Lady Winter Soldat

All things Winter Soldier/James Buchanon Barnes/Bucky and Sebastian Stan with a sprinkle of Chris Evans aka Captain America/Steven Grant Rogers. I have a Supernatural account @angelus320 and a 18+ over account (most def. NSFW) @bawdylilminx.

[mrs-stans]

@cartier: Always in pursuit of performance and the desire to go further, the latest Santos de Cartier Chronograph soars to new heights on the wrist of Sebastian Stan. #SantosdeCartier

[masterxdanx]

[ironrainbow3434]

When I started in the marvel fandom I swore to myself that I would NEVER fall in love with Bucky, 4 months later and that photo was my background.

[ladywintersoldat]

I liked the Marvel world when it started. I became a die hard fan for Bucky. Bucky goes. I go.

[goldiwrites]

man on your mind, pt 3 - b. barnes

pairing: new avengers!bucky barnes x inexperienced fem!reader

word count: 22.6k (ok, now i'm sorry)

summary: adjusting to life living in the Watchtower is hard. What's even harder is that your crush, your boss, lives a few doors down and your feelings towards him just keep getting stronger. Between Walker being a creep, bonding with the girls (and Bob), and late night kitchen conversations the tension becomes too much to handle. What happens when a genetically altered chemical agent gets thrown in the mix?

warnings: (18+) MDNI, smut, dubcon, plot with porn, sex pollen (i'm a sucker), details of female masturbation, nipple play, dry humping, oral (f!receiving), fingering, one pussy slap, breeding kink, dirty talk, loss of virginity, unprotected pnv (don't be silly, wrap your willy), multiple orgasms (f!receiving), poor explanation of sex pollen?, metal arm kink, vibrator mention, tensionnnnn, jealousy, some angst?, fluff, protective buckyyyy, swearing, smutty thoughts, slow burn, drinking, teasing, team bonding, y/n used a couple times, pet names (doll, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl), mentions of reader having curly hair and blushing, john is a creep, grammatical errors no doubt, partly proofread, let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: howdy again! wow, this was hard to write - writing smut while suffering PMDD is not for the fainthearted - sorry if it's a bit rushed. i think i actually went feral. i am so shocked with how much love the first 2 parts got - like what do you mean part 2 already has 1,000 notes?!, i'm sorry for keeping you waiting! now i'm gonna go smoke a cone (i promised myself i wouldn't smoke today until i posted). thanks so much for the love, i really do appreciate it <3 i hope you enjoy part 3! there may be a part 4... please like, reblog, and comment x

part one part two

The half hour drive—on a good day—from the Watchtower to your apartment was cut in half by Bucky, his driving bordering on reckless and definitely illegal. The honking from pissed off New Yorkers fell on deaf ears as Bucky raced through the city, his mind focused only on you and your safety. 

Yelena was quiet in the passenger seat, her own worry for you keeping her silent. Sounds of your quiet sniffling filled the tense silence in the car, Bucky asking if you’re okay every few minutes—reminding himself that you’re not in any immediate danger. His gut still churned every time you let out a shaky breath. 

The car’s engine was still on when Bucky jumped out of the driver’s side, his eyes scanning the small park—a flash of panic bolting through him when he didn’t see you straight away. Yelena reached over the middle console to turn the car off before joining him outside. 

Bucky was gone in a flash, his eyes catching sight of you sat next to a family, their dogs head resting on your knee as your body trembled. He almost didn’t recognise your fragile frame, arms wrapped tightly around your chest in an attempt to keep yourself from falling apart.

Bucky felt his heart break as he beelined towards you—dropping to his knees in front of you in an instant.

You sucked in a sharp breath as gentle hands cradled your face—one warm, one cold. You opened your eyes, your tear-filled vision taking in the blurry figure in front of you. Bucky.

His flesh thumb delicately brushed tears away as more fell down your cheeks. His eyes studied your face, checking for any injuries—only finding fear and relief written on your features. His grip tightened imperceptibly at the fear in your eyes. 

Your body slumped forward in relief, your forehead resting on Bucky’s collarbone as the adrenaline crashed through you. You let out little sobs against his chest as the events of the day caught up to you. He moved his vibranium hand from your jaw, wrapping it around your back and squeezing you to him tightly. Your hands clutched the front of his shirt in response, anchoring yourself to him.

“I’m here, doll. You’re okay, just breathe for me.” He whispered soothingly into your hair, his chin resting on your head as you collapsed into him more. His flesh hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers rubbing slow circles on your scalp causing your breath to shudder against him—the comforting touches almost overwhelming you.

You sat clutching to Bucky for a few minutes, your breath evening out to match his own. You pulled away from him, the feeling of his vibranium fingers gently running up and down your back bringing you back to reality. You looked over his shoulder to see Yelena silently watching the two of you, her face scrunched in concern over the state you were in. 

Bucky rose to his full height, taking a step back from you and addressing Yelena while his eyes never left your face. 

“You stay here with her—I’m going to check the apartment.” He met Yelena’s eyes with a commanding fire in his own, “don’t take your eyes off her for a second.” His voice was low, final. 

You gave him a small watery smile, which was all he needed before he turned and ran across the street into your building. 

Bucky made it to your front door in under a minute, easily tracking your scent like a bloodhound. His eyes examined the scene in front of him, his gut wrenching at the sight of your home torn apart. 

He pulled his cracked phone out of his pocket, quickly sending a text to Bob.

Bucky: Make sure the spare room is set up. Now. 

Bob: why??

Bucky: It’s for Y/N, I’ll explain later. Get a move on. 

Bucky stealthily moved throughout the apartment, gun drawn at his side as he checked every dark corner for intruders. He holstered his weapon once he cleared the apartment, confident there were no threats hiding after his sweep. 

He went back through every room, cataloguing everything he could. His heart rate picked up as he came to the realisation that this wasn’t a burglary—the place was trashed, including valuable items thieves would’ve taken. This was a personal attack meant to scare you. He felt his body seizing in dread and guilt, knowing your job was the reason you had a target on your back.

Your bedroom got the brunt of the attack—your bed upturned, dresser drawers broken and flung around the room, your clothes ripped into shreds lying on the floor. Your bedside table was covered in what looked like pages from your journal, your private musings on display for anyone to see. 

Bucky’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he saw your underwear thrown throughout the room. Lace hanging from the light shade, ripped bras draped on the frame of your broken mirror, torn cotton in a pile on the floor. 

A protective rage gripped his chest at the sight—he felt like he was the one who had been violated. He didn’t want you to see this. He didn’t want you knowing a stranger had defiled the things you kept private, the intimate parts of you now exposed. 

Feeling ashamed at himself for even looking at your private belongings, he turned to exit your room. He took a few centering breaths, trying to squash the possessive beast stirring in his gut. 

His enhanced hearing picked up on a faint buzzing—something the normal human ear would’ve missed—coming from the bookcase opposite your bed. He approached it slowly, the buzzing growing louder. He raised his flesh hand and ran it down the wood on the back of the bookcase, his fingertip grazing a small raised bump. He pushed the bookcase away from the wall, eyes falling on the small bump—a listening device. 

Fuck.

This confirmed his worst fears—you are a target. Someone is surveilling you, terrorising your apartment and life, and for a reason he’s scared to find out.

He pulled his phone out again, this time texting Yelena.

Bucky: This was a targeted attack. I found a bug in her room. 

Yelena: Shit.

Bucky: Yeah. Bob’s getting the spare room at the tower ready now. Bring her up to pack a bag.

Pocketing the phone, Bucky swept the rooms—again—this time listening out for bugs. He found one more, tucked into a book on the bookshelf in the living room—one of the only books not ripped in half lying on the floor. The book stood out like a sore thumb against the chaos—whoever planted the bugs was trying to conceal them behind the destruction of your apartment.

It was sloppy, in his professional opinion.

He removed both bugs and placed them on your kitchen table, ready for Yelena to inspect as the two of you walked in the open door. 

You walked over to Bucky instantly, gazing at him with shining, red-rimmed eyes.

Still beautiful, he thought.

He tilted his head towards the bugs on the table before gently grabbing your arm and leading you to the bathroom. Once inside he closed the door, directing you to sit on the toilet as he squatted down to your level. 

He let go of your arm, lifting his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose—the action showing his clear distress at the situation. He sighed deeply before he looked at you with soft, troubled eyes. 

This was not how I had imagined him in my bathroom, the only helpful thing your brain could think of in this moment. 

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he started, voice low and comforting. “But…I believe you’re being targeted because of your job, because of us.” His flesh hand grabbed one of yours, squeezing gently. 

“I found two bugs—listening devices. One in the living room, and the other…the other was in your room.” He gripped your hand tighter at your sharp gasp echoing in the bathroom. “I’m so sorry, doll.”

You quickly wiped away the fresh tears streaming down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths as your mind raced. Not only had your place been wrecked, someone had been listening to you.

“Do—do you know, um, do you know how long? H-how long they’ve been listening?” You whispered tentatively, your voice cracking at the end. 

Bucky felt his heart tug towards you as he looked at the terror in your eyes. “I don’t know, doll. I have a feeling they’ve only been placed today, but we’ll take them back to the tower to run tests.”

He stood to his full height, gently pulling you up with him. “Go pack a bag. You’ll stay at the tower with us until we find who did this to you.” Bucky commanded gently, leaving no room for argument. 

Yelena had wrapped the bugs in multiple layers of fabric by the time you both reappeared, holding the bundle out to Bucky. “They’re pretty rudimentary, probably bought from the store on the corner. I’ll check surveillance cameras when we get back to the tower.” 

He nodded at her once, showing his thanks. “Help her pack. I’ll stand watch.” 

From Bucky’s position guarding the front door he heard your sharp intake of breath as you stepped into your room. He squeezed his eyes shut, guilt taking ahold of his chest. He should’ve warned you. 

He heard Yelena joking around softly, trying to distract you. “That shirt was unflattering, anyway. We’ll get you a whole new wardrobe—see how much we can put on the New Avengers credit card, yeah?” You were too tired to give her a response.

This was all his fault. 

————————

The car ride back to the Watchtower was completely silent. Bucky drove slower than before, his grip on the steering wheel loose now that he knew you were safe. You were in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window as you watched the setting sun encompass the city, casting everything in a pink and orange glow. Bucky’s eyes flickered to you every few minutes admiring the way the sunset shone on your hair, giving you a subtle halo.

Yelena was in the backseat, thumbs flying across her phone screen as she updated the team and tried to answer their questions before you got back to the tower. 

Ava: Is she ok? What can we do to help?

Bob: i made sure to give her our softest, nicest smelling sheets. should i run a bath for her??

Yelena: Ava, she’s as ok as someone would be having their privacy violated and life torn apart. Give her space, no bombarding her with questions, please.

Yelena: Bob, that is bordering on creepy. No bath running. 

Bob: shit i didn’t mean it like that!! just thought it might help her relax, i swear

John: Just wait until Barnes reads this, Bobby. He’s gonna wring your neck!

Yelena: Shut the fuck up and don’t be an insensitive ass for once in your life, Walker. You better be hiding in your room by the time we get up there. 

Bucky pulled into the Watchtower basement and jumped out of the car once parked, rounding the hood and opening your door in the blink of an eye. You stepped out slowly, watching in a daze as he grabbed your suitcase and bag from the trunk before guiding you to the elevator. Your chest squeezed at his chivalrous actions—he was a goddamn dreamboat and it was doing dangerous things to your heart. 

“We’ll go to the common room first, get you some food and water.” Bucky spoke as the elevator ascended, “I’m sure the team will want to check on you, too.”

You tried to hold in your sigh, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed. You were exhausted, and while the thought of the other New Avengers waiting for you brought you some comfort, you just wanted to pass out. 

You responded to Bucky with a hesitant quiet voice, “I’m not really that hungry…” You trailed off at the stern look in Bucky’s eyes, his brows furrowed in a frown. 

“I don’t care, doll. You need to eat.” 

The doors opening cut off any response you might’ve had. The rest of the team—minus Walker—jumped up from their spots on the couches, rushing over to make sure you were okay. 

Alexei was the first to reach you immediately pulling you into a tight bear hug, your feet lifting off the ground. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder briefly. This man had hugged you more in the past two weeks than your father had in your whole life. 

“We’ll make them pay, my solnyshko. No one who hurts you deserves to live.” You let out a huffed laugh despite yourself, Alexei’s violent promise soothing you. You had no doubt they would protect you like one of their own. 

Ava and Bob came over to check on you once Alexei let go, both offering reassuring smiles and promising their doors were open if you needed. You felt your eyes welling up again at their kindness and support.

Bucky led you over to the kitchen, instructing you to sit down at the island while he reheated yesterday’s leftovers  for you. He leaned against the counter opposite the island, watching you like a hawk as you ate a few pitiful spoonfuls. 

You lifted your eyes up meeting Bucky’s troubled, watchful gaze. Letting out a sigh, you spoke softly despite your frayed nerves. “Bucky, I—thank you for taking care of me, I really appreciate it.” 

Bucky’s hands tightened into fists at your gratitude, feeling sick with guilt that he was the reason you were even in this position. 

“But,” you continued. “I just want to shower and go to sleep. Please, I’m not hungry I swear—I had a big lunch.” You pleaded with the super soldier, wide eyes locked on his softening ones. 

He crossed his arms across his chest, the urge to pull you into his embrace overwhelming him. 

“Fine, I’ll show you to your room. Grab that glass of water.” Bucky relented, grabbing your stuff and taking you up to the bedroom level. 

You followed him down a long, wide hallway until he reached the door at the very end. He opened the door, sweeping his hand forward to signal you enter first. 

The room was bathed in a dim yellow light, the lamps on the bedside tables illuminating the place softly. The bed was pressed against the wall on the right—the plush, clean bedding beckoning you forward. In front of you, on the other side of the bed, were large windows overlooking the city—an open balcony door bringing in a gentle breeze that rustled the partially closed curtains. To the left of the windows was an open door—the bathroom, you presume—, a dresser with a TV atop it against the wall, and an open wardrobe door closer to where you stood.

Bucky walked in behind you, putting your bags next to the wardrobe and dresser. He cleared his throat slightly, getting your attention. “Ava is in the room to the left and—unfortunately—Walker is in the room across the hall.” A frown took over his face at the thought of John being close to you. “Sorry, this was the only spare room left. If you need anything, go to Ava first.”

He hesitated, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Otherwise, my room is at the other end of the hall, just past the elevator.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit. “You know, if no one else is around. Or if you wanted to talk, we can do that too,” he gave you a nervous smile as he briskly walked towards the door. 

He paused with his hand on the door, turning back to you. “Good night, doll. Sleep well.”

And with a soft click of the door, you were alone. 

————————

Bucky returned to the common room downstairs, hearing the tail end of Yelena’s recount of the afternoon. 

Ava was quick to offer a theory, “did we do a background check on the roommate? Seems like suspicious timing to go on a ‘romantic getaway’.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at Bucky who dismissed her with a small head shake. 

“Yes. There were no red flags.” Bucky responded gruffly. 

Bob was lying on the floor on his stomach with his head propped on his hands, squinting slightly as he tried to think of other theories. 

“Is she dating anyone? Maybe there’s a connection there,” he suggested, earning himself a glare from Bucky. 

Both woman on the couch behind Bob shook their heads. “No, we asked her about it last week.” Yelena muttered. “She said she’s not seeing anyone.”

That fact pleased Bucky absurdly. 

“Ah, my solnyshko, she’s a smart girl! Not wastin’ her time with silly boys,” Alexei exclaimed from his spot on the armchair—Bucky nodding along, agreeing with the unruly man.

He put his hands on his hips, letting out a deep sigh as he addressed the team.

“It’s because of us, we know that.” A tense silence filled the room, everyone feeling partly to blame for your life being in danger. Bucky continued after a beat, “still, we need to look into everyone we can—find out what stores she frequents, if she walks the same route, if she’s received strange messages on social media.” 

The soldier took charge, barking out orders to his teammates—everyone following his command with no complaint. He finished his drill sergeant routine with one last demand.

“Someone needs to have eyes on her at all times, got it?”

————————

The first week living at the Watchtower was hard to adjust to at first. 

You missed seeing your best friend everyday—she was begrudgingly staying with her parents while the team hunted down whoever broke in—even though you FaceTimed nearly every night. You couldn’t help but feel awkward staying at the tower; fully living with superheroes making you feel self-conscious and even more like a fraud than when you just worked for them. 

You found yourself walking around on your tip-toes, trying to make as little noise as possible to not disturb your new roommates. You tried keeping to yourself for the most part, retreating back to your room when you finished your work for the day, telling everyone you were wiped out from everything—which wasn’t a lie. You were still struggling with mental exhaustion after the break-in, but really you were just afraid of intruding into their lives. They didn’t ask for this, you were just a temporary guest who would be gone shortly. 

Your attempt to keep to yourself was foiled on Thursday evening, when you came out of your bathroom in your pyjamas to find Ava and Yelena lounging on your bed with bowls of snacks.

You felt your heart fly up to your throat, a gasp startling out of you as you clutched your chest in fright. 

“Jesus Christ! What are you two doing in here? Except for trying to give me a heart attack,” you exclaimed at the two woman, both now cackling at your scared response. 

“Oh, come on—we just wanted to spend time with you! No need to huff and puff,” Yelena responded with a teasing smile, patting the empty spot on the bed next to her in invitation. 

“Yelena convinced me to finally watch The Office, you should consider yourself lucky.” Ava contributed, throwing a lolly up in the air and catching it in her mouth. 

You fell asleep with your head on Yelena’s shoulder, exhausted from laughing and the sugar high crash. 

Yelena’s phone vibrated in her hand, Ava and her both smirking at the who the text was from.

Bucky: All good?

She angled her phone screen towards your sleeping form, snapping a selfie of you to send to the super soldier. 

Yelena: Yeah, she’s good. 

Bucky: Good. Thanks. 

The hardest thing to adjust to living in the tower was Bucky. He was everywhere. Every time you turned a corner, there he was—watching you with those sharp, unwavering blue eyes. He rarely went on missions, choosing to stay at the tower to chase down another dead end on your intruder. He assured you the team didn’t need him out on the field, they could manage without him. But really, he just wanted to keep an eye on you himself. 

He sat in the kitchen with you while you ate your lunch, not saying a word and not leaving until you cleaned your plate. You often found a vibranium hand shoving a glass of water in your face when you had gone an hour without a sip. 

“Gotta stay hydrated, doll.” Fuck him and his stupid Brooklyn accent. 

Your heart couldn’t cope with both his attention and the goddamn accent that was more prominent in the morning, slurred and raspy as he’s still waking up.

And what was with him calling you doll. Currents of electricity prickle your skin whenever he says the damned pet name—and when he says it with those soft eyes and faint smile? You think you might spontaneously combust. 

You thought working in close proximity to him every day was torture—living with him felt like hell. A sweet, brooding, muscle filled hell that had you screaming into your pillow, wanting to bang your head against the wall.

You felt even more frustrated than the week before, your body vibrating with pent-up tension that begged to snap every time you ogled Bucky’s shoulders—the arm. You were able to excuse your shaking leg, worried bottom lip, and stiff shoulders on post break-in anxiety. The prolonged gazing at the vibranium arm though? Yeah, you couldn’t blame that on anything.

Shuffling into the kitchen after midnight on your seventh night in the tower, you came to a halt in the doorframe. You rubbed your eyes, your brain not believing what you were seeing. Bucky was leaning against the kitchen sink bare-chested, sweatpants dangerously low on his hips, his eyebrows furrowing at the tablet in his right hand. His vibranium arm missing. 

Heat flared though you at the sight, desire stirring low in your belly. This was your worst nightmare and your sweetest wet dream.

Your eyes travelled the expanse of his broad muscular chest, your gaze catching on the dog tags hanging from his neck. 

The sound of the dishwasher finishing snapped you out of the trance Bucky’s chest had you in. He turned, putting the tablet on the counter next to the sink before opening the dishwasher and grabbing his vibranium arm. 

With his back turned to you, you watched in a daze as he lifted the arm to the shoulder socket. You held your breath as the arms circuitry gently hummed, a subtle click echoing in the quiet kitchen as he reconnected it seamlessly. His vibranium fingers twitched before he rotated his shoulder, spinning the arm in a fast circle to ensure smooth recalibration.

The breath you were holding punched out of you in a sharp gasp, your brain short-circuiting at what you just watched. 

What the fuck. 

Bucky knew it was you coming out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened. He smelt you before he heard you, your sweet scent wafting down the hallway—beckoning him towards you. He resisted the temptation, keeping his feet planted next to the dishwasher, waiting for his arm to finish cleaning. 

Only a couple more minutes.

He kept his eyes glued on the screen in his hand, barely taking in the security footage he was meant to be analysing. He watched from the corner of his eye as you stopped in the doorway, partially hidden in the shadows. Not hidden enough for his sanity—he could still make out the shape of your bare legs, his grip tightening around the tablet at the sight of your soft, plush thighs. His dick stirred at the thought of touching your smooth skin. Get a grip, Barnes.

The sound of the dishwasher finishing saved him from his dangerous, wandering mind. He grabbed the arm, reattaching it in a practiced manner that had become second nature. His shoulders pulled taut as he heard a little gasp sound out from your spot in the shadows, his head turning just in time to catch you hightailing it back towards the elevator.

At least he didn’t have to worry about you clocking his semi-hard dick twitching in his sweats.

You leaned back against the door once you were in the safety of your room, your chest heaving like you had run a marathon. You muttered out a string of curses, a feeling of hopelessness crashing down on you. You felt like crying—this wasn’t fair. The control he had over you—your reactions—rendered you powerless, reduced to a puddle at the simple act of him reconnecting his arm. 

It wasn’t just that you were physically attracted to him—no, that would’ve been a lot easier. He was a genuinely good guy. Kind, caring, furiously protective of those he loves. His Winter Soldier past didn’t scare you—he went through something unimaginable, you couldn’t even begin to comprehend the pain he’s felt. He could’ve sat with the pain, the anger—let it control him and take the rest of his life away. Instead he made amends, put in the hard fucking work and learned how to live with his trauma and not let it haunt him. 

You saw the little cracks in his rough exterior, the vulnerability slipping through his hard shell. The lines of exhaustion next to his eyes, the faraway look as a memory resurfaced. The late night trips to the kitchen when the nightmares refused to let him sleep.

It only made your heart yearn for him more—you wanted to see the soft Bucky who let his guard down. You craved to be by his side, maybe help take some of the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

Living with your crush—your boss—fucking sucked.

“Fuck it,” you whispered into the quiet of your room. 

You didn’t care about the promise you had made to yourself when you moved in a week ago. You didn’t care if your enhanced spy roommates heard you. You didn’t care about anything but the hunger overtaking your body, dampening your underwear.

You settled into the rumpled duvet on your bed, your hand wasting no time slipping under the waistband of your sleep shorts. You let out a breathy sigh as you felt the wet patch blooming on your underwear, your fingers gently pressing against it. 

He didn’t even say a word to you and here you were, needy and aching for him.

There was already a ball sitting heavy in your core—dormant, waiting for you to light the fuse. It sparked alive beneath your desperate fingers, sending flares of warmth through your veins. You pressed harder on the wet patch, the fabric catching on your sensitive clit—a small whine bubbling in your chest at the sensation. 

You continued to tease yourself, not stopping your movements until your underwear was completely soaked. Slick dripped down your ass, staining your shorts and the duvet underneath you. You failed to care about anything but the need for release, shaky breaths and barely audible whines filling the air as you pleasured yourself.

You finally dipped your fingers beneath your soiled underwear, gasping at the wet heat leaking from you. You circled a fingertip around your neglected hole, your body shuddering and hips jerking instinctively. Your other hand joined in, circling your aching clit that was begging for attention. A small moan escaped past your lips at the dual stimulation.

You squeezed your eyes tight as you pushed a single finger into your weeping core, a stuttered whine filling the room—you were pulsing, your core clenching with the pent-up desperation you had been feeling for weeks. You moved your finger slowly, rubbing it along your walls trying to find that special spot—wishing it was cold vibranium filling you instead. The fingers on your clit sped up at the thought, the feeling in your core building higher as you imagined it was Bucky’s fingers making you feel good. 

Soft, squelching noises emanated from your core, your urgent hands working yourself harder. The noises were almost imperceptible. Almost. You would’ve been embarrassed if it weren't for the primal need to come thrumming throughout your body, coiling deep in your belly. 

You were so close. Your back arching against the bed, mouth falling open with pants of “please” slipping freely. The finger in your pussy was thrusting harder, trying to hit your g-spot but still not reaching. The pleasure blooming in your chest started to morph into frustration, your hands cramping from exertion. You were so close. A pained groan vibrated up your throat as you felt your high slip through your fingers. 

“No, please, I’m so close,” you whimpered into the darkness, begging your body to grant you the release you desperately needed. You shifted your fingers slightly, hoping a change will bring the pleasure back. 

Nothing. You felt the warmth leave your body, shivering as the cold air in the room brought you back to reality. A single frustrated tear ran down your cheek as you pulled your hands away, the ruined orgasm gripping your chest painfully. You turned on your side, burrowing your face in the pillow and let out a single, small, annoyed scream. You wanted to cry.

Bucky felt the shift in the air the moment he stepped off the elevator. Your scent was bleeding through the walls, drifting from under your door and wrapping around him. The sweetness had reached intoxicating levels—he couldn’t focus on anything else. 

He lingered by the elevator, his body screaming at him to turn left instead of right—to walk towards your door instead of his own. He felt his hand start to sweat as your scent grew stronger, filling the hallway in a thick musk he could almost see. He inhaled deeply, pulling more of you into his lungs—an error on his part as his chest rumbled with a hungry growl. Saliva started to pool in his mouth, his vibranium arm whirring with barely contained restraint.

His body knew what was happening before his brain caught up, his enhanced hearing picking up a little gasp—unmistakably yours. 

His super soldier hearing focused on the noises behind your door without his permission. Everything faded around him as he listened to your small breathy whines, his semi-hard dick now straining against his sweats—fully hard and starting to leak.

Underneath your needy whines was a soft wet sound that had his brows furrowing. And then it finally clicked.

You were touching yourself.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

He felt the vein in his temple pulse, his jaw clenched in pain, his hands in fists so tight they were shaking. He had to go to his room. Now.

His feet disobeyed him, your noises and scent keeping him frozen in the hallway. He shouldn’t be listening to this, shouldn’t be listening to you in your most intimate and vulnerable state. 

Your needy pleas lured him closer—a hungry, primal instinct clawing at his chest, urging him to kick your door down and give you what you were desperately begging for. 

“No, please, I’m so close,” your whimper crawled under the closed door, embedding itself into his ears. His heart lurched at the desperation and pain in your voice—he could help you, make you feel better than anyone else could. 

A small sniffle and muffled, frustrated scream brought him out of his lust-filled daze, like ice water had been poured over him. The hallway came back into focus as he hastily turned on his heels, shame coursing through him as he slipped into his room quietly. 

He paced back and forth, berating himself for listening to you. For indulging in the fantasy of you on your back, aching and pleading for him. Berating himself for the raging boner that was pulsing at the thought of you, the sounds you were making in the solace of your room. 

He pulled at his hair, his scalp protesting from the sharp tug. His chest was heaving, sweat slicking the skin—the sounds you made replaying in his head like sweet torture.

Touching himself was out of the question—it would cross a line, a professional line, and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to take it back. 

He stood in his shower recounting horrible memories while his skin stung under the freezing cold water. He had been in the cold shower for at least 30 minutes, replaying the worst moments of his Winter Soldier past in the hopes they would distract him from you.

He left the bathroom still half hard, exhaustion and defeat weighing down his shoulders. He didn’t understand it—why is body wouldn’t listen to him, why he couldn’t regain full control of his reactions. He flopped on his bed, covering his face with his hands and letting out a prolonged groan. 

He tried to blame it on the fact he hadn’t gotten laid in a couple years. He was just insanely wound tight—the sounds of anyone getting off would’ve made him react like this…right? It had nothing to do with you. Absolutely nothing. Definitely not.

His mind wandered more as he willed sleep to rescue him from this torture—hell, he would prefer his usual nightmares over this.

He shot up from his bed, a possessive rage overwhelming his body so quickly it scared him. What if someone else heard you?

His breathing turned ragged at the thought. Walker was in the room right across from yours. If he wasn’t asleep he would’ve heard the same things Bucky had. He felt sick at the thought—hated that John might’ve been witness to the same vulnerable side of you that he had. He huffed out a growl, already imagining the godawful things John would say to you. 

That’s it. Walker was being kicked out come morning. 

————————

The next morning you were on the balcony, seated in the hanging egg chair while reading a book. Well, trying to read a book—you had reread the same paragraph four times, your brain struggling to focus after a restless night. 

“You should lock your door,” came a voice from the open balcony door. You jumped slightly, still not used to the spies you live with sneaking up on you.

Yelena was leaning against the doorframe, an iced latte in one hand and a breakfast burrito in the other. She held them out for you to grab, a bored expression on her face.

“I don’t need to lock it, I trust the team—what’s this for?” You replied, questioning the food she was holding out to you with a frown. 

The blonde sighed, exasperated. “It’s late breakfast—hurry up and eat. We need to get going.” She shoved the food into your hands impatiently, grabbing the book from you and skimming the pages while you ate hesitantly.

You took a gulp of the iced coffee, smiling at the fact she got your order right. Your smile quickly dropped as she peered at the book with more interest, her eyes widening slightly.

“So, you like romance books.” It wasn’t a question. You felt panic shoot through you at the growing smirk on her face.

You snatched the book out of her hands, your cheeks heating up and jaw dropping slightly as you read what she had.

She had flipped to a random page halfway through the book when you were only a few chapters in. The page was pure filth—detailed descriptions of the knight chasing the princess through a forest, pinning her against a tree and whispering the dirtiest things in her ear as he fucked her relentlessly, ignoring her pleas for him to slow down. 

“I—that’s not—” you stuttered out. “I haven’t read that part yet…” you trailed off in a small voice, finding the balcony floor utterly fascinating.

A soft chuckle had you lifting your head tentatively. Yelena’s smirk had softened, her eyes full of fondness as she took in your clearly embarrassed state.

“Relax, I’m not judging. Was gonna ask if I could borrow it after you’ve finished.” She paused, her roaming eyes taking in the exhaustion lining your face. 

“You okay?” She asked softly, worried. 

Your heart bloomed at her concern. “I’m fine, had a rough sleep.”

She nodded once before grabbing your breakfast and walking back into your room.

“Come on,” she yelled over her shoulder. “You can eat on the way. Ava and Bob are downstairs waiting for us.”

You scrambled after her, grabbing your shoulder bag and jumping around your room trying to get your shoes on. You briefly glanced in the mirror on your way out, deeming your current outfit as acceptable for spring in New York.

“Waiting for us? Where are we going?” You questioned Yelena, rushing after the spy who was halfway to the elevator. 

She whipped the New Avengers credit card out of her pocket, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “We’re taking you shopping!”

Ava and Bob were waiting in the downstairs foyer, matching iced coffees in their hands. You were slightly surprised at Bob joining the girls shopping trip.

You exchanged brief hellos with the two of them, surprised again when Ava pulled you into a tight hug.

“Bob, please don’t take this the wrong way…but why are you joining us?” You questioned the man with one raised brow.

He didn’t take offence, chuckling slightly and shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not the first time—I like hanging with you girls, beats being stuck in the tower with moody super soldiers who have complicated histories.”

“Besides,” he continued. “I want to buy more books.”

You started off with replacing your wardrobe essentials, feeling a bit upset over the fact you had to replace anything. The other three caught on immediately, catching the tired sighs and frown on your face as you browsed racks.

Ava gently grabbed your hand, pulling you across the store to the more expensive, more lush clothing. 

“Go hard, girl. You deserve it.” She squeezed your hand once before turning to a silk blouse and running her hand along it. “Now this—you are definitely trying this on.” 

Bob and Yelena came over, joining Ava in picking items off the rack and throwing them on the growing pile in your hands. Bob surprisingly had good taste, you understood why the girls brought him along.

The dressing room was completely empty—thanks to Yelena bribing the store manager to close the store for you—and half of the New Avengers were chanting at you for a fashion show, mimosas in their hands.

This was absolutely ridiculous. How the hell were you now clothes shopping with superheroes cheering you on?

You felt self-conscious at first—you didn’t like being the centre of attention, didn’t like people staring at your body purposely—but it was hard to stay hidden in your shell with three very attractive people hyping you up.

Bob clapped every time you stepped out of the stall, Yelena whistled loudly and told you to spin every time—lightly slapping your ass in really flattering jeans once—, and Ava made appropriate helpful comments. Well, mostly appropriate. 

“Ten out of ten, I would bang.” Yelena hummed her agreement, nodding as she sipped her mimosa.

“Do you only date men?” You laughed, caught off guard before returning to the stall with red cheeks.

“Not a flattering colour—next one.” You respected the honesty.

“I’m sorry but I’m only looking at your boobs right now.” Bob choked on his virgin mimosa at that.

Each time you returned to the stall feeling more confident, a large smile on your lips as you checked yourself out in the mirror. 

You weren’t expecting the jaw-dropped reaction all three had when you stepped out in the first dress. It was a little out of your comfort zone, showing more skin than you were used to and hinted at the curves you kept hidden.

“What?” You asked, nervously rubbing your hands along the soft cotton. “Does it look that bad?” You started to gnaw on the inside of your cheek. You thought it looked good.

Yelena got over her shock first.

“No! No, no, no, no. It looks—you look amazing.” She looked at the other two who had composed themselves, worried they made you feel bad. 

“Seriously, you look great. I think we’re all just a little…surprised.” The other two hummed. “We’ve never seen you in a dress before.”

The reassurance put you at ease. “Oh! Right. Yeah, I don’t like wearing them at work.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Go! I want to see more,” Ava waved her hand at you, motioning towards the stall.

You heard a low mutter from Yelena to the others. “…he’s not going to cope with that.” 

Every dress you tried on made you feel good, and the reactions from your friends made you feel even better. Your cheeks hurt from constantly smiling at their antics, your skin permanently flushed at their endless compliments, your stomach sore from laughing at their bickering. 

Finally, you got to the dress you were most excited to try on. The dark green grabbed your eye immediately, the satin smooth along your fingertips. The lace trim along the chest and the short length were more daring than you would usually go for, but you felt it calling to you.

Trying it on in the stall you were taken aback by your reflection. You looked really good. Like, you don’t think a dress has looked better on you. 

Yelena let out a long, low whistle as you stepped out. Ava motioned her head exploding as she looked you up and down multiple times. Bob looked at you quickly before darting his eyes away, holding two thumbs up in your direction.

“You’ve been hiding all this from us?” Yelena asked incredulously. “You’re buying one in every colour—that’s an order.” She shared a conspicuous look with the other two before adding, “I think Barnes would agree with me on that.”

Bob snorted loudly, trying and failing to cover it with a cough.

Ava had a sly smirk on her face, nodding and humming at Yelena’s comment.

You narrowed your eyes at the trio, trying to figure out what they were insinuating.

“…okay, whatever that means.” 

Your eyes bulged at the total your shop came to—it was way more than one weeks pay, and the New Avengers paid you well. Yelena didn’t care, handing the card over before you could protest.

“One last stop and then we’ll go home. Bob, time for you to go look for books!” Bob rolled his eyes at Yelena shooing him away. He grabbed as many bags out of your arms as he could before crossing the road to the old bookstore on the corner.

The girls led you down the street before stopping in front of Victoria’s Secret. Right, you needed to replace majority of your underwear too. Cool.

You felt comfortable with them, but the repressed virgin in you was nervous to be lingerie shopping with them. 

They let you do your thing for the most part. They browsed for themselves for ten minutes, keeping an eye on you at all times—Bucky’s orders.

They slowly drifted over as you approached the racks of matching sets, drawn towards a delicate lace set.

“That would suit your complexion well,” Ava offered casually, holding up a set for herself squinting and then putting it back on the rack.

“Mmm. That set would look good with your hair,” Yelena nodded towards a satin set on your left.

You picked it up, tilting your head considering it before returning it.

“Not like anyone’s ever going to see it,” you muttered absentmindedly, scrunching your nose up at a hot pink cheetah print set. Not your thing.

The two woman stilled at your words, sensing bitterness in your tone.

“What do you mean by that?” Yelena asked.

You froze as you realised your tiny slip up. Of course they picked up on it, they’re goddamn spies.

“I mean, because like—I’m staying at the tower! Can’t really bring anyone home,” you chucked awkwardly, neck and cheeks flushing. 

You refused to make eye contact with either of them, grabbing a few sets before moving over to the section of slips and babydolls.

They followed, curious at your rambling. 

“I thought you said you weren’t dating?” Ava asked, adding a navy babydoll to the pile she was collecting for you.

“Yeah, no, I’m not. It was just a silly comment. You know, dry spell and all that,” you waved a hand dismissively.

Both women relented their questioning, humming in agreement.

“Oh yeah, we get that. Bit hard to find time to date when you’re saving the world,” Ava chuckled. 

They hung back as you looked around more, appreciating the breathing room.

Yelena looked at Ava serious, unyielding. “We are not dropping this. Next post-mission drinks, the three of us are having a wine night in my room.”

Ava nodded, expression just as serious. “Agreed. She’s too vague, I need to know more.”

Yelena snickered, a thought crossing her mind as she eyed the abundance of lace and silk in your hands. “If you think about it, technically Barnes is paying for her lingerie—it’s his signature on the credit card.”

Ava smacked her arm lightly with wide elated eyes. “That’s so good. Make sure you mention that to him, I want to see him squirm.” The both of them started cackling, relishing at the thought of teasing the Winter Soldier. 

————————

The three of you returned to the Watchtower to find Bob waiting in the common room, your shopping bags on the couch next to him. 

He raised his eyebrows at the amount of bags you had in your hands. “Damn, should we expect an angry call from Val? That’s a lot of shopping.”

Your cheeks went bright red, terrified that the big bad boss was going to hunt you down for splurging on lingerie. “You guys told me to not worry about—oh my god, she’s totally going to kill me! What the fuck guys?” You started to spiral, eyes wide with fear.

“Hey, no you’re fine—Bob was just joking. Weren’t you, Bob?” Yelena glared at him as she rubbed your shoulders soothingly. 

“Yes—yep! Totally joking!”

The conversation trailed off as John walked in from the kitchen clutching an ice pack against his right eye, his bottom lip cut and bleeding. He looked awful.

Yelena let out a low whistle at him, “looks like you fought a bear and lost.”

John rolled his eyes, wincing as the small movement pulled on his injuries. 

“If by bear you mean Barnes, then yeah. Dude had something to prove today—he was not pulling his punches at all.”

Yelena’s eyes darted to you briefly before she stepped towards him. She slowly muttered, voice low and serious, “what did you do.”

“Nothing! Why do you always think I did something?” John brushed her off. He looked past her to the rest of the room before his eyes fell on you.

His eyes going up and down your body made you want to disappear. You crossed your arms over your chest, his eyes darting to the shopping bags in your hands. You watched in slight horror at the wicked smile that stretched his lips, the cut on his bottom lip bleeding more. 

“Oh, princess,” he chuckled shaking his head mockingly, like a predator about to pounce. You felt sick. 

“You know just how to make me feel better. How about you give me a little show and tell of what you bought? Somewhere private, just the two of us.” 

You flinched in disgust at Walker, stepping back instinctively. Shocked tears welled behind your eyes—why would he say something like that?

In the blink of an eye, Alexei appeared behind Walker, gripping the back of his neck harshly. He jerked Walker’s head back, hissing into his ear. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Yelena kneed Walker in the balls, hard. The man dropped to his knees, howling as Yelena took another shot. 

“That’s why I think you did something! What is wrong with you?” She seethed through clenched teeth, outraged at what Walker had said to you.

Bob was at your side by this point, resting a gentle arm on your shoulder, his fingers tracing soft comforting circles. He showed his repulsion at John’s words, his face scrunched in disbelief. “What the hell, man. That was uncalled for.”

Bucky stilled as John’s voice drifted down the hallway to the gym. He was paused mid-action, reaching up to hang his third punching bag in the last hour. The bag dropped heavy on the floor as Bucky stormed down the hall towards John. Towards you.

His teeth were clenched hard, the pain radiating up to his eyes. He could only see red. Could only feel a bloodthirsty anger taking control of him. He should’ve knocked Walker out during their sparring session. 

Rounding the corner into the common room his eyes fell on you instantly. Arms wrapped around your torso, shrinking towards Bob—trying to hide yourself. 

Bucky was on John in a flash, wrapping his vibranium fist around the man’s neck before slamming him into the wall. 

John grabbed the arm around his neck as he choked slightly, eyes wide with fear as he looked at Bucky. He has never seen Bucky this angry before. His eyes were narrowed slightly, dark and shining wild, dangerously. The vein in his forehead was bulging and his neck was a dark red with barely contained restraint.

Walker held his hands up slowly, preferring to surrender than deal with the beast Barnes was seconds from unleashing.

The older man leaned in slowly, his voice a low growl. “Apologise to her. Now.”

Walker swallowed nervously, his throat straining under the vibranium hold. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay—I was just teasing! Honestly, that was wrong—I’m sorry, princess.” He started to panic as Bucky’s hand gripped tighter, “I promise I won’t say anything like that again—I swear!”

Bucky didn’t believe him, refusing to let go until your voice called out behind him softly.

“Bucky, you can let him go. I’m okay.” He turned his head slightly, seeing you standing closer to him than before—no longer hiding next to Bob. 

His eyes bore into yours, scanning. He could only find a sincere warmth in your expression—no anger, no fear.

He let go of John’s neck, glowering at him as he scrambled to leave the room.

“Stop calling her princess. She doesn’t like it,” Bucky’s booming voice ordered John.

“Yes, sir!” And with that John bolted towards the elevator down the hall. 

You watched in a slight daze as Bucky walked towards the couch to grab all your shopping bags. He nodded towards Ava and Yelena, motioning them to hand him the bags of yours they were holding. 

He walked towards you slowly, his eyes searching your face for any unease. Satisfied that you appeared mostly okay, he rested his right hand gently on the small of your back. 

“Big day, huh?” He murmured, trying to lighten the mood as he guided you towards the elevator. 

You let out a breathy chuckle, “yeah, you could say that. I think I need a nap now.” 

You walked in silence down the hall, both of your minds whirring with what just happened. Bucky opened your door before letting you in first—always the gentleman. 

He placed the shopping bags on the ground next to your bed, trying to ignore the sweet sounds from the night before replaying in his head as he briefly glanced at the bed. Your scent was surrounding him and he felt like a drug addict taking a hit after years sober. 

His eyes scanned the rest of the room, noticing the little things you had done to make it your own. The photo on the bedside table caught his eye, the one of you and your best friend mid-laugh. You looked happy—head thrown back, eyes squinted with joy, large breathless smile on your face. He wanted to see you like that—to make you laugh like that. 

He found himself looking at the photo Yelena sent him of you sleeping more often than he’d ever admit. He didn’t save it to his phone—no, that would be creepy—instead he scrolled through their texts every time he wanted to see you. 

You moved behind him, putting the Victoria’s Secret bags on the bed—unintentionally drawing his attention to the bags, to what might be in them. 

He felt his blood rushing south—the image of whatever you bought and the sounds you made last night playing on a loop in his head.

I’m no better than Walker, he thought as he focused all his super soldier strength on calming himself down.

You sat down on the bed to start taking off your shoes, oblivious to the turmoil you were inadvertently causing the man. 

You looked up at him hesitantly before asking, “how did you know I don’t like him calling me princess? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it…” You trailed off.

It’s all your brain could focus on—well that, and how fucking hot Bucky looked pinning Walker to the wall. Yeah, you know you’ll be thinking about that a lot. 

But you were curious—you were so sure you didn’t mention your dislike of the nickname to anyone, not even the girls. 

Bucky sighed, shoving his hands in his front pockets with a shrug. “I could see it on your face whenever he said it. You looked uncomfortable.” He tried to play it off casually, like it was no big deal.

But it was a big deal to you—that he paid enough attention to notice that you hated the nickname. Or at least, hated when John called you it.

“I’m sorry he said that shit to you, doll. I don’t know why he would—you don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.” Your breath hitched at the earnest look in his eyes, almost pleading.

“He can sleep in the med bay—on the street, for all I care. He’s not coming near you.” The protective rasp in his voice had your heart soaring. Fuck, he was hot. 

You took a slow breath in to calm your nerves, feeling worked up from how caring and attractive he was being. 

“Thank you, Bucky. I’m okay—it’s not the worst thing I’ve heard,” that didn’t make him feel any better. 

“I just wasn’t expecting him—someone I work with—to say something like that.” You looked down at your hands, nervously picking at the skin around your nails. Your voice grew quieter, “I feel weird that he lives across the hall, you know?”

Bucky crouched down in front of you, placing his flesh hand on top of your fidgeting ones. He looked at you with an intense expression—sharp jaw clenched tight, brows set in a hard line, blue eyes steely. 

“I’ll make Yelena swap rooms with him. I don’t want you feeling scared here. We’re meant to be protecting you, doll.” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear gently with his vibranium hand—a stark contrast to the hand choking John not even ten minutes ago.

You leaned your head towards the hand subconsciously—barely an inch.

He stood up like he had been shocked, clearing his throat before walking towards the door. He stopped, gave you a brief wave and closed the door behind him.

————————

“We’re still on for Friday night, right?” 

It was Wednesday night and you were FaceTiming your best friend while you were getting ready for bed. 

The tower had recovered after John’s inappropriate comments on Sunday—he stayed away for a couple nights and came back with apology gifts for everyone, promising he would stop being a creep. You believed him for the most part—there was an inherent creepiness to Walker that you don’t think he would ever be rid of. Still, you appreciated that he was trying.

It helped that Bucky had kept true to his word and ordered Yelena to swap rooms with John. Now it was a little girls corner with Yelena opposite you and Ava right next to you—you felt safe. This place was starting to feel more like home. 

The team sat you down before you finished work earlier to give you an update on the break-in. The update was that there was no update—they had hit dead ends with all their leads and there was nothing new to go off. You were disappointed, not in the team but at being away from your best friend—your home—for longer. You only left the tower when joining someone on a coffee run and you were getting major cabin fever. 

You dreaded having to give your friend the news that there was no news. She took it how you expected—dramatic sighs, eye rolling, complaining on where her tax money was going. She found a silver lining quickly, though. She had moved out of her parents place a week ago—they were having too many arguments and she couldn’t cope—and was now staying with her boyfriend. And from what she spent over an hour telling you, they were having great sex. A lot of it. 

You frantically grabbed your headphones from your bag when her voice rang out in your quiet room. “He made me come hard from just sucking my ni—.” God, you hoped no one heard that. You had become used to her sharing explicit details about her sex life, but it still made the virgin in you get both uncomfortable and insanely jealous. 

“What’s on Friday?” You asked her, rubbing moisturiser over your face and neck.

“We were gonna go out for my birthday? I couldn’t get Saturday night off work so we talked about going to karaoke on Friday instead…” Your friends voice came through your phone, her tone showing her hurt at you forgetting.

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Shit…I am so sorry—with everything going on I completely forgot.” You opened your eyes and watched her shoulders deflate through the screen. You felt horrible for forgetting and letting her down—it wasn’t just your life that had been uprooted, she lost her apartment and stability too. 

She huffed grumpily, “they keep you locked away in that tower like Rapunzel—there’s no way they’ll let you come out!” She cried out, clutching her chest like she was in pain. “I need this so badly. I miss us so much—we haven’t drunk wine and gossiped for weeks.” She sniffled and ran a hand under her eye, acting like she was crying.

Despite her dramatics you really did want to go out. It had been months since you went out dancing with her and you needed a night to let loose a little. Determination surged through you—you were going to make Friday night happen.

“Okay, I’ve got a plan. I’ll convince them it’s safe—don’t worry, we’re still going out on Friday.” You assured your friend.

After your phone call ended you flicked Ava and Yelena a text.

Y/N: I have a favour to ask you both. Please. 

Two minutes later you heard sharp knocks on your door before it opened, Yelena and Ava rushing inside. 

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked as she sat next to you on the bed, Yelena sitting on your other side.

You smiled slightly, touched by their concern. “Nothing’s wrong, I just need some help.”

Their shoulders eased slightly, both nodding at you to continue.

“So, it’s my best friend’s birthday this weekend and I completely forgot we made plans weeks ago to go out, and now with everything going on I don’t know if Bucky will let me go—I really need to go, I’ve been such a shit friend to her lately—and I need you two to convince him it’s safe and I’ll be fine!” You took in a deep breath after your explanation. 

Ava glanced hesitantly at Yelena—she was fairly certain Barnes would punch them both for suggesting you go out without protection.

Yelena smirked in response—she knew she could guilt trip him into letting you go. “Don’t you worry, solnyshko. I’ve got this.”

And she was right. After telling Barnes he was taking your youth away, keeping you as a prisoner, ruining your friendship with your best friend—that was a low blow, she’ll admit—, he finally conceded to Yelena. But only if she promised she would watch you the whole night—without you knowing.

“I am a highly skilled spy, Barnes. I know how to track a target without detection.” She was offended he even implied you would find out.

“I know. It’s just—I don’t think she’d be happy knowing we followed her,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, uncomfortable letting you go out but more worried you would be upset at them watching your night out with your friend. It felt like they were invading your privacy. 

“She’ll never know.”

————————

You don’t know what Yelena said to Bucky to let you go out tonight but you were not going to question her methods. 

You weren’t exactly enthused about the safety on a night out lesson they gave you earlier, though. You felt like a teenager being lectured by her parents before senior prom. 

“You guys do realise I’m an adult, right? I’ve been out plenty of times before,” you grumbled with your arms crossed, glaring at Bucky on the other side of the common room. 

Sure you had an unhealthy crush on the man, but you were allowed to be annoyed at him when he was treating you like a child. 

Bucky ignored your grumbling, continuing his speech. “Do not let anyone buy you a drink, or leave your drink unattended. Don’t take any random drugs—,”

“Oh, but I can take drugs I recognise?” Your sarcasm ignored by Barnes, again.

“—and no leaving the group you’re with. I’m serious,” he added when your shoulders shook with a laugh. 

“I’ve got it, dad. You just listed the main rules for a night out when you’re a woman,” you raised an expectant eyebrow at Bucky.

He sighed warily, “fine, you can go now. You run into any trouble, you call me right away. Got it?”

It was nearing 8pm and you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, sitting crosslegged on the floor at your friends boyfriend’s apartment not far from the Watchtower. 

“Why haven’t we been hanging out more? We’re only a few blocks away from each other!” You yelled to your best friend who was curling her hair in the bathroom.

“Because, I’ve been busy working…and having a lot of sex. Besides, you weren’t allowed outside until today!” She yelled back at you, hard to hear over the throwback playlist blaring through the speaker next to you.

“Firstly, ew. Secondly, I have been allowed outside! Maybe only with a chaperone, but progress right?”

She came out of the bathroom, joining you on the floor in front of the mirror. “Yeah, but I don’t really want your superhero chaperones to hear me talk about my sex life.”

You threw a makeup brush at her face lightly, “hmm, it’s almost like you should talk about your sex life less, then.”

She gave your arm a light pinch, “oh, shut up. We both know you love hearing all my stories—you get your action vicariously through me.”

You laughed at her before focusing back on your reflection in the mirror. You were still in your work clothes, having run here straight from the tower after Bucky’s dad lecture. In your bag was the satin lace trim dress you had bought on Sunday.

Your friends boyfriend had left you two alone at the apartment, opting to have beers with his friends before meeting you both after karaoke. The plan was to meet a couple of your old friends from the diner at karaoke, and then go out dancing with his friends. You hadn’t met his friends yet, but you decided to leave that part out when you told the New Avengers the plan. They were already overly protective and you didn’t want to ruin your friends birthday. 

You grabbed the dress out of the bag and headed into the bathroom to get changed. It still fit you the same as when you first tried it on. The satin clung to your curves in all the right places, accentuating your waist and hips, ending just above mid thigh. The lace trim sat flush against your breasts, straining slightly when you inhaled—the new bra you were wearing pushing your chest up more than you were used to. It was formfitting but you still felt like you could breathe, not feeling the instinct to cover your body self-consciously.

Would Bucky like the dress, you pondered. 

You went back into the living room, spinning with a flourish for your friend. 

“Holy shit! Look at you, girl.” Her jaw dropped and you giggled at her reaction, feeling a slight buzz from the glass of wine you had while getting ready. 

“No, but seriously—what the fuck? You look incredible—effortlessly sexy.” She shook her head in disbelief, a cheeky smile forming on her face. “You know, if I didn’t have a boyfriend and we both liked girls I would definitely fuck you.”

Red flushed your cheeks as you tried to control your giggles, happy that you were spending time with your best friend again. 

You stood behind her while you looked in the mirror, pinning your curls in a messy half up half down style. Your friend watched with a small smile on her face, noticing how you glowed more now. 

“I think working for the superheroes suits you—you seem more confident, more comfortable in your own skin.”

Your heart clenched, feeling taken aback that she noticed that—you hadn’t. 

“So, any progress with Bucky vibranium arm Barnes yet?” 

————————

8:45pm

Yelena: Target walking into the karaoke bar now.

9:15pm

Yelena: Good thing she’s cute, she sucks at singing. 

9:45pm

Yelena: I think they’ve been through Rihanna’s whole discography. 

10:15pm

Yelena: Now they’re massacring Avril Lavigne.

10:45pm

Yelena: En route to a rooftop bar. 

11:15pm 

Yelena: At least she can move her hips…

Bucky: And you needed to tell me that, why?

Yelena: Just thought you might like to know. 

You raised your hands above your head, swaying your hips from side to side as the bass from the Calvin Harris song vibrated through your body. The alcohol loosened your movements, helping you escape your head and focus on the atmosphere of the lively bar around you.

Your friend came back to the group, holding a tray of shots for everyone. You knew that it was tequila immediately. Before you could protest, tell your friend she knows how you are with tequila, she gave you her best puppy dog eyes.

“Please, for me? C’mon, it’s my birthday!”

Two rounds of shots later and you were dancing with your friend, her hands on your hips and yours around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics to Buttons in each other’s face with matching grins. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled in awareness—the feeling like someone was watching you washing over your body.

You spun around, scanning the bar for anything suspicious—for anyone looking at you. Your eyes were drawn to a dark corner of the smokers area, squinting to see if there was a figure hiding in the shadows or if it was the bars strobe lights messing with your vision. Nothing. 

You turned back to your friend, feeling on edge and needing another drink. “I’m going to the bar!” You shouted over the music, getting a thumbs up in response.

Yelena watched you walk over to the bar from her spot in the corner, studying your now tense shoulders. She watched as the bartender stopped his conversation with another woman to serve you, flashing you a flirty smile while checking you out. She watched as the woman glared at you stealing the bartenders attention, shoulder checking you hard enough to make you stumble. 

The cogs in Yelena’s brain started to turn, replaying the scene she just witnessed—a woman’s clear jealously over something that wasn’t your fault. She thought about the levels of psychological torture women inflict on each other, how they play games to terrorise their competition. 

The crime scene photos from your apartment flashed in her mind. The destruction, the carelessness screamed male intruder. But the destruction of your journal, your underwear—that screamed intentional psychological torment. The fact someone had put your private musings on display, laid out all your vulnerabilities for anyone to see—only a resentful ex or jealous woman would want to inflict that kind of terror. And from what the team could find out, there were no resentful exes in your past—no exes at all, actually. 

After coming to the realisation that they had been looking for the wrong suspects entirely, Yelena focused her attention back on the bar where you were. Or, had been a couple minutes ago. 

11:48pm

Bucky: What’s going on?

She rolled her eyes at Barnes’ impatience—she was only a few minutes late for her half hour check in.

Her eyes found you near the exit to the bathrooms, back pressed against the wall as a guy leaned into your personal space. She recognised him as one of the guys that joined your group at the bar, but your body language showed you weren’t friendly. Arms crossed over your chest, tense polite smile, body leaning away from him. Clearly you did not want his attention.

11:49pm

Yelena: She’s fine.

Bucky: Fine? Why didn’t you report back on time?

Yelena: Jesus Christ, it was only 4 minutes Barnes! And yes, fine. 

Yelena: Want me to send you a photo of her flirting with some guy? 

Bucky: No. Why the fuck would I want that?

You were on your way to the bathroom when Dean—or was it Derek?—cornered you with a suggestive smile on his face. He was cute enough, total surfer dude vibes—curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, face sprinkled with freckles. 

Normally, a guy like him flirting with you would’ve made you flustered—not believing he would be interested in you—but you had already watched him strike out with two other women in the last half hour. He was just looking to get laid and you were the third choice. A friend of a friend. Safe backup. And you couldn’t help but notice the differences.

His eyes were blue, but not the right blue. They were unsettling, almost unnatural. They weren’t the icy, yet somehow warm, blue that you would feel staring at you across the common room. He was physically fit, but more on the lanky side—his shoulders weren’t much wider than your own. No beefy muscles that tower over you. His face was clean shaven and smooth, no scruffy stubble or fine lines. He was a boy, not a man.

And you wanted a man. A brooding, traumatised, immensely protective man. A man you couldn’t have.

You half-heartedly listened to him brag about his surfing awards—called it—nodding your head at appropriate times while looking for an excuse to leave the conversation.

Your excuse came skipping over with a demand for one more dance before heading home. 

12:15am

Yelena: She’s on her way back to you. 

Yelena: I have a new theory on the intruder. Will debrief the team in the morning. 

————————

Bucky knew something was wrong the second you stepped off the elevator in the common room. He was in the gym—where he usually finds himself when he can’t stop thinking about you—pummelling his fourth punching bag for the night when your perfume, your scent, graced his nose. But, it was different. There was another smell, another scent, overpowering your sweet one. It was harsh, metallic—stinging his nose and leaving a stale taste in his mouth. It smelt like cheap cologne a teenage boy would wear. 

The realisation had him freezing—his muscles pulling taut, jaw clenched achingly tight, a deep burning in his stomach. You had brought someone—a guy—back to the tower. A possessive growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest. 

No. No, you wouldn’t do that.

His feet carried him to the kitchen without his awareness—his mind spiralling about who the fuck you brought home and why Yelena didn’t tell him. Was it the guy she said you were flirting with? The thought made him sick.

The sounds of cupboards banging closed met his ears. And then the sound he had been enraptured with since the first day—soft humming. Your soft humming.

You’re home. You’re safe. 

He focused on his hearing more, trying to pick up any other noises—the shuffling of shoes on the tiles, a deep chuckle, a man’s voice. He could only hear you.

But, that goddamn smell suffocating yours had only gotten stronger and it made it hard for Bucky to control his breathing—to calm down. 

The vein in his forehead was bulging, his neck strained and red, when he got to the door to the kitchen. 

He stopped short, his heart stuttering in his chest and his brain malfunctioning. 

There you were, standing at the kitchen counter with your back turned to him. Quietly humming and gently swaying your hips like you usually do when you’re here alone. He’s seen you do this before, from his spot in the shadows.

But he’d never seen you like this before. Curls messy and frizzy from dancing, hips moving with drunken freedom—like you’re still listening to the music at the bar. 

Tantalising satin and lace embraced your thighs, but he couldn’t appreciate that—not when a stiff, ill-fitting, man’s leather jacket obstructed the rest of your dress. 

A low hiss escaped through his teeth, his fists clenching with the visceral urge to rip the damn thing off of you. Before he could take a step forward, you opened a cabinet above your head reaching up on your tiptoes to grab a glass. 

Bucky watched in pure agony as the jacket lifted, exposing the satin hugging your ass. His blood rushed south as the lace trim inched up your thighs, revealing more of your soft, plush skin to the starved man. 

The show you had unknowingly put on stopped as you stepped back, moving to the sink to fill a glass with water. 

“Good night?” Bucky doesn’t remember opening his mouth, doesn’t remember stepping out of the shadows.

You whirled around in fright, a small scream leaping from your throat. The glass in your hand slipped and smashed on the kitchen tiles, covering your shoes in water and shards of glass.

Before your sluggish, intoxicated mind could comprehend what happened you were lifted in the air, two strong hands gripping your leather and satin covered hips. You were gently placed on the counter behind you, the cold shock of the marble on your bare thighs barely registering. You could only focus on the hands clutching you and the soft blue eyes staring into yours. 

Your heart lurched and your breath stuttered. Bucky.

Looking so devastatingly handsome inches from your face. Dark sweaty strands framing his face, teasing the sharp line of his jaw. Your fingers twitched with the urge to push his hair behind his ear, the want to trail your fingers along his sculpted face multiplying tenfold thanks to the tequila. You felt like you were drowning in his cerulean blues, your body inching towards his unconsciously. Your brain was a foggy haze that could only focus on him. His hands that you wish were on your bare hips, his electric eyes roaming over your features, his lips that looked so fucking enticing. 

“Always so clumsy, doll.” Bucky muttered quietly, his hands squeezing your hips once before taking a step back.

Then, he squatted down. Right between your legs. 

A soft gasp left you at the sight of him kneeling in front of your legs. The alcohol in your system unlocked the flood gates in your mind, the images you had conjured late at night with your hand between your legs surging forward. Your legs shifted open more in response, a liquid heat flowing through your nerves and gathering low in your belly—the coiled ball you were oh so familiar with waking up like an angry beast.

Bucky hated that fucking jacket. It’s all he could think of as he squatted down to clean up the broken glass. He was so close to you, closer than he’s ever been and he couldn’t even appreciate it because that god awful cheap cologne smell was dominating over your intoxicating sweetness. His hands clenched tightly—they were itching with the need to feel your hips through satin, to rip off the leather and burn it so it was just you and him.

He made the mistake of lifting his head to look at you. Sitting above him looking like a dream—lips parted slightly letting out shallow breaths, glazed over eyes dark and dilated, messy curls clinging to your sweat dampened forehead. His eyes helplessly traced down your neck like they had a mind of their own. He couldn’t control when they drifted lower, zeroing in on the frantic rise and fall of your chest. The lace trim of your dress straining against your breasts with every breath in. You looked like sin, like his favourite wet dream.

He snapped his eyes back to the floor with visible effort, the muscles in his face twitching to get more of the sinful view of you above him. His dick twitched in his sweats, the need he felt last week swelling dangerously. 

Just pick up the glass, Barnes. Don’t think about the soft skin right in front of you. Soft, sweet smelling skin.

You managed to find your voice as he looked down, picking up the shards of glass. “Not m’fault,” you mumbled softly. “You snuck up on me.” 

He let out a low chuckle, his breath ghosting your shins and erupting goosebumps all over your body.

“You should pay better attention to your surroundings.” The side of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Had a bit to drink, doll?” 

The sight of him kneeling at your feet with the mischievous glint in his eyes as he reprimanded you and called you doll. It was too much.

Your body responded before your mind could catch up. Your mouth parted more, letting out a shuddering breath. Wetness leaked from your core and dampened your panties, your thighs clenching together as your pussy throbbed with need. 

A wave of your sweetness broke through the scent of the leather jacket. Bucky’s nostrils flared, instinctively taking in a deep lungful of your smell. A muscle in his jaw twitched as his focus wavered, his hands trembling with the effort to not pull you closer and bury his head in between your thighs. 

The sweet musk surrounded him like fog, stronger than the night he listened to you touch yourself. His brain proved it was his own worst enemy—pulling forth the sounds he had been replaying every night. Your pathetic, desperate little whines. Your breathy, pleading gasps. 

The squeak of the leather jacket as you shifted tore him from his trance, reminding him where he was. In the kitchen, cleaning up glass that was now digging into his clenched hands, blood dotting his flesh palm.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the pain in his hand and not the distraction that was you perched pretty on the counter. 

“So? Did you have a good night?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, still dazed. “Was fun. Lots of singing and dancing, m’tired now.” He watched as your eyelids drooped sleepily, the alcohol and physical exertion making you slump in exhaustion. 

He stood to his full height, moving over to dispose of the broken glass. 

“Thanks for letting me go,” you slurred slightly, half focused eyes following his movements. 

Bucky tensed at your thanks, shutting his eyes as guilt punched his stomach. Hard. 

“It wasn’t about letting you go,” he spoke lowly, his voice rough with unexpected emotion clogging his throat. “Was only ever about your safety.” 

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, “I’m always safe.” Your body thrummed at his worry for your safety, the protectiveness lacing his tone. “I made it back home in one piece, didn’t I?” 

Home. Like the tower was where you belonged now. 

He hummed casually, trying not to show how much you calling the tower ‘home’ affected him. 

His eyes drifted back to your figure as he washed the blood from his palm. Possessiveness clawed at his chest at the sight of that goddamn jacket. It didn’t look comfortable at all.

His mouth opened before he could think about what he was saying. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” he nodded towards the jacket at your confused expression. 

Your brows furrowed as you looked down at the jacket, your right hand trailing along the stiff leather covering your waist. 

“Yeah, it isn’t really. Just needed something for the walk home,” his eyes narrowed at your response, prompting you to explain further. “A friend lent it to me before we left the bar.” 

A single disgruntled brow raised on his rugged face. “A friend.” It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling defensive at his tone. The jacket was too stiff, pulling uncomfortably tight across your shoulders and arms. You huffed, dropping your arms to your sides. You felt claustrophobic in the jacket and under his unrelenting gaze.

“Yes, a friend. Friend of a friend, if you want to be specific.”

His right eye twitched slightly, his left hand scrubbing harder at the glass shards embedded in his flesh hand.

“And? What did you give him?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, shooting him an incredulous look. “What did I give him? What’s that supposed to mean, Bucky?” Did he think you slutted yourself out for a goddamn jacket? One that wasn’t even nice? 

That same guilt clenched deep in his gut at the hurtful look on your face. God, he’s really stuck his foot in this one.

“A man doesn’t give a pretty girl his jacket out of the kindness of his heart, doll.” 

You jumped down from the counter on shaky legs, ripping the jacket off your body and throwing it onto the kitchen island forcefully. 

Your eyes blazed with anger at his implication. You completely missed him calling you a pretty girl.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing happened. Not even a kiss,” his shoulders sagged with relief—short lived relief as you opened your mouth again. 

“Is that what you do, James? Act all chivalrous to lure some unsuspecting girl into your bed?”

Your seething anger was completely ignored, his body only registering you calling him James. Even wrapped in malice it sounded so right coming from your lips. He was momentarily frozen, only able to fully absorb the sight of you without the jacket—his eyes stuck on the way your satin dress sensually draped your curves. 

His dick twitched painfully, the combination of the tantalising dress and you saying his first name clouding his rational mind. All he wanted to do was drop to his knees and worship you, drawing out those goddamn needy whimpers and make you gasp out his name.

You took his lapse of silence as your window to leave, stepping past him at the sink to hurry towards the elevator. You were angry at him and yourself—letting yourself get worked up over this man who apparently saw you as easy. Your blood was boiling with arousal and bitterness, the image of him kneeling at your feet still lingering despite your hurt.

Your small stumble as you passed him snapped him out of his dazed lust, his left arm shooting out to grip your hip to stable you. 

“Jesus, that’s not what I meant, doll. I…your generation of men—boys—think they’re entitled to everything. I didn’t—I was worried…worried he took advantage of your kindness.” The fingers on your hip twitched, pressing into the plushness of your hip with a gentle urgency. 

Your mind blanked the second his hand touched your hip. You could feel the cold from his hand through the satin, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing along your skin. You could feel the ridges of the vibranium through the fabric, feel them digging slightly as his grip tightened. It felt like it was branding you—you wanted it to brand you, wanted him to grip you tight enough to leave bruises. 

The hand left your hip before an embarrassing, needy whimper could work its way out of your throat. It sat stuck in your chest, tension coiling under your skin at his simple touch.

“Let’s get you to bed.” You watched him in a daze as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then opened the fridge and grabbed a bowl of leftover pasta salad.

The journey to your room was filled with a tense silence. You were a flurry of emotions—the anger towards the man next to you morphing into an insatiable need, your heart yearning at how he was taking care of you in your tipsy state. 

Bucky was dealing with his own onslaught of emotions—the guilt from his insinuation hurting you making him feel sick, vicious jealousy at the thought of other men seeing you look like a fallen angel in that dress, an overwhelming desire to lock you away and keep you for himself.

He opened your bedroom door, ushering you in before putting the water and food on your bedside table. He had to get out before your scent played tricks on him, before it convinced him to stay and claim you as his. 

He looked everywhere but you as you collapsed onto your bed, flopping onto your back with a dazed sigh, your hair fanning out on the white bedspread and looking everything like the sinful angel that you were.

He turned to the door abruptly, his fists clenching at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling with the visible effort to control himself.

“Eat and drink everything before you fall asleep.” His low, commanding voice trembled imperceptibly. “Don’t want you hungover in the morning.” 

You huffed, pulling yourself into a sitting position and grabbed the bowl off the bedside table. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied that you were following his orders, he left the room without a goodbye. He couldn’t turn around, not when you called him sir like it was another day in the office—like it was your job to take orders from him. Technically it was your job. But his dick didn’t care about that—all it wanted was for you to call him sir while writhing in pleasure underneath him. All it wanted was for you to gasp out James while he finally—finally—tasted the sweet nectar your body has been taunting him with.

He should’ve stayed in the fucking gym.

————————

“You said that you had a new theory on the intruder?”

Snow crunched underneath the weight of tactical boots, the piercing arctic winds whistling through the forest and biting into the New Avengers’ faces. All five of them were trudging through the Northern Canadian wilderness in hunt of a ghost Hydra lab. One that Valentina was adamant they find.

Bucky had woken up to his ringtone grating his ears before 7am, an urgent and steel-toned Val on the other end demanding all five New Avengers find that lab within the next 24 hours. 

“You are essential to this mission, Barnes. No, don’t even think about mentioning the girl. You have a job, a duty. Get to the jet. Now” 

She hung up before he could get a word in. 

Ava debriefed the sleepy team on the jet. “Val heard chatter that there were still active compounds, experiments, whatever at a Hydra lab apparently no one has heard of. Whatever she heard spooked her—she thinks some underground organisation is on their way already, and she does not want them getting their hands on whatever secrets the lab holds.”

Yelena sighed warily, her accent thick this early in the morning. “Be ready for a fight.”

Bucky had heard of the lab—had visited it once. It was one of the few memories that still alluded him, a hazy hint of a memory that he never knew if it was real or not. He had been drugged the whole time there, that he was sure of. What they had drugged the Winter Soldier with to be able to forget, he had no clue—and he was terrified to find out. 

That was why he was essential, as Val put it. She knew he had some vague idea of a location, so here they were: three hours into an uphill hike with no end in sight. 

Yelena had spent over an hour updating them of your night out—like it was a mission report and not her stalking your night out with your best friend. Though, mission reports don’t normally involve Ava and Yelena gossiping so much—especially not about some guy you were flirting with. Bucky was quick to steer the conversation away from that, feeling jealous some other guy had your attention and feeling distressed they were even talking about following you when you had no clue. Even though he was the one to order Yelena to watch over you.

“Oh! Oh, I forgot the best part! She was wearing that little satin dress she bought last week!” Yelena wiggled her eyebrows eagerly at Ava. 

“Holy shit, the one we saw her try on? That sexy little thing? Damn, I’m surprised you only saw one guy flirt with her.” Ava was beyond elated you wore the dress on your night out, but she was over the moon that they were talking about it in front of a clearly seething Bucky—the perfect image of male jealousy, clenched jaw and fists included. 

“Yelena,” he muttered through his clenched teeth. “The intruder?” 

He didn’t need them to remind him of the dress you wore, he had only slept for three hours last night because he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. 

The girls deliberately ignored him, continuing their gossip like it was adamant to the mission. “Well, he was the only one she actually talked to. She was either oblivious to the way men, and some women, looked at her or she wasn’t interested. Either way, looked like she had a great time.” Ava shot Bucky a side-eye, snickering at how much effort it took for him to control his breathing.

He was sick of their shit. “I swear to god, what she wore isn’t important right now—“

“The bartender was definitely interested, he stopped his conversation with some other woman to check her out—“

“Yelena!” Bucky shouted, his anger and jealousy overtaking his usually composed demeanour. 

The blonde woman smirked, subtly nudging Ava—ecstatic that they had broken his composure with a few words about your dress and other men flirting with you.

“Jealous, Barnes?”

Yelena’s pleasure at him losing his shit wasn’t subtle, the shit-eating grin on her face giving away how happy his supposed jealousy made her. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes to regain strength. He was too old for this bullshit.

“The intruder. You said you had a theory. Explain now.” Short, sharp sentences in his low commanding tone.

“Geesh, lighten up old man. I was just getting to that,” Yelena rolled her eyes at Bucky’s grumpiness and avoidance of her teasing. She was just starting to have fun. 

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted…the woman the bartender had been talking to?” Why the fuck was Yelena still going on about this? “She was mad, and I mean mad at Y/N. Shoulder barged her and almost knocked her over,” that had Bucky freezing, his foot almost catching on a tree root hidden under snow. 

“It had me thinking: a jealous woman can be a cruel, malicious beast—they don’t cause physical pain like men, instead they mess with their perceived competitions mind. Psychological torture.” Bucky could see where Yelena was going with this and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “The damage done tosolnyshko’s bedroom? Rings more like a woman’s doing than a man’s to me.”

Bucky met her eyes with a wide-eyed stare, impressed with her theory even if the explanation could’ve been cut shorter. Before he could open his mouth to ask follow up questions, Yelena bet him to it.

“I already have Bob reanalysing the security footage from the corner store down the street from her apartment—looks like he has a lead. A woman bought two listening devices the day before the break-in and tried disguising them by buying like $300 worth of unnecessary crap.”

The team had made it to the top of the hill as Yelena finished explaining Bob’s findings, the ground levelling out into a wide expanse of glistening snow and pine trees. A cluster of younger trees in a circle stood out to the team, all of them making their way towards it without discussion. They knew the lab’s door was hidden somewhere beneath the circle. 

————————

You woke up with a dull, dehydrated headache and the tower all to yourself. Bob had flicked you a text to let you know the rest of the team were out on a time sensitive mission and that he had some errands to run. So, you spent a slightly dusty Saturday by yourself trying to read the fantasy book Yelena wanted to borrow. You barely digested the words you read, your mind replaying the night before like delicious torture.

You touched yourself remembering the way Bucky looked kneeling between your legs, you thought about the way his vibranium hand gripped your hip—all while wishing it was that hand rubbing your clit instead of your own. You were so needy, whining loudly knowing no one was home to hear you. Yet, you couldn’t come. Again. You needed more, your body had grown used to your own touch and it just wasn’t enough anymore. 

You deliberated leaving the tower to go back to the crime scene that was your apartment, to grab the vibrator you were too embarrassed to bring to the tower in the first place. Hell, you were ready to walk to the sex shop a couple blocks over when your third ruined orgasm made you sob. Something always stopped you, though. A deep, rough voice in your head telling you to not step a foot out of the tower. 

It was nearing midnight when sleep finally blurred your eyes and relaxed your aching body. The faint sound of footsteps rushing down the hall barely registered through the sleepy haze. Your door slammed open, banging against the wall making you bolt upright in bed—adrenaline coursing though your veins at the sudden noise disrupting your peace. Yelena was standing in the softly lit doorway, looking at you with frantic, wild eyes. She was breathing hard, like she had run up 20 flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator.

“‘Lena?” You muttered sleepily, rubbing your eyes to clear the sleepy haze. “What’s wrong?”

She ignored your question, heading to your dresser to grab warm clothes and shoved them in your arms. “Get changed. We’re going for a walk.”

Her tone was deadly serious, making you pause and follow her instructions with no other questions. Something was definitely wrong.

The late night spring air snuck through the holes in your knit sweater, your arms tightening across your chest in attempt to keep some of the cold out. Midtown Manhattan was busy like it usually was on a Saturday night—groups laughing and clinking their glasses in the bars you passed, couples linking their arms and whispering to each other as they stumbled down the street, a group comforting a crying girl outside a club. Yelena paid them no mind, leading you to a quiet, well-lit park a few blocks from the tower.

She sat down on a bench with a weary sigh, gently grabbing your hands and pulling you down next to her. She held your stare with her own heavy one, weighed down by concern and grudging acceptance. 

“The mission was compromised. Barn—Bucky was exposed to something.”

————————

The bright lights in the Watchtowers medical bay were blinding, causing Bucky to groan in pain as his eyes failed to adjust. His body was burning up, his legs unsteady enough to need the help of Alexei and John to get him from the jet to the medical bay where Val’s team had already prepped for his arrival. Ava didn’t hesitate to call Val when she saw Barnes drop to his knees in the Hydra lab, groaning in agony as the air vents pumped out a gold, shimmering substance. 

Everyone had been in the same lab room, sifting through old files trying to gather as much intel for Val as they could. Everything was fine until Bucky stepped into the room. It was like he had triggered a trap just by his presence; as soon as he placed a foot in the room the air vents hummed awake and hissed the substance directly onto him. The team all watched in shock as the glitter-like substance covered his face, the skin absorbing the chemicals almost immediately. He took in a startled breath—something he regretted in a matter of seconds.

The vents quietened within 30 seconds, seemingly happy that they had hit their intended target. The team sprang into action the second the substance evaporated—absorbed into Bucky. They kept their distance from the panting soldier, worried that the substance would hit them as well. Yelena gathered all the files she could find, her arms full as they made their way through the lab to the exit—Alexei and John hovering near Bucky as he stumbled down the halls, his vibranium hand trailing on the wall to try keep himself steady.

They were halfway through their journey back to the jet when Alexei and John stopped worrying about getting infected and focused on helping their teammate—their friend—as shivers wracked his body. He had tripped over numerous tree roots and rocks already and they couldn’t let him struggle on his own. He grumbled his protests as they put his arms around their shoulders, telling them to keep back or they’d experience the pain he currently was. Nothing happened to them, though.

Yelena was almost done examining the files on the jet when one made her blood run cold. She reread the Russian three times, her brain refusing to accept what the aged papers were telling her.  The substance didn’t have a name, only being referred to as a chemical agent. Designed specifically for Hydra’s Winter Soldiers, modified to weave into each soldiers DNA seamlessly. Bucky had triggered a trap, the air vents were lying in wait for his presence to activate them. The agent had been designed to control the soldiers, to strip them of their rational thinking and force them to give in to their primal biological needs and not stop until their mission had succeeded. Not stop until they had reproduced—breed with a fertile, compatible woman. It was designed for the sole purpose of creating more super soldiers without the need for serum.

Her voice shook as she relayed the information to the team, trying to be both professional and gentle for Bucky’s sake. His reaction was predictable and instantaneous—ripping a seat off the wall and throwing it across the jet, denting the opposite wall and causing the jet to veer to the side from the force. The rest of the ride home was quiet, the sounds of Bucky’s ragged breathing and small pained groans filling the space. 

“I told you to contain and extract, Barnes! Not sample the goddamn shit for yourself!” Val’s infuriated yell made his ears feel like they were bleeding. He hadn’t even made it to the fucking medical bed and she was already berating him. It filled him with a vicious rage he couldn’t tamp down anymore. 

The other super soldiers held his shoulders back as a growl ripped through him, spit flying from his mouth as he hissed at Val. 

“Get the fuck out of my face before I break your neck.” 

John narrowed his eyes when Val showed no emotion to Bucky’s threat—no fear, no surprise—and he knew.

“This was the whole reason for the mission, wasn’t it?” Walker’s voice raised above the sound of Bucky’s growls. “You wanted us to retrieve this goddamn agent—no, sex pollen—and for what?!”

Val finally showed a lick of fear—intimidated by the two fuming super soldiers. “Look, I didn’t know it’s exact nature but I knew it would only affect Barnes—no one else was in danger.”

“And that somehow makes this fine? Look at Bucky! He can’t even stand up by himself!” Ava cut in, furious that Val was trying to rationalise this.

Val raised her hands and took a step back towards the door. “He won’t die…he’ll just wish he was dead if he doesn’t do what the agent wants. I suggest you make some calls.” And with that, she turned and left the medical bay. 

Two male lab techs hesitantly approached Bucky once he was sat on the medical bed, telling him they needed to run some tests but didn’t touch him until he gave a slight nod.

After confirming that there wasn’t a risk of contamination and Bucky’s body had fully absorbed the agent, the lab techs led the team to a containment room down the hall—set up like a bedroom, but reinforced to contain whatever beast the agent was rearing to release.

No glass walls, no cameras, just a vitals monitor on the exterior wall next to the door—an illusion of privacy. Bucky was starting to feel like a caged animal, like he was once again not in control of his mind or body. He was a puppet in the hands of Hydra, again.

The team were lingering in the doorway once Bucky was sat on the bed, stuck between retreating for their own safety and wanting to help him in some way. He took in a deep breath, ready to assure his teammates that he’ll tough it out and survive this torture on his own. And then the smell hit him, and whatever he was thinking of saying vanished.

The monitor outside the room started to beep rapidly, indicating Barnes heartbeat was rising—fast. The team exchanged worried glances before looking back at him, looking seconds away from unraveling. Sweat was beading on his hairline, a few drops trailing down his face and dripping onto his shirt. His chest was rising and falling erratically—taking in deep ragged breaths that only seemed to cause him more pain. And there was no missing the raging boner in his medical issued sweats. It looked fucking painful.

“Yelena,” he managed to growl out through clenched teeth. “I can smell her. Get her out of the tower, now.” His voice trembled with restraint, using every ounce of willpower he had left to not find her and do what the agent wanted.

Everyone knew who Bucky was talking about, they knew that what they had been watching unfold between the two of you over the past month was going to explode dangerously if they didn’t do something about it. Yelena ushered everyone out of the room, closing the door behind her and activating the deadbolt locks.

Now, here she was—trying to explain the sensitive situation to you, who looked like a deer in headlights with your wide shocked eyes.

“So—wait, what? How does that, what does that even mean? I can’t stay in the tower because he—because he can smell me?” You whispered in disbelief.

“It’s more than that, Y/N. The agent is stripping all his rational thought, all his self-control. He’s locked in the containment room so there’s no immediate danger, but if I’m right then you being in the tower will make him wish he was dead.”

Yelena hesitated before speaking in a low, soft voice—meant to soothe you. “I think I already know the answer, but I have to ask. Do you know where you are in your cycle?”

You stuttered slightly, slowly starting to understand why Yelena would ask that, why it’s relevant to the conversation.

You didn’t need to check the cycle tracking app on your phone, how worked up you’ve been feeling the last week was indication enough. 

“I’m…I’m ovulating—but, why does this matter?” You needed her to confirm what you were already thinking.

Yelena cursed softly, rubbing her right temple. She was pretty certain that was the case, but now that it was confirmed it made the situation feel so much more real—more dangerous.

“The agent was designed with the intention to create a new generation of super soldiers…without the use of the serum. It—fuck, there’s no easy way to say this—it makes the infected soldiers have only one goal, one mission, and that’s to reproduce.” Yelena took a deep breath and continued. “They won’t stop until the agent is satisfied they’ve completed the mission—successfully created a new super soldier through the most natural way. And, to ensure the soldiers didn’t fuck anyone with a heartbeat and potentially die from the exertion, the agent was modified so they would only want to fuck—breed—fertile woman. Your body has already told Bucky—told the agent that you’re ready, suitable for what it was designed for. That’s why you can’t stay at the tower, solnyshko.”

You felt dizzy hearing Yelena’s explanation, your hands shaking in your lap as your mind raced trying to process the insanity you just heard. But, though you were panicking for yourself something else was a lot stronger—your worry for the man you had been crushing on for the past month. She said he was in pain, that he would wish he was dead.

“You said—“ you cleared your throat, trying to push through the nerves. “You said that he would wish he was dead, that he’s in pain…that the agent won’t stop until the mission is completed. How…how do we help him?”

Yelena chuckled though it was void of humour. “Well, as far as I’m aware there’s no escort services that specialise in ovulating women—they’d all be on birth control and the agent wouldn’t like that.” She looked at you with a pained expression mirroring your own, “we just have to let him ride it out on his own, hope that it doesn’t last too long.”

You hated that. There was nothing anyone could do to help him? To ease some of the agony the agent was unleashing on him?

You opened your mouth before you were aware of what you were about to say. 

“I want to help.”

Yelena was quick to shake her head. “No,” she said firmly. “There is no fucking way any of us, especially Bucky, are letting you help with this.” She knew he would rather die than let this be the reason you got together. 

“But, he’s in pain and I can help. Hell, I’m the only person who’s in the biological position to help!” The more Yelena refused, the more adamant you became.

“Biological position? I’m sure Barnes would love to hear you say that in regards to finally having sex with you. No—not happening. Can you stay with your friend and her boyfriend for a few days?” 

You were outraged, this wasn’t just about sex but about helping the man you cared for. Deeply. 

“What? No! Listen Yelena, I care for Bucky a lot. More than I should. More than I have for anyone in my life and in such a small amount of time—it’s honestly terrifying! Let me help, please.” You were seconds away from getting on your knees and begging.

She could see how serious you were, how you weren’t even concerned for your own safety—solely focusing on helping Bucky. Your connection with him ran deeper than any of the team realised. 

She sighed in defeat, trying to think of anything that would sway your mind. “You sure this is how you want to lose your virginity? By being ruthlessly fucked by a barbaric caveman version of Barnes?”

You gasped in shock, both surprised that she knew you were a virgin and slightly turned on by the thought of a desperate Bucky fucking you ruthlessly.

“How did you…is it that obvious?” Your face flushed in embarrassment—was your inexperience that noticeable? Had Bucky noticed? 

Yelena let out a soft sound, something between a fond chuckle and a resigned sigh. “Ava and I figured it out the other day. It’s not that obvious, we’re just nosy—interested in your life. You’re careful with what you say, or really what you don’t say. Not currently dating, no exes in your past that we could find, your behaviour and comments when we were shopping…doesn’t take much for two gossip hungry spies to figure out.”

You let out a stunned laugh, feeling weirdly comforted that the two women knew your secret and hadn’t pressured or teased you for it. 

Yelena grasped your hands in her own, soothingly rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. “Are you sure, completely sure, this is what you want?”

Well, might as well bite the bullet with this one. You take in a deep grounding breath and nodded your head.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking him since the day I met him. I’m sure.”

————————

Bucky could sense the second you stepped foot in the tower, your scent pulling a pained growl from his chest and making his dick twitch in interest. 

Why were you back? He told—commanded—Yelena to get you out of here. He couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t even try to control his breathing when you were near.

Not when your body was sending him signals that you were ready—that you could carry his seed. The thought of filling you up, claiming you as his had his cock weeping—precum oozing from his tip and staining his sweats. His flesh hand was moving before he could think, palming his hard bulge over the wet fabric. He gasped at the sensation, feeling overwhelmed by the small touch and your smell permeating his lungs. He could almost taste you on his tongue and he gripped his cock harder, hissing at the pleasure he had deprived himself of for so long. 

“Bucky?” Your soft voice came through the room’s intercom, making him freeze before leaping to his feet and rushing to the door. He leaned his forehead against it as his breathing became even more ragged, the door the only thing between him and claiming what was his—what was always his. 

“Doll,” his voice was a deep, gravelly growl that shook the walls. He heard your soft gasp through the door, making his dick throb painfully. He wanted to tear through the fucking door. 

“You shouldn’t be here. I told—it’s not safe for you.”

Hearing him so clearly distressed made you feel even more certain with your decision.

“I want to help,” your voice was steady despite your buzzing nerves. “Please, let me help you.” 

Your pleading tone kicked the chemical agent into high gear, his body coiling tight at hearing you wanting to be breed. The substance running through his veins was ecstatic to hear you plead—it was ripping through Bucky’s last thread of self-restraint as the smell of your ovulating body was begging to be breed. 

He let out a pained whimper, his vibranium hand scratching at the door to try to get to you. 

He took a deep breath to compose himself. “You need to understand. If I let you in, if you unlock this door—I won’t be able to stop. Not until you’re full of me, not until you’re breed. You’ll be mine, do you get that?” 

He heard your breath hitch and then came your shaky reply. “I understand, Bucky. I…I want that—I want you.”

He staggered back from the door with the little control he had left over the chemical fever. His voice was low, quiet, but clear through the door. 

“Ok. You can come in.”

The deadbolts whirred loudly as you unlocked the door and stepped into the room, closing the door behind you quietly.

The two of you stared at each other silently, two metres of distance between you. Bucky looked like a caged animal ready to pounce. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction like he had been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes were almost black with a dark hunger, the muscles in his face tensing from his restraint. His white shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his muscles and showing every hard ridge. His grey sweatpants left nothing to the imagination—a dark wet patch already formed where his heavy cock was straining against the fabric. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. He looked big—painfully big, and it had you clenching your thighs in anticipation, slick already gathering in your core. 

His nostrils flared, the smell of your arousal coating the walls and urging him closer—to take what was his. He groaned lowly as more of your sweet, musky scent filled his lungs. He was seconds away from ravaging you.

You looked like an angel in front of him—windswept curls, big innocent doe eyes, knit jumper swallowing your top half, leggings clinging to your legs. He growled, annoyed that the jumper was hiding your hips from his view. 

The last thread of his restraint finally snapped, a combination of the chemical agent and the need he’s felt for you since the day he met you making him lose his control. 

He was on you in a second, grasping your hips underneath your jumper and pushing you back until you were trapped between his body and the wall. The air around you became electric, charged with the unresolved tension the both of you had been feeling for weeks.

He looked into your eyes, double checking there was no doubt, before he finally kissed you. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t soft. It was all-consuming—his need and desperation spilling through as he kissed you like you were his oxygen. His lips sucked on your upper lip, clashing his teeth against yours in his desperation. A rumble vibrated from his chest as your hesitant hands rested on his shoulders, a small gasp leaving you at the feel of the hard vibranium beneath your right palm. His hands on your hips clutched harder, pulling you flush to his body. You broke the kiss when you felt his dick pressing—twitching—against your stomach. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” He whispered against your lips before he claimed them again, tilting his head to the side and running his tongue along your bottom lip—asking for permission, despite the feral fever coursing through him. Your lips opened for him without hesitation, his tongue pushing against yours with a dominant frenzy. Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his hair, running your fingers through his damp strands before gently tugging. He groaned deeply into your mouth at the feeling, his hips starting to rock against you for some relief. 

His mouth left yours, his stubble scratching your jaw and neck as he lavished the skin with sloppy kisses. You sighed at the feeling, a small moan slipping out as he sucked on a spot below your ear. His hands gripped your hips tightly before they slipped to your ass, palming harshly making you moan again. He lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist—a needy whine tearing from your throat at the feeling of his bulge pressing against your core. You could feel the heat of him through the layers of fabric, your own pants growing damp with your need. He pressed into you more, grinding his cock against you roughly as he sucked and bit your neck—sure to leave dark marks. The thought only urged him on more, wanting the whole world to know just who you belonged to. 

He pulled away from your neck, frustrated by the jumper restricting his access to more of your skin. He turned with you in his arms, walking to the bed in quick strides and throwing you on the sheets with as much gentleness as a starving man could manage. You looked up at him with dazed eyes, already looking ruined and he had barely started. He reached for the hem of your jumper, ripping it over your head and revealing your thin pyjama shirt underneath. He groaned at the sight of your nipples straining through the shirt, eager for his attention. 

“God, look at you. Fuckin’ dream,” and then he was on you again. His hips slotted between your open legs as his mouth closed around your clothed right nipple. And then he sucked hard. Your back arched slightly, your hips bucking against his at the intense pleasure that ran from your nipple to your clit. A loud whine sounded out in the room as he continued his assault, his flesh hand groping at your other clothed breast. His vibranium arm snuck underneath your back, keeping you slightly arched as his hips started to rut against you. His eyes fell shut as he listened to the noises you were letting out, the chemical agent in his body telling him to skip the foreplay and breed you already. He couldn’t though, he was the reason you were letting out those goddamn sweet moans and he wasn’t going to stop. 

He switched his mouth to your other nipple, giving it the same attention. Your hips were rocking against his with the same frantic need as his own and he groaned into your breast at the feeling. “Listen to you, pretty girl. So fuckin’ needy,” he mumbled out, the need coursing through his veins obliterating his filter. You gasped at his words, looking down to see his dark eyes already focused on your face.

“Take it off,” you rasped out, raising your arms above your head. He didn’t hesitate to remove his mouth, grabbing the hem of your shirt and tearing it off you. He stopped, momentarily starstruck at the sight of your naked heaving breasts below him. He dropped back on top of you, greedily sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting down. “Fuck!” You exclaimed at the feeling—it was so much better than your own fingers tugging and twisting.

Your slick was now soaking your panties, the crotch of your leggings wet with both your arousal and Bucky’s. The smell of your scents mixing had him freezing, resting his forehead on your sternum with a pained groan. 

“You smell so good, doll. It’s been torture, you know.” The floodgates opened and he couldn’t hold back what he’s been thinking for weeks. “Ever since you stepped foot in the tower, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” His hips resumed their grinding against yours, bothhis hands now tugging at your aching breasts. You let out a wanton moan at the contrasting feeling of his warm flesh hand and cold vibranium hand—it was so much better than you imagined. His stubble was rough against the soft skin of your neck as he traveled up to suck at your neck and collarbones. 

“I could smell you the other night, baby. Could smell and hear as you touched yourself.” His confession had your eyes flying open, a gasp getting stuck in your throat. Your body flushed in both embarrassment and need. “I just stood there like a fucking idiot, listening to your sweet moans echo down the hall—resisting the urge to tear your door down and touch you myself.” His mouth was making it’s way down your torso, sloppily kissing and biting your skin and stopping at the waistband of your leggings. 

“I was thinking about you,” you gasped out without thinking. He stopped his descent, a low groan rumbling in his chest and hands gripping your breasts even tighter.

“…What?” He looked back up at your face, seeing the panic in your eyes as you let your dirty little secret free. His own eyes reflected his need—his pupils dilated with lust, leaving only a thin ring of blue.

The primal hunger you saw on his face spurred you on. You nodded shyly before muttering in a low voice. “I was thinking about you when I was touching myself. I…I have been since that first week.”

A loud rip tore through the air as his hands gripped the waistband of your leggings, ripping them in half in his rush to get them off you. He got off the bed, kneeling on the floor and grabbed your hips before quickly pulling you to the edge. His cock jumped and ached at the sight of your soaked panties, begging him to quit the foreplay and rut inside of you already. 

“You have no idea what that does to me, sweetheart.” A whine tore through your throat—him between your legs and calling you sweetheart was what made you come the first time you touched yourself to the thought of him. It made the ball in your core tighten more, a fresh gush of slick leaking out of your pussy. You watched him inhale deeply, gripping your knees and resting them on his shoulders. His stubble scratched the sensitive skin on your inner thighs as he trailed greedy kisses along them—biting into your flesh as he got closer to your core.

You couldn’t control the noises you let out, gasps and whines spilling free as your hips rocked towards him—the teasing on the edge of unbearable.

“So goddamn responsive,” he muttered into your skin, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through your leg and making your pussy clench around nothing.

“Please,” you gasped out. “Please fuck me.” You knew you were begging but you didn’t care, you were so worked up and he was making you feel better than you ever imagined. 

A light slap to your clothed pussy had your back arching and head falling back. Fuck, that was hot.

“Impatient girl. Wanna make you feel good first.” Your begging was the last straw from him, whatever restraint he had been holding onto vanishing into thin air. He gripped your drenched panties, pulling them down your legs and watching mesmerised as the wet fabric clung to your soaked pussy. He groaned at the sight, drool leaking from his mouth as your sweetness overwhelmed his senses. He stopped holding back.

He dove in fast, licking a strip from your leaking entrance to your clit before wrapping his lips around the throbbing bud and sucking. His eyes closed at the taste of you, a pained whimper sounding in the back of his throat. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good, doll. Better than I imagined,” he raised his head slightly to whisper into your pussy before diving back in. He ate you out like a man starved, moaning at the taste of you. He focused on your clit and your hands tugged at his hair as the ball in your core grew heavier, your hips rocking against his face as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Yes, fuck! That feels so good, oh my god,” you gasped out loudly. His hands were clutching your hips hard, and your right one left his hair to grab his left hand. “Inside, please.” His mouth stopped devouring you for a split second as your pleading met his ears. He let out a filthy moan as he processed what you wanted.

“You want the vibranium hand, doll? Hmm? Is this what you imagine when you touch yourself?” His cold hand trailed from your hip to your neglected entrance, lightly pinching your clit on the way. Shivers wracked your body at the feeling, nodding your head eagerly at his questions. “Dirty fucking girl,” he mocked before a single vibranium digit nudged at your opening, a keen whimper falling from your lips. He slipped it in with little resistance, your soaked walls clamping down on the intrusion. It felt unreal—his cold, ridged finger running along your silky walls.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Relax, doll, breathe for me.” He didn’t understand how he maintained his composure, your tight pussy squeezing his finger making the chemical agent rear it’s ugly head and sending pain all throughout him. But, he refused to let it take over. He had to make sure you enjoyed this too. From how your pussy was dripping down his hand and on the sheets, he could tell you were enjoying this. He had to work you open though, you were so fucking tight and he didn’t want to cause you pain when he finally fucked you. 

“Move, please.” You whimpered to him. He granted your wish, curling his finger and rubbing it against your walls. You let out a loud moan as he hit the spot you could never reach on your own, and he doubled his efforts on that spot. Your needy moans and whines echoed in the air as you felt your core coiling tighter. He was transfixed by the sight of you, hips thrusting up to meet his hand as he inserted another finger. A choked cry tore from your chest at the feeling of his fingers deliciously stretching you.

“You’re fucking dripping sweetheart, listen to how fucking wet you are.” His fingers curled into you faster, an obscene squelching mingling with the sounds of your moans. You started to pant as your body tensed up, your legs shaking as your high climbed to a point you hadn’t experienced before. He lowered his mouth back to your clit, kitten licking it a couple times then sucking on it hard. Stars exploded behind your eyes and your hips raised off the bed, your whole body shaking.

“Bucky, I’m coming—oh, fuck!” You cried out as the tension in your core snapped and you came hard. His fingers slowed their pace slightly as he worked you through your high, his mouth going back to licking your clit as the sucking started to overwhelm you. You felt like you were floating, aftershocks trembling through your body—the feeling of Bucky between your thighs the only thing grounding you to earth.

He stood to his full height, bulging muscles towering over you as he looked down at you like prey. He pulled his shirt over his head quickly before working his sweatpants down his legs. You watched in a post-orgasm daze as his hard cock slapped against his stomach, the tip red and leaking. He was fucking massive and it had your thighs clenching instinctively. How was that going to fit in you?

He chuckled darkly at your wide-eyed stare, a wolfish grin on his face. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make it fit.” He grabbed under your armpits and hoisted you further up the bed, your head resting against the soft pillows. He loomed over you, pushing a curl behind your ear in an act of softness you weren’t expecting with the chemical agent torturing him. 

“This wasn’t how I wanted this to happen,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I wanted to take you out for dinner, make you come multiple times before fucking you.” He couldn’t wait any longer, his body trembling and burning up the more he delayed filling you. “Wanted to make love to you, not fuck you like an animal.”

Your shaky hands cupped his face to make him look into your eyes. “It’s okay, I want this. We can do all that stuff later.” Later. You wanted this, and you wanted him later too. 

He grabbed his sensitive, aching cock and lined it up with your still dripping hole. The chemicals surging through his body pushed his hips forward, sheathing his tip in your tight walls. His head fell to yours with a pained groan as he felt you struggle to open up for him. You let out a pained whimper as he pushed forward more, the stretch of him burning your virgin pussy. He continued to slowly inch in, his face and neck red from the restraint of holding himself back from pounding into you like an animal.

“That’s it, god, you’re gripping me so tight, fuck.” He mumbled, feeling you clench more at his words. “Doll, you—shit, you gotta let me in.” His left hand gripped your hip tightly, spreading your legs wider to accommodate more of him. His right hand dragged up your body to your chest, grabbing one of your breasts—making you arch into him and gasp. You were still so sensitive from your first orgasm and everything was overwhelming you. He raised his head slightly, looking down between your bodies where his dick wasn’t even half in you yet. He groaned loudly at the sight and the chemical agent took over.

He sunk into you, his hips flush against yours as he bottomed out. A pained cry tore from your chest as he stretched you—his fingers had not been enough to prep you for his massive dick. He hardly gave you a second to adjust before he rutted into you, grunts falling from his lips at the feeling of you clenching him. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good—you were made for this, Jesus—“ His words slurred together from the pleasure, his Brooklyn accent slipping through. He picked up the pace, both hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you. Your hands were on his back, pulling him closer as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The position made him reach deeper in you, his tip hitting your cervix with each thrust. Sweat ran down his chest and dropped onto your stomach, adding to the mix of fluids covering your lower half. You screwed your eyes shut at the pain radiating from your core, trying to ignore the burn for his sake. 

“This what you wanted, huh? To be fucked and breed like a good girl?” He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, the pleasure and chemicals mixing into a delicious torture that had him mumbling nonsense. He felt your walls clench tight and it only spurred him on more. “God, that is what you want—fuckin’ dirty.” His cock pistoned into you faster, the sounds of skin slapping on skin filling the room. He could already feel his release building in his balls, trying to hold off on coming to make it better for you. His flesh hand moved from your hip to your pussy, his fingers rubbing harsh circles on your clit.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp, the pain in your core morphing into intense pleasure. His thick cock was hitting that spot inside of you perfectly, and your clit was still so sensitive that his touch had you hurtling towards your second release. Fast. He dropped his forehead to yours, his lips ghosting yours as you moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck—I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fill you up, baby.” He panted into your mouth. “You want that?  Want me to breed you?”

“Yes, god—James I need it so bad!” You wailed into his mouth in response. He fucking roared at hearing you say his first name, his hips stuttering as his release edged closer.

“Say. It. Again.” He punctuated each word with a harsh thrust.

“James, come inside me, please!” He stood no fucking chance. He plunged into your aching pussy two more times before stilling with an animalistic noise—something between a groan and a growl. His hips rocked into yours as his release filled you, the warm seed coating your walls and coaxing your second orgasm out of you. You came with a high-pitched cry, your eyes rolling back as he kept coming inside—it wasn’t stopping. He held you tightly as he continued rocking his release into you, your overworked body trembling in his arms and little sobs heaving from your chest.

“Shhh, you’re okay, you did so well, doll.” He whispered into your temple, littering your face with soft kisses as his high ebbed and the fog cleared from his head. He gently rolled you both over, his back resting on the bed and you snuggled tight to his chest. His dick softened inside you, indicating that the chemical agent got what it wanted. He held you in his arms until your breath evened out, and he found himself falling asleep not long after. 

————————

Bucky woke up with you still in his arms, letting out little snores against his chest. He could feel his release staining the both of you and he moved as slowly as he could to not wake you. Your face pinched slightly as he pulled out of your sore pussy but you stayed asleep and snuggled into the pillows. He walked over to the sink in the corner of the room, wetting the hand towel before returning to clean you up. He took his time, watching your face carefully to ensure he didn’t disturb your sleep—you needed to rest. He threw the towel in the sink once he was finished, gathering his dirty clothes off the floor and putting them on. Food—you needed food. 

The sun was barely a spot on the horizon as he made his way to the kitchen, sighing in relief that no one else would be awake. That relief was replaced with hesitation as he saw Yelena sitting at the kitchen island nursing a cup of coffee. She raised her eyebrows at Bucky as he entered the room, surprised that he was seemingly normal. He gave her a small nod in greeting before turning to the fridge, gathering food for the two of you.

Yelena took a breath before broaching the subject. “So…you okay?”

Bucky tensed at her question, not wanting to engage in conversation and get back to you as fast as possible. “Mhmm.” He mumbled casually. 

Yelena wasn’t having a bar of his silence. “And? How’s Y/N?” He turned to her, ready to shut down her questioning when she opened her mouth again. “I hope you didn’t kill her during her first time.”

Bucky froze. The fork in his hand clattered on the tiles. He felt dread washing over his body, paralysing him in fear. Your first time?

He found his voice, though meek and small. “…What?”

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Escape call

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader wc: +9.4k summary: Your friends arranged a blind date for you. The problem? It's been so long since the last date you had that you're spiraling. Enter, the owner's son of the bookstore you work at, Bucky Barnes, a reformed playboy who offers to help you with his dating advice. What can go wrong? It's not as if you had been crushing on him for longer than you would want to admit. warnings/tags: +18 MDNI. bookstore au, no use of y/n, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, blind date, bucky is a nepobaby, the pitt crossover? Mel King and Cassie McKay are your friends... yes, from The Pitt, oh, and the date is with Frank Langdon, sue me. Dating inexperience, requited unrequited love, secret crush, falling in love, reader overthinks, reader has hair, jealous bucky barnes, Alpine, p in v, oral sex (f), missionary position, praise kink, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, petnames a/n: I know I'm late, but school was kicking my ass, but here it is! Enjoy! beta read by @w1nter-fairy and @buckysdecaflove part of elixirs arcade writing event - @elixirfromthestars elixirs hold 'em: high card Bookstore AU + Person A arranges for random Person B to call them during a date as an escape call - they fall in love. One of them is very romantically experienced, while the other one is not.

THIS WORK IS +18 MDNI. If you're a minor or an ageless blog and you interact with this work, you will be blocked !!

Read on AO3 | Masterlist and wips

The distinct smell of books flooded your senses as you stepped into the bookstore that Monday morning, holding a take-out cup of coffee from the nearby coffee shop. It was comforting, as it had been since the first time you walked in, and as it had been this past year working there. Barnes' Book Corner was an old establishment, owned by the same family for generations.

As always, the weight on your shoulders lifted, relaxing your posture as you took a deep breath. It was strange how your workplace was also a place that could be the source of your comfort, a place where you could find solace.

It had been a miracle that you had seen the job offer poster just as the owner's son was putting it up against the front window. The moment you entered the bookstore, you were convinced that the universe worked in mysterious ways, because there was no other place you would rather work in.

Bucky Barnes, the owner’s son, was the one in charge of interviewing you, since he was the one who was currently managing while his parents prepared for their retirement. To your surprise, after you answered a few questions, he hired you on the spot, confirming the serendipity of the whole situation.

From there, one shift after another, your friendship with him bloomed. Bucky was a very fascinating individual, especially once you went past his reputation and his usual brooding exterior. He was a few years older than you, but your school days overlapped enough for you to learn that Bucky was a playboy, always on dates, with a girl under his arm during the frat parties.

Your shifts went by between pleasant conversations and attending to customers, Bucky being a constant across your days. However, said friendship had rarely left the confines of the bookstore. Being in charge wasn't something he took lightly, so he poured his soul into his job, which translated into extra hours and zero social life outside the job.

It also helped that Bucky was a sight for sore eyes. Sharp jaw, devastating smile, piercing blue eyes that could fight the sea from their beauty. More than once, you had found yourself ogling at him as he worked around, carrying boxes that made him flex his biceps and reach the top shelves, making his shirts ride up and flashing his skin. And his brain? God, he was smart and funny, always with a copy of a book near him, and ready to drop the most nerdiest comment possible.

Yeah, you may have had a crush on him years ago, and sometimes it came back from time to time, but who could blame you? He was magnetic. Handsome and charming. Dangerous combination.

“Morning, boss.” You said after stepping behind the counter, leaving your stuff in its usual spot.

“You’re early,” Bucky said over his shoulder without looking at you since he was putting up some books on the highest shelf.

“Wow, you said that as if that's a shocker.”

“It is.”

You made an exaggerated gasp, making him huff a laugh. “Excuse me? You're talking to the employee of the month, a title I'm holding since I started working here, mind you!” You pointed at the board were said title was over your smiling photo. “If I’m always late, I wouldn't have it!”

“Sweetheart,” he said, the nickname he always used with you. “Besides me, you're the only employee, and I can't have it since I’m — how did you call me the other day?” His smug smile made your heart flutter, but you decided to ignore it.

“A nepobaby.” You completed. “You’re so rude, I don't think I will give you the coffee I bought for you, I’ll have to drink it.” You said with a mournful tone, pulling the coffee closer to you.

That made him turn.

He narrowed his eyes at you, leaving the book in his hand back into the box. “Did you say coffee?”

You nodded.

“I bought it for the best boss in the world, but I don't see any of your parents here.” You shrugged as your eyes scanned the back of the store, as if waiting for his parents to materialize on the hall that led to the break room and back office.

“Is that from the coffee shop around the corner?” He said, nearly drooling, noticing the cup sleeve.

Another nod as you logged in to the computer at the front desk. He almost dropped the book in his hand as he placed it back into the book cart and rushed to the counter.

"You're an amazing person, have I told you that?" Bucky said, forearms resting over the counter as he leaned forward.

"Mmm, maybe." You said.

"You're the best employee of the year as well." He added, his eyes tracking the coffee cup as you moved it slightly in his direction.

You hovered your hand around the cup, "Enough for a raise?" You asked, raising a brow.

He hung his head forward, defeated. "You know I can't clear that yet," he lifted his head slightly and leaned even more, lowering his voice as if he was sharing a secret. "But I can put in a good word with my father."

You shrugged, "I know, I had to try. Drink it before it gets cold, it's your order." He raised a fist in victory when you placed his cup near his hand.

"What about you?" He said, closing his eyes as he got a whiff of the coffee scent. "You didn't buy a cup for yourself? We can always share."

"No need, I already drank mine there. I had an early breakfast with a couple of friends."

He scrunched his nose, "The good group you actually enjoy going out with or the one you haven't got the strength to drop and keep going with them even if they make you feel bad?"

You slowly turned to him with your jaw dropped, "That's it, give me that cup back!" You said, reaching your hand.

"No! It's mine!" He leaned back, raising his cup high so you couldn't grab it. You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the monitor, "I didn't lie, though." He mumbled against the cup once he brought it down.

You sighed, "The good group."

"Thank God. Last time you went out with them was what, after the wedding of one of them last year, right?" You stopped typing.

"Yeah? How do you even remember that?"

He shrugged, "You were stressing out the week prior about your dress, something about not being the right color in the preview, and you also asked for a day off, remember?"

"It was not my fault that they took the photo with bad lighting! The burgundy looked way darker than it should have."

"Believe me, even if it wasn't the right color, you still looked beautiful." He winked and turned around to return to his spot next to the cart, missing the way your skin flushed.

Maybe you do need to get laid.

Which reminded you of the conversation you had with your friends that morning. The reunion went as it always does: each one of you did a recap of the highlights of the last few months, quick jokes between anecdotes over a cup of coffee, and your breakfast election.

Looking back, the topic of your love life was going to be on the table by default. Both of your friends were happily married; one had two kids, while the other was newlywed and expecting. Kids and marriage shanninigangs were the main theme during their turns, so when both turned to you, the "single" sign was already hovering over your head in neon lights with bright arrows pointing at you.

"So what about you? Any cute guy coming to the bookstore?" Mel asked with a playful glint in her eyes, her eyebrows waggling as she rubbed a hand over her growing belly.

You narrowed your eyes over your cup, "Not really."

"Anyone that catched your eye? Any… coworkers perhaps?" Cassie asked, taking a bite of her pastry.

"I don't have any coworkers — well, Bucky… he's my boss, uhm, quasi-boss, more like my manager, if I'm being honest." You rambled as you took a piece out of your pastry with your fingers. "But no one special."

Cassie and Mel exchanged a look, while you obliviously continued eating as you stared out of the window.

"When was the last time you went out on a date?" Mel wondered. "Was it that date with Scott?"

You rolled your eyes, "Don't remind me of him. But yeah, I think so."

Cassie looked at you with her jaw dropped, "Girl, that was before my second pregnancy, and Harrison has 3!"

You winced.

"Wait, but that was the last date. Seriously, your last relationship was with Dylan?" Mel said with a frown, as if reciting the timeline of your lovelife would change the facts.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, why are you acting as if you didn't know this?"

"I mean, I suspected it, but we rarely talk about your love life! Let alone your sex life!"

"Wow, we are not discussing my sex life." You side-eyed the crowded coffee shop, proper of the hour. "At least not in public and definitely not sober."

"Come on, girl, you are not the type that likes hookups, you're telling me you had slept with someone after Dylan?" You scrunched your nose. "You see my point?"

"I'm fine, I promise. I prefer it this way. I'm happy enjoying my single life and my toys."

Mel shook her head; her face reminded you of how she looked every time there was a debate in class. "Seriously? Haven't you wondered what it would be like? Having someone to share your life, someone who loves you and makes you laugh just as hard as they make you come."

Even Cassie choked on her drink at her words.

"Jesus Christ, I won't believe anything that comes out of your mouth. Hormones and your honeymoon phase glow are talking for you." You said with a fond smile.

Mel blushed, "Yeah, maybe you're right." She chuckled. "However, my point stands."

You rolled your eyes and focused again on your food. After a few moments in silence, Cassie reached her hand, placing it at the side of your plate, forcing you to look up at her.

"What would you say about us arranging a blind date for you?" Cassie said, using the same tone she used when she tried to convince her children to eat some veggies.

"A blind date, really?" You narrowed your eyes at her.

"Yeah, who better to arrange it than your two best friends? We are both in happy marriages, so that's enough to make us more than qualified. We know what you like and what not. We can totally find you a great prospect."

"In what moment did my life become a season of Bridgerton?"

Mel cleared her throat and, holding her cup of tea high, she said with her best British impression: "Dearest gentle reader, you shall be the diamond of this season."

"Easy there, Lady Whistledown." You said, with tears in your eyes from laughter.

"So, what do you say?" Cassie said, laughter still bubbling in her voice.

You considered it for a second. You didn't lie about being happy, but you wouldn't lie that you haven't been wondering what it would be like to have someone. Getting back to your lonely apartment was getting bitterly sad.

"One date. And if it doesn't work out, you two will drop the cupid's work."

Mel squealed, clapping rapidly. "We promise. Oh my God, I can't wait!"

"We won't disappoint you," Cassie said with a bright smile, placing her hand over yours on the table and giving it a few taps. "Better start planning the wedding."

You rolled your eyes, taking a last bite of your pastry and getting up to order Bucky's coffee, knowing that he would kill you if he found out you had gone there and didn't get him something, leaving your friends scheming on the table.

・・・・・

Two days had passed when you got the message. Your shift had just started a few minutes ago, and surprisingly, Bucky hadn't arrived yet, so you were still waiting for him to bring the new arrivals boxes to the front of the store. Without much to do, you took your phone out, and the moment it unlocked, as if it was part of a prank from the universe, the notification popped up.

Mel You have a date! Next Saturday. 7 pm. I'll text you the location.

You ???????

Cassie He's great, you're gonna love him.

You Okay??

Mel He's so nice! Just make sure to wear something pretty. Show that curves, babe ;)

You let out a grunt of frustration. This was insane. You had thought they were going to forget, truly. Or struggle to the point that they themselves would tell you that they would give up, since the dating pool looked more and more pathetic nowadays. But two days? In two days, they found someone willing to have a blind date with you. You brought your hand to your mouth and started biting your nail — an old habit that you had thought you had left behind back in college.

A date.

A fucking date.

You hadn't dated in years. The last one had been a nightmare. And before that, you had been in a long-term relationship, where a 'date' consisted of watching a movie or having take-out in his dorm.

What if you fumble this date?

What if, because of your inexperience, you scare a perfect guy away?

"Why the fuck did I agree on this?" You mumbled, burying your head in your hands.

In that instant, the bell over the door chimed, announcing a customer, or so you thought.

"Who's ready for a blind date!" Bucky exclaimed, holding a bag with rolls of gift paper sticking out of it.

Your eyes widened, and your elbows that had been resting on the counter slipped, making you almost lose balance and almost hit yourself on the face. "What?"

Bucky raised the bag, brows knitting together at your reaction. “The dynamic that my mom insists on us doing? The blind date with a book? Did you forget?”

“Oh, yes, that, sorry — yeah, I remember.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! I — What do you need me to do?”

“We need to wrap the books that are in that box on that table and write the clues on the front. Are you sure you're okay? You can take the day off if you need.” He sounded worried as he scanned your face.

“No!” You exclaimed, horrified, the last thing you needed was going back to your lonely apartment and spiraling alone. “I’m fine.”

He hummed, “I will act as if I believe you.” He approached the counter and leaned in. “But, just remember, you can trust me with whatever you need, okay? I’m your friend.”

You smiled at him and nodded, “Thank you, Bucky.”

He reciprocated your smile and, after tapping the counter, he strutted towards the table he had organized after hours the day before. “Come on, these books won't wrap themselves.”

You took the list of books with the preselected clues from the printer and joined him.

For the next hour, you fell into a system, while Bucky wrapped the books and placed a sticky note in the front so you could know what title it was, while you were in charge of writing the clues and drawing doodles as decoration on the front of each book.

It was probably the tenth time in less than an hour that you had written “Enemies to lovers” and "Fantasy romance," when Bucky called your name.

“Are you sure you're okay? You keep bouncing your leg, and I think you’re gonna rip the top of that pen if you keep biting it.”

Your leg froze mid-bounce.

Your mouth opened and then closed again.

After a sigh, you closed your eyes. “I’m gonna tell you, but please promise me you won't laugh.”

He left the book he was working on on the table, “Hit me.”

“My friends… they just texted me that they arranged a date for me.”

He blinked.

“A date?” He said slowly.

“Well, a blind date.” You pointed at the pile of books next to you. “Kinda ironic if you ask me.”

His eyes fell to the book in front of him and frowned.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” He shook his head. “I just… I’m trying to remember the last time you mentioned something about dating.”

“Well, you can keep digging, but to be honest, I think this is the first time we've touched this topic — at least on my end, I’ve heard many things about your dating life.” You chuckled, hoping that he would take the bait and forget your situation.

“You shouldn't believe rumours.” He squinted his nose.

“You forget we went to the same school,” you said, “Still, since I’ve been working here, I’ve seen you leave early for dates or like that time that girl came looking for you to give you back your wallet that you left in her house.”

He frowned. “That was before. I haven't gone on dates in 8 months.” He made an emphasis on the time passed.

“Oh, really? I haven't noticed.” You said and went back to scribbling on the book in your hands. You felt his eyes still on you, and sure enough, when you lifted your head, he was staring at you with his brows raised. “Shit, that sounded wrong. I mean that I truly hadn't noticed, that was not sarcasm. I do pay attention, it's not like I'm distracted while working, I’m just focused.” You rambled until he started laughing.

“God, you do overthink.”

“That's what my therapist said.” You shrugged while you felt your cheeks burning.

“Is that what is happening here? You overthinking the date?”

You exhaled, exhausted, “I'm overthinking everything. What should I wear? What should I even say? How much is too much? What's expected? I haven't been on a date in years, and before that, dates weren't something that I paid any mind to, and they definitely were far from decent, if I even could call them dates. None of my past boyfriends cared enough to take me on a real date.”

You squirmed, trying to push back the memories of the many times you cried yourself to sleep, thinking that you weren't enough for any of them.

“My friends care, and they say this guy is a great catch, so what if I fuck up? I don't have a problem being single, but… i just don't want to lose something that is good only because of a stupid, bad date.”You ranted.

“That’s… so much pressure.” He softened his voice, empathy written in his features.

“Yeah, imagine having to deal with it.”

A beat.

“You don't have to do it alone, you know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you're worrying about going on a date, and here I am, someone who has gone to several dates. You can rant to me about what you're overthinking, and I can help you. Think of me like Yoda but for dating.”

“And I'll be your Jedi?”

His eyes glinted with enthusiasm.

“Yes! You're getting it!”

You snorted, “I don't know if you're insane for suggesting it or I’m even more insane for actually considering it.”

“Is that a yes?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

You sighed, “Fuck it, let’s do it. I don't have anything to lose.”

Bucky punched the air, “Yes!”

“Why are you so happy?” You chuckled, watching as he did a weird celebration dance.

“Can’t I be happy for helping a friend? Think of this as a payoff for the many times you have helped me out.”

“A raise would be nicer, though.” You muttered under your breath.

He stopped dancing and pointed at you. “I’m working on it!”

You rolled your eyes and pointed at the pile next to him. “Go back to work, those books won't wrap themselves.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, raising a hand to his head in the form of a salute.

Yeah… this might be a bad idea.

Later that day, you were eating your lunch when Bucky burst into the break room. He sat across from you and, with a smile that promised trouble. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankles as he stretched, and his hands remained threaded together over his stomach.

“Tell me more about you.” He said.

“I’m on my break.” You buried your fork in your plate and brought it to your mouth. "I don't function unless my break is done."

“And you need help. Part of being on a date is being comfortable talking about yourself and listening, so let's practice." He explained.

“Okay…” You looked down at your plate with a frown.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, “I’m listening.”

You let out a deep breath. “I don't know. I suck at this.”

“Come on, tell me anything. For example, why did you decide to work here? We have never talked about that.”

“It’s stupid.” You mumbled.

“It's not, I promise.”

You locked eyes with him, debating yourself if you should tell him the truth or go with a simpler, less uncomfortable reason. But the more you looked into his blue eyes, the more you remembered who was in front of you — yes, your almost boss slash former crush, but also your friend.

So you went for the truth.

“When I was younger, my parents had a rough patch; there were always fights at home and… I don't know, I was old enough to get out of the house without their supervision, so I went out and walked around until one day I found this place, it was… quiet, peaceful. A safe place.” You said, looking down at your food. “I used to come here every day until they decided to divorce and my dad moved out.”

Your eyes burned, tears threatened to spill as you remembered exactly how you felt those years ago.

“So last year, I was on my way to an interview at a corporation. A boring desk job. Can you believe? And then as I was passing by, I saw you placing that sign.”

“That's why you had a job application with you,” Bucky mumbled. You raised your head to look at him, and when he realized he had said it out loud, he blushed. “Sorry.”

You let out a wet laugh. “Yeah, that's why. The moment I crossed that door… I felt exactly like I did back then. I felt safe, like I was coming back home. It was a no-brainer after that.”

His eyes softened, he reached towards you and placed his hand over your wrist. “I’m glad you found this place.”

You felt your throat tightening; the way he was looking at you was doing things for you that you didn't want to entertain with, so you looked away, removing your hand to pick up your bowl and lean back into your chair.

"Anyways, don't you think that's a topic for a second date, at least? A lot to unpack for a first date." You attempted to joke.

"It's your decision. If you feel comfortable about it, at the end of the day, it's a part of your life."

"I'll have it mind." You glanced at him, and for a second, you thought he was leaning in, but you heard the bell that announced a new customer, interrupting whatever he was thinking of doing.

He closed his eyes for a second, cursing under his breath, and then got up. "I'll go, you finish your lunch."

You nodded, and then he was gone.

The day passed by with more stolen moments whenever the flow of customers died down. He would approach you at the front desk whenever the customers left the shop or in case some were just looking around, and he didn't need to be placing more books or taking some out from the storage. In case you had switched places, he would find you wherever you were in the store and trail behind you as he asked questions.

Some were rapid-fired, especially when he saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye:

Cats or dogs?

Sunrise or sunset?

Sweet or savory?

Early bird or night owl?

If there was time, he made more open questions:

If you had a superpower, what would it be?

What would you do if you won the lottery?

Favorite song and album, and why?

“Okay, so let me see if I’m understanding, so he is going to marry another girl —” He said while you counted the till after he placed the closed sign.

“He wants to propose.” You corrected.

“Tomato, tomahto. He wants to propose, gifting her a star.” You nodded. “And the star is a girl.”

“Yup.”

“And he falls in love with her.”

“Eventually — it's a really good movie.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I don't know, there's something appealing to watch their journey together and how even if they annoy each other from the start, you see them fall in love without them realizing, or at least trying not to think about it.”

“So you're a romantic.” You expected to see a mocking expression, but instead, there was a look in his eyes that you could only think of as genuine curiosity.

“I guess you can say so.”

He hummed, and after he nodded to himself, he took his phone from the table and pocketed it.

“Bucky?” You narrowed your eyes at him. He was moving in silence, something he rarely did, let alone in the middle of a conversation.

"Do you mind closing tonight?" He said, reaching for his jacket behind the counter.

"Where are you going?"

"Unimportant." He put on his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Unbelievable." You muttered. "And I fucking lost count." You groaned and started over.

・・・・・

It was early, you had just flipped the sign to OPEN just a few minutes ago, and now you were busy accommodating some books when you heard the door open.

“One second!” You called out, taking the last book of the cart and putting it in its place.

“Good morning.” Bucky was waiting for you next to the front desk, leaning against the wood.

“I thought you were a customer.” You said, rolling the book cart with you.

“It’s still early. Here, let's switch.” He turned back, took something from behind him, and walked towards you.

He took the cart and handed you a takeout cup, same one you had bought him the day before.

You inhaled the scent of fresh coffee and mentally scolded yourself for not taking a detour to buy your own cup.

“It's for you, by the way,” Bucky said as he rolled the cart away.

“What?”

“It's your order. Drink it.” He chuckled when he saw the confusion on your face. “What? Sweetheart, don't look at me as if I never do good things for you.”

Maybe it was because you had your guard down, but you flushed.

You didn't answer him; you hid your face and drank from the cup. Only one sip was enough for you to widen your eyes and look at him with surprise.

“It is my order!”

“Of course it is.” He said with a smile, placing the cart in its place and moving to continue the morning routine.

“How?” You took another sip and closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of the beverage travel inside you.

“Remember that time, when my parents were here, and I volunteered to bring all of you coffee? Well, I didn't forget your order.”

“That was months ago. I had less than a month here.” You said with surprise.

He shrugged. "I pay attention."

Bucky walked towards the computer and began checking the emails, taking your place at the front desk.

"I see that."

"Oh, by the way, I saw the movie," Bucky said casually over his shoulder. “The one you mentioned was your favorite?”

“Really?”

He nodded, focused on the screen, “Good movie, I see why you like it. And you were right about them.” He turned to face you, “Their journey truly was appealing, but damn, the number of times I just wanted to shake some sense into them so they could see they had what they needed in front of them.” He made a gesture of strangling the air.

You chuckled. “Exactly!”

You kept talking about the movie and other hobbies while working; it felt natural talking with him. Even if during your first month you had tried to keep it professional, Bucky’s charm had been disarming.

You hadn't even received your first check when he was making you laugh and talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Now, with this whole date situation, Bucky realized that there were many things he didn't know about you, and maybe it was selfish, but he was determined to know you — not his co-worker who could talk about him about the frequent customers, who could keep up with his humor and make him lose his composure while doing inventory and restocking — the real you, the one that lived outside the bookstore when you were out of the clock.

・・・・・

Three days before your date, while both of you were taking boxes out of the storage room, Bucky became bolder.

“Are you planning to have sex with him?” He said casually, holding the door open of the room with one hand and carrying a box with his metal arm so you could go through.

You almost dropped the box in your arms if it hadn't been because he was close enough to keep the box steady with his hand.

“Careful, you don't want to get injured so close to your date.” He said with a teasing smile.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You scolded him.

He winced. “Full government name? Damn.”

“Why are you even making that question?”

“I swear I’m not a perv.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He snorted. “You mentioned when you were rambling about the date, remember?”

Your eyebrows jumped.

“Well, not explicitly.” He added after seeing your expression. “But you said you were worried about expectations, where the limits are. I thought you referred to that.”

You opened your mouth, but words got stuck in your throat.

“You really have a good memory.” You said instead, placing the box you were carrying on the counter to open it. You tried to use the box cutter, but you struggled to make it glide over the cardboard.

“And you're deflecting, I thought we agreed to be honest.” He approached, towering behind you. “Let me do it.” He said, hovering his hand over yours that was holding the box cutter.

Your breath hitched. He was too close; you could feel his breath fanning on the exposed skin at the side of your neck, and if you took half a step back, you would have his chest against your back.

Instead of taking the blade from your hand, he wrapped his hand over yours, applying enough pressure so the blade could cut through the material.

“We need to change the blade,” He mumbled, removing his hand and with it the box cutter. He put the blade next to the box but didn't move; instead, he placed that hand on the counter, half cagging you.

You gulped, suddenly feeling your mouth dry.

“I’m not deflecting.” You tried to make your voice steady, keeping your eyes trained on the box before you, trying your best not to move back.

He chuckled.

“Then answer.” His voice dropped, low and gravely.

You wetted your lips with a glide of your tongue. And in an attempt to appear nonchalant, you turned around, a decision that quickly made itself noted that it was a bad idea.

You had to tilt your head up to look at him. Suddenly, it felt as if the space between you had shrunk. It didn't help that his metal hand landed on the counter too, fully caging you.

“I — I think it will depend.” You choked.

“Of what?” His eyes scanned your face.

“If there's chemistry. And if he wants to.”

The muscle of his jaw jerked.

“What about you? Do you want to?”

“I don't know yet.” You whispered.

“Would you kiss him?” His eyes dropped for a second to your lips, and then went back to your eyes.

“If things led us there." It was the turn of your eyes to focus on his lips, "Sure.”

“If he had you in this position as I do, would you go for it? A kiss?” He asked when you looked back at his eyes.

“Probably.” There was that again, that glance at his lips.

He hummed, his eyes going back to your lips.

If it hadn't been because the counter was supporting you, you were sure that your knees would have given out.

And then he moved, turning around and going back to taking out boxes.

What the fuck was that?

Before your mind could spiral, he talked again, this time from a much safer distance.

“Whatever you let him do, remember that you're also in control. You can say no. Don't take any step if you don't feel comfortable. Don't give a fuck about his expectations.” Bucky said sternly.

“And if you feel that he's pressing you to do anything that you don't want to, or if you just don't want to be there anymore — you can always reach out to have an escape call.”

“My what?”

He said your name, stopping by the doorframe of the storage room. “Please tell me you have talked with your friends. They are arranging a blind date and not even offering to be your escape call?” He sounded offended.

“I’m confused.”

“You know, when you're on a date, and you want to leave because it's boring, uncomfortable, or you just don't want to be there anymore — a friend can call you.”

You shook your head.

“You should tell them.”

You fidgeted with your fingers.

“I can hear the gears inside your head turning. What's the issue?”

“They know this guy. I don't think I’d need an escape call. Besides, it's on a weekend, they're busy with their family plans.”

“Sweetheart, it doesn't matter if you're going on a date with the best bachelor around; you need to have a safety plan.” He said before getting inside the room.

You sighed. He was right.

"Would you do it?" You said.

"Can you repeat that? I didn't hear you." Bucky said, emerging from the room with two boxes in his arms.

"Would you be my escape call if I need it?"

His eyes softened, and he approached you, stopping right in front of you. "Of course, whatever you need."

You mirrored his smile, and, without thinking about it, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him.

"Thank you, Bucky." You mumbled against his chest.

He reciprocated the hug, resting his head over yours.

"Not a problem. That's what friends are for."

・・・・・

Days with you, Bucky realized, passed by quickly. This arrangement had pulled you both much closer, so much that Bucky dreaded that it was going to be over soon — sure, you would still be friends like you had been since you started working with him, but he really hoped that the easiness and openness with which you had been interacting these past days would remain.

The day had finally arrived; tonight, you would have your date, and he would see if all the advice and practice had paid off. While Bucky did his morning run around the neighborhood, he realized something, a feeling that he had been having these past days, and had grown more frequent, appeared again, a pang in his chest whenever he thought about you being on a date with another man.

The feeling had come previously, building up softly, creeping until it became painful. Each time he noticed the glint in your eyes when you rambled about something that was on your mind, when you would laugh so hard that your whole body swayed and rested on his side, your smile… soon another man would be on the receiving end of it.

His mind went back again to that day that he had you caged against the counter; he had been so close to kissing you, and after your confession… thinking about this unknown man that would be close enough to do what he had stopped himself from doing, to think that he would be able of feel your lips against his, to touch you, and if he got lucky, he would be able to hear his name out of your lips as you came undone.

Jealousy.

Bucky Barnes was jealous.

He wished that you had a good time, purely because he knew you deserved nothing less than that. But a good time meant that you would like whoever was going to be sitting across from you during your date.

Bucky got to his apartment, his mind still building scenarios, and he got to his shower after checking that Alpine had her bowls of food and water full. Hours passed by with him trying to keep his mind occupied, until his phone rang.

"I need your help." You said the moment the facecall connected.

He could only see your face partly as you moved across your apartment. Bucky noticed that your hair was done; you had opted to let your hair down, making it flow with each movement you did — he wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the crook of your neck.

"Hello to you too, what do you need?" He said quickly. Internally cringing to himself at his earnestness.

He saw how you bit your lip, second-guessing your decision to call him in the first place.

Bucky called your name.

"I told you whatever you need, I'm here. Tell me what it is."

You sighed, placing the phone right in front of you so you could see him properly, still only showing your face.

"I just hung up a two-hour call with my friends, I did my hair, and went through my whole closet." You grunted. "I don't have any idea what to wear. Their only advice is cleavage and a miniskirt, but I'm not sure."

"You want me to drive you to the mall?" Bucky glanced at the clock on his wall, "If we hurry up, maybe you can find an outfit."

You chuckled, "I appreciated, but I do think I can make out something out of my clothes, but —" you wetted your lips with the tip of your tongue. "I called you because I want your opinion on my options… you're also a man, I could use your feedback."

"Of course, sweetheart, show me." He said, interrupting your rambling, especially since you were already flushing.

You smiled at him, and then the image became a blur as you placed the phone against something so he could see you from head to toe. He wondered if this was the same angle that you were using with your friends from the quickness with which you set it up.

"Okay, I think you'll be able to see the look." You mumbled as you stepped away from the phone and then spun around. "What do you think?"

You were wearing a white blouse, paired with a pencil skirt that hugged your curves.

He hummed, "Where is said date?"

"It's a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, not too fancy and not too casual." You said.

"Next outfit then, you look like you're on your way to a job interview."

You gasped, offended. "Is the skirt, right?"

He nodded. "Yep. Next, sweetheart."

You exhaled and then disappeared from the frame.

"Ready? This is the next option." You said, stepping in front of the phone.

Bucky had to stop himself from dropping his jaw and making his eyes go full-on cartoon heart eyes. This outfit was simple, but it was so… you. A black top, with a jacket over it, paired with a long skirt — a long skirt with a slit that went up to your thigh.

"Are you there?" You called out when you stopped spinning.

Bucky blinked and cleared his throat. "Yeah, still here, my connection buffered for a second." He lied. "I think that looks perfect. It's very you."

"You think so?" You leaned towards the phone and smiled; that, and the glint in your eyes, was disarming.

He nodded, "Excuse me for a second." He got up from his couch and went to the kitchen. As he served himself a glass of water, Alpine jumped to the counter and meowed at the phone.

"Is that you, Queen Alpine?" You said. "Long time no see, beautiful."

Bucky frowned, "Do you know my cat?"

"Your mom asked me to go feed her when you went out during your vacations." You explained.

"I thought she had done it." He said as he picked up the phone again and returned to his living room.

"She tried, but Alpine kept acting weird. She asked me to go with her, and it turns out your girl loves me. She let me pet her and ate while I was there."

“She’s smart.”

“That she is.” You agreed. “So, this option?”

“I like that one. But it's your choice.”

“Great, it's my pick too. I have to go, now that I know what I'm wearing, I can do my makeup.”

“Remember, if you need to get out of there, call me, no matter what time it is. I’ll be waiting. Text me when you arrive and get home too, please.”

“Will do. Thank you, Bucky.” You said and then sent him a kiss, “Talk to you later, bye!”

And then you were gone.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch.

Did it make him a bad person that he wished you had a bad date only so you could call him and hear your voice again?

At 6:55, his phone buzzed.

You I’m here, apparently he's parking his car. omg he's here

Bucky Good luck You left a heart on his message a beat later. And so his torture began.

Bucky paced around the apartment without much direction. He went to his room and undid and did his bed again, he did his laundry, did the dishes, and started cleaning the apartment — all that with Alpine meowing at him from her spot on the window. Every few minutes, he put his phone out and stared at your text thread.

At 8 pm, he took the keys to his car out of the bowl near the door and put them in his pocket.

“If she needs me, I need to be able to get out quickly.” He said out loud, earning another meow from Alpine, even she could see through his bullshit.

That train of thought made him take a quick shower, change clothes, and put on his shoes.

He wondered if that guy made you laugh.

If he was letting you talk or interrupting you.

If he noticed whenever you wanted to keep talking about something or when you wanted to change topics.

If his eyes dropped to your lips, and if you did the same with his.

Bucky closed his eyes and groaned.

Why the fuck didn't he ask the name of the restaurant? Why didn't he offer to pick you up? Ah, yes, he didn't want to make you think he was a weirdo. Well, now Bucky was suffering the consequences of second-guessing.

By 9:30 pm, he wanted to cry because you hadn't called him yet, and that meant one thing: you were enjoying your date.

And if that was true, that meant that Bucky had lost his chance.

The truth was that Bucky had been harboring feelings for you for what felt like an eternity — even though it had only been less than a year since he had truly interacted with you; he had seen you before, of course, living near and having overlapping time at the same schools. But he was a coward. He liked what you two had, the easy-as-breathing type of friendship, a type of trust and reciprocated respect.

He tried to date other people, only to fully stop a few months ago, once he realized he felt like shit during and after each date. As if each attempt were a direct act of betrayal to you and to his feelings. He had convinced himself that having you as a friend was enough to make his heart stop aching, enough closeness to alleviate his yearning.

And it had been.

Until now.

He buried his face in his hands. He just hoped that this guy, whoever he was, would take care of you, love you the way you deserved.

It was close to ten pm when he gave up and decided to take his pity party to his bedroom. He would stay up until you texted him that you were safe and sound back in your home, but that didn't stop him from throwing himself on his bed and drowning himself in his misery.

He had already said good night to Alpine when he heard someone knocking on his door. Alpine perked her ears and let out a meow.

"Easy, Al, it's probably the neighbor," Bucky said, and then padded to the door.

He opened the door and froze the moment his eyes landed on the person outside.

You.

"Hi, do you mind if I come in?" You said, burying your hands inside the pockets of your jacket.

"Y-yeah, sure, of course, come in." He stuttered and moved aside.

He closed the door behind you.

You whistled, "This place looks and smells good." You said, looking around, then your eyes landed on Alpine. "Hi, Queen!"

Alpine meowed, jumping from her spot at the window and padding to you. You knelt on the floor and brushed your hand over her fur. "Such a pretty girl!"

Bucky was at lost of words, he blinked repeatedly.

Had he gone to sleep, and was this a dream?

"Totally real." You said, standing up and turning around with a smile on your face.

"Did I say it out loud?" Bucky asked.

You nodded, biting your lip and trying to muffle your laugh.

"How was your date?" Bucky wondered, after clearing his throat.

"The date was great, actually." You assured. "His name is Frank, he's a doctor, well, a pediatrician." You added.

"That's good." He croaked, rooted in his spot near the door.

"It is. He's a great guy." You sighed, and then you started pacing around the living room, your eyes scanning the room as you moved around. Bucky could only keep his eyes on you, still confused about what you were doing in his apartment. "The food was amazing. He was a good company too. Your advice helped a lot." You said the last part over your shoulder. "I really felt that the conversation flowed, I felt more confident too."

You turned to see him, and then slowly approached him. "But every single moment I kept thinking about something, and it didn't leave my mind since the moment I hung up our video call."

You stopped a few steps in front of him. "The whole time I kept thinking about another person. I kept comparing his questions to the way he would respond. The way he looked at me." You took a step forward until you had to lift your face to meet his eyes. "The way he made me feel."

"Who did you compare him to?" He whispered.

You tilted your head, a smile pulling the corners of your mouth. "I think you know."

"I — It will really help me if you say it out loud." He said, and you chuckled.

You took another step forward.

"I kept wishing that I was on a date with you." You said softly.

His breath hitched.

"I was wishing the same." He mumbled.

"Thank God, because if you didn't, this whole thing would have been so humiliating."

It was his time to chuckle. His eyes dropped to your lips and back to your eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

Bucky lifted his hands and grabbed your face. The moment your lips touched, it was as if fireworks went off inside the room. He leaned into you, making you step back until the back of your thighs brushed the couch.

"Bucky," you whimpered against his mouth.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself down. Your breathing was ragged, as well as his.

"We shouldn't…" He choked out, with a pained look on his face, his control hanging by a thread.

"I want to." You said, reaching your hand to cup his cheek. He turned his face slightly, leaving a kiss in your palm and leaning into your touch. "I want you, and I need you, Bucky, only you."

He opened his eyes, his pupils were dilated, black pools of desire stared at you, and you were sure your eyes mirrored his need.

"Please." You begged with a whisper.

"Fuck." He cursed, the thread of control snapping like a twig.

And then he was on you. He kissed you, a possessive hand held you by your waist, pulling you to him as his tongue brushed your lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Your hand traveled over his broad chest and slid under his shirt.

"I want to feel you." You whimpered. "Please."

"Not here. Come on." You thought he was going to move away to guide you, but instead, he braced an arm around your waist and the other under your knees and lifted you, carrying you towards his room.

With your hand, you guided his face back to you, joining your lips into another kiss as he walked blindly with you in his arms. You were lucky that he didn't bump into the wall or stumble during his path to his room. You assisted him, opening the door without breaking the kiss, and once you were inside and he had kicked the door closed, he let you go to lower you.

He removed his shirt, and you took off your jacket, and between kisses and giggles, the clothes pooled on the floor quickly until you were left in only your underwear, lying in the middle of the bed. He stared at you from the foot of the bed, and when he didn't join you in bed, you propped yourself on your elbows.

You felt heat flushing your skin as you realized he was staring at your uncoordinated underwear. The look on his face was pure hunger as he slowly approached. His hands found your ankles and slowly, oh, so slowly, crept up, leaving goosebumps in their way.

"You weren't planning this. Him having you like this." It wasn't a question. His voice was low and husky.

You shook your head.

"Good girl." He grinned and then, in a quick motion, grabbed you and pulled you down the bed. He held your legs open wide as he positioned himself between your legs and knelt on the floor.

You whined as he began kissing your thigh, getting closer and closer to your core, only to retreat and repeat the motion with your other thigh. "You look so beautiful like this. I've been wanting to do this the moment I saw that skirt on you." He said against your skin. "I thought of kissing every single inch of your skin, higher and higher," he left a kiss over your clothed cunt, "until I got here."

He looked up at you and rested his cheek against your thigh. "Would you let me taste you?"

You were panting as his hands traveled up and stopped at your underwear. You nodded, desperate.

"Use your words, baby." He said, and then let a playful bite in exposed skin.

You gasped. "Y-yes, yes, please."

He smiled and left a kiss on your thigh. "Good girl."

The moment his mouth latched onto your core, you moaned his name. His tongue drew circles around your clit, but his eyes remained on you, watching in awe every gasp and reaction his actions caused.

"Such a sweet pussy, and all mine." Your thighs closed around his head, your back arching as he pushed you closer and closer to your climax.

And then he stopped.

He moved away from you. When you lifted your head and looked at him, offended, you found him standing up and stroking his cock, a devil grin on his face.

"I wanna feel you coming around my cock, baby." He purred, dragging the tip of his cock between your folds, your slick mixed with his saliva, making him glide with ease.

"Please." You begged, mewling each time his tip brushed your clit.

"Please, what, sweetheart?"

"Put it inside, mmh."

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He cooed, "Make you mine inside out?"

"Yes, Bucky, yes."

He dragged his cock downwards and then pushed inside you, slowly, letting you accommodate him. "Fuck" He cursed, hanging his head low as he fought the urge to thrust inside you. "Relax, baby." With his thumb, he made tight circles around your clit.

"It's been so long," You said, struggling to take deep breaths as he pushed inside inch by inch.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm gonna take really good care of you."

Once he was buried to the hilt, he leaned to kiss you. You latched onto him, one hand on his back and the other on his nape. Slowly, he started grinding his hips; each stroke brought more and more pleasure, until you were clawing his back. His shallow thrusts grew more desperate until he was pistoning into you with force.

His lips traveled down, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and neck.

"Bucky," you moaned.

"That's it, baby, you're taking me so well." He groaned against your neck.

Your back arched, and you digged your nails into his back.

"I'm…mmph."

"Let go, baby, I got you."

You came with his name on your mouth, locking your legs around him.

"So beautiful, my beautiful, perfect girl." He praised you as he fucked you through your orgasm. "Shit, sweetheart, I need to pull out."

You shook your head. "Cum inside me, please." You pleaded.

"Sweetheart." He furrowed his eyebrows, pushing away his own orgasm by pure will.

"I'm on the pill. I need you, Bucky."

"Fuck." His control snapped like a twig, his rhythm became erratic as he came, and the overwhelming sensation pulled another orgasm out of you, your walls spasming around him. "That's it, baby, take it all. Good girl."

He stayed inside you until your heart stopped hammering in your chest. He collapsed over your body, leaving kisses all over your face that made you giggle.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Bucky asked, bracing his forearm next to your head so he could look you in the eyes.

"Tell me."

"We need to plan a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, baby, it's time that you have the proper date that you deserve." He said, and with his hand, brushed your hair away from your face. "What do you say?"

"I'll love that." You nodded and smiled at him.

"Perfect, you won't regret it."

He left another kiss on your cheek and then buried his face in the crook of your neck, half draped over your body.

"Bucky," you called.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I have a question." He pulled away again.

"Tell me."

"Since you'll be my date… that means that you can't be my escape call, right?"

He huffed a laugh, leaning his head and leaving a playful bite on your shoulder.

"Hey, careful! No wonder Alpine bites everything that crosses her way. She got it from her daddy." He nibbled at your skin again and then, in a quick motion, turned until he was on his back and you were on top of him.

"To answer your question, yes, I can't be your escape call."

"Buu, bummer. You'd better behave on our date then." You mumbled before kissing him.

"I don't know, sometimes misbehaving leads you to wonderful places." He said against your lips as his hand traveled down and grabbed your ass, making your hips jerk and grind over his thigh.

You squealed, "You're trouble, Bucky Barnes."

"So I had been told, but you'll get to love it."

"I think I already do." You whispered.

"Good," He cupped your cheek. "Because I already love you, too."

taglist: @nikkitabarnes @houseofhyde @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @justwantsomeplums @thearchivistshaven @swimmingnightcolor @w1nter-fairy @sassandscribbles @opheliabbarnes @54nboo @buckyfmd @slutforsr @umbreoni @devililithh @colettebarnes @barnesandashes @metal-armed-muse @heldbybarnes @sheriff-bodecker @bckyslover @demiebarnes @amoremarveloustime @kqtholins @spidermanluvr444 @mathcat345 @singulartoast @erina00 @goldiegirl0312 (+ comment on this post to be added to the taglist)

if you liked it, feel free to leave a like, rb, a comment, or an ask! I'd love to read your thoughts!

[smorgaswhored]

null & void masterlist

pairing: sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut (p-in-v & unprotected, oral - f!receiving, fingering, creampie, lots of dirty talk, edging, p-pronouns, light p-inspection, mentions of somno and free use), dom!Bucky, power imbalance, sugar daddy / sugar baby dynamic, age gap (reader in mid-to-late twenties while Bucky’s in his early forties), mentioned illness/death of parents (minor characters), money troubles, i.e., debt, bills, etc., alcohol consumption, one instance of smoking, no mentions of y/n

word count: 31.8k

summary: The arrangement is simple enough: you give him friendship, he gives you a better life. But between the private dinners cozied up in a booth and the charity galas pressed to his side, it’s getting harder for you to hold up your end of the bargain when you’re starting to feel things for your sugar daddy that were not included in the contract…

PARTS:

part one

part two

part three

DRABBLES:

coming soon…

thanks for reading!🤍 check out more in my masterlist

[love-stucky]

bucky uses his strength on you

pairing: beefy bucky barnes x f!reader

warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral sex (f receiving), strength/power play (bucky lifts reader up. he's a super soldier, what can't he lift?), strength kink? praise kink, multiple orgasms (implied), overstimulation, pet names (doll, baby, good girl, sweetheart)

jazz yaps: back with another horny idea graciously bestowed upon me by @buckybsdoll! also marvel not giving us a shirtless beefy bucky scene remains one of history's greatest crimes 😤 at least the red henley exists.

wc: 1k

You came down to the home gym at the Avengers compound with Bucky, expecting to get a workout in like usual.

But the second he starts his set your attention shifts straight to him.

The room fills with the clank of metal plates and the steady rhythm of his breathing, and somehow you end up just standing there watching instead of doing anything productive.

He’s beneath the bar with more weight loaded onto it than most men would dare attempt, his vibranium arm catching the bright fluorescent light every time he pushes the bar upward.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, tracing the thick muscles of his neck, sliding over the wide expanse of his chest, and disappearing into the defined ridges of his abs.

Each low grunt he lets out as he pushes the bar sends a jolt straight to your core, his biceps bulge like fucking pythons, veins standing out along his forearms like they’ve been drawn there just to ruin your focus.

And God help you, he looks unfairly good—solid, powerful, the kind of man who could crush steel and still have you completely unravelled just by standing there.

You nudge your thighs together, feeling the heat build up.

The way he controls the weight, hips lifting just slightly for leverage, muscles tightening under those black shorts clinging to his thick thighs… it pulls you straight back to that night.

That night in his bedroom when he’d turned all that raw strength on you.

He'd already made you come twice on his tongue, sprawled on the bed with your legs hooked over his shoulders. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, holding you spread wide open as his mouth worked your pussy—lips sucking your clit, tongue plunging deep, lapping up every drop like he had been starving for weeks.

“Fuck, doll,” he’d groaned against you, his voice rough and wrecked. "Taste so goddamn sweet. Gimme one more."

You’d been trembling, oversensitive from the intense pleasure, thighs quivering around his head.

But he didn't relent.

Instead, he slid his flesh arm under your ass to drag you right to the edge of the bed like you weighed nothing at all—pulling you closer as if you weren’t already close enough.

His piercing blues locked on yours, dark with a primal hunger. “C’mon, baby,” he'd growled. “Soak my face again. I know you got it.”

You shouldn’t have been shocked by his strength—super soldier serum and all that—but when he said, “Grab on,” and you clutched his shoulders, fingers sinking into solid muscle, he just… lifted you.

Straight off the bed, you were suspended mid-air in his arms, held up only by his strength as he devoured you like a man possessed.

You gripped his hair with one hand, the other braced on his shoulder, knuckles white as you rode his face, every flick of his tongue sending hot, overwhelming pulses through your entire body.

The thrill of it—the sheer power holding you up while he ravaged your soaked cunt, nose grinding your throbbing clit, tongue curling deep with feral growls vibrating straight through you.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, leaving you lightheaded and on the verge of blacking out.

But you were close, oh so close—muscles burning as you started to slip.

“B-bucky—fuck, I cant,” you’d gasped, your grip faltering. “Gonna f-fall, I—”

He’d just grunted, low and animalistic, not even pausing to set you down.

In one fluid move, he pivoted and slammed your back against the nearest wall, the impact rattling the pictures on the wall and sending one crashing to the floor in pieces.

He paid no mind to it.

His mouth sealed over you again, relentless, tongue thrusting deep as his vibranium hand pinned your thigh high, opening you wider.

"Give it to me, baby," he'd demanded, voice rough between sucks, eyes burning into you. "Give me what’s mine. Come on my tongue. Now."

And you had, shattering harder than before, grinding down onto his greedy mouth as your orgasm ripped through you, thighs quaking around his head, squirting hot and messy over his face while he drank it all down, groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"That's my good fucking girl."

The loud clang of the bar settling into the rack snaps you back to reality, your panties now completely drenched from the memory and your nipples straining hard against your tank top.

Bucky sits up, straightening as he wipes sweat from his brow with a towel, dragging it slowly down the side of his neck before his gaze settles on you.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his lips tip into that familiar, knowing smirk.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he teases, voice low and playful as he stands and begins to walk toward you. "You know, you're not very subtle," he chuckles, stopping just inches away, towering over you.

“You’ve been eye-fuckin’ me for the last ten minutes,” he adds, that smirk deepening. "What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh? Thinkin' about something dirty?"

Your breath hitches, pulse thundering between your legs, and you don't bother lying. "Yeah," you admit, voice steady but tight. "Thinking about how I want to be your next workout."

The smirk is gone. His eyes darken at your words, that playful glint morphing into something far more intense.

Without warning, his hands are on you—vibranium palm firm at the back of your thigh, his other arm wrapping around your waist—as he lifts you up effortlessly.

Your legs instinctively lock around his hips, your back arching as he presses his rock-hard cock right against your soaked core through your thin shorts.

“Lucky for you…" he groans, tilting your face down to his and lightly nibbling your lower lip. "I was barely workin' up a sweat.”

thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3 pls let me know what you think!

taglist: @/buckybsdoll @singulartoast @buckysdecaflove @sassandscribbles @phoenix-in-writing @epiphanyrogers - if you would like to be added to my bucky taglist, pls leave a comment or send me an ask 🫶🏽

[smorgaswhored]

null & void (part two)

pairing: sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut, fluffy!Bucky, power imbalance, sugar daddy / sugar baby dynamic, age gap (reader in mid-to-late twenties while Bucky’s in his early forties), mentioned illness/death of parents (minor characters), money troubles, i.e., debt, bills, etc., alcohol consumption, one instance of smoking cigarettes, no mentions of y/n

word count: 8.6k

part one - part three: coming soon

summary: The arrangement is simple enough: you give him friendship, he gives you a better life. But between the private dinners cozied up in a booth and the charity galas pressed to his side, it’s getting harder for you to hold up your end of the bargain when you’re starting to feel things for your sugar daddy that were not included in the contract…

sammy speaks: part two is here!! I don’t think I’ve written this many words since my 1D fanfic days lol. good news is I’m on vacation now so the writing will be flowing! I wouldn’t mind an ask or prompt about these two either 😏 hope you enjoy lovelies

December arrives suddenly. With it comes your winter break.

You spend most of it staying up late, indulging in mindless scrolls and shitty TV, and sleeping in until the afternoon. It’s lazy, self-serving and irresponsible, but it’s healing something childlike within you that hasn’t gotten attention since your mom passed.

Bucky understands this, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.

“I’m giving my brain a break,” you tell him for the third time, phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you make a fresh cup of coffee at four in the afternoon.

“You’re becoming nocturnal,” Bucky replies sternly on the other end.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Sunlight’s good for a person.”

‘I’m looking at sunlight right now.”

“Sunset,” he corrects. Sure enough, the light is fading quickly, street lamps powering on outside of your window. Damn daylight savings.

“Oh, whatever,” you dismiss. “It’s not like it’s forever — I promise I’ll go back to a normal person’s sleep schedule after the new year.”

“I don’t like waiting around all day to hear from you.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you say, gentler. “I don’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I know,” he sighs, resigned. “It’s just boring without you.”

You bite your lip, an idea blooming in your brain. “You know what’s not boring?”

“What?”

“Malibu.”

He exhales, long and deep, dragging it out.

“Alright,” he relents. “Fine. But when we get back, you’re gonna start going to bed at a normal time like a well-adjusted person. I’m tired of eating lunch alone.”

“Ok, grandpa. I promise.”

He picks you up an hour later when you’re still zipping up your suitcase, dressed like a Tom Ford ad with a cashmere scarf and designer pea coat draped over him, face appropriately disgruntled but eyes bright with adventure as he holds the car door open for you. By six, you’re buckled into the seat next to him on the private jet. By midnight, you’re touching down at Santa Monica Airport.

Sun, sand and ocean breeze occupy your next forty-eight hours. Bucky’s house in Malibu boasts floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Pacific, a waterfall pool set to the perfect temperature, and a large back deck to soak in the sun while eating breakfast. Bucky scrolls the morning news on his phone, shades on and shirt unbuttoned to his naval, while you sip mimosas and try not to stare.

That’s a difficult ask when you’re finally getting an unobstructed view of the chest hair that teased you so long ago.

The first day, you hop in his vintage convertible and drive up the coast to his sprawling vineyard. He gives you a tour of the grounds while you catch a buzz taste testing all the wines he’s made. You’re flushed and giggling by the time you head back, and Bucky’s smile seems like a permanent fixture on his face. Dinner is a seafood feast at a small restaurant right off the beach, where the owner welcomes Bucky like a son and calls you stunning at least five times. The night ends with a glass of wine in front of the moonlit ocean, curled up on a blanket with oversized sweatshirts to block the wind. Whispers back and forth about childhood dreams and failed first kisses; favorite books and most embarrassing moments. You feel light as a feather by the time you float off to bed, a warmth that has nothing to do with the wine settling deep in your chest.

The next day, Bucky rouses you from your sleep before the sun’s fully up, claiming you “need the practice” and muttering that it’s already 9 in the morning back home when you prove difficult to move from the guest bed. When you’re finally up, the two of you walk the beach with the rest of the early risers, sipping travel mugs of extra strong coffee and making fun of runners who stumble through the sand.

The ocean’s coming alive at this time of day, and for a few minutes, the two of you stop to watch it do its thing. Waves crash, shells tumble. Not far from the coast, dolphins jump through the air, chasing fish and playing.

It’s the calmest your mind and heart have been in ages, and the feeling makes you smile, face tipped up toward the sun. When Bucky reaches for your hand, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze.

Later, you take a dip in the pool while Bucky makes a work call. The sun beats down on your skin relentlessly like it’s never heard of winter. You’re starting to doze on your floating lounge chair when you hear a small splash, and waves lap at your skin. You push your sunglasses up and look around.

Bucky breaks through the water at the other end of the pool. You blink at him.

When he spots you, a wicked smile crosses his face. Before you can say a word, he’s ducked under again and streaking towards you like a shark.

“Bucky—“

You’re tossed overboard, the sound of Bucky’s laughter the last thing you hear before you hit the water. He’s still laughing when you emerge, drenched and in disbelief. You answer his laugh with a sharp splash right to the face, scowling. His smile turns evil after he shakes the water from his eyes.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

You splash him again because he fucking deserves it. Then he lunges.

You shriek, making a break for the edge of the pool, but he’s got you by the ankle before you even touch the wall. He yanks, sending you spiraling underwater again.

You’re sputtering when you come up, but it’s game on now. You throw yourself at him, hands pressing down on his shoulders to give him a taste of his own medicine, but he’s immovable to your touch. Wasting no time, he grabs you by the waist and tosses you several feet across the water. You launch another attack when his head’s turned, coming up from behind and wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him down with you. He goes willingly this time, but his hands maneuver you easily so that you’re thrown over his shoulder when you break the surface. You writhe and wrestle him to let you go, but he’s got an unbreakable grip across your legs; he carries you through the shallow end while you whine about unfairness, fists beating at his back. He crosses the deck quickly and suddenly, you’re airborne.

Until you smack the water in the deep end.

You gasp for air when you come up. “You’re a fucking bully,” you cough, throat raw from the unprecedented amount of water you inhaled. “You win.”

“You started it,” Bucky lifts his hands helplessly. Then, without warning, he gives you his best smile before cannonballing directly next to you. You scream as another wave of water brings you under.

You have half a mind to shove him back down when he reemerges, but his unbridled laughter is possibly one of the greatest sounds you’ve ever heard in your entire life. You greedily take in the arch of his neck as he throws his head back, and the way his nose scrunches in delight.

After he accepts your white flag, he helps you to the wall, a hand on your back pushing you gently. He hoists himself out first, and suddenly the water in your nose isn’t the only thing making it difficult for you to breathe.

Rivulets trail down his broad back, emphasizing the isolated muscles used to push himself up. They’re large, but sharp, clearly built by hours spent in the gym. When he turns around to offer you a hand, you can’t look him in the eye. The front of him is downright obscene, a replica of any Greek sculpture you can think of. And with his hair slicked back, swim trunks clinging to his muscular thighs, and the chest hair on full display— the chest hair—

He lifts you one-handed out of the water. You scurry away before you can make a bad decision — like lick the water from his chest.

Dinner is sushi on a private deck with the stars shining down on you. He’s placed his jacket around your shoulders, the scent of his cologne and something innately him smothering you in the best way possible. Bucky’s chatty tonight, talking about work, talking about the vineyard, talking about old friends from college. You only absorb every other word, too busy sneaking lingering glances when he’s not looking.

His posture is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen it, and his phone — his usual stressor — is nowhere in sight. The ocean breeze ruffles his hair but he doesn’t bother to fix it. When he meets your eyes, he offers a smile that says he’s right where he wants to be. Like he could do this for the rest of his life.

But all good things must come to an end eventually.

New York is a tundra wasteland when you return. Your timing was impeccable because you just missed the biggest snowstorm of the season. Bucky’s grumbling about the cold the minute you step onto the tarmac, drawing the collar of his coat around his ears despite the car idling thirty feet away.

The drive into the city goes by too quickly. Malibu fades more into a memory with each mile you put between you and the plane.

You think you must be sleep-deprived and jet lagged, because when Bucky presses a parting kiss to your forehead once you’re in front of your building, tears spring to your eyes. You’re out of the car before he can get a chance to see them.

But as soon as you step foot in your apartment, you’re missing the warmth of California, the beautiful Malibu home, the smell of the ocean, and Bucky by your side. It’s not exhaustion that brought the tears — it’s longing. Heavy, irrational, unfiltered longing.

You force yourself to take a nap anyway.

Eventually, the holidays are here, and Bucky gets into the spirit by sparing no expense.

Two days before Christmas, he rents out the entire top floor restaurant of a skyscraper and presents you with a solid gold, heart-shaped locket in the middle of the quiet, candlelit room. It’s vintage, it’s supposedly priceless, and it’s everything you never knew you wanted but now can’t live without. You’re stumbling over your thank yous as he helps you put it on. His fingers are warm and confident as he hooks the clasp, and trail down your neck unintentionally as you turn, giving you goosebumps.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly. Your skin flushes and your heart soars. That’s all you need to hear. You can’t help but touch it repeatedly throughout the night, and Bucky notices, hiding his smile behind his drink.

He’s over the top with giddiness when you give him his gift. A vinyl for his collection, a one-of-a-kind collector’s album of his favorite band that took weeks to track down. And it’s something you purchased with your own meager savings — you know you didn’t have to, but it means something to you to have given back even a minuscule fraction of what he’s given you.

Later that night, when you’re getting ready for bed at your own apartment, you take the locket off and unclasp it.

It pops open easily, revealing two empty frames.

Despite the incredible night, your heart can’t help but sink.

You don’t know what you were expecting — Bucky’s hardly the type to put a photo of himself in a locket, he barely looks in the mirror in the morning. But something inside of you was obviously hoping for it. A small sign of possession. Of claiming this relationship, no matter how it started or what it’s defined as.

You set the locket gently on your bedside table. You fall asleep looking at it, mind sifting through what’s real and what’s imagined.

Christmas day is a quiet event with an estranged aunt that makes the effort to keep family in your life. It’s an awkward affair, with stilted small talk and pauses long enough to make you sweat, but you don’t have the heart to tell her no each time she comes around.

Bucky’s unusually silent throughout the day, nothing from him except a text in the morning wishing you a merry Christmas. It’s a strange feeling for you when most of your day is spent in contact with him. You’re not sure where he is, or if he’s with family, or if he has any. Somehow, you haven’t asked, and he hasn’t volunteered that information yet.

But as the day goes on and you still haven’t heard from him, the curiosity is starting to burn you alive.

Or is it jealousy? Jealousy for whoever’s taking up all his time, time that’s normally dedicated solely to you?

You’re probably being overdramatic, but this feels like the first taste of what your life would be like without him, and it’s turning you inside out. Your usual detachment tendencies are nowhere to be found, instead making room for a frantic need to confirm his existence. You have to battle with the urge to call him three different times before your aunt gives you a stiff hug and heads out.

Once it’s just you and Lucky, the silence is a bitter enabler. You’re ringing him before you know it.

He picks up just before it goes to voicemail. “Hey,” he answers, voice hushed.

“Hi,” you say. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. How’s your aunt?”

“She’s good. She made cookies and then we ate them in silence while watching Rudolph.”

He chuckles. “Sounds like a heartwarming Christmas tradition.”

“I know. She’s trying, at least. She just left, actually…how’s your Christmas?”

“It’s good.”

There’s a pause as you wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Good,” you croak. “I-I’m glad. I was afraid you’d spend it in the office.”

“Even I know when to take a day off, unlike some of us.”

Your smile is automatic as you recall the conversation from months ago. “Hey, some of us didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” his chest rumbles, “but now you do.”

“I don’t have a job, Bucky.”

“So you can take as many days off as you want.”

You giggle. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“It works whatever way you want it to, doll—“ He cuts off when a voice in the background calls his name. A woman’s voice. High and lilting, musical. Your blood runs cold, like you’ve been dropped into the Hudson. “Hey, listen, I gotta go,” Bucky says, low and rushed. “But I’ll call you first thing tomorrow, okay? We’ll do something. Don’t sleep in.”

Your mouth’s open to reply but he’s already hung up. You stare at your phone until the screen goes black. Lucky jumps off the couch next to you, disappearing into the other room and leaving you to deal with your new fears alone.

Bucky makes good on his promise to call you the next morning. In a strange twist of events, you wake up early, probably because you were tossing and turning all night after the abrupt end to your call.

“Hey, doll,” he says cheerfully.

“Hey,” you breathe, praying you hide the hint of relief in your tone.

“Feel like ice skating today?”

Famous last words.

Much later, when your feet are numb from loss of circulation and the cold, and you’ve tired of grumbling at Bucky about how effortless he is at skating, you stare down over the city from his penthouse windows. He has the fireplace lit, Christmas tree lights on, a Bing Crosby carol playing on the vinyl; your hands are wrapped around a hot tea, its steam warming your face. It’s peaceful and serene.

Bucky falls into place beside you on silent feet.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Your mind conjures up the phone call, the woman’s voice on Bucky’s end.

You smile. “That I missed my calling as a figure skater.”

Bucky’s laugh is low and gravely. It scrapes against your spine and makes you shiver.

“I was thinking the same thing. You could’ve had a gold medal by now.”

“A dream deferred.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, pulling you closer by the hip. You can smell his cologne again, and it momentarily deprives you of all other senses.

“I had fun today,” he tells you. “Skating was my favorite thing to do as a kid. I couldn’t tell you the last time I went.”

You hum and look up at him. “What made you think of it, then?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says slowly, taking a sip of tea. “I guess I was feeling nostalgic.” He meets your eyes. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Thank you for taking me. It was surprisingly fun to embarrass myself in front of all those people.”

He scoffs. “You were a lot better than you think. You just need practice.”

“Sure. But let’s save that for next year when there’s a better chance that people don’t remember me.”

“Whatever you say, doll.” He pauses. “What are you doing for New Years?”

You blink. “Oh, uh — nothing, I guess.”

His head tilts. “Up for another fancy party?”

Five days later, you’re draped in silk and diamonds, hair done and skin glowing. Bucky’s hand is dragging lazily up and down your back as he listens to a board member’s hypothetical on splitting shares. You barely hear a word he’s saying.

When the man walks away, Bucky leans in. “Having a holiday work party on an actual holiday is already dickish, but talking about work at the holiday work party? Unbelievable.“

“The nerve of him,” you whisper back. He sends you a wink before leading you to the other side of the room.

Before the end of the night, Bucky gives a speech to the partygoers. He thanks everyone for coming before humbly acknowledging the company having another record-breaking year. Cheers erupt all around; everywhere you look, people are smiling at him with respect and admiration. Bucky calls out a few people in particular for exemplary performance, then reminds everyone to arrange for rides home before cracking a joke about who will be the first one in HR’s office after tonight.

He’s charming, he’s magnetic, he’s impossible to look away from. And when he steps off stage and heads directly for you, your heart nearly goes into cardiac arrest.

During the countdown to midnight, Bucky has you pressed against his side, eyes twinkling as they take in the room. Meanwhile, you’re barely breathing, desperately wondering if Bucky will respect the age-old tradition of a kiss to ring in the new year. Just as the clock hits twelve, and you turn your face to his, Bucky leans down and brushes his lips to your forehead. Gentle, steady.

And not at all what you wanted.

“Happy New Year, honey.”

You exhale softly. “Happy New Year, Bucky.”

It takes everything in you to keep those floodgates right where they are.

After the party’s ended, you agree to go back to Bucky’s. He’s rubbing the marks of your heels from your feet while you recap the night, massaging the stiffness out of them; you’re bundled up in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, and he wears the same.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he says.

“Of course. It was a really beautiful party.”

“Agreed. I’m looking forward to signing off on that bill on Monday.”

You laugh. “You know, your employees really love you. I could see it on their faces.”

Bucky shrugs, but his ears go pink. “They’re good people.”

“I think you’re good people.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says with a smile. You attempt to push his chest with your foot, but he holds your ankle steady, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I also think you don’t give yourself enough credit,” you continue softly, voice lowering. “You work hard, you fight for things that’ll make the company better, and you care so much. These people see it. They’re lucky to have you and they know it. I know I am.”

His hands pause. When his eyes find yours, they’re wide, vulnerable. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You shoot him a shy smile. “You’re welcome.”

Your phone lights up just then, an alert from your cat camera detecting movement. But Bucky’s gaze is drawn to the time.

“Christ,” he swears, “it’s already three. Think it’s time for bed.”

You follow him toward the bedrooms, fighting off yawns; he turns to you in front of his door, sleepy smile already stretched across his face. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, turning the handle.

A thought occurs to you. A very selfish thought.

“Bucky?” you blurt out.

He turns.

“Yeah?”

“Can I, uh — can I sleep…in your bed? With you?”

Bucky’s silent, eyes blinking. You feel the heat creep up your neck and more words rush out of your mouth in response. You’re looking everywhere but at him.

“Just for tonight, I — um, I just mean, it’s a holiday and, you know, you spend holidays with people…You totally don’t have to say yes, oh my God, I probably crossed a line—“

“Sweetheart.”

Bucky holds the door to his room open, standing aside to allow you to pass. Your mouth opens and closes without a sound, but you scamper by him when he raises an eyebrow. The lights are off, the bed made; you unfold it together, like you’ve done this before a million times, and slide under the sheets.

Lying down, you face each other, eyes dancing over the other’s features softly illuminated by the lights of the city through the window; there’s only a few inches of space between you — it feels too close yet not close enough at the same time.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him. A soft smile flits across his face. Wordlessly, he reaches out and curls two fingers around yours, then his eyes flutter shut.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

You watch his breathing slow, getting comfort from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Like this, you’re free to stare. You drink him in, every inch you can see, from the strands of hair falling in his face to the outlines of his legs underneath the sheets. You wish you could see all of him, every freckle, every line, every angle, so you can greedily commit it to memory. So you can be one of the lucky few to have known Bucky Barnes so intimately.

It isn’t lust, it isn’t want —it’s something much deeper than that. Something much more devastating.

You’re eventually lulled to sleep by the pulse in his wrist beating against yours.

January is cold and brutal. February is no better. March finally brings a taste of the sun, but you’re too busy buried up to your neck in school that you hardly step outside to savor it, unless Bucky’s there to drag you out the door.

With finals on the horizon, sometimes you have to make the hard decision to decline Bucky’s invites to dinner, or a show, or another charity gala. The guilt and pressure cut so deep after you say no that you burst into tears as soon as you get off the phone with him.

To his credit, Bucky doesn’t push — he’s your number one champion for you getting your degree — but in your weakest moments, when a headache throbs at your temple and you’ve gone cross-eyed from staring at a screen all day, you think about the woman’s voice on Bucky’s phone. It’s like your brain is punishing you for overworking it day in and day out, pushing nasty propaganda about losing him to a faceless woman as you try to fall asleep.

Dark circles under your eyes become a constant. You live off of electrolytes, coffee and takeout that Bucky has delivered to your apartment. You’re too tired to even doomscroll when you allow yourself a five minute break. It’s a very isolated existence.

Bucky comes by when he can, bearing groceries and ibuprofen and looking larger than life in your little one bedroom flat.

When he’s with you, he shows absolutely no signs of there being another woman in his life, patiently listening to your complaints about thesis formatting and unproved data formulas, gently making you eat after you’ve paced a ditch into your floorboards, holding you close on the couch until your body finally relaxes.

But your brain is a vengeful motherfucker. It torments you for choosing school over Bucky in between writing papers and compiling research. It convinces you that he’s faking every sweet word of encouragement that he gives you. It blends your reality until you believe that he’s cozied up at dinner with someone new, working his effortless charm on your replacement while you sit at home in the dark with your textbooks.

Unsurprisingly, you reach a breaking point.

Now, a sane person would pick up the phone and talk to him about it. But you’ve been entertaining a mild psychosis for days, brought on by stress and fatigue and pathetic amounts of yearning, so — naturally — you decide to show up at his home.

It’s half past midnight when you stumble out of the elevator into his dark penthouse. You bump into a side table as you struggle to find the light switch, sending it to the floor with a crash that could wake the dead, i.e., Bucky. Sure enough, you hear his bedroom door open and the sound of feet rounding the corner. The light flips on.

“What the fuck?”

He’s wearing nothing except his briefs, hair mussed from sleep but eyes wide and alert. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost. You certainly look the part — your clothes are soaked through from the rain, your teeth chattering and lips blue.

“H-hey,” you say weakly.

He says nothing, a tense moment passing between the two of you, before he crosses the room and pulls you into his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he demands. “Are you okay?” He pushes you back to scan you from head to toe. Your fingers curl around his forearms.

“N-no, I’m f-fine. Just c-c-cold.”

He yanks you back into his hold, arms like pythons around your waist and shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” he breathes against your hair. “I thought you were asleep.”

Your sigh brushes against his collarbone; your body is melting against his already. “I t-tried, but…I m-missed you.”

Bucky stills, just for a second. Then his arms pull even tighter around you.

“I missed you, too.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whisper.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you’re here.” He lifts his cheek from your head, taking in your wet clothes. “Did you — did you walk here?”

You have the grace to look guilty.

“Fuck,” he hisses, leaning down to meet your eye, “don’t ever do that again. I don’t want you walking around the city alone at this time of night — either call Bob or call an uber and charge it to my card. You don’t walk. Do you hear me?”

The tone of his voice is new and startling to your already-vulnerable psyche. Tears spill over before you can stop them. He exhales deeply, hands coming up to cup your face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softer. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. You just…scared me.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, sniffling.

“Says the woman who walked God knows how far in the pouring rain at midnight.” His eyes search your face. “What’s going on?”

Your lip trembles. ”I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Shhh. Tell me what’s wrong,” he urges, and all of the ugly thoughts rear their heads inside your brain.

“It — it’s stupid…”

“It can’t be if you came all this way. Just tell me.”

He waits in silence for you to answer. You struggle to find the words, sifting through scraps of explanations while your head and your heart duke it out.

“…I guess I was…afraid,” you mumble, unable to hold his gaze.

“Afraid of what, sweetheart?” His thumbs brush your cheekbones soothingly.

“Of…losing you.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

You take a sharp, rattling breath. “I keep saying no to doing things with you because I’m so worried about school, and I — I haven’t made any effort at all to make up for it. We’ve barely seen each other in weeks — I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve been pushing you a-away. It made me scared that you’d see that I was choosing school over you and…y-you’d get tired of me, or want someone else…”

For the longest minute of your life, he says nothing. You watch as a thousand different emotions cross his face, from anger to sadness to relief. He settles on a blend of happy and pained, jaw clenching but eyes calm as ever. Bucky brings you closer, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Sweetheart, you’re not losing me.” He speaks softly, melodically. “I told you a long time ago that I wanted you to be able to focus on what matters to you, and I meant it. I’m so damn proud of what you’re doing, it makes every second I’m not with you worth it.”

He tilts your head up so that you meet his gaze. It’s warm, tender, almost pleading.

“And I could never get tired of you, even if we go days, or weeks, or months without seeing each other. You bring so much joy to my life just by being in it. Just by being you. Why would I ever want anyone else?”

In the back of your mind, you know you’re sobbing, but you don’t care. A hundred pound weight has been lifted off your chest and you think you might float to the ceiling if you weren’t wrapped up in Bucky’s arms. Whimpering, you bury your face into his chest, clutching at him with all your might. Bucky’s hands spread across your back, pressing you closer.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his skin. His lips brush your hair in a soft kiss.

The other floodgate cracks open, as inevitable as the sun rises. This time, you don’t fight it — you push the door all the way open, standing aside to let the oncoming rush of feelings flood your heart after they’ve been locked away for so long. It hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt. Especially when Bucky’s holding you through it.

He only pulls away once your tears have turned into the occasional hiccup. “Come on,” he says gently, “let’s get you warmed up.”

He steers you into his bathroom, turning on the shower and placing a hoodie and boxers next to the sink. He leaves you to it, and you spend a good amount of time scrubbing at your face and regaining feeling in your limbs.

When you open the bathroom door, drowning in his clothes and smelling like his soap, he’s waiting for you, dressed in a hoodie of his own. A tiny part of you mourns the loss of seeing his skin. He helps you climb into his bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as you settle against the pillows. He flicks the light off before sliding in beside you, shuffling over until his cold toes touch yours, and his hand slides down your wrist and grabs your arm, pulling you in to close the distance between you.

A faint noise escapes you as you tuck your head against his shoulder. You’ve never been this close to him before — it feels like coming home after a long time away.

You’re drifting off in minutes, Bucky’s arm a comforting weight around your waist. Your dreams start sweetly when you hear his voice saying, “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

When you receive the email that late April morning, you’re lying in Bucky’s bed scrolling on your phone. Even though Bucky left for work hours ago, you have a habit of drawing out your mornings from the comfort of his king mattress. As soon as you get the notification, your heart stops. You shoot up quickly, opening the email with shaky fingers, and read.

On behalf of the faculty and administration, we extend our sincere congratulations on the successful completion of your Master’s degree in Business Analytics.

This message serves as official confirmation that your degree has been conferred. Your academic achievement reflects a high level of dedication, discipline, and commitment to your field of study…

You scream before erupting into a fit of laughter, scrambling out from under the covers to jump on the bed until your legs give out. You fucking did it.

Breathless, you collapse onto the bed, immediately dialing Bucky. He picks up in one ring.

“Your ears must’ve been burning ‘cause I’ve got a bone to pick with you, doll, you took all the covers from me last night arou—”

“Bucky. I did it. I got the email.”

Silence for the length of a heartbeat. Then, with a smile in his voice, “That’s my girl. Congratulations, sweetheart, I always knew you’d do it.”

“Thank you, Bucky — I-I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Nah, that was all you, smarty pants.”

You giggle, smushing your face into the pillow to hide your blush.

“It doesn’t feel real,” you muse, blowing hair from your eyes. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel different or what.”

“That’s because you need to celebrate. You worked so hard for this, your brain isn’t out of school mode yet. You need to show yourself that you earned it. That’s when it will sink in.”

Your smile grows. “I like the way you think, Barnes. What do you think our odds are of getting into Minetta tonight?”

There’s a pause on his end, the sound of his keyboard the only thing you hear.

“Actually, I was thinking of something a little further away than Minetta.”

You know that tone. You sit up straight.

“Bucky. What are you planning?”

You’ve never seen water so blue in your entire life. Not even the beaches of Positano hold a candle to the sea surrounding the Maldives.

Bucky offers you a hand as you step out of the car. You take it gratefully, squeezing tightly just to make sure he’s real, that all of this is real.

“Welcome to One&Only Reethi Rah, Mr. Barnes. We’re so happy you could join us here.”

Bucky pulls you close, an arm slung over your shoulders, as the guide takes you across the grounds and to the docks where several large huts are built over the turquoise water. He shows you to the door of yours and Bucky’s villa, prattling off the agenda Bucky’s already set with the staff. You just barely register the words “snorkeling” and “private dinner” while you wander. It’s a long structure with an open concept, you can just see the end of the bed past the dining table; all of the walls are windows that are open to let in the breeze; on the far end, a large sundeck faces the ocean.

Bucky speaks with the guide while you weave in and out of the rooms. Two bathrooms, a small kitchen, a pool, and one bed. A small smile stretches across your face as your fingers brush over the comforter.

“What do you think?”

You turn, finding Bucky leaning against the wall across from you. Your smile grows and you let out a squeal, scrambling up and over the bed in your hurry to wrap your arms around him.

He smiles back, crushing you to him. “I’ve never heard that sound from you before. I’m guessing you like it?”

“Bucky — I love it. This place is a dream!”

“Glad you think so. Not a bad spot to celebrate getting your Master’s, huh?”

You laugh. “Way better than Minetta.”

The celebrations start with — of all things — a nap, because the twenty-four hours of traveling catch up to you once the adrenaline wears off. You stretch out on the bed next to Bucky, his hand carding through your hair, feet dangling over the edge, the sound of the ocean lulling you to sleep.

You feel like you’ve just closed your eyes when he nudges you awake. His hair’s all over the place in the most endearing way possible, so you reach up and muss it up even more; he grabs your wrist and holds it tight, warning you that you’ll be swimming in the ocean sooner than you think if you keep it up.

The sun’s just kissing the horizon when you head toward the beach, where another member of the resort staff escorts you to a private table set up for dinner. You sit through six courses of the freshest seafood and sweetest fruit you’ve ever had, sipping Bellinis while you and Bucky talk about nothing and everything at once.

At the end of the meal, after you can’t eat another bite of the desert, he pulls out a small black velvet box. Inside is a pair of earrings of your birthstone, shined till they gleam. You give him an earful for buying these when he’s already brought you here, but he smiles through it until your chastising turns into an endless stream of gratitude.

The next morning begins with a huge breakfast spread out on the sundeck, where Bucky insists on sunscreen first thing. You laugh at him for his responsible antics, but when you take turns putting it on each other’s backs, his big hands touching parts of you he hasn’t touched before, you can’t think of a more beautiful invention than sunscreen.

Bucky looks like God’s gift to women lounging next to you in the sun chair, sipping coffee and eating berries in a linen shirt he doesn’t bother to button, like it’s his birthright, like he was made to do it. You’re thankful for the heavy tint on your sunglasses concealing your wandering gaze.

Later, the two of you set off on a private yacht tour of the islands. You sit leaning against him on the front of the ship, pointing out dolphins that flip through the air and waving at passing boaters. With the roar of the wind and the motor, Bucky has to lean down and speak directly into your ear so you can hear him, and every time his lips brush your skin, you’re melting further and further into him.

You know you’re not being as subtle as you’d like — a small voice in your head wonders if he notices.

Dinner is back at the villa, where a private chef prepares choice cuts of steak and lobsters the size of your arm. The chef is entertaining, cracking jokes and flipping knives, and as you laugh through his horrible impression of Gordon Ramsay, you catch Bucky watching you from the corner of your eye.

He smiles shyly when he sees he’s caught, but he doesn’t look away. You feel a flush of warmth drag down your spine, limbs tingling in anticipation of something you don’t know the name of.

That night, you’re facing each other in bed, heads propped up by elbows so that you can reminisce on the day. You’re raving about the miles of rainbow coral you saw when Bucky reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger longer than necessary, much longer than appropriate, and it takes everything you have to keep going like his touch didn’t just send your heart into a frenzy. You take note of his half-lidded gaze locked onto your face — it could be from exhaustion, or it could be from something else.

You try not to let your mind spiral into the possibilities.

But when he has you cuddled close to his chest, just like every other night, you can hear his heart pounding through his thin t-shirt.

The rest of your week in paradise is a balance of dream-like activities and tension-filled moments. One minute you’re snorkeling, the next, Bucky’s undoing the back strap of your bikini and retying it with slow, concentrated precision. One minute you’re learning how to sail, the next, Bucky has you laid out on his chest, every inch of you on him as you take a nap in the sun.

You tell yourself that this is just Vacation Bucky, that nothing’s changed for him when it comes to what this arrangement is.

But his eyes follow you everywhere, he follows you everywhere, a hand lingering near your skin at all times.

It’s enough to make a rational person snap. And you do.

You’re getting ready for dinner after hours spent in the ocean. Bucky’s already cleaned up, now rummaging through his suitcase for something to wear while you’ve slipped into the connecting bathroom. You absentmindedly slide the door shut behind you, and it doesn’t quite connect with the frame; instead, a sliver of space is left open, just enough that, when you reach to close it all the way, you can see Bucky moving about the room.

The idea arrives unbidden, and it makes your stomach swoop low. Do it, the devil on your shoulder urges. The angel on the other shoulder stays silent.

You wait until he’s directly lined up with the crack in the door, then you turn your back to him.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Remind me what we’re doing for dinner again.” There’s a brief pause.

“We’re heading inland,” Bucky says. You think he sounds like he’s directly behind you.

Wasting no time, you take the ties of your bikini bottoms and pull them loose — they crumple to the floor.

“Do you know what they’re serving?”

Then you turn to the side, reaching up to untie the knot at the back of your neck; slowly, your bikini top slinks down your torso, exposing your breasts to the warm, night air.

You want to look — you really, really want to look — but you know you can’t. You can’t risk what comes after catching him looking. And what if he’s not looking? What if he’s done the decent thing, like the decent man he is, and walked away? You’re not sure how you’d be able to shoulder that feeling for the rest of the trip, not when you’re bartering your firstborn to the higher powers above for him to be looking.

You realize that Bucky hasn’t said anything.

“Bucky?” you call out, reaching to undo the last of the ties, and the bikini top lands on the bottoms, leaving you completely naked before the crack in the door.

“Yeah,” you hear. Low, rough, distracted.

Don’t fucking look—

“The food,” you reply, forcing an amused smile. “Do you know what it is? I don’t think I could eat another tartar with a gun to my head.”

There’s a pause before he speaks, sounding further away. “You’ll be fine.”

His words sound final; you think you hear the slide of the door leading out to the water. You bite your lip before turning for the shower. The boldness you were feeling before is quickly shrinking into nothing, leaving you with an empty feeling in your stomach and a knot of guilt in your chest.

Back in the room, Bucky nowhere in sight, you sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around your chest, damp hair clinging to your skin.

“Fucking idiot” you whisper to yourself. You think you might actually be insane. Or tremendously stupid. Or both. Who tries to seduce their best friend, their supportive, respectful, gorgeous best friend, with a fucking strip tease?

The words are like a knife to your chest as you sit with them. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged Bucky being your best friend, and it’s right after going down in history as the shittiest friend ever.

…but are you?

Your mind replays every crooked smile he’s sent you, every dirty joke he’s laughed at, every hug and cuddle and forehead kiss, every second of this damn trip. You’re analyzing all of it frame by frame in pursuit of a sign that he wants more.

Because you sure as hell do.

It’s no question that things have changed completely for you, as devastating as a religious reckoning. You want him. You love him. You’re fucking head over heels for him.

But until you get that sign. The sign that he wants more, too. You can’t tell him. Not without risking everything — and you’d rather die with your love a secret than destroy what you have with him now by saying it out loud. Yet another tragedy to add on to your already pitiful life.

Bucky’s out on the deck when you emerge from the bathroom, wearing a flowy white linen dress that allows your skin to breathe.

“Hey,” you call out, voice on the wobbly side, heart fluttering nervously. “You ready?”

He turns from staring out at the ocean. When his eyes land on you, he stills.

“What?” you can’t help but ask as the silence stretches. “Should I change?”

He shakes his head, taking a step toward you. “Please don’t. You look…you look like an angel.”

The new compliment sinks deep into your heart, making you blush. Your answering smile is shy. “Thanks, Buck…so, are we going or what?”

You watch as Bucky’s shoulders move up and down in a deep breath; beyond him, the dark ocean cradles a strip of silver in its endless surface, the moon’s mirror image. It lights up the side of his face, exposing the soft look he’s wearing as he drinks you in. You’re hit with a sudden wave of what you can only describe as reverse déjà vu, like you’ve just come across a moment you never want to forget, a moment you want to come back to, time and time again.

You reach out your hand.

Bucky takes it.

The dinner is beautiful, no surprise there; you, Bucky, and a few other guests sit in a treehouse-like structure while aproned servers bring around plates of local dishes that melt on your tongue and introduce you to flavors you could only dream of. There’s live music in the corner of the room, a light breeze that cools your skin, and the ambiance is the perfect mix of cozy and seductive.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s giving an Oscar-worthy performance of everything being perfectly fine and normal. He smiles at you over his drink and lets his hand wander over your back. He laughs at the server’s joke and encourages you to get a second desert. He seems calm. Content. Happy.

But his eyes are dark and distracted. You catch him staring off into the distance more than once. And when you say his name to brink him back, his gaze burns into yours like a brand.

Back in the villa, the two of you get ready for bed quickly, the day getting the better of you both. You’re fighting through a fifth yawn when you finally collapse on top of the bed, spreading out over the covers in a small tank top and matching shorts to fight off the heat of the night. Behind you, Bucky emerges from the bathroom; the sound of his footsteps stop suddenly near the end of the bed, where you’re on full display to whoever passes by. They start up again before you can turn and look, and then Bucky’s pulling back the covers and sliding into bed.

“Budge over, doll,” he murmurs, stretching out his legs beneath the sheets. You sigh and roll over and off the bed so you can join him. He reaches over to turn off the light, and then it’s just the two of you and the moon’s reflection on the ocean.

“It’s so pretty,” you whisper. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.”

“Me neither,” he says. You turn on your side to look at him, a hand propping up your head.

“What’s been your favorite part?”

A faint smile flickers across his face. “The eel.”

You laugh. “Oh, I’m so glad you found my fear so entertaining.”

“I’ve never seen anyone swim that fast.”

“A moray eel crossed right in front of us and you’re saying you didn’t almost shit yourself?”

He shrugs before flipping onto his side. “They don’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.”

“And maybe next time you won’t push me toward it while you’re trying to get away.”

You cover your face with your hand. “Okay, that was shitty of me, I admit it.”

“Just shitty?” he repeats. “You were sacrificing me to save yourself! I started questioning everything I thought I knew about you.”

Your jaw drops open. “That’s not fair! I’d love to see what you’d do to me if a big fat spider crawled up the bed.” Bucky shudders for effect. “And what happened to ‘they don’t bother you if you don’t bother them’?”

“They’re territorial, doll — you pushed me into his reef.”

“And he didn’t do anything because he could sense your hippie-dippy, ‘respect the ocean, it respects you back’ manifesto. Point is, you’re fine.”

“Yeah, physically. Emotionally? I’ll never recover.”

“Drama queen.” You shove at his shoulder to push him out of the bed.

Quick as a whip, he seizes your wrist and pushes you back. You can’t help but laugh as your plan backfires, his strength overtaking yours by a long shot. He rolls you closer to the edge of the bed, restraining your other wrist easily. You push back with all your might, slipping one wrist from his grasp and pushing at his chest, locking your leg around his to keep you anchored. Your giggles and his huffs of laughter fill the room as you struggle to push each other out of the bed.

And then something shifts, like a light switch turning off; Bucky’s eyes, bright with laughter, turn darker, steadier. His breath hitches.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs, voice rough. With no effort at all, he grabs both wrists in one hand. His other hand grips your bare knee, unhooking it from around his thigh and placing it on the mattress.

Shocked, you slide your leg down beside the other, your skin burning where his hand touched. He keeps your wrists.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He says nothing, breathing deep as he stares at your hands. You shake them in his hold. “Bucky.”

He sighs softly, just a push of air from his lungs like he’s come to a decision but hates the choice he made.

“I need you to stay there, sweetheart.”

You gape at him. “What? Did I — did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Bucky—“ you start, inching closer, but he pins your wrists to the mattress, pressing firmly to make a point.

“Please.”

You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns from his side to his stomach, resettling into the mattress with a fleeting wince.

Is he…?

He can’t meet your gaze, and there’s a flush to his neck that wasn’t there before, that you suspect is not from the heat. His hand over your wrists tightens imperceptibly. You stay silent until he has no choice but to look at you, and all you see is blown pupils.

He is.

You nod and he releases you, but you can’t look away from him. Not when he looks like this. Not when he’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been in front of you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

He makes a faint noise in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t move.

Eventually, his breathing levels out and so does yours — you hadn’t realized it had picked up when he held your hands down. The waves crash again and again, a tropical white noise to chip away at the tension.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice screams at you that this is it, this is your moment to let him know exactly how you feel.

You think about crossing that symbolic six inches of space between you and kissing him. You think about touching him softly until he relaxes for you, until he welcomes you over to him. You think about forcing him over and straddling him before he can say a word.

What stops you is the look on his face. He isn’t embarrassed, like you expected — he’s disappointed, remorseful, pained, like he violated your trust as his friend and decided it’s unforgivable.

It makes your gut sink, remembering the bait you dangled before him earlier. A conflicting mix of emotions crowd your heart, vying for priority, the biggest battle between sweet satisfaction, and crushing guilt.

You can’t do it. Not like this. Not when he looks so broken over it. You take a deep breath, strands of hair floating into your face.

Without a word, and giving you all the time in the world to stop him, Bucky reaches over and tucks the pieces carefully behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Your lips part. Your eyes open. He’s staring at you.

“You too, Buck.”

sammy speaks again: thank you for reading! I appreciate all the love I got from part one so much, it meant the absolute world to me. it’s a privilege just to be able to share my silly little stories with others 🤍 last part coming soon!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

choose me

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: bucky isn't your boss, but he's still off limits. and even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd ever go for someone like you. weird that he matched with you on a dating app then, isn't it?✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, ceo!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, virgin!reader, dating apps, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, kinda boss x secretary, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (fingering, teasing, stripping, soft dom!bucky, dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, mutual masturbation, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smut✦

✦wc: 13.9k✦

✦Author's Note: this one is for all my wound up "want love but afraid of intimacy girlies". we go through it. Enjoy!✦

Bucky Barnes is ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know it.

You wish you could blame him. Slash his tires and scream in his face, maybe drain the oil from his bike or mess up his lunch order. But he wouldn’t deserve that, and you’d just end up homeless on the street. You’d have to sell your body, but you’ve never been that good at sales, and begging Steve for your job back wouldn’t get you anywhere when you’d just given his best friend food poisoning.

And Bucky wouldn’t deserve that. He’s perfect. He’s a mountain you’d love to scale, if you hadn’t always been horrid at climbing. You’d dig your nails into his chest, and maybe just keep him at eye level forever. So you could watch that quiet joy that only shines for the people he really, truly likes.

You’re a member of that rare club. It’s taken years of small kindness’ and lingering in Steve’s shadow to get there.

Even if you wanted to, you’d never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasn’t taken away your wits.

The same wits that tell you, it’s not worth the risk.

It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. It’s too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When you’d asked Natasha why—Steve’s a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you don’t tell HR—she’d just shrugged.

“It’s not Steve that’s making them quit.” She’d hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.

You hadn’t. You still don’t. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.

Bucky.

James. You’re trying to call him James, in your head. It’s more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.

In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend he’s there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that he’s loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he can’t take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.

But Bucky doesn’t just stare at you. It’s one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, he’s lucky we love him.

You do love him.

Bucky’s perfect. When you’d met him, he’d seemed as if he’d fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. You’d never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. You’d barely been able to breathe, and it’s only gotten harder since you’ve known him.

At first look, Bucky’s a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. He’s cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and you’d like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.

That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of it’s fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage you’ve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.

But Bucky likes to ruin your life.

It’s been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.

You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and it’s incredibly rude that he won’t just cut it out so you can focus.

“How’s your mother?” You ask one night, when it’s just you and Bucky.

James. When you’re alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, it’s important to remember you should be calling him James.

“My… Mother.”

He’s staring at you like you’re crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesn’t get to win.

“You said she was moving.” You shrug, and Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.

“I did say that.”

“Yeah. I know.” You pretend to turn over a paper. “I was there.”

Bucky snorts, and it’s enough to yank your attention up. He’s shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”  

“What-“

“My mother’s doin’ just fine.” Bucky says, staring at you across the room. “She loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.”

You swallow. “Oh, I- I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky—James, but it’s impossible to remember when he looks at you like that—smirks. “I’d want you over me every time, too.”

There’s no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isn’t humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Bucky’s low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.

You don’t succeed.

But that’s a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.

Because that’s where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.

Bucky is a mountain of a man, but you’ve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, you’ve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. It’s just… Never happened. And you’re certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You don’t have a death wish, and you’re certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.

So in reality, you’re never going to risk anything. You’ve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every day—technically he buys himself lunch, but you’re allowed to get whatever you want—and you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.

You haven’t had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.

Bucky’s might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-

No.

Nothing’s worth it. Not when Bucky wouldn’t even want you anyway.

You’d rather have the gloves.

“You get a plus one to this event, you know?”

You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. “Huh?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You get a plus one.”

“Okay?”

“Wasn’t sure you knew.” He shrugs. Your frown deepens.

“Of course I knew. I send out all the invitations.”

“Hm.”

“What’s hm? What does hm mean?”

“Just hm. Do you have the numbers, about-“

“They’re in front of you, Steven.” You narrow your eyes. “What’s hm mean.”

“Told you, nothing-“

“What.”

Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Bucky’s mother, and you. At the time, you’d laughed it off and rolled your eyes.

With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, you’re starting to think that last part might be true.

“You’ve just always had that plus one offered.” Steve mutters, looking at the reports like they’ve suddenly turned into something interesting. “Noticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.”

“I knew.” You snap, and Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I thought you did.”

“Then why’d you ask-“

“You wanna get lunch?” Steve’s voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. “I think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?”

Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

You have never used your plus one. You’ve never needed to.

There’s never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. You’ve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steve’s side—because he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, you’ll slack when you’re dead—and glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Bucky’s arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.

He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldn’t mind that you’re not experienced and-

You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.

But is Steve’s noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe he’s noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if he’s noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, he’s going to realize that you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s going to tell Bucky, and you’re going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you aren’t emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-

You need a date.

It’s the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you don’t want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You can’t ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and you’re not even sure where you’d find the time.

Which leaves one option.

Dating apps.

There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. You’re by no means ugly, and you’ve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that you’re not sure what you’re looking for, because you’re really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people you’re Steve Roger’s personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.

They won’t see. None of them will see.

And you’ll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.

“You never tell me about your family.”

Bucky’s words are so low you almost don’t hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.

“You never ask.”

His lips twitch down. “I’ve told you about my family.”

“So?”

“Usually.” He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. “When you tell someone about yourself, it’s an… Exchange of information.”

“An exchange of information?” You snort. “Is that a CIA thing?”

“Not everything I do is a CIA thing.”

“Everything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.”

“Nat was better at it than I was.” He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when he’s frustrated. For a grown man, it’s always rather adorable. “I’d like to know about your family.”

“I…” You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.

He’s staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.

“Why?”

“Because. We’ve worked together a while. I know… A lot about you.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. “You know about me.”

“Uh huh. That’s usually how being friends works.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, well. You’ve met my mother. She adores you.”

“She doesn’t adore me-“

“She adores you.”

He says it like it’s really not up for debate. You flush. “Oh- Okay.”

“Everyone you meet adores you.” Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. “And I tell you everything about me.”

You don’t think that’s true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Bucky’s just like that—not big on sharing—so you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but it’s far from everything. “Bu- James-“

“Bucky.” He corrects, and you sigh.

He’s not making that part easy, either.

“Bucky.” You say, smooth and careful. “You know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But I’m not all that interesting.”

“I disagree.” He mutters. “You’re impossibly interesting.”

You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and he’s got those big, deft fingers that you’ve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and he’s giving you compliments. Compliments like they’re just breathing, like he doesn’t even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.

“What do you want to know?” You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, it’s going to drag you under like quicksand.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?”

“My favorite flower-“

Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bucky grunts. “Well, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.”

“I- I’ve never been given flowers.”

“You’ve never-“ Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. “Ever?”

You can hear the what about that he won’t say. What about a boyfriend.

If he’s not brave enough to ask it—although you don’t understand why he’d care—you don’t have to be brave enough to answer it.

“No. Never ever.” You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.

You have Bucky’s attention, and you both wish he’d take it back and never want him to stop pushing. You’ve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and you’d rally rather not explore what that means right now.

“You need to sign these.” You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Bucky’s hands again.

They’re curled in fists. You’d like them inside you-

You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. “Steve told me not to let you go home, until you did.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though there’s still a strange look in his eyes. “Not let me go home, huh.”

“Yes, sir.” You drawl.

Bucky’s knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.

“And how would you stop me from gettin’ home, kid?”

“With lots of talent.” You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. “And my body.”

Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee must’ve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. “Papers.”

He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.

“James, are you-“

“Bucky.” He grunts. “Papers, sweetheart.”

You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. You’re not sure what’s happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you don’t want to overthink it.

It’s only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I

Sweetheart.

You can’t blame him. He can’t know what that does to you.

You really need to find that date.

It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.

Steve’s on a conference call, and you’re lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. You’re only there in case he forgets something, and you don’t have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what you’re saying.

The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.

Hence, the dating apps.

It’s almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.

But you’re also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.

Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but he’s built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength you’ve seen straining through Bucky’s suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kids—his sister’s, according to the caption—but you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the children’s hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person you’d been worried you’d get pregnant watching him.

Leon has nice eyes, but they’re not as pretty as Bucky’s. Cal is in the military, but he’s beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make you feel bubbly like Bucky’s. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobs—all their photos showing them driving Maserati’s and drinking expensive whiskey—but one of the things you’ve always loved about Bucky is how he doesn’t brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150—he always grumbles that he just needs it to tell time—and he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.

You squint at Damien’s profile, and he’s got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.

You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.

James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glance—beefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photo—and squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.

You snort, and scroll lazily down. James’ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual fun—you can’t be causal, or have fun, but it’s always nice to pretend—located thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-

Located thirty feet away.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager.   

Fucking- Fuck-

You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. James’ next photo doesn’t show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. You’ve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.

Next photo.

Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. She’d taken him home, and you’d heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. You’d been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. You’d spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.

Which means-

You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.

Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like he’s made of stars.

He’s seen this photo. Everyone who’s been on his dating profile has seen this photo.

You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.

Your thumb drifts a little to the right.

You swipe yes on Bucky’s profile.

And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words It’s a Match! Shoved into your face.

You scream, and throw your phone across the room.

Steve looks at you like you’re insane. You feel insane.

“Are you-“

“I need to go to the bathroom!” You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but you’re already running.

You have to pass Bucky’s office—right next to Steve’s—to get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.

He’s on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.

Like he can sense you, he looks up.

Your eyes meet.

And you run away, as fast as you fucking can.

Steve is a lovely boss. When you tell him you need a week off for vague personal reasons, but that you can still work remotely, he tells you not to bother and just take the time without work.

“But- I can help-“

“I know. I’m telling you not to.” He gives you a small smile. “You’ve earned the break.”

“Steve-“

“You’re allowed to just rest,” he says your name kindly, and you shake your head. No. You’re not.

“Please give me something to do.” You plead, and Steve sighs.

“Kid, you don’t have to prove something-“

“Please.” If you don’t have anything, you’re just going to stare at your match with Bucky the whole time. And that’s a harrowing, deadly prospect of a way to spend your week.

Steve sighs, and gives in. You get a bunch of emails to send, and they’re just enough to distract you.

Barely.

Sometimes, you still manage to falter, and open up the app. Stare at the you matched with James three days ago! Banner at the top of the screen. Maybe he hasn’t seen it at all, and you’re hiding for no reason. He could be someone who never even checks who he matches with unless they message first, because he just gets so many matches. Jealousy stabs through your heart, sour and sharp, and you sigh.

It’s your best hope. That he’ll just never know.

But he matched with you, too.

He could just swipe right on every girl he sees. That’s a thing you hear men do.

Bucky’s not the type to do that.

He’s also not the type to be looking for his Queen. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

But you’re pretty sure you do.

This is making your head hurt.

Your real best bet is that someone’s been catfishing as James Barnes, but there’s no real hope of that with the bar photo. You’re going to have to quit your job and change your name. Maybe Steve can reference you to another similar job if you apologize enough. Maybe you can move to Alaska and learn how to be a fisherwoman. You’re not very patient. And you’re not going to be able to afford your nice gloves anymore. Maybe you should just die. The best option might just be dying-

Your phone buzzes.

Message from James.

You throw your phone again. He knows.

Death is looking lovely right now.

Your days off turn into a week off. Steve checks on you, but doesn’t push you to come back. If anything, he’s still trying to convince you to just take a real vacation.

“It’s going to help more than… What you’re doing right now.” He stands in the middle of your apartment, gesturing at your ice cream and the mess of clothing on the floor.

“This is helping plenty.” You mutter. Steve sighs.

“Look, I’m really not mad about you taking the time. I know you. You wouldn’t take it if you didn’t need it.”

“But?” You give him a pointed look, and his jaw ticks.

“But I wish you’d tell me what was goin’ on.” He says, sounding more sad than annoyed. “So I could help.”

You give him a tight smile. “Steve-“

“Anything you need. If I can’t get it, I’m sure Bucky or Nat could-“

“Steve.” You don’t want to hear about how Bucky can help you. Not when he knows perfectly well why you’ve gone into hiding. “I- I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve frowns, but lets it go. In the Steve way, where he keeps asking every time he visits, but always takes the no in stride.

“Can you at least tell me what I should be saying to everyone else?” He asks after a week. “People are noticing I’m missing my brain.”

You laugh softly. “I’m sick.”

“But you’re not.”

Not visibly. Your heart feels sick. Bucky’s sent you two more messages on the app, one into your personal number, and none on Teams, and you’ve read none of them. You don’t want to hear his gentle rejection, because it’s going to crush you into fine, little pieces.

“We’re worried about you.” Steve says. “And again, no rush to come back, but I don’t know how to work my own schedule and Bucky’s started pacing whenever I try to do your job, so-“

“Bucky’s pacing?” You blurt, and Steve blinks.

“Yeah? Think he misses you, too.”

You swallow, and glance at your phone. The unread messages.

Bucky only paces when he feels like something is wrong. Really wrong.

And you don’t want to know. That he’s been thinking about. That he’s been pacing. Because it all ends the same anyway.

“I’ll be back soon.” You mumble, flipping your phone face down. You don’t want to know. “Just- A few more days.”

Steve looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.

But you’re a big girl. You can survive a little rejection, and it doesn’t have to be anything at all.

You’re going to keep going, and this won’t have to have been anything at all.

Nobody asks, when you get back to the office. Nat and Sam check in that you’re okay, and Steve lets you pick lunch three days in a row—and you think he’s blaming himself for everything, which at least tells you that Bucky hasn’t snitched about anything—but the only thing waiting for you is a phone full of voicemails and a crowded calendar.

And Bucky.

Bucky, who almost acts like nothing even happened at all.

Almost.

He’s staring more than he used to, and he’d always stared quite a lot. When you’re left alone in a room together, he stares until you look up at him, before immediately coughing and looking back to his own papers. He lingers outside of Steve’s office until you ask if he needs to talk, and he shakes his head and runs off like a teenager caught trying to buy drinks. Nat shouts at him after two meetings where he wasn’t paying attention, and he mutters that he was distracted.

“What?! What could you possibly have been so distracted by that you missed every cue Sam gave you, five times in a row?”

He just shrugs, and you can feel his gaze burning straight into your heart. You bow your head, and pretend you don’t see it.

You still haven’t looked at the messages. You’re not going to. And he hasn’t brought it up, so it’s like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing ever happened.

But it happened. The world ended, but it also just kept spinning, and now you’re suspended in a world where Bucky doesn’t even treat you like a friend anymore.

Steve notices. Of course he does. Asshole.

“Did something happen?” He asks softly. “Did Bucky… Say something to you?”

You look up with wide eyes, mouth going dry. “Wha- What? No, Bucky- James and I, it’s fine.” You laugh, high and nervous. “Everything’s fine.”

Steve hums, and he doesn’t believe you. You can see it, shining in his eyes. “You know… I’ve known Bucky a long time.”

“I know. I’ve read the about page.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I mean, yes, but-“ He sighs. “Bucky’s not good at… Talking. When something matters to him, he shows it.”

“Okay.” He’s shown you nothing but silence and stares.

“And he, um- He’s a good guy-“

“I’m aware.”

“I know you are, but-“ Steve sighs, slumping in his chair. “Just, if Bucky ever says something to you, or asks you to do something, and you don’t want to, don’t. I’d rather you piss him off then feel pressured. Not that he’d pressure you,” he adds quickly. “But if there’s ever… Anything. And I’ve been wrong about… Stuff. Just know you’re as valuable as he is.”

He’s speaking in riddles. This has been a long few weeks. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve nods, taking in a deep breath. “And is there… Anything you want to tell me? As my friend?”

It’s a mean card to play. You almost want to. Steve’s kind, and he gives good advice, and you believe him. You know that if you confessed your silent, raging love for Bucky, Steve would just support you.

But you don’t need someone to support you right now. You need someone to smack you in the face and tell you to stop being a baby about your crush not liking you back.

“No.” You give him a strained smile, and it hurts on your face. “Why, is there something you need to tell me?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Just… You were missed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Steve clears his throat.

“By everyone.”

You nod, useless tears stinging at your eyes, and look back to your work.

Later that day, Bucky goes into Steve’s office and they talk for two hours. You want to eavesdrop, but that would be a new, pathetic low.

You stare at Bucky’s head through the glass, and chew on a pencil until it snaps in half.

When Bucky leaves the office, he stops in front of your desk and lingers. You can feel the heat from his body, and you’d like to fall into it. He clears his throat, and you look up like he’d grabbed your chin and demanded it.

His eyes are shining on yours, and you’ve never seen his jaw clenched so tight. As if he’s disgusted, just from the sight of you.

“You look nice.” He rasps, and you can’t tell if you’re glowing or burning out.

“Thank you.”

He nods, looking up to the ceiling, then back to you. “We all missed you.”

“I’ve been told-“

“I missed you.” He says those words firmer. They sink into your core, molten and demanding, so overwhelming you’re not even sure what to do with yourself.

You’ve been staring at him too long. Words are failing you, thoughts are failing you, and-

“I, uh- I’ll leave you to it-“

“You too.” You breathe out, and Bucky stumbles back like you hit him. “I- I missed you too.”

He blinks. His nostrils flare, and he gapes at you with a red face. For a second, you don’t see the calm, collected man you know and adore so well. You see something closer to a teenage boy, fumbling and gaping and unsure what to do with his own strength.

You like him, just as much as you like the rest of Bucky. Love it.

Endlessly and uselessly love it.

Bucky turns on his heels, and almost runs back to his office. Your nails dig into your palms, and you force your attention back to your work.

It will pass. All of this, like every storm, is going to have to pass.

You get a night off. Steve has a date, and it’s the one part of his life you have and want nothing to do with. You were going to use the evening to catch up on more voicemails, until Sam shooed you out of the building like a bird. Go rest, woman.

You are resting.

By catching up on emails.

There’s a knock on your door, long after anyone should be out doing anything. You don’t move from the couch at first, because you think it’s a mistake.

Then the knock repeats. Louder than the first time. And someone shouts your name, muffled through the door.

Not a mistake.

Bucky. That’s Bucky’s voice.

You fall, trying to get up. Your knees feel like jelly, and you haven’t even seen him yet, but he’s already doing that thing where his attention makes you feel like you’re made of electric static. Sensitive and empty-headed in the best and worst way. You can barely stand it. You can’t really stand at all.

When you finally—somehow—make it to the door, Bucky’s standing on the other side like he’s awaiting inspection. Tall and silent, shoulders squared and arms behind his back, looking at you like you’re holding his life in your hands.

You stare at him. He stares back, and you can measure your every breath in heartbeats. Louder and louder in your ears.

“Hi.” You finally say, shifting on your feet, and his throat bobs.

“Hey.”

“What’re you-“

“I wanted to check on you.” He blurts, and you freeze. “And- Talk.”

You ignore that last part. It’s the last thing you want to do. “I’m fine.”

Bucky’s pretty lips tug down. “You took two weeks off.” He mutters. “You don’t even take sick days.”

You swallow. “I- I was trying to take care of myself-“

“By working the whole time?” He looks past you again, and you follow his gaze.

Right to your laptop, open on an email draft.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ tonight off too.” He says, a little scolding, and you stiffen.

“You’re not my boss.”

Bucky chuckles. Low and deep, shivering up your spine. “Trust me, doll. I’m fully aware of that.”

Oh. That does something nice to your core. You think you might be getting a fever.

“James…”

“Bucky.” He grunts, and you take an unsteady breath. Staring at his chest seems to be the most effective way to speak to him.

“Bucky, I- I’m fine, really-“

“I brought you flowers.” He says suddenly, and his hands shoot out from behind his back.

He’s holding out a large bouquet of roses and lilies, each in about three different colors. It’s a stark contrast to his black suit and neatly pressed white shirt, petals spilling and little bits of yellow pollen clinging to the stems. To the cuffs of his sleeves.

Bucky clears his throat, pushing the flowers a little further forward. You take them with shaking hands, a little worried they’ll dissolve the moment you touch them. They don’t. And Bucky clears his throat.

“I, uh- I gave you options, and-“ He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I come in? Please?”

You can’t think of a good reason to say no. You don’t even think you’d get out the words, if you tried. So you nod, and step to the side.

And now Bucky’s in your apartment. Looking around at your things and licking his lips, nodding slowly. He fits into it, like a puzzle piece being slowly slotted in, and-

No.

You can’t think like that. It’s not going to help anyone, not by far.

He brought you flowers.

To apologize for breaking your heart.

Bucky looks back to you, bracing his hands on his hips. You swallow, hugging yourself tight, and neither of you dare to move. Bucky takes a ragged breath, looks to the side, and back to you with the strangest, most anguished expression you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.

“Tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.” He starts, urgent and pleading. “You gotta tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.”

“Bucky-“

“We both know why I’m here.” He takes a step forward. You take a step back.

Bucky freezes, and you take a shaking breath, staring at his shoes.

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t?” Bucky cuts you off, and you glance up to see him frowning. “At all?”

You blink. “No, I- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you meant it?”

You nod, and Bucky’s jaw works tight.

“Could you?”

“What?”

“Could you mean it?” He rasps, and your mouth falls uselessly open.

“Ja-  Bucky.” You shake your head, stepping further back. If this is a trick, you’re too fragile to fall for it. “I- I don’t know.”

“Why not?” He takes a step forward, your eyes trapped together. “Is it me?”

“Is it you?”

“Yeah, I- I mean- You don’t really date.” He clears his throat. “And Stevie’s never told me why, ‘cause- I’m not your boss, but I’m not not your boss- ‘s what Sam says-“

You’ve never heard him ramble. Never heard him speak like he’s not sure of the next work. It’s just as endearing as the display at the desk, but you’re even less sure what to do with it. “Bucky-“

“If it’s just me that you’re not- That’s the reason.” He’s standing over you now. Bowing his head. “Then that’s fine. I’m not gonna be an ass about it. But…” His shoulders slump. “If it’s not that. Then I- I’d like to…”

He trails off, giving you a hopeful look.

But you’re lost. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, and you’re almost being dragged under by the current of his words.

“What?” You repeat, more pleading than before. Bucky sighs.

“You never answered my messages.” He mutters. “Figured I’d need to ask in person. Needed to hear it.” He clears his throat, lips twitching. “Even if it’s a no.”

“Even…” You frown. “Even if what’s a no?”

His head shoots up, and his frown deepens. “I’m… Asking you out. On a date?”

Oh.

What.

Your surprise must be written all over your face, because Bucky looks bewildered. He can join the club.  

You just keep staring at him stupidly, and he says your name, slow and measured.

“You read my messages, right?”

You shake your head, and he groans.

“I- I’m sorry-“

“No, it’s- It’s my fault.” He mutters. “Nat told me you were oblivious-“

You cut him off indignantly. “I am not oblivious-“

“We matched on a dating app.” He drawls, lips twitching slightly. “And you’re shocked I’m askin’ you out.”

You scowl, hugging yourself tighter. “I thought you made a mistake.” You grumble, and Bucky chuckles.

He takes another step forward. Close enough that you can smell him, smell his cologne and aftershave and something deeper that’s just Bucky. You step back more out of fear that you were about to fall forward.

Bucky follows you.

Suddenly your pinned against your counters, Bucky’s arms braced on either side of your body. You swallow. Bucky’s tongue darts over his lips, and you think you did drown in his everything. You’ve been swept out to sea, and there’s no hope of being dragged out to shore.

And with how Bucky’s looking at you, you’re not sure you’d ever ask to be saved.

“You.” Bucky reaches up, brushing hair out of your eyes with a small smile. “Are not a mistake. And if someone’s been tellin’ you that you are.” He leans down, until your lips are almost brushing. “They’re damn lucky you’re lettin’ them make it.”

Dear God. You’re not strong enough for this.

“James…” You breathe out, and his brows knit. “Bucky. Don’t.”

He tenses around you. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” You whisper, eyes dropping to his lips. They look so soft. “Don’t do this.”

Bucky leans a little back, but doesn’t pull fully away. “Why not? I told you, if it’s not ‘cause of me, we can work it out-“

“Bucky-“

“I’ll quit.” He says suddenly, and you gape.

“You’re the boss, you can’t quit-“

“There are like, four bosses.” Bucky waves you off. “Five if we’re countin’ you, which I am, and you do twice the fuckin’ work. I’ll just quit, and you can have my job, and we can-“

“Bucky.” You grab his shirt, and he falls silent immediately. “Just- Stop. You can’t quit, you shouldn’t-“ You take a deep breath, trying to focus on speaking instead of crying.

Bucky says your name softly, and big hands thread through your hair as you start to sniffle. It’s so pathetic, but you’re tired and overwhelmed and you can’t take him doing this to you twice. You’re not the kind of girl Bucky Barnes is going to want. Not for real. Not for long. And you can’t handle him pretending you are.

“It’s not nice.” You whimper, even as he tugs you into his chest.

Pressing your face into his chest is just as amazing as you’d always imagined. You wish you weren’t crying when it finally happened.

“What’s not nice.” Bucky prompts gently, and you swallow.

“You.”

“Me?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his torso. Bucky pets the back of your head, words low and cautious.

“What about me isn’t nice?”

You shake your head, hugging him tighter. You can’t stop. It’s like a reflex. “You can’t- You can’t say that stuff. ‘S mean.”

“Me tellin’ you I’d quit for you is mean?”

“You don’t mean it.”

Bucky tenses. “I do mean it-“

“No, it’s not- I’m not-“ You swallow, breathing him in. “I don’t just wanna be…”

You trail off. Bucky prompts you softly. “Be what?”

“Be fun.” You mumble. “I can’t do fun, you know than, and- And if you’re not serious, then-“

“I’m dead serious.” Bucky grunts, and you swallow.

“James-“

“No. Listen to me.” He picks you up without a warning, sitting you on the counter so you’re at his eye level. You grab his shoulders, and he keeps his hands planted on your hips, almost holding you under his words.

Forcing you to hear them, as he watches you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“I am serious about this. About you.” He grabs one of your hands, holding it between your bodies. “I have wanted you since I met you. Don’t look at me like that,” he squeezes your hand when you give him a doubtful frown. “I have. You are beautiful and smart and bossy, and I’ve been obsessed with you so much, Nat’s slapped me about it twice.”

You swallow, closing your eyes tight. You can’t look at him right now. “Your profile said looking for casual.” You mutter, and Bucky snorts.

“Last year, Sam made that thing for me. ‘Cause I was obsessed with Stevie’s new PA, and I needed to get under someone to get over it.”

“Hm.” You peek at him. He looks sincere. “Did you?”

“I got under many someone’s.” He shrugs. “Didn’t have Sam’s intended effect. Think I just wanted you more, after every time.”

You swallow. That does explain a lot about the profile, in hindsight. Those were all very Sam things to say.

“I want you.” Bucky murmurs, pressing a little closer. Your noses are bumping, and he’s still not looking away. “You’re in my dreams, and days without you are nightmares. Just- One shot. It’s all I need. Please.”

And God, you want to give it to him. More than anything. You want to tell him that he doesn’t even need his shot, he hit a bullseye a year ago and you’ve just been waiting for him to realize it since.

But-

“I’m a virgin.” You blurt, and Bucky blinks.

“Okay-“

“I can’t do what others can. For you. And I- I don’t know how anything works- Well, I know how sex works, I got an A in health class, but everyone got an A in health, but I got an A and paid attention, and-“ You’re rambling. “I just don’t know how dating works, or- Or relationships, and I’m not- You’re very- You.”

You gesture over his everything, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“That a problem, doll?”

“No. God, no. You’re perfect, I’m just- Not? And that’s not really fair to you-“

Bucky grabs your face, and your cut off in a kiss.

You’ve seen kissing in the movies and on TV. Read about it a million times. It’s always all sweet and romantic, with swelling music and breeze and passion.

And nothing has done it justice at all.

Kissing Bucky is awkward for a second—his lips slotted over yours, your whole body frozen as it shuts down, then reboots—and then it’s like breathing. Your hands fly back to his shoulders, your legs spread so you can lean further forwards, and your lips move without a thought. Pressing against Bucky’s, moving in a dance he seems more than happy to lead, chasing at the slight chance that you could have just a little more.

One of Bucky’s hands finds this back of your head, and the other grabs your waist. Dragging you further forward until your chests are pressed tight, massaging the softness there in rhythm with his lips. You sigh, breathy and content, and Bucky presses further down. He’s all you can feel, muscle under your hands and love pounding in your heart. You nails scrape his neck, and he groans into the kiss.

The sound vibrates against your spread thighs. His hand on your waist flexes, fingers digging into the softness, and you gasp.

Bucky pulls back too fast, and you follow. Tugging him back, unwilling to let him go just yet. He follows for a second, tongue tracing over your lower lip, then yanks himself back.

His brow presses against yours, and you both breathe raggedly.

“I like you.” Bucky almost growls. His thumb presses over your swollen lips, palm cupping your cheek, and you melt further into him than you already were.

“Bucky-“

“You’re what I want.” He leans forward, demanding and pleading all at once. “Your body.” He pushes his hand under your shirt, rough fingers dragging against sensitive skin. “Is a bonus.”

You shiver, whimpering softly. You feel pliant. Dizzy, in a way that no flirting or video has ever rendered you before. You think Bucky might’ve sucked your soul out with that kiss. You’d like him to do it again.

But when you try to lean up, Bucky pushes you gently back down. You whine, and his lips twitch.

“You like me too.” He mutters, watching you like he’s somehow still unsure.

“Mhm.” You say, and he stands a little taller.

“How long-“

“The same.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Good. That’s- Good-“

You slam back up, kissing him with an open mouth and sloppy need. Bucky responds immediately, and heat is starting to build between your thighs. It’s not just going to go away with a little touching and petting. It’s almost painful. You need him.

Bucky pulls away again. You’re going to punch him.

“Jesus.” He mutters, staring down at your desperate expression. “You gotta slow down, baby-“

“Don’t want to.” You breathe, pulling at his shirt. “Want you, Bucky. Want you now.”

His throat bobs, eyes darkening, but he remains composed. “You… You’re a virgin-“

“Then show me.”

Bucky says your name, and now he’s the one begging. But you’re not letting him off this easy.

“Show me, Bucky.” You rest your chin on his chest, giving him your best pout.

He grabs your face between big hands, chest heaving as he stares at you. You offer a sweet smile, and his nostrils flare.

“Please.” You whisper. “Anything. I just want to feel you.”

“Feel me.” He echoes, like he can’t believe it. “You wanna feel me?”

You nod, and he presses his brow over yours his, his eyes squeezed shut.

“And you want me to show you.” He rasps. “All the different ways I can make you feel good.”

You nod frantically, almost clawing at his shirt. Bucky’s eyes shoot open.

“Yeah?” He grunts, and you whine.

“Yeah. Yes. Please-“

He grabs your jaw, grip hard and unyielding, folds over you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. His lips move, harsh and hungry, and his hand on your hip starts to knead the skin like he’s trying to leave a mark.

“Wanted this for so long.” He grunts, dragging his hand down to squeeze your ass. “Wanted you. So fuckin’ bad.”

You moan into his mouth, and Bucky sucks on your lower lip. You can’t have enough of him. He’s warm and leaves little fires everywhere he touches. You’d like them to sweep through you, overtake you and send you higher.

“So gorgeous.” Bucky’s hand moves lower, resting on your upper thigh. “Thought about you all the time, hated bein’ in a room and not getting to touch you, was so sure I was going to lose my damn mind not havin’ you be mine.”

“I- I wanted you too.” You breathe out, almost delirious from his kisses. “Always wanted it to be you, never- Oh-“

You lose your ability to speak for a second, when Bucky starts to kiss under your ear. Your body goes pliant and soft, and his growl against your skin sends a shiver up your spine. He’s holding the back of your neck now, guiding it to offer himself better access. You tug on his hair and he moans. It makes your knees wobbly.

“Never anyone else,” you breathe, and he seems to like that. The massive hand on your thigh shifts slightly, so Bucky’s thick fingers are grazing your core through your clothing.

It’s a perfect pressure where you’d been craving any of his attention, and it’s a promise of more later. Your legs give out, eyes fluttering as your brain short circuits with arousal.

Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he sits you on the counter, back arching as he captures your mouth in another kiss.  

“No one else.” He mutters, hand on your neck slowly, possessively moving down your spine. “Never gonna be anyone else, doll. Not for you,” he nips at your jaw, hand on your thigh teasing the sensitivity under your shirt. “Sure as shit not for me. Been no one else since I started thinkin’ of you.”

Your breath hitches, and you lean back with wide eyes. “Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“I’m not lying.” He says firmly, dropping his brow against yours. You try to lean back, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back together.

You blink at him hopelessly, grabbing at the collar of his shirt like you’re looking for balance. Bucky gives you a tiny smile, pressing his lips sweetly over yours. Another, softer promise.

“No one,” he murmurs. “Was ever gonna live up to you. First few months I’d fuck a girl and feel sick the next day. Like I’d done you wrong.”

“You- You didn’t-“

“Yeah, I did. We coulda been doin’ this a lot sooner.”

You flush, looking down to where your bodies are pressed so tight together. Bucky’s dress shirt and hidden muscle, both hard and gentle all at once. Your sleeping clothes and bare feet, swinging off the counter. You lean a little further into him, suddenly feeling rather small.

“What if I’m not…” You take a deep breath, frowning at the floor. “What if I don’t-“

Bucky says your name, concerned and caring, and you shake your head.

“What if I’m not the fantasy, Bucky.” You look back up with your best pleading eyes. “What if that- That idea of me isn’t worth what you thought?”

His brows knit tight, and you try to shirk away as he studies you. You can’t tell if you like it or not, but you know you feel bare. And you both want him to look away, and never go where you can’t reach him again.

Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward slowly, kissing each corner of your mouth before taking it fully under his. The kiss is hot and commanding, almost forcing your brain to slow back down. You dissolve into it, your thoughts a nice haze of Bucky. He guides your legs a little further apart, and takes both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind you.

“I love you,” he mutters. “I told you. And remember,” he pulls back with that lovely, secret smile. “I’m helpin’ you through it, right?”

You nod, and Bucky leans back forward, bumping your noses together.

“Trust me?”

“Yes.” You breathe, and he grins.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods between your legs, and oh. You like that. You’re shaking a little bit, you like it so much. Want it so much. Want Bucky.

Like he’s reading your mind, he rasps against your lips. “You enjoyed other things before?”

You nod, unable to tell if that’s another flush or just how turned on you are, and Bucky smirks.

“Like what?” He kisses your cheek, massaging your thighs. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart. What you want.”

“I- I want to be under.” You whisper, and you think his hands might be magic. Pulling answers out of you that you would’ve rather died with an hour ago. “Want you over me. Tell- Telling me what to do.”

Bucky hums, nosing at your neck. You close your eyes, forcing on.

“Tell- Tell me how good I’m doing. And- Other stuff.”

He leans back, and your core throbs at the shine in his eyes. Like he’s going to eat you alive. “Other stuff?” He rasps, and you nod weakly.

“If you can- Can do that.” It’s hard to focus, between his piercing gaze and the hand wandering between your legs. Teasing your inner thigh, until you’re voice is high and breathy. “Do that, and- and be-“

“Be a little mean?” He coos, thumb pressing over your aching button. You swallow, and nod.

“A little mean.” You echo, and Bucky grins.

“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses you again, slow and romantic, and you barely notice his hand moving away. “Think that’s enough outta you for now.”

“Wha- Bucky-“

He steps away. Without warning, Bucky just backs up, and you almost fall off the counter trying to chase him. He laughs, and pushing you back into place in a second, then moves away again. Where you can’t follow.

“Bucky, come back-“

“Nope.” He grins, like he knows you’re already too lost to chase him. He probably does. Asshole. “You want me to show you?”

You scowl. “James-“

“Call me whatever you want, baby. You ain’t gonna be able to talk at the end, anyway.” He braces his hands on his hips, raising a brow. “Want me to show you.”

He won’t come back until you answer, so you just nod, crossing your arms like a scolded child. Bucky grins, and you’re hoping for another good girl and kiss, but he doesn’t even lean closer.

“Alright.” He stands a little taller. “Strip.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Strip.”

“Like, completely?”

“Hm.” He pauses, raking over your body in a way that really shouldn’t make you feel more turned on. “Yep. All of this, off.”

He waves to your body, and gives you a silent, challenging look. Like he’s expecting you to go back, and ask for that date first.

But at this point, you’re going to explode if he doesn’t make you cum. And you’ve never backed down from him before. You have no interest in starting now.

Slowly, you peel off your sweater. Your shirt. The cold air hits your bare chest, and not wearing a bra was the right choice. Bucky’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, the evidence of your effect on him straining through his pants.

Your nipples are peaked, and you awkwardly palm at them the way you’ve seen in porn. Bucky shifts on his feet, hand flexing like he’s trying not to reach for you, so you repeat the motion again.

“Pants.” He grunts, and you smile sweetly.

“Please?”

Bucky chuckles, like he can’t believe you. “Jesus, woman-“

“It’s polite-“

“If you don’t take your pants off.” He grunts, giving you a firm look. “I’m gonna rip off your pants and fuck you on this counter right now.”

You swallow. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but-

Something foolish and lovesick inside of your chest demands that tonight be special. So you move on from your breast, but give Bucky a nervous smile.

“Next time?”

He softens slightly, and nods. “Next time. Pants.”

You smile, and he smiles back. But the expression quickly shifts back into desire, as you shuffle out of your pants. You take your underwear down in one motion as well, leaving you completely exposed. At Bucky’s mercy.

And he’s just watching you.

Watching you and rubbing his crotch, where an erection is demanding attention. The lewd sight makes you fuzzy in all the right places, your own legs spreading a little wider apart.

You need him so bad it hurts. Your fingers dip into your wet pussy, clumsily rubbing your clit, and Bucky groans.

Suddenly he’s back against you, staring at your hand between your legs and panting like a dog.

“Look at you.” He groans, dragging his gaze back up your naked body. “Better than a dream.”

“Thank you.” Your hips buck up against your own, suddenly flimsy and useless hand. You’ve touched yourself before. With Bucky all around you, it’s simply not enough. “Bucky- You-You need to touch me-“

“I know.” He grunts, lips ghosting over yours. “Need you to be ready, just-“

His throat bobs as he cuts himself off, his hand on his own hard dick suddenly pressing against your pussy. A spasm shoots through your body, and you almost fly off the counter.

Bucky presses further down, attaching his lips to your neck and collarbone. His tongue flicks against a pulse point as he spreads your pussy lips. Rubbing up and down while his thumb circles around your clit, working you up and up and up. You’re panting in his ear, vulnerable and dazed, and Bucky hums against your skin.

“Shirt.” He grunts. “Get my shirt off.”

You nod, and it should be a simple task. But Bucky’s relentless. He suckles on your neck, leaving possessive bruises on your skin all while working your pussy and drawling in your ear.

“I know exactly how I want you, pretty girl.” He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. “Told you I’ve been thinkin’ about it forever. ‘Bout every single way I’d take you if I got the chance. And I’m gonna show you all of them,” he kisses over a bruise, teasing two fingers against your fluttering core. “But tonight, we’re takin’ it easy.”

You whine, fumbling with just the top button of his shirt. “I- I don’t want easy-“

“I know, baby.” He presses just the tip of his finger into your cunt, and you clench around him with a whine. “But you’re so sensitive.”

If you had the power right now, you’d hit him for saying it like that. All mocking and syrupy. Making you try to fuck your hips down onto his fingers. But Bucky just pulls fully out, moving his attention back to your swollen clit.

“You need to take care of the buttons.” He whispers, pushing down hard on the bundle of nerves. “They need a little extra attention.” He rubs his thumb back and forth. “Before we get goin’.”

“Fuck- Bucky-“ You breathe, almost slumped against his chest. Your fingers are shaking, desperate to just hold onto something as thighs spread as wide as they can go. “Fuck you-“

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head as his thumb picks up speed. “We’re getting there, needy girl.”

You scrape at his forearm, one hand still trying to pry his shirt open with no real resolve at all. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, the asshole. Driving you insane with the teasing over your exposed entrance, never fully offering relief. You manage to get the top button open, but then Bucky pushes down hard on your clit, and an open moan falls from your lips as you double over.

“That’s it.” Bucky laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. “Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”

You nod, watching him move on you. “Bu- Bucky-“ You pull on his collar. “Help…”

“You’ve got it.” He says simply, spreading two fingers and dragging them between your pussy lips. “Just keep tryin’.”

There is no world where you have it, but Bucky’s words are enough for you to keep grasping fruitlessly at the fabric. Your head drops onto his shoulder, as you paw at his shirt. He laughs, rumbling through his chest, and slows his pace on your clit.

“All the ways I’ve pictured havin’ you.” He mutters. “This is the prettiest. Got you nice and ready, barely even touched you.”

“You’re- You’re touching me-“

“Not like I could touch you.” He says, a deep promise in his voice. “Told you, I’m going easy on my best girl. But if I wanted…”

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. Pushing on your clit as your body starts to wiggle, trying to find more relief. “Bucky-“

“Every time I’ve seen you, layin’ on the couch.” He presses further forward, his bulge against your thigh. “I’ve thought about putting my hands all over your perfect fuckin’ body. Touching these tits,” he ducks his head, and your breath hitches as he kisses over the curve of your breast. “Touchin’ this sweet little pussy.” He plays with your clit like it a toy. “And makin’ you squirt all over Stevie’s nice cushions.”

“I’d look at you.” You gasp, holding onto his shirt for dear life. “In your chair. Wanted to sit on your lap.”

Bucky groans, hips jerking slightly. “Shit, I’ve thought about that too. Pinning you on my cock ‘till you’re sobbing, fucking you over my desk- Christ, whenever you’d bend over I’d just want to drag your ass back and fuck it ‘till you were drooling.”

“Fuck, yes.” You’ve given up on the shirt.

Your hand is wandering down between your bodies, and you rub against Bucky’s crotch, trying to return some of the favor. Bucky moans into your ear, pressing his hand flat over your cunt.

“Shit, you- Can’t just fuckin’-“ Bucky grunts your name, and you roll your hips against his hand.

“Need it. Need it, Bucky- Just- Your fingers, please-“

“No.” He mutters, his own voice gravelly as you squeeze him. “Can’t be patient, can you, sweetheart? Want this cock so bad you’re just grabbin’ for it, wasn’t even able to get my shirt off-“

“It’s a mean game.” You breathe, and he laughs, pushing his lips back over yours.

“You started it.” He brushes the hair from your face, easily moving you backwards until you’re just groping for something of him to hold onto.

“Why can’t you just- Just fuck me-“

“Because you wanted to be a good girl.” Bucky’s kisses are turning slow. Lazy. He’s groping your pussy again, but with far less purpose.

Just spreading your arousal and teasing everywhere you need him, driving you up to an edge you think might take away your mind. A mind you’d be happy to lose for him, if he’d just take it.

“And I want to show you.” Bucky rests his thumb over your entrance, his free hand pushing on your abdomen. Forcing you to stay still. “But you’ve got a greedy pussy, sweet girl. Think you need a little break?”

You shake your head—you do not want a break—but Bucky pushes his thumb a little harder, and you squeak.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Look at me.” He orders, and you don’t have another choice. His voice is magnetic.

With just the top button exposing his sweaty collarbone and his erection evidence that he cares about this as much as you do, all of Bucky is magnetic. Gravitational. And it makes you feel so unbelievably good, just to be seen by him.

Being fucked by him might kill you.

It’s a risk you’re willing to take.

“Hi.” He smiles, and your lips wobble with need.

“Hi.”

“You still in this?”

You nod, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“I’d like you to say it-“

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help yourself from saying it.

It’s supposed to be mocking. But your voice is still high, and Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He shakes his head, tone something between amused and exhausted. “Otherwise you’d be a really fuckin’ brat.”

You flush violently, and Bucky slaps your pussy once. Just enough to make you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning, and mold back into his whims.

“One day.” He drawls, one knuckle pushing up to press on your clit. “I’m gonna get you on my face. Let you ride me, fuckin’ suffocate between your legs.”

You’re shaking, watching him. He’s talking like he’s predicting the weather, but your head is running wild. The image of Bucky under you, forcing your cunt onto his generous mouth. It would be hot and wet, his hands would leave bruises, and, and-

“You’re so reactive,” he mutters, using featherlight swipes of his thumb against your clit. “Think I could make you squirt on me. It’ll be like this,” he starts to move in tiny, rapid motions back and forth. “Like this. But my tongue,” he licks up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw. “And your needy clit bein’ sucked like I’ve got some fuckin’ candy.”

He pinches your clit, and starts to roll it back and forth. You can feel a pressure, building and building. It’s almost blindingly good.

“You’re makin’ such nice sounds for me.” Bucky mutters. “Bet you’ll sound even better, coming apart all over my cock.”

You nod, humping into his hand. You need more, but just when you think it’s going to snap, Bucky’s hand moves back down. 

“You feel this, baby?” He circles his thumb against your hole, and you hum, eyes flutters. “She’s ready for me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Ready, Bucky, please- Wait-“

You almost whine when he pulls away again, but this time it’s for a good cause. Bucky rips his shirt off, tossing it to an unimportant corner of the room.

He’s a work of art. All thick, tanned muscle and scars from his time in the army. They ripple when he moves, decorate him like earned tattoos, and you want to map each one with your fingers. His arms are fucking tanks, reaching out for you, and you tumble into them without a thought.

Bucky hauls you into his arms, hooking under your ass and dragging you off the counter with only a grunt.

“Legs around me.” He orders, and you obey. It’s nice to be this close to him.

Plus the bonus, of getting to try and ride his chest while he carries you to your room. You stumble and giggle, trying to give him directions. Bucky shoves open your door with his shoulder, and you laugh as he walks backwards to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and sending you both tumbling down.

“Shit- Bucky!” You shriek with delight as Bucky rolls you over, trapping you under his broad body. “Oh- Ooh-“

Your words fall off as he kisses you into the mattress, settling between your spread legs quickly. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, and it’s a nice wealth to be crushed under. You’re losing cognitive function again, as Bucky ruts his still covered erection against your wet core. You don’t know how he’s kept it together so long. You feel like you’re going to cry with desperation, and you’re fully at his whims.

This is nice, though. It’s a hot pressure—still far from what you need, but enough to tide you over—and Bucky’s wall of muscle around might be the best things you’ve ever felt. Your tits pressed against his chest, his arms braced by your head as you just make out like teenagers. He glides one hand down, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers, and you gasp softly.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“I’m gonna start slow.” He murmurs, low and commanding. “Then pick it up. Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, baby. Give you what you deserve.” He drops his hips, forcing you to stop grinding up. “That sound good?”

You nod, blinking hopelessly up at him, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” You get a sweet kiss on your cheek, his beard tickling softly. “Stay down.”

You don’t understand the request until he’s moving again, and suddenly it seems impossible. Being naked in front of him had been one thing. Naked, sprawled out in bed below him, and watching him strip is another thing.

Bucky sits up on his knees, never breaking eye contact as he pulls off his belt. You start to chew on your lower lip, and he moves back forward, stopping you with a gentle press of his thumb.

“Easy.” He murmurs. “Relax.”

You whimper, but try to. For Bucky.

And you think you might be turning into a puddle anyway, under the reverence in his gaze.

Bucky gets his pants off with practiced ease, and your mouth falls open.

His cock is thick and big. Veiny in a way you want to feel dragging against you, the head red and angry. Your breath catches as he starts to stroke it, just watching you wait for him.

Your legs close, trying to rub together for some friction. Bucky grabs your knee, and drags them back apart.

“Let me see you.” His thumb rubs in small circles. In a perfect rhythm, with his hand beating his cock. “Nice and relaxed for me, doll. Need you to be relaxed.”

You hum, watching him under hooded eyes. You can’t stop yourself from glancing down to his dick again. You feel empty, waiting for him. You’ve been waiting long enough as it is.

Bucky follows your gaze, and his lips twitch.

“You just walk around all the time?” He teases. “Waiting for some cock to fill you up.”

You nod, breathing through your mouth, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You whisper, dragging your gaze back to his. “Need to feel you, Bucky. Pleeease.”

He swears under his breath. “Legs a little wider. Now.”

You listen quickly, and Bucky lowers down. He drags his cock between the puffed, slick lips of your pussy, the head bumping against your clit.

“Dirty girl.” He hovers over you, watching your every breath as he plays with you. “So fuckin’ pretty, should be stuffed with cock all the time, shouldn’t you. Gonna keep you in my bed, fuck you full of me.” He kisses you quickly, his words getting rough. “My smart fuckin’ baby, begging for my cock.”

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“ You mumble, and Bucky grins.

“But you’re so pretty when I do.”

He kisses your cheek, and you feel raw. A live nerve, open for him and almost vibrating with desire. But Bucky’s hands are gentle against you. And you know.

He’s going to treat you well.

“You think you can let go for me?” His question is gentle. Almost soft. “Always workin’ so hard.” He notches himself at your entrance, and your breath catches. “I’m gonna take care of you, aren’t I.”

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

Bucky grins, and kisses your lips. “That’s right. You just gotta take it.”

You don’t get to even nod, before Bucky starts to push in.

And you’re not a blushing nun. You’ve used your fingers, and even some toys. Tried to see what the big deal was. But it had just felt like something was inside of you, and kind of heavy, and mostly just annoying.

This is different.

Bucky splits you open, and it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Breathe.” He grunts in your ear, and you nod uselessly. “Breathe, baby.”

You gasp for air, burying your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and clawing at his shoulders.

He mutters your name, and you try to arch your back up, inviting more. You need more. Everywhere he isn’t feels cold and hollow. Bucky needs to smear himself all over you, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“More.” You manage to croak out, and Bucky grunts.

“Are you-“

“Yes- Fuuuuck-“

You moan, loud and shameless, as Bucky presses deeper in. He bullies your pussy open, thick cock pressing deep into you and making your feel more full than you could’ve ever felt possible. Your body feels like it’s singing, a shiver of delight pushing up your spine as he hits that spot inside you that you weren’t even sure was real.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Bucky hisses in your ear.

“Shit- Relax.” His thumb snakes between your bodies, massaging your clit. “Let me in, babydoll, come on-“

The massaging helps. You melt into him with a shaking breath, head tipping back when he bottoms out.

Bucky’s head drops into your chest, his breath hot against your breasts. You’re just sitting in each other, in the sticky, feverish heat that might drive you insane.

“You feel… fuckin’ perfect.”

Bucky’s voice is a rasp, and he sounds like a man ruined.

You might have already lost your mind.

“You too.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.

The sound is a vibration, and you bite your lip as pleasure rushes right down to your toes.

“Oh… God.” You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching again, and Bucky grabs your hips.

“You gotta stop doin’ that-“

“Can’t.” You whine. “’S- You did it, you spent forever working me up, and- And now-“

His muscles shift around you, and that’s enough for your body to keen. Your back arches, pussy squeezing, and Bucky makes a guttural sound from his chest.

You squeak, when he pulls the tiniest amount out and slams back in. Your body goes completely limp, and Bucky pushes up over you, his cock still buried deep inside as he stares down at you.

“For someone who asked me to teach her, you’re bad at takin’ directions.”

“You- Bucky-“ He’s fucking you, shallow and slow. Just dragging back and forth. You might cry over it. “You- You knew that already-“

“I did.” He muses, pressing your hips further down. Forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock against your cervix. “It’s something that I love about you, y’know? So sweet and mouthy, all at once. My dream girl. So far outta my reach.”

He angles you a little up, letting him rut against your g-spot, and any chance of a sassy retort is knocked out of your head.

“Not right now, though.” His lips twitch. “Bet you’d tell me anythin’ right now, if I fucked you nice and properly. Fucked you like you deserve?”

Your head bobs, words slurred on lust. “Any- Anything, Bucky, oh my god- mmmmh-“

His thumb swipes your clit, and it’s like a tiny shock you can’t even react to. Your body jerks, but Bucky just pins you back into the mattress.

“Think I don’t want you to talk right now.” Bucky leans down, smirking as you blink with teary eyes. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we sweetheart?”

There’s something mean and powerful, radiating off of him right now. He really knows exactly where he has you right now. And you have no desire to be anywhere else. 

“Ye- Yes.” 

“Might’ve fucked you nicely, if we’d just talked a month ago.” He raises his brows. “But you made me wait for this pretty pussy. Hurting us both, baby.”

“I- I was-“

“I know.” He kisses your nose. “You are a fuckin’ brat. Bet you thought about this every time you touched yourself.”

“I- I did.” You confess. “Needed your cock, Bucky. You’re- You’re so big-“

You mewl, as he rolls his hips and slams back in. He kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and you can feel your slick need running down your ass. Or just Bucky’s sweat, as he tenses with the effort to hold himself back.

Effort is visibly, slowly slipping.

“You feel that? Feel this dick inside of you?” He fucks a little harder, and your head rolls. “All yours, babydoll. This hard, just for you.”

You whine, and Bucky sucks on a soft spot at the base of your throat.

“You’re a natural.” He groans against your skin. “Made for this cock, made to be my pretty doll, and- shit-“

He rises back up, watching you with a dark, hungry gaze.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you. To not choke my dick with your tight little pussy.”

“I- I am, Bucky- Please-“

“You gonna be good and listen to me, now?”

You nod, doe-eyed and cockdrunk, and Bucky hums in satisfaction.

“Hands on my shoulders.” He instructs, and your body somehow finds the strength to listen. “Mouth open. No holding back, wanna hear how you like it. Hear you scream my name.”

He kisses under your jaw, and you moan loudly. Bucky’s lips curve, and he pulls a little further out than before.

“Just like that. Good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” You whine, and Bucky hums.

“Stay just like this for me, doll.” He drags fully out, then slams back in. You think you see stars behind your eyes, and a sound you didn’t know you could make is pulled from your chest.

“Buuccky-“

“I know. Needy girl, wound up so tight.” He sets a slow but brutal pace, his hands bruising into your hips as he holds you down. “I’ve got you now.”

And he does.

Bucky’s got you so good, you’re already ruined for anyone else.

He fucks you the same way he’s been kissing and touching you. Like he’s trying to lay a claim. Make it so there’s no question what he wants, no doubt in your head that this is anything but serious. His hips piston against you, but it’s not rapid. It’s the measured, strong work of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

If there’s a pleasure point on your body, Bucky’s finding it and using it. You babble, as he abuses your g-spot with the thick head of his cock. His kisses swallow your every moan and plea, and you can’t think beyond his massive body, completely draped over yours. You’re tangled together, his balls slapping your ass and hands wandering over your body like he owns it.

He drags your knees up to your chest, helping him hit even deeper. You’re so wet it’s smearing all over his cock, and the sight of him driving in and out of you is enough to make that pressure in your tummy feel like it’s going to explode.

Bucky’s beyond words himself, hunching over your and taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he grabs at the other. You mewl, eyes glazed over and body overwhelmed with the need to cum. You might scream if you don’t. You’re probably already screaming.

“I- I need- Bucky, please, please, fuck-“

You scratch at his shoulder, so close to toppling over the edge but unable to figure out how to just fall. Bucky grunts, slamming down harder. His tongue swirls your nipple, sucking the peak between full lips before he crashes back up. His kiss is sloppy and open. You’re writhing in the sheet, edged into complete oblivion and on the verge of tears.

“You having some trouble, babydoll?” Bucky teases, throaty and wrecked.

You nod, shaking with the need to snap.  Bucky hums, kissing you too sweetly to be productive.

“Let go for me.” He squeezes your ass. “Just let go.”

Bucky finds your clit, and barely even offers more than a tease before you’re coming with a scream of his name.

Your back flies off the mattress, your hips bucking, and you’ve never cum this hard in your life. The tension in you burst like fireworks, heat pooling down your pussy and your body trembling. Your vision goes white. You might black out for a second, the daze of pleasure clouding your gaze.

There’s nothing but Bucky, still pounding into you. The obscene sounds of it, his guttural moans and the slide of his cock through your spasming cunt. His thrusts are jagged and uneven, his mouth kissing you everywhere he can seem to reach.

He follows you quickly, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and dribbling out of your pussy.

Bucky kisses you one more time, before he pulls out. It’s slower, like he’s trying to memorize you. You reach up to cup his face, smiling against his lips, and he lets out a heavy breath.

“That wasn’t too-“

“Perfect.” You whisper, and he relaxes.

“Good. Good.” He rises back up, brushing away the hair stuck to your face.

For a second, you just watch each other.

And with Bucky looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the universe, you feel like it.

He certainly treats you like it, too. Cleaning you up like you’re a princess, a treatment you never thought you’d want until it was Bucky offering. A warm, wet cloth between your thighs and a glass of water. He carries you into the bathroom, changes the sheets, then brings you back to bed.

He pauses after he sets you down, hovering around the mattress with a frown.

You scoot a little to the side, give him a hopeful look, and his shoulders slump.

He crawls into bed next to you, pressing his face into your breasts and holding you tight.

“We got things to talk about.” He mutters, and you hum, playing with his hair between your fingers.

“I know.”

“I was serious, about all of it-“

“I believe you.”

Bucky looks up at you with tired, but happy eyes. You smile, and they crinkle when he returns it.

It doesn’t matter if you’re the most anything in the world.

To him, you seem to be the world. And that’s more than enough.

“I’d like to take you out.” He says. “On a real date. Then the gala, too. If you-“

“Yes.” You beam. “Yes, please. I’d like that a lot.”

✦End note: bucky on a dating app has haunted me since tfatws. glad to do something with that.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[ladywintersoldat]

Love this!!!!

[starling-in-the-sky]

Snowdrift

Snowplower!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Presenting Snowplower!Bucky – the threequel! If you want to read the origin story, you can find Snowfall and Snowmelt at those links, respectively. Maybe I’ll write something that’s not a series soon, but I have been imagining this fic for some time, plus we just had a blizzard and it felt like it was time to put pen to paper. I can’t escape blue collar bucky he’s so meowwwwwwwww. Enjoy, my pretties!

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for two months, but you have some reservations about putting a label on it. Bucky, meanwhile, is all in when it comes to you. 

Word Count: 5k

Content: fluff, smut (18+, MDNI) - oral f receiving, p in v, riding; brief description of automotive peril but everyone’s all right in the end

You are so over the winter. 

You’re over the slow evening shifts at the bar that barely bring in any tips. You're over being unable to leave the house without wearing approximately one million layers. Most of all, you are over the seemingly never-ending snow.

The only good thing about the winter, really, is Bucky.

It’s been two months since the meet-cute, two months since you slipped and fell into his bed. Since then, it’s been good. God, it’s been good.

You flirt over text. You bring takeout over to his place and canoodle on the couch. When the snow gets heavy, he brings you groceries and bends you over your kitchen counter. You occasionally go on cute little dates, and you’ve become a connoisseur of the truck-cab-makeout-session.

But you feel the conversation looming. You can already see the question marks forming in his eyes when he looks at you a little too long, a little too soft. What are we? How do you feel about me? Where is this going? It’s a conversation you’re notoriously bad at, a conversation you usually try to avoid at all costs. 

You like Bucky. Of course you do. He's kind and considerate and sweet and drop-dead-sexy and holy-mother-of-god good in bed. You very much want to keep seeing him. You’re just… not great with change. Or vulnerability.

Of course, you can only avoid the conversation for so long.

“So, how are things with Tall, Dark, and Beefy?” Natasha asks, gnawing on a cherry stem as you wrap up yet another painfully slow shift.

You give her a slightly pathetic look. “Yesterday, he fixed my shower’s water pressure and then railed me within an inch of my life.”

She nods in understanding. “You’re in trouble.”

“I know,” you groan, dropping your head into your arms on the bartop.

“Are we considering the B word yet?” Natasha's voice gets that tiptoeing, careful quality she puts on when she knows what she’s saying might freak you out. “He seems like boyfriend material to me.”

Your head snaps up and you glare. “Nat, I wanted you to talk me down from the ledge, not push me off it.”

“You and your bizarre commitment issues.” Nat rolls her eyes and leans over the bartop towards you. “You really like this guy. He's obsessed with you. What’s the problem?”

“I like what we have now. It's fun. low stakes.”

“You don’t win big with low stakes, kid.” She slides off the barstool and slings her purse strap over her shoulder. “And as much as I'd love to sit here and continue to therapize you, I have a date.”

You sigh and resume polishing glasses. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she calls over her shoulder with a lascivious wink.

After you clock out, you resolve that maybe it’s a good idea to stay home tonight, to try and introduce some space, in order to delay the inevitable.

Of course, you wind up in Bucky's bed anyway, talked into spending the night yet again because it’s too late and too cold, and he is too warm and delicious and him.

Morning finds you in front of the coffee machine in nothing but socks and Bucky’s ridiculously soft henley, trying to figure out the stupid spaceship buttons that will make the coffee happen.

Bucky’s sleepy morning voice rumbles from the kitchen doorway. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

You glance up, feeling a little caught. “Sorry, I was—“

“Don’t be,” he mutters, wrapping you in an intimate embrace from behind. “I like it.”

It’s hard not to melt into him, especially as he starts to nuzzle against your neck, his lips pressing against that spot that makes you go weak in the knees.

“Hi,” you greet him softly.

“Hi.” He releases you from his hold, takes over the coffee situation, and drags his eyes over you with a look that is not appropriate for daytime. “You can hold onto that, if you want,” he says, his eyes dropping to his shirt hanging off your left shoulder. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

He wants you to keep his shirt. An act dangerously approaching boyfriend territory. You try not to visibly stiffen as you lean against the countertop. “I’ll bring it back once it’s washed. At this rate, I gotta start keeping a change of work clothes in the car.”

“Or you could keep them here,” he suggests lightly, “so they’re not freezing cold when you put them on.”

Keeping clothes at his place is even more perilously close to boyfriend territory. You shrug non-committally. “Maybe.”

Bucky examines you for a moment, sighs, and turns to face you fully. “Okay, I gotta say something here.”

Here we go. No avoiding it now. “…Okay.”

He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I like you. So damn much. And unless I'm totally misreading a lot of stuff, you like me too.”

“I do,” you agree, although your reluctance to have this conversation seems to have stolen some of your conviction.

“I want to put a name to this thing,” he says softly, his hands finding your shoulders. “I want to be able to brag to my friends about the amazing dinner my girl cooked for me. I want to feel like you’re not just passing through. I wanna be yours. But every time I mention anything resembling a next step, I feel you pulling away from me.”

His blue eyes pierce yours. “The way you are right now.”

Guilt churns uncomfortably in your stomach. You don’t want to be pulling away. It's a leftover reflex, an instinct you can’t seem to shake off, even though you know he doesn’t deserve it.

“Bucky…” you murmur apologetically, reaching for him. 

He lets you drape your arms across his shoulders, his hands settling with familiarity at your waist. “I’m not upset, and I'm not judging. I just wanna know if I'm spinning my wheels here.”

You decide to be truthful, in spite of your nervous system whispering that it's better to stay guarded. “I… I struggle a little with the label thing.” You have trouble fully meeting his eyes, but you say it anyway. “Doesn’t hurt as bad when someone lets you down if you never give them one.”

Bucky nods understandingly, his arms tightening around you like a reassurance. “You know I'll never let you down if I can help it.”

“I like you, Bucky. I do.” Your fingers curl into his hair affectionately, but you find yourself unable to resist the urge anymore to dig your heels in. “I like what we are right now. I'm afraid it’ll get ruined by the big stuff. The real stuff.”

He withdraws just a little, clearly wounded. “This doesn’t feel real to you?”

“That’s—“ You close your eyes, frustrated with yourself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Generously, he seems to let it go — perhaps more generously than you deserve. He doesn’t remove himself from your embrace, just fixes you with those blue puppy-dog eyes that make you want to surrender every time. 

“I want your real stuff. The messy parts, the parts you hide because you think they’re too much or not enough. The parts that you think will scare me off. I wanna show you I don't scare easy.”

You resist the urge to frown. “Bucky, I don’t know—“

Bucky leans in and gently kisses your cheek. “Just think about it, okay? That's all I'm asking for right now.”

“Okay,” you reply after a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Seemingly satisfied for now, Bucky returns his attention to the now-ready coffee, pouring two mugs and sliding one to you. You accept it with a thin smile and try to ignore the feeling of dread in your gut.

“You look like someone peed in your jar of infused tequila.”

Nat plops herself in the barstool in front of you with little ceremony, half-smirking, half-concerned at your downtrodden expression.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly as you cut your limes with slightly more aggression than usual.

“What’s eatin’ you, kid?” she asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. You are not in the mood to talk about this, especially at the end of a long shift with yet another ass-clenching snowstorm looming outside, but you know Nat won’t give up until she wheedles it out of you.

“Bucky sort of… asked me to be his girlfriend,” you mumble.

Natasha’s eyes widen. “That's huge! So why do you look like you’re attending a funeral? You said yes, right?”

“I said I'd think about it.”

For five full seconds, Natasha stares at you. Her face cycles through disbelief, exhaustion, and ends in frustration. Swearing under her breath in Russian, she rubs her temples and groans. “Why are you being like this?”

“I’m not being like anything, Nat,” you protest. “I’m just not sure—“

“Okay, it’s time for some tough love.”

Nat fully climbs onto the bartop, sitting in front of you with her legs dangling over. She puts her hands on your shoulders like she means to shake some sense into you, giving you her sternest look. “Bucky is a great guy. He's your boyfriend in everything but name. And you’re being mean by letting him dangle like this.”

“Mean?” you repeat, a little indignant. “I can't change how I feel, Nat.”

“How you feel? What are you talking about?” She gesticulates wildly with her hands, her voice growing louder in her frustration. “You're crazy about this guy! Every time you’re in a room together, it’s like everyone else disappears. And you’re letting your baggage get in the way of something that could be really good for you.”

There’s a part of you that knows, objectively, that she’s probably right. That you could be in the middle of wrecking a really good thing. But the thing about baggage is that it’s notoriously hard to let go of, because you feel like you need it to protect yourself. You can’t bring yourself to pry your fingers off yet. 

“I should start closing up,” you mutter, turning back to your cutting board.

Natasha, sensing that she might have loved a little too tough, reaches for you. “Hon—“

You shrug her off, barely glancing in her direction. “Say hi to Steve for me, okay?”

She watches you for a moment with a complicated expression, then sighs in surrender, clambering down off the bartop and reaching for her coat.

You’re in a pretty foul mood when you clock out, and it only turns fouler when you have to dig your car out of the snow that accumulated during your shift. It only makes it harder not to think about the Bucky situation.

The drive home is nerve-wracking. You go as slowly as you need to, give yourself generous amounts of room for stopping, and try not to panic whenever you feel a minor slip beneath your tires. 

But there’s no accounting for certain variables, primarily other drivers.

You nearly jump out of your skin when an impatient driver lays on the horn and races up behind you. They decide to pass you, nearly swiping into the side of your car. On instinct, you swerve to avoid contact, and you feel your tires begin to slip in a major way, your car fishtailing on the snow and ice.

Your heartbeat races in your ears as you try to remember what to do. Bucky's voice echoes in your mind — don’t brake, steer into the skid. And you try, but you’ve never done this before, never had to. You overcorrect, and your car careens into a snowbank left on the side of the road by the plowtrucks.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you clutch the wheel in front of you. You didn’t hear serious impact, and it seems like your car is undamaged. You're fine, you tell yourself, you’re fine.

But when you try to reverse to pull out of the snowbank, your tires groan and spin uselessly. And the panic really starts to set in.

Carefully, you step out of the car to assess how bad the predicament is. You squint through the still falling snow, the wind practically cutting your cheeks. The hood is completely invisible under the partially collapsed snowbank, and the tires are buried in inches of snow. You yank your pathetic little snow shovel out of your backseat and try to dig out the tires, working until you can’t feel your fingers. A second attempt with the gas pedal and the car in reverse yields no movement.

“No, no, nonono!” You slam your hands on the wheel and feel the tears begin to spill down your face. The typical unhelpful, panic-driven thoughts start to spiral out through your brain, playing on a loop. You should never have moved to a snow state. You can’t even drive in the snow. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You can’t do this on your own.

That thought shocks you out of your paralysis, and you reach with shaking hands into your purse for your cell. You pull up Bucky's contact and dial without a second thought.

He picks up on the second ring, voice betraying his fatigue from a long day behind the plow. “Hey.” 

“Bucky, I need your help.” You try to hold in the sobs, but it doesn’t work. They wrench out of your throat anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, immediately alert, immediately concerned.

“My car, it fishtailed and I— I couldn't get control of it and now I'm stuck in this snow bank—”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm fine, I just— will you please come?” you plead, unable to care anymore about how pathetic you probably sound.

You can already hear the jingle of keys, the rustle of his coat. “Yes, baby, I'm coming. Can you send me a pin of your location?”

“Okay,” you whimper. It takes you longer than it normally would with how bad your hands are shaking, but you manage to send it off.

“Got it. I'm on my way. It's not far,” he assures you.

You wipe your tears on your coat sleeve. “Thank you.”

“I want you to listen to me carefully.” Bucky's voice is calm, with an undercurrent of urgency. In the background, you can hear his truck engine rumbling to life. "Is your car warm enough right now?”

“I— yes, I think so.”

“Okay. I want you to turn off the engine for now. You can turn it back on if you get cold.”

You follow his instructions and kill the engine.

“Now, I need you to get out of the car to look at something for me, just for a minute. Can you see if the tailpipe is clear of snow?”

“It's clear. I already tried shoveling the car out a little.”

“Okay, good. I'll be there in around ten minutes, okay?”

“Will you stay on the phone with me?” you ask, your breath leveling out a little. Even as your tears start to subside, the leftover panic clings to your chest, and you don’t want to be alone with the silence.

“Of course I will,” he promises.

You see a pair of headlights manifest in the rearview, and it takes everything you have not to immediately jump out of your car and run in their direction. 

Bucky leaves the engine running and hops out of the cab, moving with urgency until he’s at your door. As soon as it opens and you stand up, he pulls you into his arms, letting out a shaking breath that said without words, oh thank god. The tears start flowing again, despite your best efforts.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” he assures you, his gloved hand cradling the back of your head. No mention of the words you’d exchanged the other day, no careful distance. Just him, his chest solid and warm underneath your cheek, his arms secure around you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you half-sob, your voice small, your frame trembling now that you don't have to be the only thing holding you together.

His other hand draws a soothing path down your back, repetitive, comforting. “You cold, baby?”

You shake your head and bury your face in his chest.

Bucky holds you close a minute longer before taking your face in his hands and looking down at you softly. “Must have been scary. Let’s get you in the truck, where it’s warm.”

Strong hands guide you towards the glow of the headlights, the hazards blinking rhymically. Bucky helps you up into the cab, grabs a blanket from the backseat, and wraps it securely around your shoulders. 

“Wait here for me, okay?” he gently instructs you. “I’m gonna take care of your car.”

You know it’s useless to argue, that he’s going to do it anyway, and that you’re in no condition to help. So you nod weakly, and he kisses your cheek before venturing back out into the snow.

As the warmth of the truck’s heating system seeps into your bones, you listen to the rattle of equipment being moved in the back of the truck, watch Bucky shovel your car out from the snowdrift, his safety vest over his jacket reflecting the headlights of passing cars. Something in your chest tightens as you sit sentry in the truck, observing as he works methodically and patiently in spite of the cold. 

It takes him about fifteen minutes, alternating between shoveling and gently rocking the car, shifting from drive to reverse over and over, but he manages to successfully free your car. After pulling it out next to the drift, he jogs back over to the truck.

Once he slides into the cab, he immediately puts an arm around you again, his nose cold against your temple. 

“Thank you,” you sniffle, leaning into him.

“Of course.” Biting the fingertip of his glove, he frees his other hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at a text. “Steve is gonna be here in a few minutes with his hitch. And then I’m taking you home.”

“But–”

Bucky gently cuts you off. “I don’t want you driving in this weather when you’re this upset. Steve will tow it home for you. He owes me a favor, anyway.”

Your lower lip trembles. “I feel so stupid.”

He frowns and squeezes your shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You did the exact right thing calling me.”

Bucky makes good on his promise – five minutes pass and Steve’s truck is parked in front of your car, Steve’s fist knocking on your passenger side window. Bucky rolls it down and Steve flashes you an easy grin.

“You guys are good to head out. Don’t worry, your chariot will be in my very capable hands.”

You manage a small, shy smile in return. “Thanks, Steve.”

“My pleasure.” Steve pats the side of the truck. “You kids get home safe. Take care, Buck.”

“Vest on, Stevie,” Bucky calls after him before rolling up his window. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

“Can we go to your place?” you ask quietly, shifting slightly closer to him and clutching his winter coat like a security blanket. 

He turns in towards you, surprised and a little concerned. “You sure? You don’t wanna sleep in your own bed?”

You shake your head. “I just wanna be with you.”

Bucky melts a little at that, and he gives you one last squeeze before putting the truck in gear. “Okay, baby. Let’s go.”

On the drive to Bucky’s apartment, you don’t say much, and he doesn’t pressure you to. The two of you just sit in the quiet, your head on his shoulder. You feel a deep appreciation for the way he takes the reins when you can’t hold onto them anymore. He gently ushers you into his apartment, runs a hot shower for you, lays out a pair of his sweats and that stupidly soft henley for you to change into. You feel cared for, but not crowded. 

It’s nice. And it also makes you feel immensely guilty for how you’ve tried to keep him at arm’s length.

You shuffle out of his bathroom, tail between your legs, to find him stretched across the bed with a book in hand and Alpine curled up at his feet. The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and his eyes go soft and gooey and ridiculously fond when they land on you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You feelin’ better?”

You don’t reply with words. Instead, you join him onto the bed, molding into his side like you need him to keep you steady. Maybe you do. 

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat in drawing up the covers around you, in pulling you closer. Your eyes already start to flutter closed, the nervous tension finally starting to bleed out of you at the weight of his arm around you, at the scent of laundry and soap and him shrouding you in familiarity,

His lips press to your hairline. “You can rest. I’ve got you.”

When you wake in Bucky’s bed, it’s much earlier than you would prefer. Such is the life of the plow driver — his six a.m. alarm stirs you, and despite your best efforts, you can’t get back to sleep. Mostly because there is a huge fluffy cottonball of a cat nudging her face against yours and purring like a motorboat.

“Okay, okay,” you groan. “I'm up.”

As you scratch her behind the ears and sit up, the events of last night flick through your mind like a movie reel. The panic is gone, and left in its place is a warm, fuzzy feeling you don’t entirely know what to do with. The smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen, where Bucky’s already pouring two cups, shirtless and looking unfairly good for someone who just rolled out of bed before the sun has fully risen.

You think about last night – how he came to your rescue without question, how he held you like your safety was not only priority, but paramount. You think about the less-than-perfectly handled conversation when, sensing your hesitation, he didn’t pressure you or ask for more than you were ready to give. Maybe you’re ready to give more than you’d thought.

You think about what Natasha said. 

You're crazy about this guy.

He's your boyfriend in everything but name.

You take a deep breath and decide to jump.

“Okay.”

Bucky turns to you, clearly not fully awake yet. “Okay what?”

You force yourself to hold his gaze, not allowing nerves to overtake you. “You want to be my boyfriend?”

He buffers for a long moment, like he’s not sure if this is a test or not. “…yes.”

“Then okay.”

Bucky puts his mug down and looks at you properly, brows furrowing. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to say that just because I rescued your car. I would have done that no matter what.”

“I know.” 

In a way, it was easier to be vulnerable last night than it is now, in the daylight. You'd had no choice then. But you want to choose it now, choose him. So with a little difficulty, you step towards him, nervously fiddling with the sleeves of the henley you’re wearing.

“I called you last night because I knew I could count on you to show up. And when I was scared and cold, I just wanted you there holding me. That's why I'm saying it.”

Bucky breathes that in for a moment, his expression careful, as if afraid that the wrong move will dispel this moment. “So you're serious.”

“As a heart attack,” you laugh nervously, though you don’t find the situation funny in the slightest.

A grin slowly spreads over his face, like dawn breaking. He takes you into his arms and kisses you, not just your mouth – he enthusiastically plants kiss after kiss along your forehead, your temple, your cheeks and jaw.

“Bucky!” you laugh, warm and real this time, clutching his shoulders so he doesn’t knock you over.

“What?” he asks, all feigned innocence. “I'm just kissing my girlfriend.”

Your face warms even as you giggle. but you find that you don’t hate the title, especially when he says it. All you can manage in response is, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” he corrects you, his lips finding yours again.

Maybe it’s the way you feel so tenderly cared for since last night, or the warmth of his arms around you, or maybe it’s just him, but you melt instantly. Your hands settle on his bare chest, making a needy little sound when his tongue slips past your open lips and strokes against yours.

That sound seems to activate him like a sleeper agent, because the very next moment he is scooping you up and hitching your legs around his hips, carrying you back to bed.

“Don’t you have work?” you mumble against his mouth, barely managing to care about the answer.

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbles back before nudging open the bedroom door with his foot and brushing his lips along the column of your neck.

You laugh breathlessly. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”

Bucky lays you down and, to his credit, wastes no time in getting your pants off. He drags his mouth, hot and demanding, along your inner thigh before diving into you, burying his face between your legs. The sudden sensation of his tongue against you rips a gasp from your lungs, your hands flying to his hair.

His hand splays on your stomach, keeping you in place as you try in vain to rock up into his mouth. Your whole body jolts as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, before (infuriatingly) backing off and returning to exploratory laps of his tongue.

“Bucky, this is not quick,” you pant, your protests morphing into a whine when he buries his tongue in your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groans against you, like the thought of stopping is almost painful. “You just taste so good.” He licks another stripe along the length of you, and nearly growls, “Taste like mine.”

His words, the possessive tone of his voice, combined with the way he latches onto your clit once again, send a shockwave of pleasure through you that’s so unexpected and intense, you nearly come on the spot. 

Bucky, feeling the sudden tension of your body beneath him, eases off again and asks softly, “Too much?”

You know what he’s really asking. He's wondering if he’s scaring you off. You glance down at him, flushed, trembling, startlingly turned on — and shake your head.

“Condom, now.”

His pupils nearly swallow the blue in his eyes, his mouth glistening with you. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, immediately going for the bedside table drawer.

As soon as Bucky manages to free himself from his pajama pants and roll the condom onto himself, you’re climbing on top of him with a cheeky grin and eagerly fitting him at your entrance. You sink down around him and purr, “Can’t have my man be late for work because of me.”

“Jesus,” he moans, his hands gripping your hips hard with the effort of not immediately thrusting up into you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. “Say that again.”

“You like that?” You roll your hips as you begin to set a purposeful rhythm. “Being my man?”

Unable to resist anymore, his hips begin to rise and meet yours with every movement. “You have no idea how much I like it.”

You don’t bother with preamble or slow build. You’re on a timetable, and the snow waits for no man. You fuck yourself on him while he rubs tight, efficient circles on your clit, his other hand at your hip to guide your rhythm when it falters because it’s all too much. 

Pleasure crests hard and fast, your orgasm just within sight. You let out a high, helpless sound, your nails digging into his shoulders. Bucky, sounding quite pleased with himself, pants, “Fuck, close already?”

You almost tell him to shut up, but the words don’t come. Instead, you release another ragged moan as the angle of his cock hits just right.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages you. “Let me feel it.”

With one last desperate cry, your body shudders around him, your hips instinctively chasing every last pulse of your orgasm as it rises and falls. Beneath you, Bucky comes with a strangled groan, “Fuck, baby, fuck—“ and coats the inside of the condom while your cunt wrings his climax out of him. 

You nearly collapse on top of him, both of you sweating and panting and still half-clothed. Bucky chuckles breathlessly, and it infects you quickly. The two of you laugh for a moment, leaning into each other affectionately, sated and satisfied for now.

You ease yourself off of him carefully, still giggling softly. “You should probably get dressed.”

With a groan, he throws an arm over his eyes briefly, before sitting up and squeezing your thigh. “You too, speed demon. I'm giving you a ride home.”

Despite the ungodly hour, it’s a lovely morning. You take coffee and protein bars to go, since your soul-bearing and subsequent sexcapades set Bucky's morning timetable back a considerable amount. He wraps you up in a sturdy, spare winter coat that absolutely swallows you, because, in his words, he’s “tired of pretending your coat isn’t a pretty but useless piece of fabric.” You ride next to him in his truck as he plows his way to your place, rattling around in the cab and giggling as he sings along badly to the radio. 

He walks you to your building’s front step, kisses you goodbye at the door, and salts your steps and sidewalk before he leaves. 

Smiling out your window as you watch him, you realize you have no regrets about promoting him to Boyfriend status — except that you’re going to have to hear Natasha say I told you so.

 Permanent taglist: @globetrotter28 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @stokzr @buckys-dollface19

[veltana]

Escaping the past - 1

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers/fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~3,2k

✦ Rating: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Mafia!Steve Rogers, romance writer!Reader, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of stalking, morally grey!Steve, reader has a shitty ex-husband, mentions of past abuse and trauma, future smut, pet name (Muse).

✦ Summary: After some trial and error, you find the door to Steve Rogers' study.

✦ Note: I am trying to write something soft!dark-ish and it's really not something I excel at just keep that in mind! Reblogs, comments and ask are always welcome ❤️

✦ I don't keep a taglist, but you can follow @veltanawrites and turn on notifications to get notified when I post something new.

Masterlist | AO3

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When you finally ease your way up from the floor and out into the house, you’re not sure how much time has passed; it could be minutes or even hours. Your whole world has been turned upside down, and you’re trying your best to find your feet, while you stumble out into a wide hallway. The best way to get answers and escape this place is to do what Steve wants and help him find your ex-husband.

After some trial and error, you find the door to Steve Rogers' study. It’s open, and you go right in, but stop as soon as you’re inside, not because of the opulence of the room or because Steve is looking at you from where he’s sitting behind his desk. It’s because of the man standing next to Steve. “I recognize you,” you point at him. “I’ve seen you outside my building and at the grocery store. I thought you were a new neighbour!” The man next to Steve chuckles and shrugs as Steve answers. “I needed to know who you were before taking you here-,” “Kidnapping me, you mean?” you interrupt. That makes the other man snort in amusement, but Steve only sighs and continues. “So Bucky’s been keeping tabs on you for some weeks now.” The man named Bucky pats Steve on the shoulder and says, “I’ll leave the Muse in your capable hands, boss.” When he passes you on his way out, he stops shortly to say, “It was nice meeting you properly.” You can’t find any words to answer before he’s gone, and then the first ones that come to your mouth are, “Muse?” you say and look at Steve, probably looking as confused as you feel. He doesn’t answer your question; instead, he says, “Close the door, will you?” As you do, he walks over to a seating area, sinking down in a chair, and continues, “Bucky is my right-hand man, if you need something and I’m not around, you can always go to him.” You walk further into the room, closer to him, but you’re cautious, “You had me followed?”

He never takes his gaze off you, and there is an intensity in it that makes heat simmer in your stomach, as you stop beside the chair opposite to his. “In my line of work, it’s important to know who you’re dealing with.” “And what kind of work is that if I may ask?” You’re not really ready to sit down just yet. There is still adrenaline in your veins, and your system is ready for flight if you need to. Steve smirks, “It’s the kind that the law might frown upon sometimes.”

Gears turn in your head, piecing the few things you know together. “Wait… are you the mob?” you ask, in a whisper. “Clever little Muse,” Steve whispers back. “Now, please sit.” You do as if on autopilot, while dealing with yet another shock to your system. The fact that your ex-husband has tried to mess with the mob is another confirmation of how incredibly blinded by love you must have been to not see this possible side of him. To distract your spiraling thoughts, you ask again. “Why do you keep calling me that? Muse?”

“We needed to have a code name for you, it’s always safest that way, and Muse just seemed appropriate.”

It feels as if there is something he’s not telling you, but you don’t have the capacity to figure it out right now, and with Steve in front of you, sitting in the chair, leaning back with his legs slightly spread and oozing with power, it’s hard to think straight. You have to confess to yourself that you’re attracted to him, there’s no other way around it.

Since you split with Chad, there hasn’t been anyone else. Not even a one-night stand. The burn from the betrayal was so bad, you decided to quit men all in all and just be happy with the toys in your bedside drawer, and up until now, that had not been a problem. That you had to be kidnapped by a mob boss for all those old mechanics to start working again should be a red flag, but instead, you decide to embrace it. This thing you’re caught up in is weird and could be taken directly from a novel, but you’re not gonna fight it, it’s easier to just let it play out and hope you come out of the experience intact. “Okay, so,” you shake your head in an effort to clear it. “This whole thing is bizarre, but as you said, the sooner we get started, the sooner this can all be over.” “Great that we’re on the same page, Muse. Tell me about Chad, and why you fell for him in the first place?”

The question catches you off guard, and a great big lump of nausea forms in your throat. You’ve done your best to forget about him, but thoughts inevitably pop up from time to time, though it has happened less frequently over the years. But as you begin to tell Steve, you dredge up every little detail about his charm and his smile and how he made himself out to be something he was clearly not. You tell Steve about the gaslighting that began as soon as you were married, and that you just waved it off at first, but that after a while you started to believe the things he told you, that it was your fault, that it was you who was to blame when he fucked up, when he lost his job, when he cheated. There were things you didn’t write in your book that were too personal to tell even through fiction, but for some reason, you tell Steve about it. Pouring your heart out to this unknown person is freeing in a whole different way than talking to all the therapists you’ve seen through the years.

Steve looks like he’s on the verge of a rampage, his hands clamped so tightly around the chair that his knuckles have gone white. When Chad looked like that, you were scared, and even though this isn’t him, there’s still an undercurrent of fear running through you, but at the same time, you know that Steve’s anger is not directed at you. “And since then, I haven’t seen him,” you end. Your pulse is racing, your breath is high in your chest, you feel like you’ve run a marathon but are also just about to head out the gates in a life-determining race. “Muse,” Steve says, teeth clenched tight. “Come here.” “What?” “I said, come here. Now.” Two of his fingers make a hither motion, and as if you’re a puppet on strings, you rise and go to him. A gasp leaves your mouth as he pulls you down in his lap, then he grabs your chin, stares into your eyes, and holds you firmly. “Listen to me, my Muse. When we find him, I’m going to kill him.” “Steve,” your voice trembles, but your pulse calms, and oxygen properly reaches your lungs again. “I would have done that either way, but now, after all this, I want you to know that his death will be slow and painful.” Suddenly, you’re not on the brink of a panic attack anymore.

“Why?” you find yourself asking. “Because no one should be treated like that, but mainly because he did it to you, Muse.” “I don’t want you to torture someone for my sake, Steve.” “Sorry, but you don’t decide that, I do,” he explains. “Now, say ‘Thank you’.” You swallow hard, but not because you’re nervous; a different kind of pulse quickening feeling is now residing in your body. “Thank you.”

He releases your chin, but doesn’t let you up from his lap, instead time stands still as he holds your gaze, and you’re not interested in being released from it. You want to sink deeper, explore it more. You drift closer to him, his face, his mouth. “Now, now, Muse, don’t get too ahead of yourself and do something you’ll regret,” Steve says in a low voice, breaking you out of the spell he’s put on you, making you pull back and realize what you're doing. Kissing a mob boss might lead you down a path you’re not quite ready for.

When you don’t say anything, Steve takes the lead again. “Even though I hate to talk about that sorry piece of human garbage, we need more information about him. We have most of his connections mapped out, a trace on his phone, and my underlings know to keep their eyes open. But every time we think we have him, he slips away. What is it that we’re missing?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “I have no reason to lie to you about this,” you continue hurriedly. The last thing you want is for Steve to think you’re hiding something and subject you to some kind of torture. There might be a spark between the two of you, but you hold no illusions that he will spare you if he thinks you have information. He must see the worry in your eyes, “You don’t have to reassure me, Muse, you have no reason to protect him, I believe you.” “If I think of anything, I’ll tell you, I promise.” “I know you will,” he smiles softly. “Now, tell me about you. Bucky says you always buy yourself a treat when you run errands? What do you like best, food or things?

Before you can begin, there is a rap of knuckles on the door, and Bucky steps inside again. He doesn’t seem fazed that you’re in Steve’s lap, he only says, “Sorry, Steve. It’s urgent, we need you.” You quickly get up when Steve sighs, but he doesn’t rush out after Bucky right away, instead he stays with you for a few moments. “Get something to eat, it’s almost lunch.” “What?” you look around for a clock somewhere on the walls. “How long did I sleep?” “Twelve hours or so, it’s always a little tricky to get the dosage right, but I didn’t want to risk you waking up in the car,” Steve says casually with a shrug. “What the fuck! You drugged me?” Instantly, you’re once again outraged about the liberties he’s taken with your body. “Yes, my Muse, it was for your own good.” His hand comes to rest on your cheek, and some of the anger fades away. “You can ask me all about it over dinner tonight. But right now I have to go.” “Dinner?” confusion replaces the remaining anger. “Yes, dinner with me. I’ll find you a dress to wear.” At that, you’re reminded that you’re still in your pajamas from last night. Thank god it’s not the height of summer and you went to bed naked! “Steve, you don’t know my size,” you point out. “Wrong,” he pulls back his hand, and you immediately miss the warmth. “I know almost everything about you. See you tonight.” And then he’s off.

After standing in Steve’s office, stunned for some time, you realize you actually do feel hungry and decide to do as he suggested and locate the kitchen. At first, you’re hesitant to bother all the people there, but when one catches sight of you, they welcome you and sit you down at the island counter before serving you lunch. They go about their business as usual while you eat, and a few other people come in to get plates of food before leaving again. Everyone greets you, and doesn't seem surprised at seeing you there. It’s a little creepy not to know how much Steve has told them about you.

Once you’re done, you wander around, trying to find something to do, but you’re in an unfamiliar place, kind of nervous, and also not sure if there are some areas you should avoid. Mostly, you’re scared you’re going to stumble over something bloody you can’t unsee. After jumping at the sound of a door closing yet again, you retreat to Steve’s study.

Aside from the trauma of being drugged and kidnapped, this whole thing has certainly been good for your imagination. Your fingers are itching to write, and after months and months of treading water, you feel like you have an idea to run with. But without your computer, and not even your phone, you’re forced to do it the old-fashioned way, and you poke around in Steve’s desk to find a pen and paper. At first, you feel bad, but then you decide that if Steve didn’t want you to snoop about, he should have locked the drawers.

It’s freeing to dive into the writing, to plot a story and imagine the characters. If the main male character happens to resemble a certain mob boss, it’s not by accident. The attraction you feel towards Steve is new and terrifying, not only because of who he is, but because you have a hard time trusting your own instincts. What if you’re as wrong about him as you were about Chad? You know deep down that you shouldn’t be attracted to a man who has no trouble killing and torturing people, but the way he takes charge, telling you exactly what he wants and needs, that is so freeing after being with Chad, who was all about playing games and setting you up to fail.

You pen stills as your mind replays what happened in the chair, in Steve’s lap. He was warm and smelled so nice. You laugh at yourself and wonder if you’re so starved for touch and attention that you start romanticising your kidnapper, just because he happens to be nice to you one time. Okay, despite the kidnapping, he’s been calm and surprisingly gentle. It would have been easy for him to exploit your vulnerable state earlier, but he stopped it and then invited you to dinner. So, you’re going to have an evening dinner with a mob boss, and you have nothing to wear, except the clothes you slept in. Great. When the light in the windows starts to dim, you go back to your room with your stack of papers, and you’re not even surprised to find a dress in your favorite color waiting on the bed.

Gingerly, you pick it up, noticing how nice the fabric feels under your fingertips and that it still has the price tag on with a sum you’re sure can’t be right, but at least he’s not making you reuse the same dress as the last woman he kidnapped. For some reason, the thought of Steve and other women makes jealousy flare up in your chest, before you quickly tamp it down. “Idiot,” you tell yourself. “He’s a mob boss. There is a new woman for him every day. You’re not special.”

In the bathroom, you find your own skincare and makeup, which means someone went back to your apartment and got your stuff. Staring at it, you wonder what Steve expects from you. After considering, you do enough to make yourself look good, but you don’t want Steve to think you put in too much effort. This whole thing is hard to balance when you have no idea how the scales will tip.

Just as you’re done putting on the dress, there is a knock on the door, and you turn with a flutter in your chest, thinking it’s Steve. But it’s not. A man, clearly one of the staff in the house, comes into your room with a shoebox from your favorite brand. He leaves it on the bed with the words “I’ll wait outside to take you to the dining room once you’re done.” Unsurprisingly, the shoes fit. Two conflicting feelings fight in your body, one that it’s creepy as fuck that Steve actually knows what kind of shoes you prefer to wear, but also that it’s kind of nice that he actually cares that you’re comfortable at dinner.

Instead of examining those feelings too closely, you go out to where the man is waiting. He takes you to a dining room lit with candles and set for two people to dine. Unlike in movies, you’re not placed at opposite ends of a long table. Instead, you’re seated next to each other on the corner of a table, and it looks really… intimate. Steve is nowhere in sight, though. “Mr. Rogers is running a bit late, unfortunately.” The man explains after seating you.

While you wait, you’re served champagne, and after having slowly sipped it for some time, the starter is brought out and served with another explanation that Steve will be a while longer. You stop holding out hope for him to show up at all after you get the main course, and you enjoy the food by yourself, taking your time to savor the delicious meal.

After, you’re taken back to your room, and while you get undone you wonder where Steve is and if he is okay. Thoughts about whether he’s been shot and is in the hospital start floating around, and you wonder what will happen to you if Steve doesn’t come back. Who will take over? Will you be seen as a liability? Nervousness eats you up, feeling as if you’re on your way to another panic attack, but just then, another knock sounds at your door, and you don’t have time to call out before Steve steps into your room.

Relief floods you, but then you notice that his suit is wrinkled and even torn in places, with messy hair, and it’s impossible not to notice the dried blood on his knuckles. “Muse,” he says, “I’m sorry I missed dinner.” “Fuck dinner, are you okay?” He laughs a dry, mirthless laugh, “Some people just don’t know when to quit.” You go to him and take his hand in yours, turning it over to look at the damage. “I wanted you to know that I didn’t ignore you,” he says softly, “That I really wanted to have dinner with you.” Smiling at him, you suggest, “How about breakfast instead?” Steve cups your cheek, but doesn’t respond to the question; instead says, “I need to kiss you.” “Kiss me? Why?” “Because it’s what I planned to do after dinner tonight, and I can’t get the thought out of my head,” he explains. “Oh. Well, then I want you to kiss me, Steve.”

He does without hesitation, pulling you by your face towards him, and when you open your mouth with a moan, he’s quickly there with his tongue, exploring. You cling to his shoulders for dear life, feeling a relentless throb erupt in your whole body. You’ve never been kissed like this before. When Steve retreats, you whine, and he answers with a chuckle. “I’m in no state to take you to bed properly, my Muse, but tomorrow I’ve made sure I have you for myself the whole day. See you at breakfast.” He gives you one last kiss before he leaves you aching, drenched, and wired.

next

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Big Bad 34

Warning: age gap, verbal and physical abuse, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: silverfox!Andy Barber (mob au)

Note: If you’ve got a problem with slow burn then you’ve got a problem with me and I suggest you let that one marinate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s all too perfect. Too easy. You just can settle into this new place. This new existence.

It’s not perfect. Not like he pretends. Not like he wants it too be.

You’re waiting for it to crack. Waiting for Andy to prove you right. You know what kind of man he is; Evie told you what he’s capable of, you’ve seen the control he has over the world, how he can use it so effortlessly. Yet, he hasn’t truly used that against you…

Not yet.

That mantra looms over you. Not yet. But one day, right?

Expect the worst and you can never be disappointed. Disappointment would be the best case scenario with someone like Andy. And the worst, whatever he did to Charles, you can’t even bring yourself to think about. As pessimistic as you are, that’s just too much for you.

You glance up from your textbooks as Andy appears. His knuckles are scabbed and healing. The last remnants of the man who hurt his daughter. You gulp and look him in the face. You feel smaller as you sit on the floor, back against the couch, your laptop and textbooks spread out around you and over your lap.

“More coffee?” He offers.

He’s relaxed. As much as you’ve ever seen. He wears a grey sweatshirt and jeans. His hair is fluffy than usual, no gel, just a quick comb.

“Hm, I think I’m all caffiened out,” you rub your thumb over the corner of the page nervously.

“I can make smoothies?” He suggests.

You smile. “That’s nice but… I’m good. I’m just… studying.”

You look down and readjust the pen in your hand. You compare your lecture notes to the textbook and add scribbles along the margins. Your letters are awkward as you’re overly aware of him watching you.

You peek up bashfully. He leans on the doorframe as he stares. You lift your brows and purse your lips awkwardly.

“Um… did I–” You begin, heat creeping up your back. You have that awful feeling that you forgot something.

“Nothing. Just… admiring you.” He grins.

“Oh, ah,” the fire spreads to your ears. “Okay.”

You look down again and struggle to focus on the words in front of you. You shift and drag a textbook over your notebook. Sweat speckles on your scalp. You want him to stop but you don’t. You’re so aware of what he must be seeing… and thinking.

He looms by the door for a while as you struggle. You’re pretending to read as your thoughts race a million miles in a million different directions. The floor softly groans under his weight as he finally moves. He comes close as you flip the page, hoping he doesn’t see the tremble in your hand.

He gets down on his knees, right by your feet. You curl your toes inside of your socks and peek up at him. You make another curious face.

“Andy?”

He hushes you as he puts a finger to his lips. His cheek dimples devilishly. “Don’t let me disturb you. You’re a good girl. You gotta study.”

He touches your ankles and trails his hands up the length of your legs. You shiver as his warmth seeps through the thin fabric. You went for comfort over style; the striped linen isn't the most attractive.

You catch your books in your arm, cradling them as he gently moves closer. He feels along your thighs and hips. He touches the drawstring waist and you squeak. You look at him as your skin blazes.

“Andy…”

“Don’t let me interrupt, sweetie. You keep studying.” He coaxes as his fingers dip under your waistband, dipping under your panties too.

“I…”

His eyes drift down as he tugs on your pants. He drags his hands under your bottom as he pulls the layers down too. He lifts you just a little as to free the fabric. You whimper and lean into the front of the couch.

“I’m just tryna help you relax,” he cooes as he guides your pants down your thighs. “All that stress… you won’t remember too much.”

He leaves your pants to gather at your knees. He pushes them apart to the limit of the strained fabric. He slides back and lowers himself to his stomach. You quiver and try to close your legs.

“Please–”

“I’ll be nice, sweetheart.” He promises as he nudges your thighs apart. 

He dips his hand through the keyhole of your legs and pants. His fingertips brush along the crease of your thigh and ass. You twitch and move the books as you look down in shock; at your naked cunt and his proximity. You can feel his breath scalding you as he hums out a plume of smoke.

“You gonna be a good girl and keep studying?” He purrs and kisses your pelvis.

You swallow and shift the books again. “Um…yes?”

“Good,” he drawls and nuzzles you. He takes a deep breath.

He slowly pokes out his tongue and swipes it along your lips. You twitch and nearly drop your books on his head. Your thighs spasm and press against his head. You squeal.

“Please…”

“I’m being nice,” he coaxes and laps again, this time delving between your folds. You can feel how wet you are against his tongue. He hums.

“I… I…” you stammer and grip the books tightly.

He stretches his tongue along your cunt and spreads it wide. He slowly drags it up as he tilts his head. He purrs again. He flicks down again and swirls around your clit. You gasp.

Your notebook presses to his crown as you shiver. Your body is jelly as you struggle not to lean the weight of your handful against him all together. He rocks his head hungrily as he dives into you. You drop your head back and arch your spine.

Your core swarms wildly. Your self-awareness, your fear, and your uncertainty turn to ash against the fire of your delight. As nervous as his touch makes you, it’s intoxicating.

You moan and close your eyes. You bring the books up against your chest as he drinks you up. His tongue dances on your clit before slipping down to taste all off you. He tends to every part of you, keeping a fervent tempo as you drown in his desire.

You squeak and squirm as his intensity builds. The books collapse as you crush them against you then let them tip out of your grasp. You squeeze Andy’s head between your thighs as your nerves pulse. You clasp onto his head, fingers weaving into his hair, and rock your pelvis against him.

You know better than to stop him but you don’t want to either. For that moment, you aren’t anxious, you aren’t afraid, you aren’t knotted up with stress. You’re not thinking, you’re just feeling. Everything. All of him and all of you.

You cry out as you feel something snap. A sudden surge of hot and cold ripples through you and throbs in your cunt. He laps it up eagerly, growling as he tastes you greedily.

As you puff out your ecstasy and shake in the echoing waves of pleasure, he drags his beard across your cunt, smearing you all across the thicks strands as he hums. He buries his face into you one last time and sucks on your clit until you whine.

He lifts his head as your hands fall away and he exhales. He looks up at you as your eyes slit dozily. You shiver as you lean limply against the couch, too foggy to care about how exposed you are.

“Feel better, sweetheart?” He smirks and licks his lips, his beard glistening with you.

[ladywintersoldat]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pick a grump:

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Big Bad Masterlist

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

[doubleabatteriez]

Could You Be Loved Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 (WIP)

[lovelywritinglady]

Unresolved

Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

In which you and Bucky talk about his feelings about his best friend Steve…

Angst, fluff, Bucky has unresolved anger towards Steve, established relationship.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind.” You spoke sitting across from Bucky.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“You’ve been sulking all week, honey” You replied softly.

Bucky didn’t reply nor did he meet your gaze. Instead his mind went to his best friend, Steve. As happy as he was that Steve got the life he wanted, he couldn’t help but feel angry. Angry that Steve chose to abandon him.

“Is this about Steve?” You asked, as though you read his mind.

“Yeah.” He replied after a long pause.

“What about him?” You pressed, getting up from your seat across from him and sitting next to Bucky.

“It’s…nothing.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his flesh hand.

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you so much, Bucky.” You pressed even further.

“Why the hell are you pushing so much?” Bucky snapped, making you frown.

You said nothing, simply looking at him. Your hand touched his good shoulder, rubbing circles on it. Bucky’s body seemed to relax a bit, giving you the confidence you needed to press the situation one more time.

“Honey, please tell me what’s hurting you.” You spoke, scooting closer, placing your hand on his cheek, making him lean into your touch.

“He…he left…” Bucky spoke painfully. “I was gone for five years, I don’t even remember being gone. But he just left me, like my absence didn’t bother him.” Bucky ranted, a few tears slipping. “Like I don’t matter to him.” He added.

Your heart shattered at this confession. You knew Bucky had some unresolved feelings about Steve, but you had no idea it was this. However, you completely understood where he was coming from, you had felt some anger for Steve too.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, wrapping your arms wound Bucky, slightly pulling him towards you.

Bucky responded by resting in the crook of your neck, letting you hold him. He breathed your scent, letting it comfort him. Bucky was so tired and so angry at being angry. His years fell freely now, making the shirt you were wearing wet. You didn’t care, you were just so relieved he was opening up to you.

“I’m so sorry.” You said again, rubbing his back and kissing his temple softly.

“Why, was I not good enough for him?” Bucky sobbed, holding onto you tightly.

“You’re more than good enough!” You reassured. Bucky then made eye contact with you, looking completely defeated.

“Promise me you won’t leave me like he did. Please!” Bucky pleated.

“You’re stuck with me honey, I’m not going anywhere.” You spoke, your own tears now falling.

Bucky said nothing, instead deciding to sink further into your comforting body. You knew his unresolved feelings for his best friend were strong, but it truly shattered your heart to know how much Steve had hurt your Bucky. How leaving without spending much time with him, shattered any self confidence he had at the time. How no matter how much healing Bucky does, the would of Steve Rogers absence would leave a lasting impact on Bucky’s life. But thankfully, you were there to pick up the pieces that Bucky couldn’t, and you always would be.

Thank you so much for reading! 💜 This was a super short, but sweet fic that popped into my head one night.

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•I do NOT own any characters except y/n and any original characters•

-L.W.L

[ladywintersoldat]