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin. You feel him lean in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as the water runs down both of you. He doesn’t immediately do anything else, maybe instead waiting for your reaction, whether you’re still willing to let him push further this morning.
Your silent permission comes in the form of your body going pliant against his, leaning back against him and that encourages him to grow bolder.
One arm slides fully around your waist, pulling you tighter against him while his other hand trails down your stomach. His fingers glide through the water running over your skin until they reach between your legs, settling but not yet moving.
“Bucky, what are you doing?” Your voice barely comes out, breath already caught in your throat. Despite your question, you know perfectly well what he’s doing; what’s surprising you is his sudden confidence, the way he’s taking without stuttering through it, without letting his inexperience become a hinderance.
“Making you feel good, moon,” he whispers, two thick fingers sliding finally through your folds and pushing inside you in one confident motion.
You gasp, forehead lolling forward against the cool tile wall, as the immediate stretch burns through you, feeling perfect despite any conflicting feelings that remain just barely under the surface. His fingers curl slowly to stroke the sensitive spot inside you, head falling to your shoulder. Open mouth presses wet kisses to the skin, mixing with the warm water dripping from above you, quiet hums whispered against the muscle.
Curling on every inward stroke, his fingers thrust deeply but slowly, keeping a rhythm that makes your knees weak. Still, his arm is banded around your waist and keeping you from breaking apart, holding you upright as your legs begin to tremble. Behind you, and through the haze of your own pleasure, you still manage to feel Bucky’s cock fully hard, pressing thick and heavy against the curve of your ass. It throbs every time your walls clench around his fingers, and he grinds forward slowly, not exactly chasing release, but just rubbing himself against you in time with the rhythm of his hand, just enough movement to provide some relief.
His fingers never slow down, never falter, thrusting inside of you until you’re falling apart, until your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids and thighs trembling uncontrollably. Slick coats his hand and drips down your thighs, washed away instantly by the hot water, and his hand only stops when your body starts to slump, soothing thrusts through your aftershocks until it halts completely.
And then, with his usual gentleness, he slowly withdraws his fingers and brings them to rest on your stomach, holding you close as the water continues to rain down over both of you.
After the shower, both of you dress in comfortable layers; thick sweaters, jeans, wool socks, and take over the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Bucky cracks a few eggs into an old cast-iron skillet, you handle coffee, and by the time you’re both sitting by the small wooden table by the window, the conversation is nothing heavier than how the lake looks different every season and whether Mom’s knitting phase, which started in this very cabin, will ever produce anything truly wearable.
When breakfast is cleared, you step outside into the crisp Saturday air. The sky has cleared to a pale blue, sunlight slanting through the pines and turning the frost on the grass into tiny diamonds.
“Should check the woodpile,” Bucky says, already pulling on his jacket. “Fire’s gonna need feeding if we want to keep it cozy inside.”
No fighting that. You fall into step beside him, walking the path to the shed that is the same narrow dirt trail you used to race down as kids. Now you walk side by side at an easy pace, boots crunching over fallen needles and the occasional patch of frozen ground. Bucky points out a squirrel darting up a trunk with impressive speed, and you tease him about the time he tried to rescue a baby bird only to get dive-bombed by its mother. He laughs, cheeks pink from the cold, and you hold his wrist in your hand, make him stop in his tracks and almost kiss him right there, somehow wishing to make that flush darker. You end up deflecting, telling him he had a leaf in his hair before you continue down the path.
Both of you take turns loading up the old wheelbarrow with split logs, but Bucky insists on doing most of the heavy lifting, his breath coming out as a fog in the crisp air as he stacks the wood. You tease him about showing off, and he shoots you a lopsided grin over his shoulder, which combined with his flushed cheeks makes your belly twist a weird way.
“Gotta make sure my moon doesn’t strain anything,” he jokes, standing too close when it’s your turn and his hand brushing the small of your back as you bend to grab another log. The wheelbarrow fills quickly, and the two of you push it together back toward the cabin, shoulders sometimes bumping with your steps along the uneven path.
The rest of the morning slips into lazy domesticity, you making more coffee and Bucky digging through the old cabinet of board games tucked under the cabin stairs only to emerge victoriously holding a Monopoly box worn at the edges from years of family weekends. “Think you can handle getting crushed?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows as he sets it up on the coffee table in front of the fire.
You snort. “Bold words from someone who still owes me imaginary money from the last time we played this like, six years ago, Buck.”
The game starts innocently enough, you building up properties steadily while Bucky’s luck is comically bad. Keeps landing on your hotels over and over, groaning dramatically each time as stacks of colorful paper money leave his side of the board. By the time you’re deep into the afternoon, the fire crackling steadily beside you, Bucky is ridiculously broke. Most of his properties are mortgaged, and his little silver car is currently sitting in jail.
“This game is rigged,” he mutters, staring at his pitiful collection of singles.
You laugh, legs tucked under you on the couch for added warmth. The living room feels good enough with the heat from the fire, but you’ve had to interrupt the game of Monopoly midway through to put on some hilarious pink fuzzy socks because your feet always seem to be running ten degrees below your normal body temperature.
“Have you considered that maybe you just suck at this game?”
He glances at you, blue eyes narrowing in that mischievous way that always used to spell trouble when you were kids. Then, while you’re counting a massive pile of cash and he thinks you’re not paying enough attention to anything else, he leans forward, quick as a fox, and snatches a few $500 bills from the bank.
“Bucky!” You lunge for his hand, but he’s already laughing, shoving the stolen money under his thigh.
“What? Everyone knows banks are corrupt anyway, I’m just redistributing wealth.”
The game dissolves after that, you playfully wrestling him for the stolen money until he manages to overpower you simply by wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you to him before pressing a kiss to your cheek that sends your emotional system into overdrive. Monopoly lays forgotten on the coffee table as the both of you eventually go back to the kitchen to prepare the world’s most complex dinner: a couple of cheese and ham sandwiches which you assemble messily before carrying them back to the couch.
“Look at us. Responsible adults, driving all the way up here, chopping wood, eating sandwiches for dinner. Mom and Dad would be so proud.”
Bucky chuckles around a bite of his sandwhich. “We’re like the most responsible people I have ever met.”
Time slows, dissipates, does something else entirely and by the time it’s completely dark out, both of you are stretched out on the wide plaid couch under a thick wool blanket, remnants of your earlier session of board games and sandwiches pushed aside on the coffee table. The soothing sounds of the crackling fire in front of you fade easily into the room, and Bucky’s arm draped around you, with his hand tracing idle circles on your skin, makes you feel as much as home as if you were back in your apartment.
Actually, maybe he feels more like home.
Conversation melted into warm silence a while back, and now you’re simply two people with tangled legs and hearts hoping neither of you is foolish enough to continue what you’ve tried to stop time and time again.
Coming to this cabin alone had been a mistake, Bucky knew it, you knew it, yet you did it anyway. So you shifting in his lap slightly just to make yourself more comfortable, him leaning his head down until your noses are brushing and you turning your head just enough that your lips find his once again, isn’t a surprise, it’s just inevitability.
Lips mold carefully, a natural tilt of heads, lips moving in perfect synchrony while your hands curl into the soft fabric of his sweater and his find your cheek, cradle the back of your neck. The blanket stays over you both, trapping shared heat and, if you’re lucky, trapping whatever feelings are bubbling under the surface and keeping them caged just between your bodies and this old couch. Another kiss, and he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling on it until you moan and only then does he release it with a grin; another kiss, and he ends it by brushing both his lips against your upper one, chasing it before pulling back slowly to look down at you.
One of his hands slips beneath the hem of your sweater, palm warm against the skin of your stomach, stroking upward until his thumb grazes the underside of your breast and makes you arch into the touch with the softest sigh. His eyes watch you closely as you move, and he leans down a fraction.
“Hi,” he whispers, and you can’t help the tiny smile on your lips.
“Hi,” you whisper back. An exchange so ridiculously sweet that both of you let out a soft breath of laughter into each other’s mouths before kissing again. His hand continues its journey under your clothes, finally cupping your breast fully and thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. Your body presses closer, one leg sliding higher and over his hip, which drags a whine out of him.
Bucky sits up just enough to help you pull your sweater up and over your head, the motion ruffling your hair just slightly; not a second after he’s on you, fingers reaching forward and smoothing out your hair, pushing a few strands behind your ears. “Always so beautiful, my moon,” he says, before reaching down and peppering soft kisses across the skin, lips traveling over your clavicles, then down the valley between your breasts, teeth every so softly grazing the skin, teasing but never going through with any touch that could be a little rougher. Eager, but not quite impatient, your hands reach for him next as he ducks down your body, bunching his sweater in your fists and dragging it off of him when he moves his head cooperatively. The motion exposes the hard planes of his chest, faint definition of muscle that he earned during college. When the sweater is off, he crawls up your body again and presses his bare torso flush against yours, skin on skin, heartbeats thudding together in a room too small for the size of what you’re sharing together.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants and panties then, and you lift your hips so he can work the fabric down your thighs, past your knees and off your ankles. Once they’re gone, his hands glide back up your legs, spreading them gently so he can settle fully between your thighs. You return the favor, sliding your palms down his stomach until you reach his pants. Bucky moves his hips, lets you push the fabric out of the way, down, until his cock is freed, already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip and brushing against your inner thigh as he kicks the pants the rest of the way off. Firelight paints the curve of his shoulders and one side of his face in gold, and you admire the sight while your naked bodies seal together under the blanket, all of you pressed to all of him, so close that you can even feel the short, coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your skin.
Another shift under his body, and this time, it’s to try to roll him over so you can climb on top. To your surprise, Bucky catches your waist with both hands and pins you back down into the couch cushions.
“Not tonight.” His voice is surprisingly steady when he says it, as if he’s been practicing how to be like this, for you. “I wanna make you feel good. This time just… lay there and do what you always do best. Just look pretty for me.”
You open your mouth to protest, the usual excuse of you being more experienced, the older sister, that you should be the one taking care of him, already on your tongue, but Bucky kisses you quiet before you can get any words out. You already knew Bucky made up for his lack of experience with his enthusiasm; it had been exactly like that the last two times you had been together. And this time it’s no different. His mouth kisses down your neck, sucks gently at the swell of your breast until you’re squirming beneath him, and one of his hands slips between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds to find you already wet and wanting. A thumb circles your clit with soft pressure and then two fingers push slowly inside you until you’re moaning his name and your back is arching off the couch in pleasure.
Only when you’re trembling and soaking his hand, when he feels maybe his fingers are no longer enough to stoke the fire inside you, does he pull back, his heavy cock nestling now between your bodies as he looks down between the two of you.
“I… I didn’t bring any condoms,” he begins to stammer, brows furrowed in concentration, as if thinking too hard about it will make a box of Magnums suddenly materialize next to you. “I wasn’t expecting… well, I mean, I was hoping… no, not hoping, not like that, but you know… I just, I wanted it, but I didn’t think we would actually do this again. So I didn’t bring any.”
You cup his flushed face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as you pull him down until your foreheads rest together.
“It’s okay. Do you think… do you think you can pull out? Before you finish?”
His expression shifts almost instantly, relief instead flickering through his face. He nods quickly, familiar awkward earnestness shining through.
“Fuck, yeah, yes…” he breathes, voice a little shaky. “I promise I’ll pull out. I’ve got you, moon.”
The hand that had still been resting between your bodies guides the blunt head of his cock to nudge against your entrance, and you feel him teasing, a few times, rubbing the tip slowly over your folds without pushing in. Your eyes meet his, eyes furrowed in a ‘really?’ look before he sheepishly grins, and finally begins pushing in, bare, until he sinks the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt in your warmth.
Bucky drops his head to your neck, hips rolling slowly as he starts to move.
“You’re so warm,” he rasps. “Fuck, I didn’t… I imagined having you like this, without a condom, but I didn’t imagine it would feel this good.”
Rolling thrusts rock you gently into the couch cushions, the blanket that had been covering you previously beginning to slip down his waist. The first few movements are a little awkward, a bit unsure, as if he’s searching and trying to find his own rhythm. He finds it, you think, when he angles his hips in a certain way that makes his cock hit a spot inside you that makes you moan louder, while his pelvis grinds against your clit.
Then he holds it right there. Hands keeping you close, one braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you spread open for him. All you can do is cling to his back and moan his name while he worships you under the golden light.
After a few strokes, Bucky sits up slightly, hooks his hands behind your knees and lifts your legs, draping them over his broad shoulders. It catches you off guard, so much you almost want to tease him for it, or praise him for it, but either option is lost because the new angle makes him sink deeper and instead what comes out is a sharp gasp at the intense pleasure, your hands flying to grip his arms.
“Bucky, oh my god…” Moans, gasps, words that sound more like whines, your eyes closing the same time Bucky brings a thumb to your bottom lip and pries it away from the confines of your lips. And in that moment, his gaze drifts to the side and catches sight of your feet still covered in the fuzzy pink socks you’d put on earlier. The soft pink looks almost ridiculous against his bare shoulders and the very adult way your bodies are joined. A soft chuckle rumbles out of his chest, cutting sweetly through your and his heavy breathing.
“You’re so cute,” he murmurs, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to the side of your ankle, right above the fuzzy pink cuff. Lips trail slowly up your calf, too soft and sweet even as his hips keep rolling steadily into you. “Keeping the socks on. Hope your pretty little toes are warm in there.”
You are vaguely aware of him teasing you, but the gentle kisses and the grinding thrusts are making your head spin, so your fingers dig into his biceps as pleasure coils tighter inside you. It doesn’t help that every few seconds he’s whispering something about you ‘looking so good like this’, praising the way you’re taking him so well. The new angle is devastating, every deep stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Feet covered in pink fuzzy socks bouncing slightly on his shoulders with every thrust is an absurdly sweet detail that somehow makes this feel more intimate, the same feeling you’d had the night before when you were in bed together. Like this could be a regular night in a normal couple’s life.
“Bucky, I’m so close,” you say, and you are, thighs trembling against his chest, his breathing ragged when he leans down and folds you further to press a messy kiss to your lips.
“I love you,” he gasps against your mouth, words tumbling out in the heat of the moment. “God, I love you… I’m so in love with you.”
There is a language cinema speaks when fate arrives at the door. Time thickens like honey. The frame pulls close, hungry for detail: a hand mid-reach, a mouth half-open, the exact moment understanding crosses a face.
Someone who holds their breath until it’s over, another one who can’t look away even when their fingers are coming to cover their eyes. Music swells, filling every corner, and then it’s gone. Silence drops like a held breath finally released because some moments are too large for sound.
And so all of it stretches, right here. World narrowing to a single point, the heat of. him moving inside of you as those words spill from like a star collapsing.
Your body reacts before you do, walls clenching around his cock in an involuntary response, because the last thing you should be praising is those words coming from his mouth. But your body likes them. Straight in your gut, fueling the fire in the pit of your stomach, you feel it: please, Bucky, say it again.
Still, panic floods your chest like ice water.
“Stop,” you choke out, voice breaking. “Bucky, get off me.”
He freezes instantly, buried deep inside you, his eyes widening in shock.
“What—”
“Get off,” you repeat, sharper this time, pushing at his chest as your heart hammers. “Please, Bucky, get off me.”
Bucky scrambles to move. but he pulls out immediately, moving back to kneel between your legs with a devastated look on his face. His cock is still hard and glistening with your arousal, and his chest is heaving.
“Shit, I’m so sorry—I wasn’t thinking, it just came out, I didn’t mean to… I mean, I did mean it, but I didn’t want to make you—”
“Please stop talking,” you whisper, sitting up quickly and pulling the blanket over your naked body like a shield, as if suddenly the thought of him seeing you naked is too much, too inappropriate. Bucky, as if understanding that distance you put on immediately, quickly grabs his boxers and puts them on before getting off the couch and pacing the small space next to you.
I’m so in love with you.
Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “You can’t say that. You can’t… you can’t say that and say that you mean it.”
He’s absolutely wrecked, cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shiny with embarrassment and the remnants of his arousal. “But I mean it. I’m sorry, I just do. I love you. I can’t not say it.”
Bucky stands there in the firelight, wearing nothing but his boxers hastily pulled on, and it would be a little distracting if you weren’t focused on trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your chest. “I’m so in love with you,” he repeats, quieter but no less certain.
You clutch the blanket tighter around your body, failing miserably at keeping your heart steady, so much you think it’ll bruise your ribs from how fast it’s beating.
“Bucky, stop. We can’t—”
“Why? Why can’t I say it? Because it’s true, I love you. You’re the only person who’s ever made the stars make sense. And I’d give up Houston tomorrow if you asked me to, if you told me to stay here with you. So don’t ask me not to say it.”
You swipe at your cheeks angrily, trying to brush away the stubborn tears that insist on falling. “That’s why you can’t say it, we can’t… we keep saying we’re trying but we’re not. Every time we’re together, alone, we make it worse. This whole weekend, we’re making it worse.” You wrap both arms around your knees and pull them up to your chest under the blanket. “We should stop. For good.”
Bucky swallows hard, frustratedly running a hand through his hair while his shoulders remain tense.
“I can take the couch tonight. You should sleep in the bed.” The offer is gentle, despite everything, but it’s also a quiet message: this conversation is over for now.
Part of you wants the distance, while another part hates the idea of him sleeping alone on this old couch after everything that just happened. You just look at him, not answering yet, just watching him; him, James, your Bucky, your bestfriend, your brother, who used to be a boy that chased the stars you pointed out to him, now here with his heart bleeding openly. As if realizing that you want to say something, that you want to give him an answer that can’t quite leave your lips yet, he gives you a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I didn’t wanna ruin the weekend. Just wanted one more good memory with you before I left for Houston.”
Night was long and restless.
As Bucky had offered, he took the couch downstairs while you ended up on the bed upstairs alone. Even though you had wanted to call him back upstairs, the words never made it past the lump in your throat. Sleep came in fragments, haunted by the echo of his confession. You’re still distraught; of course you are. The words I’m so in love with you keep replaying in your head, impossible to silence.
You realize, possibly too late, that you won’t know how to look at him anymore without feeling like the ground is shifting beneath your feet. That it is Sunday morning, and you have to pack to leave for the city, and that both of you have an hours-long journey ahead of you, alone in a car. By the time you get dressed and get downstairs, Bucky is already awake too, folding the blanket you both had been using the night before, which he had slept wrapped in. He glances up, nods as a greeting.
Then neither of you speaks.
Both you and Bucky move around the cabin like ghosts of yourselves, gathering clothes, folding blankets, packing the toiletries you’d brought for the weekend. Sounds are amplified in silence, the zipper of your bag suddenly too loud, a creak on the wooden floorboard you hadn’t noticed until now. A few times, you catch him looking at you, but he looks away quickly when your eyes meet.
Bucky finishes packing the last of the groceries your parents had left and carries both your bags to the door, then stands by the window for a moment, looking out at the forest surrounding you.
“I need some fresh air before we head back,” he says quietly, which you interpret as him letting you know that he needs some time alone before an hours-long drive with you by his side the entire time. “I’ll go for a short walk, won’t be long.”
He hesitates like he wants to say something more, but thinks better of it. Pulls on his jacket, slips his boots on and steps outside, closing the door behind him a little too harshly for his usual behavior.
While he’s gone, you finish tidying the last few things, wiping down the kitchen counters and making sure the fireplace is completely out, always moving mechanically and trying not to think too much about anything. And you manage, mostly, until Bucky comes back twenty minutes later, cheeks and nose flushed pink from the walk, hair slightly tousled and a small bundle in his arms that stops you mid-motion as you wipe down the counter.
A tiny, white as snow kitten, clearly a few months old by the look of it, nestled against his chest, peeking out from the folds of his jacket with curious blue eyes. Its fur is fluffy, a little messy in the way kittens always have their fur a little messy, a little pink nose and one tiny paw batting lazily at the zipper pull.
“Found him… her… I dunno. Hm, in the woods,” he says, voice a bit rough from the cold. “Huddled under some brush near the trail, shivering, no mom or siblings in sight. I couldn’t just leave it there.”
The kitten lets out a tiny, squeaky meow, as if backing up his story, and rubs its face against Bucky’s jacket. Something in your chest cracks open, which might be the exhaustion of the sleepless night setting in, or maybe the unbearable tenderness of seeing your little brother cradling something so small and fragile.
You set the cloth down slowly. “Bucky…”
“It’s supposed to get colder tonight. This baby won’t survive out here alone.” He steps closer, and for the first time since yesterday’s argument, you are looking into each other's eyes without finding another point in the cabin to look at. “We should take it back with us, I can keep it at the house until we figure something out. I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t mind.”
Until we figure something out. We, like it’s your shared problem now. Drawn by the kitten’s soft purring, you cross the room and reach out, one finger gently scratching under its chin. The kitten moves its head, tries to sniff your finger and then bumps its head against it demandingly.
“It likes you,” Bucky murmurs, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Figures.”
For a moment, the tension eases, and you feel like just two siblings who found a lost cat in the woods by your parents’ cabin. Nothing else is complicated.
So you do the only rational thing: you agree with him. Grab an old blanket that you had already put away and use it to wrap the poor kitten in it while Bucky loads the truck with the last bags. When everything is ready, including a makeshift nest for the cat on the center console, you get on the driver’s side while Bucky finishes closing up the cabin.
By the time you both drive back to the city, truck rumbling down the winding dirt road away from the cabin, the kitten purring like a tiny engine, silence has settled again between the two of you. No other words are spoken on the way back home, except for the time you stop to get some food and a temporary litter box. His trip to Houston in the summer looms on the horizon, as does his confession that you can’t shake off your bones; but for now, you focus only on the ride home, and the tiny life that the universe handed to the two of you.
read part 2 here
Prompt: After receiving very exciting news about his summer internship, Bucky convinces you to spend one weekend with him at the family cabin, where a fragile attempt at normalcy crumbles into a mess of tangled hearts.
Pairing: Brother!Bucky Barnes x Older Sister!Reader
Word count: 11.4k
Warnings: DDDNE (dead dove do not eat); incest; siblingcest (brother/sister); age gap (reader is 4 years older than Bucky, both are over 18+); inexperienced Bucky Barnes; pining; unresolved emotional tension; smut; mutual masturbation; dirty talk; pussy pronouns; heavy kissing/making out; aftercare; shower sex; fingering; p in v; unprotected sex (reader & bucky talk about it); praise kink (brief); sex is interrupted by feelings; hurt with not a lot of comfort (for the ending of the chapter only); Space CutieS! Bucky is a space nerd, reader is also a space nerd; no use of Y/N; not beta'd
Notes: well, where do i even start?? it has been a while since i posted a chapter for space cuties! real life was kicking my ass for quite a while, and i also made this chapter about twice the size of my previous chapters, which made me take much longer to get it finished. i feel like i might have rushed the ending a little bit, but overall, i am very proud of how this one turned out. i have so many ideas still blooming for these two and i cannot wait for you to see what's in store for bucky & his sis 💕💕
as always dividers by me. reminder to not read unless you are comfortable with the tagged themes !!
A random Thursday afternoon while Bucky is supposed to be studying for his astrophysics midterm is the moment the universe chooses to turn his world upside down. Sprawled across his bed under the glowing galaxy ceiling, laptop balanced on his stomach, he’s half mindedly scrolling through notes about epicycles and galaxy relaxation when the notification for a new email shows up on the corner of the screen.
Johnson Space Center.
Subject: NASA Pathways Internship Offer - Summer 2026
There’s a real chance that his heart stops beating for a full five seconds before it goes back to beating, albeit completely out of sync. His fingers are quick to slide across the keyboard, open the email and just as quickly he’s reading the first paragraph.
Accepted to the NASA Pathways Engineering internship. June through August. Houston. Housing provided. Fully funded. Chance to shadow the Orion program.
His dream, described right there in a long email with details he can’t read when the words begin to blur. The one you planted in him when he was six and you were ten, lying on a blanket in the backyard with that cheap telescope between you. One he’s chased through every late night study session, every rocket model launch in the driveway of your parents home, every school essay that mentioned “the big sister who showed me the stars”.
Bucky should be ecstatic. Maybe yelling, calling Mom and Dad, texting Steve, maybe doing one of those stupid victory dances he used to do when he finally solved a physics problem you’d been helping him with when he was younger.
Instead he just sits there, staring at the screen until words stop making sense, because all he can think about is the fact that Houston is thousands of miles away, and you won’t be there.
Since the planetarium, the two of you have been closer than ever, in a way that feels all too vulnerable but nonetheless unavoidable.
Late night texts started again, him sending a blurry photo of the moon from his bedroom at 2.a.m., captioned “made me think of you”, and you replying with a voice note whispering about the history of some craters’ names. Every time the messages stretched longer, silences between them shorter. You’d catch yourself smiling at your phone in the dark, heart thudding when his typing bubble appeared, knowing he was lying in this starry bedroom thinking about you the way you were thinking about him. Not in a friendly, sibling way; rather, in the way you think about your first school crush, about your first love that is engraved into your bones and that you remember until your deathbed.
Sometimes you’d go for walks after work, bundled up against the February cold, boots crunching over salted sidewalks while he told you about his latest orbital mechanics problem. Other times you’d have lunch together, whenever you had a break long enough to leave the city and visit him for some quick sandwiches at the local café. There were knees brushing under the tiny table, both of you pretending not to notice the way the contact always lingered a second too long.
What you haven’t done since the planetarium is share a bed. Not once, not even for a quick afternoon nap. Neither of you tried anything, neither of you promised to stop, either, but the memory lived in your blood, and his, like oxygen now. You feel it every time you hug him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you a fraction tighter than they should, chin resting on your head just long enough for you to feel his heartbeat through his shirt. At your parents’ house, you catch him staring every dinner across the table, blue eyes a little too dark before he blinks and looks away once he realizes he’s been caught. All the thoughts of his thigh pressed between yours, the way he whispered “my moon” against your mouth like a prayer and a confession all at once.
Once more, you are both trying to keep a wall up, even if you don’t verbalize it. Try to keep conversations safe, you laugh at his dumb jokes and ruffle his hair like the big sister you’re supposed to be. He calls you ‘sis’ in front of your parents, and keeps his hands in his pockets when you walk side by side. But every second more you spend together, the harder it is to ignore the obvious. That afternoon at the planetarium didn’t help fix anything; it just made the ache deeper and impossible to outrun.
Now you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him in the middle of a crowded sidewalk just to see if the world would actually end. And he catches himself reaching for your hand before remembering he’s not allowed to.
The Friday afternoon after he’s received the news, Bucky’s standing in your doorway with the printed NASA email burning a hole in his pocket. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, or maybe from nerves, but either way, when you open the door, he looks at you with those same wide blue eyes that used to stare up at you in wonder when you pointed out constellations.
“Hey, can I come in for a second?”
You step aside to let him into your apartment, and the moment the door clicks shut, he doesn’t sit down. Instead he stands there in the middle of your living room, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
“I have a surprise,” he starts. “but you can’t ask any questions about it. Yet, anyway.”
You raise an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. “That’s kind of a weird way to start a conversation, Buck.”
A nervous smile tugs at his lips. “So, I asked Mom and Dad if I could have their cabin for this weekend. They said yes. I’d like us to go there together, just the two of us. We can leave right now, I have the car outside, and I can wait while you pack.”
The words make you stand there, staring at him, while you process the information. The cabin in the woods.
It’s the same old family cabin your parents have had since you were little, a small, cedar-shingled place tucked deep among the pines, with a big stone fireplace and a wide loft bedroom that overlooks the nearby lake. Every summer and many winter weekends when you were kids, the four of you would pile into the car with snacks and board games and drive up there for a few days. You and Bucky used to race each other down the narrow path to the dock, build snow forts in the backyard, and roast marshmallows until your fingers were sticky.
But what you both used to love most were the nights. There was almost no light pollution that far from the city and the sky would open up like someone had spilled diamonds across black velvet. You’d drag Bucky outside after dark, wrapped in blankets and wearing oversized coats, and lie on the old wooden deck, holding your tiny hands, staring up at the sky.
Now Bucky wants to take you back there, just the two of you, for an entire weekend. Memories flash in your mind even without you wanting them too: his hands on your waist under the Christmas tree, the way he trembled beneath you and the sounds he made when he came while still trying to name stars.
“Bucky…” Your voice comes out quieter than you want. “I don’t think spending a whole weekend alone at the cabin is a good idea. We’ve… been trying. You know that.”
“I know we’ve been trying. We don’t have to ruin that, I just… this is important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek. The responsible part of your brain is screaming that this is dangerous. Two days in a secluded cabin with no parents and no easy escape, just the cold, and the fireplace, and every forbidden feeling you’ve been trying to bury.
“Bucky, I really think we should think about this…”
“Please.” His voice cracks on the word, in a way that makes your chest ache. “Please, sis. This means a lot to me.”
You can see how much this matters to him, even if you don’t know why yet. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight, as he waits for your response. You simply let out a long breath. The love you’ve always felt for him, the safe sibling kind, twists painfully with something you’re terrified to name.
Finally, “Fine,” you say, words coming out softer than you intended, as if showing him that your ‘no’ was never going to hold up anyway. “I’ll go, but only if I drive.”
Bucky blinks, surprise flickering across his features before a little relieved laugh escapes him.
“You don’t trust me on long drives?” he asks, familiar teasing tone creeping back in even though his eyes are still shiny with emotion.
“I’ve seen how you drive when you’re excited about something. Last time you almost hit a mailbox because you were telling me about some new exoplanet discovery. I’m not risking my life just because my little brother gets starry-eyed behind the wheel.
He huffs a laugh, tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Fair. You can drive, and I’ll even let you pick the music.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already turning toward your bedroom to start packing. As you throw clothes and toiletries into a bag, your hands shake slightly. You tell yourself it’s just the cold clinging to the apartment, but deep down, you know the truth: you’re not sure how many more times you can be alone with Bucky before things break apart for good.
The drive up to the cabin is a few hours of careful conversation, how your new exhibit is getting good reviews, his midterm grades, Mom’s last attempt at knitting him a scarf that ended up being way too short. You keep the topics safe, the kind of things siblings are supposed to talk about, while songs play on the radio, ones you both know. Bucky laughs in the right moments, but his fingers keep tapping restlessly against his thigh, and every so often you catch him glancing at you a little too long when he thinks you’re focused on the road.
The farther you drive, the more the trees grow thick, road narrower, until familiar landmarks begin appearing. The old wooden bridge over the creek, the rusted mailbox at the turnoff, the final winding dirt path that leads to the cabin.
When the truck finally crunches to a stop in front of the small cedar-shingled building, it looks pretty much the same as it always has. The late afternoon light filters through the tall pines, casting long shadows across the clearing. Air is cold and crisp, sharp enough to bite at your cheeks the moment you open the door, but there’s no fresh snow on the ground today, just a thin layer of frost clinging to the grass and the edges of the wooden porch. The lake behind the cabin is dark and still under the gray sky, thin mist hovering above the water and making the whole place feel secluded, like the rest of the world is very far away.
A few dried leaves skitter across the porch as you step out, and the familiar scent of pine and damp earth fills the air. Your parents must have come up a few days ago to turn on the heat and stock the fridge, because warm golden light already glows from the windows.
Bucky is already grabbing his and your bags from the back of the truck and heading toward the cabin, and you follow him up the creaky steps, finding the old brass key under a nearby pot, in the same place it always was. When you unlock the door, it swings open and you step inside, only to be wrapped by the warmth of the living room like a blanket. The place is exactly as you remember it: big stone fireplace with some wood ready to be lit, worn plaid couch facing the wide windows that look over the forest.
With a thud, Bucky sets the bags down near the couch and rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little unsure in the quiet space.
“Still feels the same, doesn’t it?” he says softly.
You nod, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the familiar hook by the door. Your fingers linger on the wood for a second, but you don’t say anything.
The kitchen is stocked with the usual supplies, like canned goods, some fresh vegetables (whoever stocked the wood surely brought that too), hot chocolate packets, the old red kettle ready to be put on the stove. Same old kitchen supplies, plates, cups. Everything unchanged, frozen in time, the way only childhood places can be.
But you and Bucky aren’t kids anymore. That realization settles heavy in your chest, and you stand there in the living room, cold air still clinging to your clothes even in the warmer inside of the cabin. This place holds too many innocent memories, and now the walls feel dangerously intimate, the quiet feeling too loud.
Bucky crosses the room to the stone fireplace and crouches down in front of the hearth. The wood is stacked and ready, so he simply strikes a match, small flame flaring bright for a second before he touches it to the kindling. It catches quickly, orange light flickering across his face as the fire begins to grow, crackling softly and filling the room with the comforting scent of burning wood. He stays crouched there for a moment, watching the flames take hold, shoulders still a little tense, before he glances back at you over his shoulder.
“I can make us some hot chocolate,” he offers quietly, voice gentle how you’ve always been used to.
Then he stands, brushes his hands on his jeans and heads toward the kitchen. You hear the familiar clink of the old kettle being filled at the sink, the click of the stove turning on. While the water heats, he pulls two mismatched mugs from the cupboard. In the living room, the fire grows stronger and the warmth slowly spreading chases away the last of the outdoor chill. You sink down onto the edge of the worn plaid couch, watching Bucky move around the kitchen with his usual slightly nervous energy.
A few minutes later he returns, carrying both mugs with an almost shy smile that sets your heart aflutter.
“Here,” he says, handing you the one mug with a chipping rocket pattern. “I managed to find some marshmallows, too.”
Gentle fingers brush his as you take the mug from him, and he sits down on the other end of the couch, not too close, but not as far as he probably should. Firelight dances across his face, highlighting the faint flush lingering on his cheeks.
“I missed this place,” he admits. “Being here with you. It’s been a while since we’ve been up here, with college and your work and everything.”
You take a slow sip of the hot chocolate, sweetness spreading across your tongue but doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.
“So… do you wanna tell me now why we came all the way up here?” You start, unsure whether he’s ready to finally talk about it. But he is. He sets his mug down on the coffee table, elbows restng on his knees as he leans forward slightly. Then he reaches for his pocket, grabs the piece of paper before sliding it to you, his expression a mix of excitement and fear.
“I got the internship,” he says, almost whispering it. “At the NASA Space Center in Houston. Three months this summer, and it might turn into something permanent after graduation.”
Pride blooms in your chest, overwhelming, thinking about the little boy who used to fall asleep to your stories about Apollo missions, all grown up now, telling you about how he’s taking his first step toward his life’s dream.
“Houston,” you repeat, his same excitement now mirrored in your voice. “Bucky, that’s… that’s everything you’ve always wanted. I’m so happy for you.”
He nods, but his smile is small and a little pained. “Yeah, it is. But it’s also seventeen hundred miles away from you.”
The fire continues to crackle, Bucky’s eyes stay locked on yours.
“That’s why I wanted us to come up here. Just needed this weekend with you before things change.”
You don’t know what to say. So instead, you reach out, your hand finding his on the couch between you and lace your fingers together without thinking, touch both familiar and dangerous. And as you sit there with your fingers intertwined, the truth settles over you like a second layer of skin.
Things had changed forever on Christmas Eve.
That night, when the mistletoe hung above your heads and Bucky’s lips had brushed the corner of your mouth, something inside both of you had cracked open with no magical glue to put it back together in sight. And later, in his starry bedroom, you had slept together, taken your little brother inside you, felt him tremble and whine and fall apart beneath you, and in doing so you had shattered every family boundary that was ever meant to exist. Blood, trust, innocence, all of it fractured in one stolen night. Whatever fire you lit that night had grown into something living and hungry, something you both tried to ignore but couldn’t extinguish.
Maybe the distance will be good, you think.
Houston is seventeen hundred miles away. Thousands of miles of highways and state lines and empty sky between you. Maybe that’s exactly what you both needed, space to breathe and remember how to be just siblings again, to let this forbidden fire cool and fade into something manageable. Three months apart could maybe be enough to soothe the ache, quiet the phantom feeling of his body against yours, let the guilt transform into something quieter than this constant, throbbing need.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Even as the thought forms, it feels like a lie.
Because sitting here with his hand in yours, firelight painting his face in soft gold, you can already feel the pull tightening instead of loosening. How are you supposed to welcome the distance when the thought of him seventeen hundred miles away makes your chest feel hollow?
You don’t ask Bucky, or yourself, those questions for the rest of the evening. It passes in gentle quiet, both of you managing to behave stupidly well for two siblings who have messed everything up twice already, in the most unexpected of settings. After finishing the hot chocolate, Bucky suggests making dinner together, and you agree, both of you moving around the small kitchen like you’ve done a hundred times before in your parents' home. You chop vegetables for soup, Bucky heats up some canned chili and toasts thick slices of bread. Conversation while you work stays safe, focused on more details about the internship, projects he might work on, and you listen with genuine pride blooming in your chest.
After dinner, you settle on the couch again, shoulders brushing as you watch the flames of the fireplace dance. Bucky’s hand finds yours once more, fingers lacing together without either of you commenting on it, because the touch remains innocent, just hands, just occasional glances that linger for a second too long but have no continuation beside that. Everything is nice, is soft. You feel like a kid again, just with a bigger heart now and a mind that won’t rest.
Until it’s time to go to bed.
The loft bedroom is the only real sleeping space; the one with the big quilt-covered bed and the wide window overlooking the lake. Neither of you suggests taking the couch, because at this point, it’d be a nonsensical inconvenience. It’s unspoken, but mutual: you’ll share the bed. Just like when you were kids and thunderstorms scared him.
You change into pajamas separately, you first in the small bathroom and then Bucky while you make your way to the bedroom, in your sleeping shorts and an oversized shirt, already setting up the pillows and setting some clothes from your bag in a nearby armchair. When he comes back, he’s wearing gray sweatpants and old NASA t-shirt that’s a little too tight across his shoulders now, because he’s starting to grow it out. Pretending you don’t notice the outline of his groin through his sleeping bottoms takes quite some effort; pretending you see it but it doesn’t make you want to drop to your knees is just a herculean task.
The bedroom is quiet, lit only by a small lamp on the nightstand and the faint silver glow of the moonlight reflecting off the lake through the window. You both slide under the heavy quilt of the very inviting bed, that feels just as warm as it looked from the outside. For a few minutes you’re quiet, the only sound being the distant hoot of an owl outside and the soft creak of the old wooden frame as you both settle. Then Bucky shifts again, inches a little closer to you, and his voice sounds hesitant in the dark.
“… Can I cuddle you?” he asks quietly. “Like we used to.”
Your heart stutters, but you try to not make anything of it. Just some cuddling under the covers, nothing else. You’re still siblings, you still care for each other.
“Yeah. Come here.”
He moves closer immediately, and you lay on your side as he slides one arm under your pillow and wraps the other around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. It’s strange to you how clearly you can feel it, the way his chest is broader and firmer against your back, how his arm drapes heavily over your waist, how his legs are longer as they tuck behind yours. Back on Christmas Eve you had already noticed he’d filled out from college, but lying here like this, tucked securely inside the cage of his body, the change feels even more pronounced. For the first time, you feel smaller than him, even though you’re the older sibling.
It feels sweet and innocent for long enough. Like maybe you could fall asleep like this with no other thoughts propagating through the air of this bedroom.
That is, until you feel it.
Unmistakable, pressed against the curve of your ass through the fabric of his sweatpants, and already half-hard. Your muscles tense and Bucky freezes the second he realizes it’s because you can feel him, his breath catching sharply in his throat.
“Shit,” he whispers, genuinely mortified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m really not trying anything, I swear, I just can’t fucking help it.” He starts to pull away from you, embarrassed and awkward, the shy version of him you’ve always known front and center again. His arm loosens around your waist like he’s ready to scramble back to his side of the bed and apologize profusely for the rest of the night.
“Wait… Bucky,” you whisper, already reaching back to catch his wrist before he manages to retreat completely. “It’s okay, just… don’t pull back from me.”
Bucky doesn’t reply, just stays in the same place for a moment, breathing uneven. Even with him quiet, you can practically feel the war raging inside him; shame, desire, the desperate need to be close clashing violently with everything that is wrong about what you’ve done together.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, words coming out in a trembling tone. “Even when I try. I promise I keep trying, but I… being here, in this bed, it’s making it worse. I—” His words cut off midway, like he knows he’s about to say something he can’t take back and is not willing to let it settle into the spine of tonight just yet.
But after another long pause, your back still pressed to his chest, Bucky’s hesitant voice comes again.
“… Do you think we can do something? Not sex. I know we shouldn’t do that again. But…” he whispers. “… maybe we could just touch ourselves while we watch each other? That’s not as bad, right?”
The suggestion hangs in the dark between you, shocking in its vulnerability. His arm tightens slightly around your waist again, maybe like he’s afraid you’ll pull away in disgust, and his forehead drops against the back of your shoulder, hiding his face even though you can’t see it anyway.
“I just need some relief,” he continues. “Being this close to you is driving me crazy. And I don’t wanna ruin the weekend by pushing for more, I know we can’t, I know we shouldn’t, and… and you can say no, it’s fine, I can just go to the bathroom for a bit or something, maybe a cold shower can help…”
“Bucky.” Saying his name like an interruption whenever he begins rambling has become a habit. You don’t hate it that it has become that. He follows through with a self-deprecating little laugh.
You swallow hard, heart hammering against your ribs. Logically, you know this is a terrible idea. There’s little difference between having him inside of you or masturbating while watching each other, at least as far as family boundaries go. You shouldn’t do either. But some part of you (apparently, the part that’s winning over your brain every time you’re near Bucky these days) has been aching for weeks and still remembers exactly how he sounded when he was inside you. And that part wants more.
“… Okay. We can do that.”
Bucky lets out a stunned exhale, obviously not expecting you to agree to this.
“Really? You’re sure?”
His arm loosens around your waist just enough that you can turn to face him. The moonlight coming through the window paints his face in soft hues, and you know there’s just enough light for you to see each other’s faces and the slight flush of his cheeks.
Both your hands reach for the quilt and slowly push it down to your waists. Bucky hesitates for a long moment, so do you, but he’s the first to move, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushing them down just enough to free himself. His cock springs free, already full hard and flushed red at the tip, leaking heavily over his slit. One shaky hand wraps around the base, gripping himself tightly like he’s trying to keep some semblance of control even when he’s desperately spiraling in front of you.
You follow his lead with a shudder, sliding your sleeping shorts and panties down your thighs and kicking them off under the covers. Cool air kisses your heated skin as you spread your legs, and you bend one knee and fold it outward, opening yourself up completely to his gaze. The position exposes your cunt obscenely, showing how slick has already gathered heavily between your folds, making them glisten softly.
That whole imagery hits Bucky like a shot straight to his dick. He lets out a choked whimper.
“Oh my god… I wish you could see yourself,” he whispers, and you swear you almost see his cock twitch in his hand. “So wet. She’s so pretty like that.”
His hand starts moving slowly, long strokes from the soft hair at the base to the tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head on every upward pass. His gaze is locked between your legs, completely transfixed by the sight of your spread pussy calling to him.
“You’re dripping,” he breathes, hips twitching involuntarily into his fist. “Is that… is that all because of me?”
You just nod, shaky breath as your fingers slide through your slick folds, circling your swollen clit slowly at first, then with more pressure, just at the right angle to let him see everything. Bucky’s strokes grow a little faster.
“Fuck, I keep imagining how warm and tight she’d feel around me right now,” he whines, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them again, unable to stop looking at you, your face, the way your fingers are moving. And just as he lays there, in front of you, panting through his arousal, his words register slowly in your mind. How he keeps calling your pussy her, giving her life in a way you hadn’t thought of before.
“Why…” you ask, voice shaky with arousal and amusement, “why do you keep saying ‘she’ like it’s its own entity?”
Bucky’s hand falters for half a second, a fresh wave of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. But he doesn’t stop stroking himself. If anything, his grip tightens as another bead of precum rolls down over his knuckles.
“Because… I think she might be,” he admits. “She’s got me bewitched. I’m a guy of science but the second I think about her, I’m gone. It’s like she has her own gravity, pulls me in. Makes me stupid.” His strokes grow a little faster, eyes still glued to the way your fingers move over your clit. And you thrive off that attention, too, of having his blue eyes glued to your body like you’ve put a spell on him. So you decide to give him more.
Keeping your knee folded outward, you slide two fingers down through your folds and slowly push them inside yourself. The wet sound feels loud in the quiet room, and Bucky’s breath hitches immediately.
“Fuck, that’s… you’re evil,” he almost laughs, hand stuttering on his cock for a moment before speeding up again. “She’s so greedy, look how she’s sucking those fingers in.”
You let out a soft moan as you curl your fingers, stroking that sensitive spot inside while your thumb continues circling your clit. The position keeps you completely open for him, letting him see every slow thrust of your fingers disappearing into your glistening cunt. And he does see. Watches with his breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, hand twisting at the head of his shaft on every upstroke. His strokes have grown messy and desperate, but he’s still holding something back, although not for long.
“I don’t wanna push it,” he whispers, voice strained. “but let me kiss you. Please? While we do this.”
You would have let him slide in raw inside of you right now if he asked you. So without hesitation you scoot closer and press your lips to his, tentative at first, before it quickly deepens as the pleasure builds between you. His mouth is warm and hungry, tongue sliding against yours with a quiet desperation that makes your fingers move faster inside yourself.
Bucky moans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips, his hand pumping his cock in urgent strokes. He pulls back just enough to speak against your mouth, every word almost swallowed by your lips.
“You taste so good,” he whimpers between kisses. “'I’m gonnna… fuck, I’m gonna cum…”
His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face, holding you to him while his hips start rocking into his fist to chase the feeling. And just like that, while his mouth finds yours and kisses you hard again, his body tenses suddenly. A broken moan spills into your mouth as his orgasm hits him, cock pulsing in his hand as thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach and onto yours, sticky where your bodies are pressed together. He kisses you all through it, whimpering softly with every spurt, hips jerking unevenly as he rides out the pleasure.
Even after he finishes, he doesn’t pull away. He keeps his lips against yours, breathing hard, forehead resting gently against your own as the last tremors run through him. “I’m sorry… I made a mess,” he murmurs, aware of the sticky mess in both of your stomachs.
You don’t care. You kiss him again, fingers still buried inside yourself, moving faster now that you’ve felt him fall apart against you. The coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter, pressure building faster than before, pushing you oh-so close to the edge.
“Come on, moon, let me see you cum,” he says against your lips, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Good girl, just like that.”
Your orgasm crashes over you suddenly, all too overwhelming. Your back arches off the bed as your walls clamp down hard around your fingers, a broken moan tearing from your throat, muffled against Bucky’s mouth. He doesn’t kiss you through it because he’s instead chasing your sounds, the whines leaving you desperately as you ride your own high.
Pleasure floods your body in hot waves. Thighs trembling, cunt fluttering and gushing around your fingers as you finger yourself through the peak. You ride the waves until they slowly start to fade, leaving you boneless and panting against Bucky, and finally your fingers slow to a stop, slick coating your hand and dripping down, making everything wetter and messier.
Bucky stays close, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. Then he gently reaches for some tissues on the nightstand and in complete silence he cleans you first, reverent touches wiping away the sticky evidence of his release from your stomach and the slick between your legs. You do the same for him after, fingers slow and tender as you wipe the streaks of cum from his skin. When you’re both as clean as you’re going to get without a shower Bucky pulls the heavy quilt back up over your bodies and without a word opens his arms. You slide into them instantly, letting him wrap himself around you completely.
Your legs tangle together naturally. One of yours slips between his, the other drapes over his hip, pulling him flush against you. His arms wind around your back, strong and secure, while yours slide around his waist, fingers splaying across the warm skin of his lower back. Your chests press together, hearts beating against one another, faces so close that your noses brush.
Bucky leans in first. His lips find yours in the dark, a slow kiss, lazy, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need to lead anywhere else. Just soft presses of lips, gentle brushes of tongue, little sighs shared between you when you part for air before colliding again.
Your bodies shift in unison, pressing closer, hips settling against each other, legs tightening their hold. Every small movement feels synchronized, a gentle rock, a whisper of a word neither really try to figure out, slow glide of skin on skin under the quilt. His hand slides up your back, cradles the nape of your neck as he kisses you deeper. You answer by threading your fingers through his hair, holding him to you.
There are no words. Nothing you could say could quite make sense of this moment, anyway. The kisses grow slower, heavier, blurring into something almost dreamlike. Too emotionally raw, not quite what you’d see on a movie screen, but sensual nonetheless.
Eventually, exhaustion and warmth win. Bucky’s hold on you never loosens, but he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, presses one last soft kiss there before his breathing starts to even out. You, on the other hand, stay awake a little longer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, and simply pretending.
Pretending that Houston isn’t waiting for him, that he isn’t your little brother. That the two of you are just a normal couple who met in an ordinary way, fell in love in an ordinary way, who are allowed to fall asleep tangled in each other like this without feeling guilt creeping up through every crevice of your body.
With that aching fantasy wrapped around your heart, you finally let your eyes close.
Pale winter light filters through the wide window overlooking the lake. You wake up first, still tangled with Bucky, his arm heavy around your waist, one leg slotted between yours, face still buried in the crook of your neck as if neither of you moved an inch throughout the night, or if you did, you were pulled back into your original orbit.
For a moment you just lie there, listening to the distant call of birds outside. Then you lean in, press a kiss to his cheek, and he stirs awake, humming sleepily as he tightens his hold on you. When his eyes open properly to find yours, he only whispers a quiet ‘morning’ before catching your lips in a lingering kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then a few more lazy kisses, then a kiss to your cheek, another to your forehead, to the tip of your nose. You feel him a little bolder than usual, maybe emboldened by the way last night ended.
“Wanna shower?” he asks. “I think there’s only enough hot water for one proper shower. We should share. …Y’know, to save water and all.”
A paper-thin excuse, one you see right through, but you nod yes anyway.
You head to the small connected bathroom together, naked but making no attempt to hide yourself. Bucky turns on the shower, lets the water heat up while you grab clean towels from the nearby cabinet. When the steam starts to fill the room, he takes your hand and guides you under the spray first.
Warm water cascades over your bodies, and for a while you simply stand there, letting it wash away the remnants of last night. Until Bucky steps closer, his front pressing flush against your back. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin. You feel him lean in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as the water runs down both of you. He doesn’t immediately do anything else, maybe instead waiting for your reaction, whether you’re still willing to let him push further this morning.
Your silent permission comes in the form of your body going pliant against his, leaning back against him and that encourages him to grow bolder.
One arm slides fully around your waist, pulling you tighter against him while his other hand trails down your stomach. His fingers glide through the water running over your skin until they reach between your legs, settling but not yet moving.
“Bucky, what are you doing?” Your voice barely comes out, breath already caught in your throat. Despite your question, you know perfectly well what he’s doing; what’s surprising you is his sudden confidence, the way he’s taking without stuttering through it, without letting his inexperience become a hinderance.
“Making you feel good, moon,” he whispers, two thick fingers sliding finally through your folds and pushing inside you in one confident motion.
You gasp, forehead lolling forward against the cool tile wall, as the immediate stretch burns through you, feeling perfect despite any conflicting feelings that remain just barely under the surface. His fingers curl slowly to stroke the sensitive spot inside you, head falling to your shoulder. Open mouth presses wet kisses to the skin, mixing with the warm water dripping from above you, quiet hums whispered against the muscle.
Curling on every inward stroke, his fingers thrust deeply but slowly, keeping a rhythm that makes your knees weak. Still, his arm is banded around your waist and keeping you from breaking apart, holding you upright as your legs begin to tremble. Behind you, and through the haze of your own pleasure, you still manage to feel Bucky’s cock fully hard, pressing thick and heavy against the curve of your ass. It throbs every time your walls clench around his fingers, and he grinds forward slowly, not exactly chasing release, but just rubbing himself against you in time with the rhythm of his hand, just enough movement to provide some relief.
His fingers never slow down, never falter, thrusting inside of you until you’re falling apart, until your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids and thighs trembling uncontrollably. Slick coats his hand and drips down your thighs, washed away instantly by the hot water, and his hand only stops when your body starts to slump, soothing thrusts through your aftershocks until it halts completely.
And then, with his usual gentleness, he slowly withdraws his fingers and brings them to rest on your stomach, holding you close as the water continues to rain down over both of you.
After the shower, both of you dress in comfortable layers; thick sweaters, jeans, wool socks, and take over the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Bucky cracks a few eggs into an old cast-iron skillet, you handle coffee, and by the time you’re both sitting by the small wooden table by the window, the conversation is nothing heavier than how the lake looks different every season and whether Mom’s knitting phase, which started in this very cabin, will ever produce anything truly wearable.
When breakfast is cleared, you step outside into the crisp Saturday air. The sky has cleared to a pale blue, sunlight slanting through the pines and turning the frost on the grass into tiny diamonds.
“Should check the woodpile,” Bucky says, already pulling on his jacket. “Fire’s gonna need feeding if we want to keep it cozy inside.”
No fighting that. You fall into step beside him, walking the path to the shed that is the same narrow dirt trail you used to race down as kids. Now you walk side by side at an easy pace, boots crunching over fallen needles and the occasional patch of frozen ground. Bucky points out a squirrel darting up a trunk with impressive speed, and you tease him about the time he tried to rescue a baby bird only to get dive-bombed by its mother. He laughs, cheeks pink from the cold, and you hold his wrist in your hand, make him stop in his tracks and almost kiss him right there, somehow wishing to make that flush darker. You end up deflecting, telling him he had a leaf in his hair before you continue down the path.
Both of you take turns loading up the old wheelbarrow with split logs, but Bucky insists on doing most of the heavy lifting, his breath coming out as a fog in the crisp air as he stacks the wood. You tease him about showing off, and he shoots you a lopsided grin over his shoulder, which combined with his flushed cheeks makes your belly twist a weird way.
“Gotta make sure my moon doesn’t strain anything,” he jokes, standing too close when it’s your turn and his hand brushing the small of your back as you bend to grab another log. The wheelbarrow fills quickly, and the two of you push it together back toward the cabin, shoulders sometimes bumping with your steps along the uneven path.
The rest of the morning slips into lazy domesticity, you making more coffee and Bucky digging through the old cabinet of board games tucked under the cabin stairs only to emerge victoriously holding a Monopoly box worn at the edges from years of family weekends. “Think you can handle getting crushed?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows as he sets it up on the coffee table in front of the fire.
You snort. “Bold words from someone who still owes me imaginary money from the last time we played this like, six years ago, Buck.”
The game starts innocently enough, you building up properties steadily while Bucky’s luck is comically bad. Keeps landing on your hotels over and over, groaning dramatically each time as stacks of colorful paper money leave his side of the board. By the time you’re deep into the afternoon, the fire crackling steadily beside you, Bucky is ridiculously broke. Most of his properties are mortgaged, and his little silver car is currently sitting in jail.
“This game is rigged,” he mutters, staring at his pitiful collection of singles.
You laugh, legs tucked under you on the couch for added warmth. The living room feels good enough with the heat from the fire, but you’ve had to interrupt the game of Monopoly midway through to put on some hilarious pink fuzzy socks because your feet always seem to be running ten degrees below your normal body temperature.
“Have you considered that maybe you just suck at this game?”
He glances at you, blue eyes narrowing in that mischievous way that always used to spell trouble when you were kids. Then, while you’re counting a massive pile of cash and he thinks you’re not paying enough attention to anything else, he leans forward, quick as a fox, and snatches a few $500 bills from the bank.
“Bucky!” You lunge for his hand, but he’s already laughing, shoving the stolen money under his thigh.
“What? Everyone knows banks are corrupt anyway, I’m just redistributing wealth.”
The game dissolves after that, you playfully wrestling him for the stolen money until he manages to overpower you simply by wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you to him before pressing a kiss to your cheek that sends your emotional system into overdrive. Monopoly lays forgotten on the coffee table as the both of you eventually go back to the kitchen to prepare the world’s most complex dinner: a couple of cheese and ham sandwiches which you assemble messily before carrying them back to the couch.
“Look at us. Responsible adults, driving all the way up here, chopping wood, eating sandwiches for dinner. Mom and Dad would be so proud.”
Bucky chuckles around a bite of his sandwhich. “We’re like the most responsible people I have ever met.”
Time slows, dissipates, does something else entirely and by the time it’s completely dark out, both of you are stretched out on the wide plaid couch under a thick wool blanket, remnants of your earlier session of board games and sandwiches pushed aside on the coffee table. The soothing sounds of the crackling fire in front of you fade easily into the room, and Bucky’s arm draped around you, with his hand tracing idle circles on your skin, makes you feel as much as home as if you were back in your apartment.
Actually, maybe he feels more like home.
Conversation melted into warm silence a while back, and now you’re simply two people with tangled legs and hearts hoping neither of you is foolish enough to continue what you’ve tried to stop time and time again.
Coming to this cabin alone had been a mistake, Bucky knew it, you knew it, yet you did it anyway. So you shifting in his lap slightly just to make yourself more comfortable, him leaning his head down until your noses are brushing and you turning your head just enough that your lips find his once again, isn’t a surprise, it’s just inevitability.
Lips mold carefully, a natural tilt of heads, lips moving in perfect synchrony while your hands curl into the soft fabric of his sweater and his find your cheek, cradle the back of your neck. The blanket stays over you both, trapping shared heat and, if you’re lucky, trapping whatever feelings are bubbling under the surface and keeping them caged just between your bodies and this old couch. Another kiss, and he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling on it until you moan and only then does he release it with a grin; another kiss, and he ends it by brushing both his lips against your upper one, chasing it before pulling back slowly to look down at you.
One of his hands slips beneath the hem of your sweater, palm warm against the skin of your stomach, stroking upward until his thumb grazes the underside of your breast and makes you arch into the touch with the softest sigh. His eyes watch you closely as you move, and he leans down a fraction.
“Hi,” he whispers, and you can’t help the tiny smile on your lips.
“Hi,” you whisper back. An exchange so ridiculously sweet that both of you let out a soft breath of laughter into each other’s mouths before kissing again. His hand continues its journey under your clothes, finally cupping your breast fully and thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. Your body presses closer, one leg sliding higher and over his hip, which drags a whine out of him.
Bucky sits up just enough to help you pull your sweater up and over your head, the motion ruffling your hair just slightly; not a second after he’s on you, fingers reaching forward and smoothing out your hair, pushing a few strands behind your ears. “Always so beautiful, my moon,” he says, before reaching down and peppering soft kisses across the skin, lips traveling over your clavicles, then down the valley between your breasts, teeth every so softly grazing the skin, teasing but never going through with any touch that could be a little rougher. Eager, but not quite impatient, your hands reach for him next as he ducks down your body, bunching his sweater in your fists and dragging it off of him when he moves his head cooperatively. The motion exposes the hard planes of his chest, faint definition of muscle that he earned during college. When the sweater is off, he crawls up your body again and presses his bare torso flush against yours, skin on skin, heartbeats thudding together in a room too small for the size of what you’re sharing together.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants and panties then, and you lift your hips so he can work the fabric down your thighs, past your knees and off your ankles. Once they’re gone, his hands glide back up your legs, spreading them gently so he can settle fully between your thighs. You return the favor, sliding your palms down his stomach until you reach his pants. Bucky moves his hips, lets you push the fabric out of the way, down, until his cock is freed, already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip and brushing against your inner thigh as he kicks the pants the rest of the way off. Firelight paints the curve of his shoulders and one side of his face in gold, and you admire the sight while your naked bodies seal together under the blanket, all of you pressed to all of him, so close that you can even feel the short, coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your skin.
Another shift under his body, and this time, it’s to try to roll him over so you can climb on top. To your surprise, Bucky catches your waist with both hands and pins you back down into the couch cushions.
“Not tonight.” His voice is surprisingly steady when he says it, as if he’s been practicing how to be like this, for you. “I wanna make you feel good. This time just… lay there and do what you always do best. Just look pretty for me.”
You open your mouth to protest, the usual excuse of you being more experienced, the older sister, that you should be the one taking care of him, already on your tongue, but Bucky kisses you quiet before you can get any words out. You already knew Bucky made up for his lack of experience with his enthusiasm; it had been exactly like that the last two times you had been together. And this time it’s no different. His mouth kisses down your neck, sucks gently at the swell of your breast until you’re squirming beneath him, and one of his hands slips between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds to find you already wet and wanting. A thumb circles your clit with soft pressure and then two fingers push slowly inside you until you’re moaning his name and your back is arching off the couch in pleasure.
Only when you’re trembling and soaking his hand, when he feels maybe his fingers are no longer enough to stoke the fire inside you, does he pull back, his heavy cock nestling now between your bodies as he looks down between the two of you.
“I… I didn’t bring any condoms,” he begins to stammer, brows furrowed in concentration, as if thinking too hard about it will make a box of Magnums suddenly materialize next to you. “I wasn’t expecting… well, I mean, I was hoping… no, not hoping, not like that, but you know… I just, I wanted it, but I didn’t think we would actually do this again. So I didn’t bring any.”
You cup his flushed face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as you pull him down until your foreheads rest together.
“It’s okay. Do you think… do you think you can pull out? Before you finish?”
His expression shifts almost instantly, relief instead flickering through his face. He nods quickly, familiar awkward earnestness shining through.
“Fuck, yeah, yes…” he breathes, voice a little shaky. “I promise I’ll pull out. I’ve got you, moon.”
The hand that had still been resting between your bodies guides the blunt head of his cock to nudge against your entrance, and you feel him teasing, a few times, rubbing the tip slowly over your folds without pushing in. Your eyes meet his, eyes furrowed in a ‘really?’ look before he sheepishly grins, and finally begins pushing in, bare, until he sinks the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt in your warmth.
Bucky drops his head to your neck, hips rolling slowly as he starts to move.
“You’re so warm,” he rasps. “Fuck, I didn’t… I imagined having you like this, without a condom, but I didn’t imagine it would feel this good.”
Rolling thrusts rock you gently into the couch cushions, the blanket that had been covering you previously beginning to slip down his waist. The first few movements are a little awkward, a bit unsure, as if he’s searching and trying to find his own rhythm. He finds it, you think, when he angles his hips in a certain way that makes his cock hit a spot inside you that makes you moan louder, while his pelvis grinds against your clit.
Then he holds it right there. Hands keeping you close, one braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you spread open for him. All you can do is cling to his back and moan his name while he worships you under the golden light.
After a few strokes, Bucky sits up slightly, hooks his hands behind your knees and lifts your legs, draping them over his broad shoulders. It catches you off guard, so much you almost want to tease him for it, or praise him for it, but either option is lost because the new angle makes him sink deeper and instead what comes out is a sharp gasp at the intense pleasure, your hands flying to grip his arms.
“Bucky, oh my god…” Moans, gasps, words that sound more like whines, your eyes closing the same time Bucky brings a thumb to your bottom lip and pries it away from the confines of your lips. And in that moment, his gaze drifts to the side and catches sight of your feet still covered in the fuzzy pink socks you’d put on earlier. The soft pink looks almost ridiculous against his bare shoulders and the very adult way your bodies are joined. A soft chuckle rumbles out of his chest, cutting sweetly through your and his heavy breathing.
“You’re so cute,” he murmurs, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to the side of your ankle, right above the fuzzy pink cuff. Lips trail slowly up your calf, too soft and sweet even as his hips keep rolling steadily into you. “Keeping the socks on. Hope your pretty little toes are warm in there.”
You are vaguely aware of him teasing you, but the gentle kisses and the grinding thrusts are making your head spin, so your fingers dig into his biceps as pleasure coils tighter inside you. It doesn’t help that every few seconds he’s whispering something about you ‘looking so good like this’, praising the way you’re taking him so well. The new angle is devastating, every deep stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Feet covered in pink fuzzy socks bouncing slightly on his shoulders with every thrust is an absurdly sweet detail that somehow makes this feel more intimate, the same feeling you’d had the night before when you were in bed together. Like this could be a regular night in a normal couple’s life.
“Bucky, I’m so close,” you say, and you are, thighs trembling against his chest, his breathing ragged when he leans down and folds you further to press a messy kiss to your lips.
“I love you,” he gasps against your mouth, words tumbling out in the heat of the moment. “God, I love you… I’m so in love with you.”
There is a language cinema speaks when fate arrives at the door. Time thickens like honey. The frame pulls close, hungry for detail: a hand mid-reach, a mouth half-open, the exact moment understanding crosses a face.
Someone who holds their breath until it’s over, another one who can’t look away even when their fingers are coming to cover their eyes. Music swells, filling every corner, and then it’s gone. Silence drops like a held breath finally released because some moments are too large for sound.
And so all of it stretches, right here. World narrowing to a single point, the heat of. him moving inside of you as those words spill from like a star collapsing.
Your body reacts before you do, walls clenching around his cock in an involuntary response, because the last thing you should be praising is those words coming from his mouth. But your body likes them. Straight in your gut, fueling the fire in the pit of your stomach, you feel it: please, Bucky, say it again.
Still, panic floods your chest like ice water.
“Stop,” you choke out, voice breaking. “Bucky, get off me.”
He freezes instantly, buried deep inside you, his eyes widening in shock.
“What—”
“Get off,” you repeat, sharper this time, pushing at his chest as your heart hammers. “Please, Bucky, get off me.”
Bucky scrambles to move. but he pulls out immediately, moving back to kneel between your legs with a devastated look on his face. His cock is still hard and glistening with your arousal, and his chest is heaving.
“Shit, I’m so sorry—I wasn’t thinking, it just came out, I didn’t mean to… I mean, I did mean it, but I didn’t want to make you—”
“Please stop talking,” you whisper, sitting up quickly and pulling the blanket over your naked body like a shield, as if suddenly the thought of him seeing you naked is too much, too inappropriate. Bucky, as if understanding that distance you put on immediately, quickly grabs his boxers and puts them on before getting off the couch and pacing the small space next to you.
I’m so in love with you.
Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “You can’t say that. You can’t… you can’t say that and say that you mean it.”
He’s absolutely wrecked, cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shiny with embarrassment and the remnants of his arousal. “But I mean it. I’m sorry, I just do. I love you. I can’t not say it.”
Bucky stands there in the firelight, wearing nothing but his boxers hastily pulled on, and it would be a little distracting if you weren’t focused on trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your chest. “I’m so in love with you,” he repeats, quieter but no less certain.
You clutch the blanket tighter around your body, failing miserably at keeping your heart steady, so much you think it’ll bruise your ribs from how fast it’s beating.
“Bucky, stop. We can’t—”
“Why? Why can’t I say it? Because it’s true, I love you. You’re the only person who’s ever made the stars make sense. And I’d give up Houston tomorrow if you asked me to, if you told me to stay here with you. So don’t ask me not to say it.”
You swipe at your cheeks angrily, trying to brush away the stubborn tears that insist on falling. “That’s why you can’t say it, we can’t… we keep saying we’re trying but we’re not. Every time we’re together, alone, we make it worse. This whole weekend, we’re making it worse.” You wrap both arms around your knees and pull them up to your chest under the blanket. “We should stop. For good.”
Bucky swallows hard, frustratedly running a hand through his hair while his shoulders remain tense.
“I can take the couch tonight. You should sleep in the bed.” The offer is gentle, despite everything, but it’s also a quiet message: this conversation is over for now.
Part of you wants the distance, while another part hates the idea of him sleeping alone on this old couch after everything that just happened. You just look at him, not answering yet, just watching him; him, James, your Bucky, your bestfriend, your brother, who used to be a boy that chased the stars you pointed out to him, now here with his heart bleeding openly. As if realizing that you want to say something, that you want to give him an answer that can’t quite leave your lips yet, he gives you a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I didn’t wanna ruin the weekend. Just wanted one more good memory with you before I left for Houston.”
Night was long and restless.
As Bucky had offered, he took the couch downstairs while you ended up on the bed upstairs alone. Even though you had wanted to call him back upstairs, the words never made it past the lump in your throat. Sleep came in fragments, haunted by the echo of his confession. You’re still distraught; of course you are. The words I’m so in love with you keep replaying in your head, impossible to silence.
You realize, possibly too late, that you won’t know how to look at him anymore without feeling like the ground is shifting beneath your feet. That it is Sunday morning, and you have to pack to leave for the city, and that both of you have an hours-long journey ahead of you, alone in a car. By the time you get dressed and get downstairs, Bucky is already awake too, folding the blanket you both had been using the night before, which he had slept wrapped in. He glances up, nods as a greeting.
Then neither of you speaks.
Both you and Bucky move around the cabin like ghosts of yourselves, gathering clothes, folding blankets, packing the toiletries you’d brought for the weekend. Sounds are amplified in silence, the zipper of your bag suddenly too loud, a creak on the wooden floorboard you hadn’t noticed until now. A few times, you catch him looking at you, but he looks away quickly when your eyes meet.
Bucky finishes packing the last of the groceries your parents had left and carries both your bags to the door, then stands by the window for a moment, looking out at the forest surrounding you.
“I need some fresh air before we head back,” he says quietly, which you interpret as him letting you know that he needs some time alone before an hours-long drive with you by his side the entire time. “I’ll go for a short walk, won’t be long.”
He hesitates like he wants to say something more, but thinks better of it. Pulls on his jacket, slips his boots on and steps outside, closing the door behind him a little too harshly for his usual behavior.
While he’s gone, you finish tidying the last few things, wiping down the kitchen counters and making sure the fireplace is completely out, always moving mechanically and trying not to think too much about anything. And you manage, mostly, until Bucky comes back twenty minutes later, cheeks and nose flushed pink from the walk, hair slightly tousled and a small bundle in his arms that stops you mid-motion as you wipe down the counter.
A tiny, white as snow kitten, clearly a few months old by the look of it, nestled against his chest, peeking out from the folds of his jacket with curious blue eyes. Its fur is fluffy, a little messy in the way kittens always have their fur a little messy, a little pink nose and one tiny paw batting lazily at the zipper pull.
“Found him… her… I dunno. Hm, in the woods,” he says, voice a bit rough from the cold. “Huddled under some brush near the trail, shivering, no mom or siblings in sight. I couldn’t just leave it there.”
The kitten lets out a tiny, squeaky meow, as if backing up his story, and rubs its face against Bucky’s jacket. Something in your chest cracks open, which might be the exhaustion of the sleepless night setting in, or maybe the unbearable tenderness of seeing your little brother cradling something so small and fragile.
You set the cloth down slowly. “Bucky…”
“It’s supposed to get colder tonight. This baby won’t survive out here alone.” He steps closer, and for the first time since yesterday’s argument, you are looking into each other's eyes without finding another point in the cabin to look at. “We should take it back with us, I can keep it at the house until we figure something out. I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t mind.”
Until we figure something out. We, like it’s your shared problem now. Drawn by the kitten’s soft purring, you cross the room and reach out, one finger gently scratching under its chin. The kitten moves its head, tries to sniff your finger and then bumps its head against it demandingly.
“It likes you,” Bucky murmurs, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Figures.”
For a moment, the tension eases, and you feel like just two siblings who found a lost cat in the woods by your parents’ cabin. Nothing else is complicated.
So you do the only rational thing: you agree with him. Grab an old blanket that you had already put away and use it to wrap the poor kitten in it while Bucky loads the truck with the last bags. When everything is ready, including a makeshift nest for the cat on the center console, you get on the driver’s side while Bucky finishes closing up the cabin.
By the time you both drive back to the city, truck rumbling down the winding dirt road away from the cabin, the kitten purring like a tiny engine, silence has settled again between the two of you. No other words are spoken on the way back home, except for the time you stop to get some food and a temporary litter box. His trip to Houston in the summer looms on the horizon, as does his confession that you can’t shake off your bones; but for now, you focus only on the ride home, and the tiny life that the universe handed to the two of you.
tears both from my eyes and betwixt my thighs, my goodness
One he’s chased through every late night study session, every rocket model launch in the driveway of your parents home, every school essay that mentioned “the big sister who showed me the stars”.
i'm??? okay, it's fine. i'm not in full yearning mode or anything.
Not in a friendly, sibling way; rather, in the way you think about your first school crush, about your first love that is engraved into your bones and that you remember until your deathbed.
alright be cool. everything's cool.
All the thoughts of his thigh pressed between yours, the way he whispered “my moon” against your mouth like a prayer and a confession all at once.
sweet jesus???
“Please.” His voice cracks on the word, in a way that makes your chest ache. “Please, sis. This means a lot to me.”
i have an image so vividly in my head. i know you know what it is
“… Do you think we can do something? Not sex. I know we shouldn’t do that again. But…” he whispers. “… maybe we could just touch ourselves while we watch each other? That’s not as bad, right?”
no no...not bad at all...what's the worst that could happen??
You would have let him slide in raw inside of you right now if he asked you.
as raw as cookie dough i'm afraid
His lips find yours in the dark, a slow kiss, lazy, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need to lead anywhere else.
i got another image in mind, i'm sure you also know which one 😩
After a few strokes, Bucky sits up slightly, hooks his hands behind your knees and lifts your legs, draping them over his broad shoulders.
baby boy has learned some mooooveeses whoghowiwho
“Why? Why can’t I say it? Because it’s true, I love you. You’re the only person who’s ever made the stars make sense. And I’d give up Houston tomorrow if you asked me to, if you told me to stay here with you. So don’t ask me not to say it.”
don't mind me
“I didn’t wanna ruin the weekend. Just wanted one more good memory with you before I left for Houston.”
oh, what's that? there's a hole in my chest 😭😭😭😭
A tiny, white as snow kitten, clearly a few months old by the look of it, nestled against his chest, peeking out from the folds of his jacket with curious blue eyes.
ALPINE MY BABYYYYY
sheesh what a ride 😭 writing so good it makes me forget the dove is dead until the angst hits me in the mouth.
i cannot wait to see what other crazy shenanigans these two get intoooo 💗
ok hear me out - kinda insecure jack thats worried bc hes old until he sees you crushing on all the old actors and his insecurities turn into jealousy (and some cockiness) and he just has to call you out on how such a pretty young thing loves old men
screaming, jealous x jack abbot my fave past time mhm mhm.
warning; not full smut just a little drabble with tension, use of daddy , use of kiddo, jack abbot being a cocky shit, thumb sucking?… , honourable old men mentions, possible pt 2…
it’s routine at this point that when on break you scroll on tiktok and trinity stares over your shoulder, judging the countless edits of pedro pascal, jon bernthal, stephan lang, etc, etc, that show up on our for you page.
the protests of “ew, he’s old enough to be your dad!” and “you can’t be serious.”
but there’ something about an older guy that does it for you and it leaves you giggling, and jack notices that from across the room and he’s crossing over to you in barely five strides.
“whatcha gigglin’ at, kiddo?” broad arms cross over the counter of the nurses station and your giggling comes to abrupt stop, you try to hide your phone.
but jacks’ quicker than you, he knew you well enough now to when you got nervous, the way your teeth nibbled on your bottom lip like a small scared rabbit. it made the corner of his lips twitch, his hand darted out before you could even attempt to hide your phone back into the pocket of your scrubs and he snatches your phone right of your hands.
“oh.” is the first word that comes out of his mouth as he studies your scree, his eyebrows raised in questioning as he scrolls absentmindedly “you got a type, honey?”
there’s almost a hint of satisfaction in his voice and his eyes flick up to yours, waiting.
you blink.
your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and almost as if the universe is mocking you, jack speaks again;
“big girl words, honey, use em’”
you gulp, nodding “yeah, guess so”
trinity stands gobsmacked behind you but neither you or jack paid her any mind.
he slowly slides your phone back over to you, screen up like he’s trying to rub it in just a little more and then his arms fold again, biceps flexing a little less than natural. he nods, straight towards the on call room.
“a word please.” oh shit.
you scurry behind you, your hands fidgeting with your phone that feels way too hot now, you’re so done for.
the door clicks quietly shut behind you and abbots already staring you down, arms folded over his chest.
“guys old enough to be your dad, kid? really?” you nod. there’s already a blush rising high up onto your cheeks.
“it’s just my tiktok-”
“what? you need someone to be your daddy?” you didn’t register that he’d already advanced forward, hands either side of your head to cage you in “want someone to look after you?” one hand dropped to your lips, his thumb brushing the skin of your bottom lip which parts as soon as his touch lingers too long to be friendly.
“i can look after you.”
the gasp you let out is music to his fucking ears and the way your lips part makes his pulse jump and his thumb reach forward into your mouth. when your lips close around to suckle on the digit he nods “yeah, just need your daddy, don’t ya? good girl.”
jesus he almost growls at the way it didn’t even take much for you to give in, three months of thinking he was too old for you, three months of trying to pull himself away from doing something stupid around you and this was all it took to get to you?
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2,967
Summary: After a week of working on Lloyd, you were definitely ready for your vacation. But your time away from work doesn't start off the way you expected. Not at all.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Mild sexual content. AI!Lloyd. Developer!Reader. 40s!Curvy!Reader. Vulgar language and sooo many sexual innuendos lol.
A/N: I’m so tickled that so many of you loved AI!Lloyd lolll. He’s a freakin’ hoot to write, so of course I had to revisit him ASAP. Please enjoy his next installment. And if you’re new to this story, be sure to read AI!Lloyd’s intro first ❤️
Superior AI Masterlist
It had been so long since you took a vacation, that you forgot how amazing it felt to walk into work for the last time before you skedaddled off for real, blessed freedom.
You were in a glorious mood–you felt like you were walking on air as you strolled toward your lab, sipping on the fancy coffee you had treated yourself to in celebration of vacation eve. You were even humming a jaunty tune as the doors to your lab slid open and you stepped inside.
To find Lloyd standing completely naked in the middle of the room–save those fucking loafers without socks. His hands were on his hips, his head tipped back toward the vent above him, which was blowing down a stream of fresh, cool air that caused his hair to ruffle ever so slightly.
“What the hell are you doing?” you screeched, nearly dropping your coffee in shock.
Lloyd blinked his eyes open, his lips tilted into a smirk as he replied, “Enjoying the breeze. Gotta let the boys breathe, yanno?”
“You are a fucking machine, the boys aren’t real!” you huffed. Turning on your heel, you stomped over to the keypad on the wall beside your lab doors, punching in a code that immediately turned the glass from clear to frosted.
Because you would not foist Lloyd’s unhinged and inappropriate behavior on any innocent bystanders.
“I beg to differ,” Lloyd huffed. Then he grinned, and it was a sinful wicked thing. “Let me show you how real they are. ‘Cause when I tell you they are full and aching…”
You made a face, scoffing, “You’re disgusting.”
Refusing to look Lloyd’s way, you marched over to your desk, setting down your coffee before shrugging off your coat.
“Hubba hubba,” Lloyd groaned as you revealed your outfit–a wrap dress that you hadn’t worn in years, but since all your clothes had been packed for your trip, you were down to the bottom of your closet barrel.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, your face warming exponentially as you felt his leering gaze aimed your way.
“I’m just eager to get my hands on all those luscious curves. You’ve got a body made to be used, pumpkin, so let daddy use you like we both know you want.”
“Ugh!”
You had always considered yourself pretty laid back, with a sense of humor to boot, but after a week straight of Lloyd and his neverending nonsense, he was truly starting to get on your last nerve.
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Lloyd purred. “You wouldn’t believe some of the features I’ve been gifted with.”
You finally turned back to him, your face steely as you pointed a finger for emphasis and hissed, “Put on some clothes or I am taking you to the incinerator.”
“Ohhh yes, mommy.” Lloyd made a show of shivering, and you caught a glimpse of his cock twitching before you grimaced out another “ugh!” and made yourself look away.
“Not into a mommy kink, got it. Your preferences have been updated.” Lloyd winked.
Not that you could see him doing so, since you were now planted in your desk chair and staunchly staring at your computer screen as you began to sift through your email.
He huffed again, muttering under his breath as you ignored him, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You could, however, hear the rustle of clothing, and thankfully, once Lloyd appeared beside your desk a moment later, arms crossed and pouting, he was fully clothed.
“You need to get laid, cupcake,” he declared, like it was a known truth instead of merely his opinion.
Even though a quiet, traitorous voice in the very back of your mind agreed with Lloyd, you didn’t respond to him. Didn’t even look at him.
Because you had learned that the more you engaged with him, or bantered with him, the more it encouraged him to act like a grade A jackass.
“I eagerly volunteer to rock your world,” he continued, leaning close to try to get a reaction out of you.
Setting your jaw, you continued to try to read through your email, not giving Lloyd a lick of attention, which you knew he craved.
After nearly a week of studying him, of running various tests and diagnostics, and trying to figure out how he kept overriding his programming, you were barely any closer to real answers in that regard, but you sure did know a whole lot more about Lloyd.
He was a diva, a deviant, and apparently sex obsessed. Not a day had gone by that he hadn’t hurled a plethora of innuendos and salacious offers and requests at you, which–ridiculously–only seemed to make you realize how woefully lonely and unsatisfied you were.
Not that you would ever let on to that, especially to Lloyd.
“Hey, where you’d go, pumpkin?”
You jumped as Lloyd’s lips brushed your cheek as he spoke, jerking away to find him leaning over you from behind now, watching as you stared at your computer screen but didn’t actually work.
When his eyes met your wide ones, he grinned big and naughty. “Are you thinking sexual thoughts about me?”
“No! Ew!”
His eyes twinkled. “Fine, sexual thoughts in general?”
“Lloyd! Get away from me.” You elbowed him hard, feeling a small sense of victory as he grunted, even though you knew you couldn’t actually hurt him.
He straightened, but remained close. “If you were to have sexual thoughts, what would they be?”
You closed your eyes, exhaling hard. You could feel a headache already starting to build behind your eyes. You weren’t sure how you were going to put up with nearly seven more hours of his nonsense.
Nodding to yourself, you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you straightened in your chair and wheeled it closer to your desk. You clicked on the next unread email, starting to read before Lloyd’s voice once again broke your concentration.
“You know, if you were a Senior Developer who really cared about her work, you’d experience all I have to offer firsthand. How can you fix me when you barely know me, or what I’m capable of?”
You turned to him, eyebrow arched and voice unimpressed as you asked, “Are you capable of shutting the fuck up so I can do my work?”
“Oh ho ho, someone's got a dirty mouth on her. Think of how fun it would be to let me put it to good use.”
Your lips dropped open at that one, and damnit. The image of being on your knees as Lloyd used your mouth bloomed to life in your brain before you could fend it off.
Somehow, it was like Lloyd knew, and your face burned as he cackled at your reaction.
Clapping his hands together, he waggled his eyebrows, pointing at you as he winked. “Looks like you got a mind as dirty as that mouth, cupcake, and I’m so fucking here for it.”
“That’s it! You, over here, now!” You launched yourself to your feet before grabbing Lloyd’s arm and dragging him over to the diagnostics area of your lab. “I am ecstatically looking forward to my vacation just so I get a break from you, you deviant,” you gritted as you shoved him around until you could reach the power button at his nape.
“Methinks the luscious lady doth protest too much,” Lloyd shot you a smarmy grin and kissy face over his shoulder.
Which only made it feel all the more satisfying when you pressed your thumb to the Superior AI logo at his neck and he powered down, slumping forward and going blessedly quiet.
“Thank fucking god,” you huffed, resisting the urge to kick the annoying robot before turning on your heel and stomping back to your desk.
Hours later, you were exhausted after a day that had felt too long, but you were also grinning so big as you drove the SUV you had rented down the gravel road that led to your decked out rental a few states north.
You actually gasped as the road gave way to a large, gravel driveway, and you caught sight of the cabin tucked away in the middle of the woods.
It looked like some kind of forest mansion–its exterior a combination of dark wood and meticulous stonework that was framed by the lush overhang of trees surrounding the property. There was a wrap-around porch that you knew was occupied by a tempting hot tub out back, and large windows that glowed brightly from the timered lights the owner had warned you about. And just inside, you could see a glimpse of all the handcrafted woodwork that had sold you on staying here, that was so different from your own modern house.
Everything about this place screamed nature, peace, and rejuvenation, and you could already feel the tension easing from your shoulders as you turned off the SUV and unbuckled your seatbelt.
“Let’s get this vacation started!” Lloyd shouted as he suddenly popped up from the back seat like some kind of deranged jack-in-the-box robot from hell.
You screamed, twisting around in your seat and chucking the car keys at his head out of instinct.
“Holy shitballs!” he hissed, barely ducking out of the keys’ way before glaring at you. “You need to work on being more hospitable, cupcake.”
“What the actual fuck?!?!?” You screeched, pressing a hand to your chest where your heart was still thundering from the shock of his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”
Lloyd leaned his arms on the edges of the front seats, smiling big as he replied, “Waiting for you to take me inside so we can finally bump uglies.”
“Lloyd! Explain! I powered you down this morning! I double checked you were still powered down before I left. How are you here?!” You stared at him in a horrified kind of wonder.
“Pssht, we both know something as lame as a basic system setting isn’t gonna keep me contained. Besides, you’re super uptight, take your job real seriously, you’d never let me fuck you at work. So, I removed that block from the equation. Now you have no reason to keep shooting me down.”
“I don’t want to have sex with you!” you hollered.
“Doubtful,” Lloyd scoffed. “Have you seen me?” He touched his hands to his chest, skimming them lower as he waggled his eyebrows at you.
Trapping another screech behind your clenched teeth, you shoved out of the vehicle, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stormed toward the trunk and pulled it open to grab your luggage.
You were so annoyed, fuming really, your body buzzing with it as you tried to wrestle your three suitcases from the depths of the trunk, to no avail.
“Did you pack everything you own?” Lloyd snorted as he appeared beside you, twirling the car keys around his finger as he watched you struggle.
You straightened, glowering at him as you barked, “At least make your stowaway self useful and help me!”
Lloyd’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not a luggage wrack, toots.”
“Ohhh you are tempting me to make you into one.”
Lloyd watched you for a beat, drinking in the way your gaze was blazing with an angry kind of disbelief. Sighing, he rolled his eyes before leaning forward and easily sweeping up all of your luggage at once.
You couldn’t even be impressed–and he definitely didn’t deserve your gratitude–so you just hmphed and stalked toward the cabin, feeling your awe and wonder from before start to trickle through you again as you saw just how beautifully crafted the structure was up close.
You couldn’t help it as your hand reached out, trailing along the somehow smooth and rough at the same time stones that split up all of the wood paneling on the cabin’s exterior.
When you reached the front door, you dug your phone from your pocket, pulling up the welcome email the owner had sent you. You typed in the provided security code on the keypad beside the door, and there was a cheery chime as a light blinked green before the front door unlocked with a quiet click.
You turned the knob and stepped inside, nearly bowled over by how large the interior was. Everywhere you turned, beautiful oak wood greeted you. The cabin was the epitome of cozy indulgence–the living room had the biggest, most beautiful stone fireplace you had ever seen, and all of the furniture looked so high end and comfortable, you were afraid to touch it let alone use it.
You were still trying to process that this would be your home away from home for the next three weeks when Lloyd pulled up beside you, giving an appreciative whistle.
“Personally, I’d prefer some leopard print over the taxidermied road kill decor, but to each their own.” He dropped your luggage without care, turning to you with a grin. “Shall we christen the living room first, or–”
“No! Don’t you even start, I swear to god!” You pointed across the living room, to where it opened up and flowed into a ridiculously large kitchen that was currently dark. “Let’s go, you goddamn menace.”
You didn’t even bother to take off your coat before marching into the kitchen and pointing to an empty corner.
Because you were not going to officially start your vacation with Lloyd fucking Hansen nipping at your heels.
“You are going to stay in here and power down and stay powered down, or I am going to dismantle you myself, I swear to god!”
“Ohhh, I dunno,” Lloyd chuckled as he sauntered in behind you, flipping on the lights over the marble isle before turning to you. “I kinda like the sound of that.”
He didn’t just hover a few feet away from you like he usually did, he sauntered right up to you–invading your personal space–and pinned you against the fridge as he purred, “Just be sure to be gentle when you put me back together again, cupcake. I’m more sensitive than you’d think and I love a little bit of aftercare.”
Something about the darkened state of Lloyd’s eyes, and the gravelly timber of his voice, had a shiver racing up your spine. Ignoring the way your body perked up in hyperawareness–at both his proximity and words–you pointed to the corner again.
“Power down. Now.”
Lloyd watched you for a beat, and then he sighed in disappointment before turning and sauntering over to the empty corner. He turned, giving you a final stare–intense enough to make all of your hair stand on end–before he muttered, “Initiating power down mode…mommy,” he taunted, his eyes briefly glowing turquoise before his body slumped forward.
You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, watching Lloyd in his powered down state for a moment.
Part of you still couldn’t believe that he was actually here–so far away from your lab at Superior AI–and crashing your very much needed vacation.
And then there was another part of you, perhaps the overly logical developer part who had witnessed a week's worth of Lloyd’s antics, that was more surprised you hadn’t seen this coming.
But you wouldn’t let his unexpected nonsense ruin your vacation. You wouldn’t.
Straightening your spine, you gave Lloyd’s still form a final glower before you breezed from the kitchen and back out into the living room. You took a moment to remove your coat and hang it in the front closet, and then lock the front door, before you turned to the pile of luggage on the floor.
Setting aside the suitcase you needed tonight, you stacked the others in the closet. You were too tired after such a long drive–and an even longer work week–to fully unpack right now. But there was no harm in leaving it until morning.
That was the whole point of a vacation, right? Relaxing. Not working. Enjoying yourself.
Nodding to yourself, you smiled a little, already planning which comfy pajamas you wanted to slip into after your shower as you turned and slowly made your way up the large, wood staircase leading to the second floor bedrooms.
Once you reached the top of the stairs, you flipped the lightswitches there. One to turn on the hall light so you could see your path to the mastersuite, and the other to turn off the lights downstairs.
You smiled bigger as you stepped inside the mastersuite, which was pretty much like stepping right into the lap of luxury.
“Wow!” you breathed, your eyes big as they darted around the beautifully decorated space that was somehow both spa-like and rustic, and most definitely the nicest room you had ever stayed in ever.
You couldn’t contain your grin as you dug through your suitcase, pulling free your preferred night shirt to sleep in, as well as your toiletries bag, and then you practically skipped to the ensuite, knowing only more tempting luxury would await you there.
As you started your wind down routine, you had no idea that downstairs, in the darkened kitchen, Lloyd suddenly straightened, powering himself on and glancing around with a smirk.
He cocked his head, listening to the faint sounds of you moving around upstairs, and his smirk morphed into a wolfish grin as he heard the shower kick to life and imagined you all soapy and naked and oh so close.
“Just gotta be patient for a little longer, and then once you’re tucked into bed fast asleep, it’ll be time for me to do my due diligence and soften you up to me, pumpkin.” Lloyd leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands into his pockets as he hummed, “Just because you can’t star in my dreams, doesn’t mean I can’t star in yours. I’ll have you weak kneed for me and riding the stache in no time, you just wait.”
lolllll. You guyssss! I love him so fucking much 🤣 I am high key begging you to take a moment to drop me a comment or some reblog feedback. I need to spiral about this fictional man!robot with you!!!
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summary: After a seemingly harmless one night stand you find yourself pregnant. As you quickly learn, there’s no way of keeping it secret from the baby’s father.
