a/n: hey guys!! long time no see, I have this plot for a bucky series i've been meaning to write and inspiration kicked in. i will be posting the story on ao3 as well, if anyone prefers. anyway, i normally write with an OC but i converted everything into 2nd person for this, i hope everything makes sense. this story starts during / after civil-war. i will not get into detail about the sokovia accords tho. hope u enjoy it! i will be posting the rest of the series slowly. and as usual, likes, comments and reblogs give me fuel. check out my masterlist!
summary: bucky is living with you while he learns how to be human again.
warnings: mentions of mental health struggles; nightmares, PTSD, anti-depressants, scars, bucky being vulnerable and emotional. is fluff a warning?
warnings will be updated once the series is continued. i'll be making a series masterlist
read chapter two here!
Your life changed the day the lab exploded. You’d been there with your father when the attack happened, too young to understand what he had been working on, but old enough to remember the moment everything went white. You were the only survivor. Whatever had been inside that lab altered you in ways no one could fully explain. Your abilities revealed themselves slowly. A warmth in your hands, a sense of knowing, how to ease what was broken. You felt it in the way your hands hummed when you held them too close to her chest, in the way objects shifted when your emotions ran too high, in the strange, quiet instinct that told you where to place your touch when someone was hurt.
S.H.I.E.L.D. found you soon after and gave you structure, training, and a place to belong. You grew into your abilities under their watch, and when the avengers initiative took form, you were immediately considered as an asset in the team and became part of its foundation, forming close bonds with Steve, Tony, Clint, Nat, Bruce and Thor.
Over time, you had learned that not everything broken needed to be fixed the way people expected. By the time the Sokovia Accords were put into place, you had already seen enough to know that it was rarely as simple as it claimed to be. People were labeled just as easily. So when the world began to turn on James Buchanan Barnes, you didn’t see what anyone else saw.
The fire burned low, its warmth spreading through the quiet space outside the hut. Wakanda was quiet, untouched by the noise of everything else.
You were visiting Bucky during his time in Wakanda, forming a quiet friendship of trust and respect. You were Steve’s best friend, he used to tell you so manny stories during his childhood that when Bucky came into your life, you almost felt like you knew him.
You stood a few steps away from Bucky, close but far enough to give him space if he needed. He sat across from Ayo, shoulders tense, his right hand resting on his knees, a bit shaky. His head was slightly bowed, eyes unfocused, as the trigger words started to roll out of Ayo’s mouth. Her voice was steady, unwavering as she spoke each trigger, watching him closely, waiting for any shift in him. Bucky’s breathing grew uneven, his chest rising and falling harder with each word, his jaw tight as if bracing for something. As he took a sharp inhale, tears started to spill freely as his body shook under the weight of it all. Decades of fear, pouring out of him all at once. There was no switch. Bucky was in control. You didn’t move, you let the moment exist as it was, chest tight as you watched him grip onto himself.
“You are free.” Ayo spoke steady as before, softer now.
A quiet, broken sound left his chest as his head dropped, his shoulders shaking harder now, tears falling with no restraint. It was relief this time, not pain, or fear. He looked up then, eyes glassy, and landed on you. With no hesitation, you crossed the space between you quickly, dropping down beside him, your hands gentle as they came to his face, grounding him in the moment. He leaned into you immediately, like it was instinct, like it was the only place he would rather be. None of you spoke, you just held him, letting the emotions pass through him without stopping it or getting in the way. In that moment, your presence was enough. He was anchored to it.
The apartment was warm when both of you stepped inside, softer than anything he was used to. You set a few bags down on the table before turning your back to Bucky with a small, gentle smile. You and the other avengers came to an agreement that Bucky would stay in your two-bedroom apartment in the avengers tower for the time being. Steve was unsure of it at first, insisting Bucky needed his own place to stay for privacy, but S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mental health team suggested he would stay with someone he trusted. He was seeing two different therapists, and was on a few medications.
“Alrighty,” you said softly, “These are some basics.” You picked up a folded stack of clothes, walking over to the spare bedroom and pulling a drawer open. “These are T-Shirts,” you added, placing them inside neatly next to his sweatpants, a small collection of clothes and items you had prepared and bought before-hand when he was still in Wakanda. Bucky was starting over completely, and you were fully supporting him in any way he needed to be supported. Bucky stood a few steps behind you, taking everything in without interrupting. You moved to the next drawer. “Socks, underwear…,” you said, a little more quietly.
He nodded once, “Thank you,” he said, voice low. You glanced at him briefly with a soft expression.
“The sheets are clean,” you gestured toward the king size bed. You knew there was no way on earth he was going to be sleeping on a bed. Not yet, atleast. “If you feel like trying it, you can. No pressure. And -” you reached into one of the bags, pulling out a couple of bottles. “These are shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. They’re, um … all coconut scented.” You held them up slightly. “So shampoo first, then conditioner after. It just, makes your hair softer and easier to brush.” Your voice stayed calm, careful not to overwhelm him with too much at once. Bucky smiled softly, nodding again. “Okay.”
A small pause settled between you before you spoke again. “Is there anything specific you like to eat?” you asked gently. “Just so I know what to get.”
He took a deep breath. “I, uh … I didn’t really eat, during that time. They didn’t feed me like that.” you stayed still, your expression open and patient, your chest tightening slowly. “They just had me on the IV drip. They didn’t bother with food.” you nodded quietly, giving him space to keep going if he wanted to.
“In Bucharest, i ate a lot of fruit. Couldn’t handle big meals, I didn’t really have an appetite, I guess,” he admitted. “When I tried to eat a lot I’d just get sick. Most of the time.” He exhaled shakily. “My body’s not used to it.” You took a deep breath, “That’s okay,” you said quietly. “Then we start slow. Light stuff. Like what you used to eat in Wakanda. Bread, soup. fruit,” His eyes flickered up to yours. “We’ll figure it out as we go, yeah?”
That evening, Bucky stood in the bathroom for a moment after the shower, the steam clinging to the mirror, his hair damp, falling around his shoulders, and his dog tags on his neck. The scent of coconut lingered in the air. He wore a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, the cotton loose and comfortable against his skin. The new prosthetic arm Shuri gave him rested against his side, heavy in a way he was still getting used to. Shuri’s words echoed in the back of his mind, to take it out every now and then and only wear it for short periods of time, but he hadn’t taken it off yet. Not until he stepped back into the living room. You were on the floor next to the couch, arranging blankets and pillows into something that looked like a small fort. It was nowhere near perfect, but it was warm and intentional, you were trying to make the space feel less like a floor and more like somewhere someone could actually rest. He paused, watching you for a second. “You don’t have to do all that,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m probably not even gonna sleep anyway.”
You didn’t even look up. “Don’t say that,” you replied, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re allowed to relax and rest, Bucky.”
He let out a small breath, almost a huff, but didn’t argue. You finally looked over at him, taking him in. His damp hair, the way he stood, the tension that hadn’t quite left his shoulders. “Come here,” you said softly. You hesitated for just a second, then gestured lightly toward his hair. “Do you want me to dry it a bit? You’ll get cold if you leave it wet like that.” He shook his head once. “No, it’s okay.”
“Alright,” you said, accepting it without pushing. “Should we take off the arm for the night?”
“I can’t take it off myself,” he said, his voice uncertain.” you did not hesitate. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll help. Come on.”
you stepped closer, your movements slow and calming, giving him time to adjust to your presence before you touched him. Bucky took a deep breath. your hands came up carefully, rolling the sleeve of his t-shirt just enough to reach the mechanism. your touch was light and precise. you immediately noticed bucky tense up. “Good,” you said, “just breathe for me.” your hands worked carefully, like how they practiced. The vibranium arm came loose with a quiet shift of weight, and you set it gently on the couch. Bucky exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Does your back hurt?” you asked. He hesitated for a second. Bucky was not used to this. Wasn’t used to his feelings being a priority … or, heard, even. He nodded softly. “A little.”
You went to reach for the small bottle of ointment Shuri had given you, in case he was feeling a bit sore. It was sort of an ointment cream he could massage in to ease the pain.
“Maybe you should, um, take your shirt off. I don’t think I can do it properly with your shirt on.” you added, giving him the space to refuse if he wanted. “Or- I can get you one of those sleeveless tops instead.”
Bucky shook his head, already reaching for the hem of his shirt before stopping halfway, the motion awkward with one arm. you stepped in without a word, “okay, wait. here. let me.”
your hands were soft as you helped him pull it over his head. Once it was off, you set it aside, your attention already shifting back to him like your own chest didn’t tighten at the sight of the deep scars on his shoulder. Not that they made you uncomfortable, but just the reminder of Bucky going through all that made you want to hurl. You did not let it show.
“Sit,” you said softly, gesturing towards the edge of the couch. As he sat, you moved behind him, working a small amount of lotion between your hands before placing them lightly against his shoulder blades.
Bucky stilled, and his shoulders gave in. you felt the tension shift under her hands, his muscles softening beneath your therapeutic touch. Bucky’s breath caught. It was subtle, barely noticeable, his face tightened slightly, his eyebrows pulling together as something unfamiliar moved through him. His head dipped forward, his body was reacting before he could make sense of it. you stilled immediately.
“Am I hurting you?,” you asked carefully. Bucky shook his head quickly. “No,” he said, coming out quieter than he intended to. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but the moment your hands resumed, grounding and slow … he couldn’t push it down. He was truly not used to this at all. Not this gentleness. Not touch that did not come with pain. His eyes slipped shut before he could stop it. Warmth spread where your palms pressed into his shoulders, sinking past skin, past muscle, into something deeper he did not have a name for. It felt almost wrong. But it was not wrong. It was just unfamiliar.
His eyes slipped shut, lashes resting against his cheeks, shoulders lowering further under her hands. you noticed every shift, every time his body leaned into the contact without meaning to, the way he was holding his breath for a second before letting it out slowly.
“You okay?” you asked again.
“Yeah, sorry.” he murmured. your hands paused. Why was he apologizing? you didn’t ask it out loud, but the question sat there unspoken in the space between you as your hands moved again, slower, almost abstentminded in their rhythm. Bucky swallowed, though his throat was dry as sandpaper, heat creeped up at the back of his neck, settling somewhere behind his ribs where it twisted into something tight. He didn’t know why he apologized, it just felt like the right thing to say. The way his body reacted to your soft touch, like he’d let himself be seen in a way he didn’t quite understand. “I don’t-” he started, the stopped, his voice catching slighty. He exhaled through it, “It just feels good,” he admitted, the words low and almost reluctant.
He paused, “Thank you.” It was simple and honest and somehow that made it harder to say. you let the words settle between you without turning them into something that he would feel the need to take back. Okay. Good. That was more than enough.
Eventually, your hands came to a halt, the warmth lingered where they had been, a quiet echo that stayed under his skin longer than it should have. He noticed it too. you reached for his shirt without a word, stepping back just enough to give him space before gently helping him back into it. Bucky kept his gaze down. His chest felt tight from awareness. Too much of it all at once. He could still feel where your soft hands had been, like his body had memorised the shape of them. It didn’t fade. If anything, the absence of it made everything sharper, it was almost as if his body had already adjusted to it and now didn’t know what to do without it. The warmth you’d left behind lingered just enough to remind him of it, just as a memory, and that made it worse. He was aware of how much he wanted it back.
He swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. It wasn’t just that it felt good, it was the way everything in him had gone quiet under your hands, the way his body had stopped bracing instinctively, the way his breathing had evened out like it had been waiting for something like that without him realising. and now that it was gone, he could feel the difference immediately. Across from him, you moved like nothing had changed, and that made him feel almost nauseous, because from your own end .. maybe nothing had. Maybe you thought you’d made him uncomfortable. The thought settled wrong in his chest, sharp enough to make his jaw tighten slightly. If anything, he did not know how to deal with how much he had liked it. How easily his body leaned into it without hesitation, like it had already decided that was where he felt safest. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky have been at odds since you first met. he can't stand you. you pretend you can't stand him. and if Bucky ever knew how you really felt, you think you might die. not when there's no chance he'd ever feel the same way. right?✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, drinking, no use of y/n, mutual pining, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, drunken and sober love confessions, little plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, sex toys, overstimulation, squriting, bucky's packing, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink), soft!bucky outside of smut✦
✦wc: 13.5k✦
✦Author's Note: i think i got possessed with this one. was barking to myself writing. Enjoy!✦
He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you want to strangle him.
Bucky walks around your apartment like he owns it, laughing all loud and musical, smiling like he fell out of a movie, running a hand through his hair and forcing you to see his sculpted torso and tanned skin. He barely fits in his shirt as it is, there’s no need for him to show off about it.
You’ve pressed yourself right to the corner of you couch, watching him silently. Watching all of them, but mostly Bucky. And his shining eyes and full lips and thick arms. Those things should be classified as weapons, or at least hazards. It’s too easy to imagine him wrapping them around you, pining you to the couch, handling you like a doll but still so gently-
“You’re staring at me again.” He drawls, and you start.
You give him an unimpressed glare, hoping your flush stays hidden in the low light of the room. “Shut up.”
“So nice to me, sweetheart.” He mocks, leaning a little further down. “Bet you dream about me, don’t you. Up all night with that rabbit Nat got you-“
You shove your foot up, slamming it square on his chest. He’d been getting too close. You’d been able to smell his cologne, and it made your head spin like opium. Bucky laughs again, walking away like you’re not even worth the argument. Your heart stings, but you ignore it. It’s an old bruise. You’re usually good at not pressing it, at pretending it doesn’t exist.
But Bucky exists only to torture you. So it never fully heals.
He’d been teasing about the rabbit thing. It had been a gag gift for secret Santa, and after Nat had even gotten you a very nice pair of shoes when you were in private. But Bucky’s clung onto it, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of. You, with a vibrator. You possibly being able to get off, when you’re the uptight little prude. The one who never brings back hookups, never dates, just sits in corners like an ivy, clinging to the shadows and watching everything else live around her.
You’ve never been fun. Never been someone Bucky would’ve chosen to know. He didn’t choose to know you. You knew a girl who worked with another girl, and that girl had a boyfriend who knew a girl who needed a roommate. You needed a roommate. You had good credit—because you’re boring—and the girl interviewing you had taken a liking to you.
Natasha rode a motorcycle. She worked in a job she was allowed to tell you about—something in black ops, that explained all the wigs in her closet—and spoke five languages. She baked calm down, and went to shooting ranges to calm down, and insisted on getting you a gun license so she’d feel more comfortable with all the hidden guns in the house.
“Hidden guns?” You’d asked, feeling your face blanch. She’d just smiled.
“You’ll never find them all. Let’s go, it’ll be easy.”
It had not been easy. But you understood how—to someone like Nat—it might be. She’d never lost patience with you, but she’d still made it look easy. When you’d gotten home and mumbled that you needed to go shower for an hour, she’d just patted your head like you were a bunny and smiled.
She might’ve been your first real friend in a while. Because it’s not that you’re not… personable. You’re just a little mean tongued. And nervous. And boring, and blunt, and you don’t like leaving the house unless someone grabs the scruff of your neck and drags you. You go to work, and you go home, and that’s mostly it. Your closest friends before Natasha had been co-workers. And you’d been really, truly happy with that.
But interesting people have interesting friends.
Natasha had a lot of friends. And they moved in and out of your apartment like they lived there.
Tony was a tech titan who you used to watch on the news, and now he left crumbs all over your couch. Wanda was a refugee and artist, and Clint worked in that same black ops thing Nat did. Steve had worked in it, but left to start his own non-profit with Sam. They all went far back, to elementary schools and playgrounds and clubs. They had history, but they were kind to you. Treated you like your little bachelor’s degree and normal person job fit in with their grand showmanship and large personalities that had been sucked right off the movie screen.
Most of them treated you like that.
Bucky didn’t.
Before you’d been introduced to him, Nat had described his as basically Steve’s brother, and it had been a striking endorsement. Steve had been kind to you. He brought you to a movie you’d really wanted to see, and never made fun of your stuffed animal collection. No brother of his could be all that bad, certainly not one even Nat described as charming and kind and not bad on the eyes.
Only one of those things was true.
Bucky Barnes is not bad on the eyes. You’d classify as maybe a medicine for the eyes, a miracle for the eyes, a blessing on a weary and tired viewer. He works in security or something, and it shows in his body. Sometimes he lets his hair grow out, and it’s frames his strong jaw and nose perfectly, all while making you want to run your fingers through each lock. You’re sure it would be like petting a very well-kept dog. He cares for it better than you care for yourself.
He’s got those eyes that knocked all the thoughts out of you, the moment you saw him. They’d sparkled and shone with his polite, white smile, and you’d just been swaying there like a lost scarecrow in a tornado. Your brain had been reduced to a fuzzy TV static and loud blaring noise, like you’d lost your own connection. Bucky had flexed his hand, a silent reminder you were supposed to shake it, and you hadn’t been able to get enough control over your body to even smile back.
His hand had been big. Calloused, with thick fingers and a lot of tiny scars. You’d shivered just at the idea of his touch. It might’ve been warm.
Might’ve been.
If Bucky had ever bothered to touch you at all.
By the time you’d dragged control back into your body, Bucky had given up and moved on. His ears had been a little red, in the moments after. You’d opened your mouth to apologize, make any excuse that would get him to offer a hand again.
He’d turned and walked away. Hadn’t looked at you for the rest of the night.
And when he looks at you now, it’s with something sharp behind his gaze. He never looks at anyone else like that. Never teases or mocks them, either. Acting like their mere presence in the room is a plague on his refined, perfect existence. He certainly never suggests they won’t be able to make it up five flights of stairs or asks if they’re sure they want to go out for the night.
You hate stairs. And you don’t want to go out for the night.
There’s only one thing more powerful than your picky little aversions, though.
The petty, blistering feeling at the top of your chest, that refuses to let Bucky win.
“You’re really coming with us?” Bucky calls your name from the kitchen, and you lift your chin, trying to look down your nose at the massive man.
“I was invited.”
“You’re always invited, you never actually get off the damn couch-“
“Barnes.” Nat walks past him, whacking his arm. “Don’t question miracles.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not a miracle-“
“Yes it is.” She grabs your arm, hauling you off the couch like you weigh nothing. “I’ve been asking you to do this for years, I’m not letting Bucky frighten you off with his Buckying.”
That makes you giggle, and Bucky frowns. You catch him shooting Steve a look you can’t really read, and Steve just shrugs in return.
“I’m not trying to ruin it.” Bucky says, lofty and bored. “I’m just sayin’ she never comes out with us, and it might be a lot for the little doe to be shoved into the jungle or whatever-“
“You’re a poet.” Natasha says, giving him a flat glare. “Go wait in the car.”
Bucky scowls. “The car-“
“If you act like a dog, you wait in the car.”
“I am not acting like a dog-“
Sam raises his hand. “I caught him humping the furniture this mornin’ when he heard about it-“
“Sam.” Bucky hisses. “Shut the hell up before I knock your teeth out-“
“Steven.” Nat gives him a firm nod, and he sighs.
“Yeah, I got it.”
Bucky and Sam aren’t small men, but Steve grabs them by the collar and drags them out of the room without breaking a sweat. Leaving you and Nat in a suddenly very quiet apartment, a lingering smell of spice and pine still clouding the air.
Another reason you hate Bucky coming over. He’s mean to you, and he’s nice to everyone else, and he questions you then leaves the whole room stained in his presence.
“Ignore Barnes.” Natasha says it like an order, and it probably is.
You smile at her. “I always do.”
You think it comes off airy and convincing. Nat looks at you like she’s trying not to either scoff, or laugh. Before you can insist on anything, she’s grabbing your hand and dragging you into the bathroom. You did promise you’d let her get you ready. When you’d told her you could do makeup and prep yourself, she’d snorted and said maybe, but I’ll do it better.
One of the first lessons you learned was not to argue with Natasha when she’s sure of something. You let her sit you on the counter and sort through your makeup bag, finding everything she deems worthy of being on your face tonight. Your outfit hangs on the door, and you did choose that, but after Nat vetoed three others.
It’s nothing special. A short dress and heels that will blend right in a club. It hadn’t been that different from your other suggestions. But it had gotten a curt nod of approval and smirk from Nat, so it had something. You’re smarter than to question what.
“You should talk to Bucky tonight.” Nat says suddenly, and you blink at her in surprise.
“I- What?”
“Make him apologize. For being an ass to you.”
“That’s- It’s fine-“
“No, it’s not.” Nat gives you a firm look, and you sigh.
“I know, but- I don’t really care, okay? That’s just- It’s Bucky, right?”
You give her a weak smile, and this one doesn’t even convince you.
It is just Bucky. He’s charming and sweet and handsome, and he hates just you. So you hate him in return, just for being so perfect and deciding you’re the only person in the world not worthy of his attention. It would be easier if he really was a bad man. If you didn’t know he volunteered with kids and Steve’s foundation, if he didn’t advocate for his fellow veterans, if he hadn’t made his ma’s chicken soup when you and Nat had both caught something last winter, and taken the time to drop it off in person.
For Nat.
Because you’re just… Not worth it for him. Not worth his time, not worth his smiling, barely worth anything more than glowering stares and taunting words. And you’re not weak. You fight back every day, and keep all of your desires and affection buried deep in the pit of your stomach and swollen like an infection around your heart.
He never has to know that you think about him all the time. That you feel yourself bloom whenever your eyes meet, then wither when his gaze snaps away. Whenever he presses his body over yours just to tease you, the heat of his body makes your breath hitch. You spend long days daydreaming about how good a boyfriend he’d be, if he didn’t hate you. Attentive and caring and giving.
Every night you think about how giving he’d be. Flowers and coffee like he brings Wanda for galleries, or for Nat or Clint when they’ve been working late night shifts. He likes watching TV, you know, because he spends a lot of time sitting next to you on the couch and loudly making comments until you threaten to force-feed him bleach. But if that wasn’t the blunt and unforgiving knife of reality, you could just lay in his arms forever.
He could pick you up and carry you to bed. The same bed that you put that accursed vibrated between your legs, close your eyes, and dream of him railing you into the mattress. Fucking you until you can’t stand, until you can’t speak or thing, until your eyes are rolling back and your mouth can’t even figure out how to close, so he kisses you possessively or gives you some of those thick fingers to suck on-
“You should still talk to him.” Natasha’s words are blunt. If she’s noticed how you’ve been working yourself up, she doesn’t say a single word. “Before he does something stupid.”
You snort. “Bucky always does something dumb-“
“No. He does a lot of dumb things. Close your eyes.” Nat picks up an eyeliner, and you obey. “But there’s a difference between dumb and stupid. Stupid is harder to take back.”
You grunt, and you don’t think anything stupid Bucky does is going to have anything to do with you. But something scratches at your brain, and it’s green and bitter. Your fingers fidget in your lap, and you shouldn’t ask, but-
“Is he bringing someone?” You blurt, and just the idea makes you sick. Bucky with some model-type, holding her hips while she grinds onto him, all the honey he’d pour into her ears and down her throat while you just hugged yourself in the corner of the room. Her sitting on his lap in your apartment, you trying to hide the ugliness of jealousy but never being able to spare her more than a crude sneer. It’s the only reason Nat would possibly want you to talk to him. You and Bucky’s childish game of pulling each other’s hair and biting without teeth and seeing who breaks first, it ruins his picture of the perfect suitor. If you keep it up, you’ll ruin this for him, and he deserves to be happy but the thought of him being happy while you just sink into yourself like quicksand makes you want to die-
“Jesus, no.” Nat laughs. “That’s- Never mind.” She shakes her head, still chuckling about some secret you apparently don’t get to be a part of.
“What?” You try to push. “I’ve heard about his- You know. Promiscuity.”
Nat snorts. “From who?”
“Sam.”
“Sam’s an idiot.” She dismisses plainly, and you frown.
“Tony’s mentioned it too-“
“They’re both idiots.”
“Bucky’s told me, he said he leaves all his girls satisfied-“
“Bucky is the biggest idiot of all of them. Open.”
You listen again, and find Nat smiling at you with a strangely soft affection. Like you’re some wet kitten she rescued off the street.
“Put on your dress.” She says, wiping the corners of your slightly pouting lips. “Talk to Barnes.”
At the very least, you manage to follow one of those orders.
The dress is a little shorter than you thought it would be. It rides up your thighs, forcing you to pull it down with every step. In the car you cross your legs and stare at the floor, grounding yourself in the bass of Nat’s loud music as your heartbeat starts to pick up. You’re going out. You’re going out. Spiting Bucky was not a good enough reason to do this, it’s going to be loud and you can dance but not in front of strangers, and you’re going to be even more boring than usual and you feel like a fraud.
“Nice dress.”
Bucky’s voice is a low behind you, his breath fanning on your neck. You almost scream.
“Christ, calm down.” He’s grinning when you whip around, leaning forward in his seat to whisper. Sam and Steve are next to him, one very pointedly staring out the window, the other looking at something on his phone and humming like he’s already trying to drown out you and Bucky’s fighting.
“You scared me-“
“You saw me get in the car, sweetheart. Not my fault you’re jumpy-“
“I am not jumpy-“
“You are. Like a bunny.” His grin widens, and you scowl.
The shifting streetlamps make him look like an angel. Golden halo rays behind his head, long shadows that make him look even more rugged than usual. His lips look fuller, softer, eyes glimmering like a floodlight through the dark, and-
“Shut up.” You snap, turning back around. You can’t keep looking at him. It’s dangerous.
“I was just saying your dress was nice.” Bucky’s breath tickles your neck. You wrap your arms tight around your stomach.
“You also called me a rabbit.”
“Called you a bunny-“
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s-“ He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
You flip him off over your shoulder, glaring firmly out the windshield. You can feel him retreat, but the closeness had lit up your nerves, and now they’re buzzing with hope that he’ll return.
Stupid fucking body. Stupid fucking Bucky.
You refuse to look at him when you arrive. You stumble a little bit in your heels—Natsha insisted on six inch, which is far too tall for anyone—and Bucky catches your arm, holding you upright. You brush his hand off like a fly and march on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of some other comment about how you’re like a baby deer.
When you get inside, you can smell it. The stench of sweat and alcohol and something fruity they probably use to cover the first smells. You cling to Natasha, letting her guide you through the crowd to the bar. She orders you two shots because you need them, and you don’t argue. Between Bucky and the club, you do.
You down them both without flinching, and Sam whistles from behind you.
“Damn, you took those like a champ.”
You shrug, and Sam elbows Bucky.
“You see that, Buck-“
“Yeah. I saw it.”
Bucky’s voice is lower than usual. Almost sullen. You’d examine him, try to figure out what’s wrong with him, but you’re not supposed to be letting yourself care. He’s not your problem tonight. You’re here to indulge in fun.
You’re already not very good at that as is. Bucky’s consuming presence isn’t going to help.
Another drink might.
You’re three shots in when Nat brings you out to the dance floor. The liquor is pulling you lose, the frayed knot that’s always in your chest going slack enough to allow you to dance. You’re smiling and laughing like a normal person, almost completely able to forget to check where Bucky is in the room.
Near the edge of the crowd, drinking and talking to Steve.
A fourth shot might be needed.
You’re smiling like a fool now. The room is tilted a little, all the colors neon, but they blind out your usual worried and the tilt helps your worries slide off your body. You’re able to forget about Bucky until you notice a girl talking to him, and you take a fifth shot. A sixth, when he vanishes for nine and a half minutes, and your brain starts to map everything he might be doing to that girl.
Seven, when the first stranger asks you to dance and you’re not drunk enough to forget about Bucky and say yes.
Eight, when he tries to kiss you and you shove him away, because his lips aren’t pink enough and he’s not broad enough for you to every pretend.
Nat tries to cut you off there. You slip past her, and take a ninth. The room is just a blur now. You can’t fully remember who Nat is, and why you’re trying to avoid her. There’s a man with his hands on your hips, and he’s got dark hair that looks too greasy for you to touch. Another man calls you sweetheart, but he says it a little wrong and it makes you want to cry. None of them have the right eyes, and the ones that are closer don’t have the right smile.
You feel like you’re going to cry, by the time you’ve rejected the eleventh man. Or only fourth. Numbers don’t feel real right now. Most everything doesn’t feel real.
Everything except Bucky.
Because your own name is just a sound in your head that sounds foreign, but Bucky says it and you know to turn around.
It’s less because it’s your name. More because Bucky called you.
You smile, swaying on your feet, and you’re not even sure where you are anymore. It’s somewhere with a lot of people. Loud music. It’s dark, but bright at the same time, and Bucky looks like a walking dream as he moves towards you. Your vision swims, but he’s made of clear lines and a stern expression.
He’s mad at you. Your face falls, lip wobbling, and you take a step back. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Your heart is already beating in your ears, Bucky’s anger or distain might make it burst.
“Where the hell did you go?” He snaps, and you bow your head.
“I- I dunno-“ You hiccup, hugging yourself tight.
“Nat’s been looking for you, Steve barely stopped her from trying to make the building go into lockdown, and I-“ He cuts himself off, running a hand over his face, and you blink the tears away.
You’re looking up at him under your lashes, and he’s still angry. Some distant voice in your head tells you it’s your fault entirely. That he must’ve been about to go home with someone when they lost you, and now he’s pissed he had to pause his night to find you. You sniff, wiping your nose with your arm.
Bucky’s frown deepens. He takes a step forward, and you try to step back but balance feels like an Olympic feat right now.
His arm loops around your waist, pulling you right against his chest. You stare up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks from feelings you can’t even name anymore. They’re hollow and big and full and made of a million little cuts. They burn in your heart and through your blood, but also freeze in your throat and muscles. You can’t move. You don’t want to move.
Bucky’s big hand is splayed on your back, and you don’t want to go anywhere you can’t feel him.
That voice from before reminds you that’s not allowed, so you wiggle a little.
Bucky holds you tighter, and you surrender in a split second. His frown deepens, and you think you’re still crying. Your cheeks are certainly burning, and your throat feels oddly tight.
Gentle fingers brush under your eyes, and you hum softly. Bucky’s nostrils flare, those fingers brushing hair from your face before cupping the back of your head, forcing your gaze onto his.
“Jesus, woman.” He mutters, those beautiful eyes scanning over your slack face. “How much did you have to drink.”
“I dunno.” You breathe. His brow furrows.
“Best guess.”
You shrug, shaking your head, and Bucky sighs. You want to shrink and hide from him, from his obvious annoyance and disappointment. It’s nothing new, but it’s raw like this. You can’t figure out anything, let alone how to pretend like his hatred doesn’t bother you. You try to turn and hide your face, but Bucky just pulls it right back.
“Over five?” He prompts, and his voice is so soft. Like he’s trying to coax the answer out of you.
“I- I don’t know.” You whine slightly, and he sighs.
“Yeah. Alright.” Bucky’s throat bobs, and he looks up. Glances around you, his hands never leaving your body.
You stare up at him in the dark. You’re not supposed to be looking at him, but it’s impossible. He’s magnetic, and beautiful, and you’ve never been this close to him without one of you trying to claw at the other.
But your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt, and it’s not to draw blood. You just don’t think that if he walks away you’re going to be able to stand up.
Bucky looks back down at you, and his tongue flicks over his lips. His thumb drags slowly over your cheekbone, leaving a little trail of fire in its wake. Your breathing gets shallow, your eyes fluttering. Everything feels like a lot. Like you’re so high in the atmosphere the air is starting to get thin. Bucky’s brow furrows, and he works his jaw like he does when he’s thinking.
You’ve always wanted to reach up and touch the lines that form on his face, when he worries. They’re deep, and still handsome, but they only ever mark that he’s stressed. He shouldn’t be. It’s only you, and you’re nothing to him.
He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, his hand dragging down to cup the back of your neck. You tip your head back, waiting for him to do something. Kiss you. Bite you. Slam you back against the wall and relieve the ache, building up between your thighs. Maybe just smell you and let his lips brush over a sensitive spot on your neck, teasing you like always until you’re crying and begging for him.
Instead, Bucky just sighs. He pulls you forward, twisting you until you’re in front of him. His arms cage you to his chest, and he’s almost herding you down the hall.
“Where’re we going?” You tip your head back, and find him glowering at everyone around you.
They’re all moving so fast, stumbling in your path then scrambling away under Bucky’s glower. His eyes flick down to yours for a second, and maybe it’s the delusions of grandeur and liquor, but you could swear they soften slightly.
“We’re gettin’ you home.” He mutters, shouldering the door open. “You need to sleep this off.”
You wrinkle your nose as the chill of night air hits you. “But it’s cold-“
“Car will be warm.”
“But we don’t have a car-“
“We’re taking Nat’s.”
You scoff. “Nat would never give you her car-“
“Well, she did.” He grunts, voice dropping under his breath. “You’d never give me your car.”
“I don’t have a car.” You snap, and Bucky chuckles dryly.
“Yeah, I know.” He opens the door, giving you an amused look. “Up and in, baby.”
Your whole world stops for a second. You feel like you’re floating, a ditzy smile crossing your face, and you start to giggle because he called you baby. Bucky called you baby, like you matter to him, and he’s touching you.
Bucky sighs when you don’t move, and bends down. He scoops you up and drops you in the car like you weigh nothing. You’re still giggling when he closes the door and walks around the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat. For a second you stop, looking out the club with a frown. The world is still hazy, but you can see the neon sign, and it feels like you’re forgetting things that are very important-
“They’re all goin’ back to our place.” Bucky grunts, and you look over to find him staring at you with one of those stone-faced, unreadable expressions that he only uses around you. “It’s closer, cab will be cheaper.”
You frown. “Why aren’t they riding with us?”
“’Cause we’re going back to yours.”
“Why?”
“’Cause.” Is all Bucky offers. He starts the car before you can ask another question, and puts his arm around your seat to back out of the spot.
Nat has a back cam. He just always does it like this, and you’ve always chalked it up to his big, responsible man thing. Usually when the arm is around you, you glare out the window and pretend you can’t feel how close he is. How his fingers brush your upper arm, or how his smell gets stronger.
Tonight you can’t really remember why you do that. And Bucky does really smell good.
You turn your cheek, pressing it into his bicep. Bucky freezes, the car jerking to a stop, and you can feel his attention. It sparks a tiny fire in your core, and seeps down between your thighs. Your lips graze his skin, and he coughs.
His fingers dip down, brushing near your collarbone. You hum happily, and the car starts moving again.
When you’re out of the parking lot, Bucky doesn’t remove his arm like usual. You’re grateful. If he did, you might have chased it right into his lap.
“You have fun?” Bucky breaks the silence, voice gruff.
You nod, turning to watch him drive. He always does it in a way that’s almost unfairly attractive. He holds the wheel lazily, like he knows it’s under his control. You want him to hold you like that.
Bucky clears his throat. “You, uh- You did good.”
“Good?” You murmur, not fully understanding the praise.
You know it makes you throb, and press your thighs together. Bucky’s eyes flick to the motion, and his throat bobs.
“Yeah.” His grip on the wheel is white knuckled. “Good.”
Silence settles again, and you let yourself stare at him. He’s beautiful. So beautiful it makes you unsure that he’s real. You’d like to trace the line of his jaw, hear his smooth, deep voice again. Hear it say your name, because it’s the only thing that reminds you that you’re real. You can’t remember why you ever deprived yourself of this. Of him, and all his quiet glory. He’s a loud man, but never boastful.
He’s only really boastful to you. When he fixes the shower for Nat or someone brings up his army service, he waves them off and laughs, and you’ve always loved that about him. You love most things about him, even when he’s being insufferable. You sort of love that he’s insufferable, too. You’re not that easy either. And if you wrapped around him, you’re hoping he’d be too chivalrous to cut you off. He could mock you all he wants, you’d just hide your face in his neck and breathe him in. Grounding. Handsome. Impossible to resist.
Your fingers are itching, to touch that sad little furrow. There’s nothing for him to worry about. The world revolves around him.
“Saw you got some numbers.” He grunts suddenly, and you pause.
“Numbers?”
“Phone numbers.”
“Oh.” You reach for you bag, checking that the hard line of your phone is still there. It is. You don’t know what he’s talking about.
“You gonna call any of them?”
“Any of who?”
Bucky gives you an exasperated look, then double takes slightly. His worry lines deepen. It makes you pout, grabbing at your own hands to stop them from reaching for him.
“The guys.” He says slowly, frowning at the road. “That you were talkin’ to.”
Oh. Phone numbers. “No.”
His brows raise. “No?”
You shake your head, and Bucky prompts you with an oddly tight voice.
“Why?”
They’re not you. Even your drunk brain seems to know it’s bad idea to say that. “I didn’t want them.”
“Hm.” Bucky taps his hand on the wheel, shooting you a strange look. “Why?”
You can’t tell him that, but you also can’t think of a good excuse this time. You make a lame, half-hearted sigh, and turn your face back into his arm.
He doesn’t push it. He doesn’t talk for the rest of the drive. His thumb drags little circles on your upper arm, lulling you into a half-sleep only interrupted by the bump of the road. You’re not sure how much longer you’re in the car, and when it stops you can’t really remember what you’re supposed to do now.
Bucky helps. He slides away from you, squeezing your thigh in a silent reassurance before he steps out of the car. Your hand traces over where he’d touched you. Bare skin on skin, hands still light and gentle. He seems to have burned his handprint into you, and it spreads until you’re tingly and weak-kneed.
The door on your side opens, and his voice is low in your ears.
“C’mon, pretty girl.” A strong arm loops around your stomach, pulling you back. “Let’s get you in bed.”
You hum, and let Bucky guide you. You trust him completely, with all your heart and not a single question.
He handles you carefully. Guides you inside, holds you steady in the elevator, takes your keys from your shaking fingers and opens the door. You’re sent to take a shower, but start to trip over nothing the moment Bucky lets go of you, so he sighs and draws you a bath.
“How am I gonna stand?” You mumble, sitting on the toilet while he runs the water. “Or rinse.”
Bucky grunts. “I’ll help.”
You hum in approval, and start to pull off your dress. Bucky makes a strangled sound, eyes flying up to the ceiling, and you’ve never seen his face so red.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting ready for a bath?” You frown at him, and he groans.
“You- Fuck.” He takes a heavy breath through his nose, closing his eyes. “Just- Keep your underwear on, alright?”
You nod, trying to ignore the heavy sting that he doesn’t want to see you naked. Bucky won’t even fully look at you as he helps you into the tub. He leaves the room while you sit helplessly in the water, barely moving until he returns. You wrap your arms over your chest, suddenly consciously that maybe you’re not pretty enough for him to look at you. You pull your knees to your chest and sniffle, just waiting for him. You don’t even know why he left in the first place. You wanted him here.
Bucky sighs, when he opens the door to find you crying.
“Christ, I leave you alone for five seconds- Hey, woah-“ He kneels on the bathmat, hand flexing before he reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re okay-“
You bite down a sob and turn your face, pressing it right into his shoulder. Again, Bucky stiffens. His arms hover for a second, breathing shallow, and you think he’s going to shove you away.
But he doesn’t. After that single, million year heartbeat of a moment, he grabs you. Holds you tight into his body, cradling your head and rocking you back and forth. The water flows under you, pushing up on the lip of the tub. A little bit flows over, splashing his pants.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
“C’mon, baby.” He murmurs, slowly starting to rise. “Let’s get you to bed.”
You nod, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. When he gets you on your feet, he stops for a second. His lips brush near your ear, and an electric rush dart through you. Then, fast but certain, he kisses the side of your head.
It’s so quick you’d think you imagined it, if you couldn’t feel the burn of his lips long after he pulls away. You reach up to brush it, when Bucky deposits you on your bed. You watch him move around the room like he belongs there.
He does.
He’d belong with you, if he wasn’t such a massive butt about your existence.
“It’s your fault, you know.”
Bucky glances up from your dresser, fisting a shirt in his hands. “What?”
“You.” You say, because it’s that simple.
He’s the reason you’re drunk. That you didn’t score tonight, that you’d been crying, that you have to be coddled like a baby.
Not that you mind that last one. It’s wonderful, having him touch and speak to you like he cares.
It’s still all his fault.
“What’s me?” He says, and you roll your eyes at the ceiling.
“All of it.”
Bucky says your name, and you wave him off with a dramatic sigh. You can hear him pad slowly across the room, and when he pulls you up gently you flop over his body. A useless ragdoll he’s trying to get a shirt onto.
But the harder you make it, the longer he’ll stay. The longer he’ll be nice, and touch you, and-
“I love you.”
Bucky stills. Your words hang in the air, but you don’t understand why. You’ve said far worse things to him, and he must have known. You know. You’re pretty sure Nat does too, with all the looks she’s always giving you after Bucky teases you and you flush, or you bicker and he marches away with a scowl.
It’s not some grand confession. You love him like the seasons turn and the sun always rises. It’s a deep, mechanical part of you that can’t be rewired, and you know because you’ve tried. But Bucky’s leans back and stares at you like the sky is falling.
“What?”
His voice is a croak, and you frown at him.
“I love you.” You say it slower this time. Maybe you’d slurred the words, and he hadn’t understood. “It’s your fault, because I love you and you’re just… There.”
He blinks at you slowly, obviously still not understanding. You roll your eyes, and flop back down.
Bucky coughs, grabbing your knee as if to steady himself. He’s sitting down, and it’s not like he’s in love. The world is perfectly under his feet. You’re the one suffering.
“I’m here?”
“All the time.” You whine, and his grip on your knee tightens.
“But you love me.”
“Mhm.”
“So why’s it problem that I’m here-“
“Because you never do anything.”
You can hear the frown in his voice. “I do things. I do lots of things-“
“You never touch me.” You prop yourself on your elbows, glaring down at him. “You just- You’re there, and you don’t like me and it- It makes me-“
“Makes you what.” Bucky’s voice is deep, his eyes dark on yours, and you stick your tongue out at him.
“You don’t get to know.”
“I don’t get to know?” He snorts. “No, you can’t just- You can’t say that kinda stuff then-“
“I wish you’d touch me.” You tell the ceiling.
Bucky grunts. “Yeah, I’ve heard. But-“
“Think I could cum just from listening to you talk.” You hum, your voice sounding like a faraway dream.
Your eyes are getting heavy, and Bucky’s gone completely silent. The words start to float out of you, like steam escaping through windows, into the warm, open sky.
“I’d like to touch you, too. Put you in my mouth, or just- ride you.” You sigh. “I want everything. I’d do- Do anything you told me too if you asked. Anything.” You look back up at him, your lip wobbling again. “But you never ask me. Why don’t you ever ask me?”
Bucky’s gaping at you, and he shakes his head, his voice a low croak. “I, uh- You’ve never-“
He swallows, glancing down, and you follow his gaze.
He’s straining through his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. You giggle, flopping back down. Your eyes start to droop, the room fading in and out. Bucky rises over you with a sigh, pulling the blankets up.
“’S nice.” You murmur. “You. Bein’ here.”
You yawn, and Bucky’s laughs. Under his breath, like an inside joke he won’t bring you into.
“Yeah. I know.” His hand grazes over your cheek, and you hum sleepily, eyes closing.
His lips press to your forehead, and it’s like a spell. The world, slowly and easily, starts to slip away.
“Sleep well, baby.” He mutters, and under that command, you do.
He’s not there when you wake up, and you have to be okay with that.
You don’t know how you’re ever going to face him again anyway. There’s a fog hanging over your brain, but it’s not thick enough that you can’t remember last night.
Bucky saw you naked. He was in your room, and put you to bed, and you-
You told him you loved him.
That you wanted him. That you could cum just from him talking to you.
You have to move. You have to change your name and move as far away as possible. Maybe Siberia, or Russia, or Romania, or somewhere he’ll never find you again. Because you told him you loved him, and now he’s gone.
He left a water on your bedside table. Mocking you with the fact that last night was real.
You force yourself to sit up, rubbing your temples, and take the glass. If you’re never going to see Bucky again, and you don’t plan to, there’s no need to spite him with ignoring it.
When you stand up, it takes a few deep breaths to start moving. Nat isn’t home yet, and she probably won’t be for a while. That gives you plenty of time to wallow before you vanish forever. You can spend the morning moping and cursing yourself, then worry about consequences.
You make cereal and put on coffee. Stare at the little bits floating through the milk, and try not to think about Bucky. If he’s thinking about you.
If he is, you don’t want to imagine what. That you’re a whore for throwing yourself at him, a fool for think he’d be open to such a confession—from you of all people—or maybe just the same as he always did. Maybe he’d known the whole time, and he just thinks you were gutsy to say it aloud when he so clearly wants nothing to do with you.
Nothing at all, but taking care of you while you’re drunk. Giving you a bath and putting you to bed, handling you like something precious and kissing the side of your head.
That could have been just more mocking. The same game he’s always played, accusing you of wanting him then laughing. Like he’d already known.
But playing that game while you’re out of it isn’t Bucky’s style. He likes you biting back, sometimes he dangles comments over your head and grins when you snap at them. So there’d be no reason for him to play when you weren’t even able to a join him. But then there’s no reason for him to act like that at all.
It’s too early to be thinking this much. You put all your hopeful bets on Bucky having somehow forgotten everything, so you don’t have to move.
The door opens down the hallway, and you glance up. It’s early for Nat to be back.
But it’s not Nat that calls your name through the house.
“Where’d you- Hi.”
Bucky walks into the kitchen, and you stare at each other. He’s wearing his clothing from last night, his hair mussed, two paper coffee cups in his hands. You swallow, and he coughs, glancing around the kitchen.
“I got you coffee.” He mutters a little bitterly, and you follow his gaze to the rumbling coffee machine.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to- It’s here.” He puts it on the counter, and you nod, focusing back on your cereal.
You’re both silent for another long moment. There air is thick, like a swamp at the height of summer. You’re not sure how you remember to speak.
“How’d you know I was up?”
“Your door was open.” He mutters. “Made sure it was closed before I went out.”
“Did you-“
“On the couch. Just, uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone, and- I think we, uh- You said some things. That we should talk about.”
You rip your gaze away as you flush, but if you’d had any hope of pretending you’d been too drunk to retain the night and just hoping he’d leave you be, that ruins it.
Bucky’s eyes narrow. He walks forward, until he’s right at your side. You can feel his presence buzzing through you, and swallow.
“You remember.” His voice is low, and he leans further down before you can protest. “Don’t lie to me. We’ve both been lyin’ way too much.”
You don’t dignify him with an answer. With even a glance.
Bucky leans closer.
“You said you wanted to touch me.” He’s almost growling in your ear. “You said you wanted me in your mouth, that you wanted me to ride you, that you’d do anything I told you-“
“James.” You hiss, twisting to glower at him.
Mistake.
He looks hungry. His eyes are blown out, only inches from yours, his tongue darts over his lips when you look down at them. He’s watching you like a dog that’s finally been told it can have its bone. Your grip on the counter tightens. It’s hard to stay upright.
“Full name.” He hums, the corners of his lips tugging up. “I’m in trouble.”
“You’re being a dick-“
“Yeah, but you like it.”
“I- You-“
“You love it.”
You freeze at that word. The air feels thin now. Your face is burning, and Bucky’s as collected as ever. Like this is all still just a game to him.
“Fuck you.” You spit. It takes everything you have.
Bucky doesn’t even flinches. “Yeah, you want to.”
Your mouth falls open, and he leans in closer.
“You meant it, right? Everything you said?”
Denying seems pointless. You try to anyway, but your lips barely prepare for the word no before Bucky’s giving you a stern look—don’t lie to me—and your voice dies.
He says your name, and it’s the same voice he used last night. Lighter, gentler, man trying to tend instead of force. You weren’t any match for it last night, but that doesn’t seem to be the drink’s fault. You give in just as easily right now.
“Yes.” You breathe.
Bucky’s eyes flash. “All of it?”
“Bucky…”
“Do you want me.” His voice is demanding now, and you try to look away.
He catches your chin, pulling you back. Forcing your gaze onto his, onto those beautiful, enchanting eyes.
You nod, and he hums in approval. The sound settles, molten and warm in your tummy.
“Do you love me?”
His words sound so sincere and taunting at the same time. You can’t look away, so you glare, and he chuckles.
“Come on, baby.” He brushes his lips over yours, his voice becoming something low. Something dangerous.
You don’t even bother to move away this time. You’re breathing in your chest, your stomach filled with too much desire to do much else. The brush of his lips let you taste coffee and mint, and his grip on your chin is commanding. You’re only putty in his hands. A lost cause that doesn’t really want to be found.
“Don’t make me fuck it out of you.”
Bucky’s eyes gleam, and he’s playing again. He knows he has you, that you want to be had.
His hand drags slowly, gently, on your waist. His fingers dip under your shirt, the soft touch making you gasp. You lean forward, and Bucky leans back. He tilts his head slightly, something stern still in his gaze. You blink hopelessly, trying to figure out what, and he squeezes your hips. It’s grounding and electric, and he presses back forward as you go still below him.
“Do you want me to fuck it out of you.” He growls, and your mouth falls open with a whimper.
Permission. He was holding himself on a leash for your permission.
Doubt drains from your head, far down south where a warm, summer storm is brewing between your thighs.
You spread your legs slowly, and grab his hand on your hips. Push it slightly down, until his attention follows.
Bucky’s jaw clenches, and his hand on your chin drops. You watch as he moves so tantalizingly slow, brushing the band of your panties before dragging down the seam at the apex of your thighs. He rubs you over the fabric, and your hips buck into the touch.
“Fuck.” Bucky hooks two of his fingers, tearing your underwear in one rip. “You’re so wet. Soaked through the panties, soaking my fucking fingers.”
You moan, pressing your face into his shoulder. Bucky dips his fingers into your heat, smearing the arousal all over your pussy, and you shake.
“Bucky-“
“You got this,” he spanks your pussy, then drags the mess down your inner thighs. “’Cause I’m here? Or just from thinking about me?”
“B- Both.” You mumble, trying to keep still as the broad pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, tantalizing circles.
He hums. “You think about me a lot?”
Pressing hard on the sensitive button. Your knees give out, and you’re only caught by his arm around you’re lower back.
“Careful, baby-“
“All the time.” You whimper the confession, looking up at him with big, teary eyes. “Think about you all the time, Bucky, you’re- You’re so- Oh my god-“
Bucky yanks his hand from your pussy, grabbing your jaw and angling it back for a kiss.
It’s slower than you thought it would be, with how he crashed over you. You’d been expecting rough and harsh, all spit and ownership. Instead there’s a certainly behind it—a rough passion that’s demanding and hot—but it’s slow. Bucky doesn’t use his tongue until you open your mouth, and he hums in satisfaction when you grab at his hair, tugging slightly.
He grabs your ass, hauling you up on the kitchen counter. His hands wander your body lazily, tracing the softness of your hips and curve of your spine. He chuckles when you arch into the touch, deepening the kiss. Stars swim behind your eyes, and you realize you’re still grinding up into his torso.
“Bucky.” You plead, and he presses another tiny kiss to your lips, taking his sweet damn time.
“Off.” He tugs at the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms to help him.
He leans back when you’re uncovered, and this time he isn’t trying to cover anything else. He palms one of your breasts, licking his lips before he takes the nipple between his fingers and rolls it. You squeak and his eyes dart up, almost studying how you shiver and blink at him.
“So reactive.” He switches to the other breast, and your fingers dig into the nape of his neck. “Almost came before I even really touched you, sweetheart. If you can’t hold it, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ wreck before I’m even done with you.”
You shake your head, face heating further. “It- It’s been a long time-“
“Yeah, but that’s not it.” He drags his hand down, over your abdomen. Back between your thighs. “You got that little toy keepin’ you satisfied-“
“Not satisfied.” You breathe, head lolling to the side as Bucky resumes his tight circles on your clit. “Not you, Bucky, fuck-“
He groans, dragging you back into a deep kiss. You give him everything you have in return, nipping at his lips and yanking his hair. Bucky groans and picks you fully off the counter, walking you both to your room and kicking the door shut.
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He grunts between kisses, his own steps getting a little uneven. “The stuff I wanna do to you, no way we’re covering it in one night. Years to make up for, gotta ration it.”
“Years?” You pull back, and Bucky grins.
“Oh yeah. You’re not the only one who’s not satisfied, babydoll.”
“But-“
“Ah.” He kisses you, lowering you onto the bed. “Nope. Not now.”
You frown up at him. “Bucky, you said we needed to talk-“
“And now I’m sayin’ not now. And if my memory’s right,” he grins down at you. “You’re the one who said she’d do whatever I want.”
You flush, crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky laughs. He pulls his shirt off, and you almost fall backwards on the sheets like it’s an atomic blow.
There have been glimpses. Moments. You’ve been to the pool with him before, and he’d been shirtless there too.
But he hadn’t been standing over you, massive and radiating power. You hadn’t been close enough to trace your fingers over the scars littering his muscle, remnants from his time in the army. You reach up in a trace, tracing one closer to his pant line, and he flexes under your touch. A low sound rumbles through him, and he catches your wrist with a warning look.
You giggle. “You’re not the only one who’s sensitive.”
Bucky’s eyes flash, his voice dropping impossibly low. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak.”
Your shift in the sheets, more desire building in your already aching pussy. Bucky’s attention darts to the movement, and his throat bobs. Every muscle in his body strains, and you give him a sweet smile.
“Prove it.”
Bucky makes that deep, growling sound again and grabs your face between his hands. He presses over you, shoving his tongue down your throat, and this is the kiss you’d been expecting from before. Rough and starved, almost marking you as much as kissing you. He bullies you down into the mattress with his weight, and you spread your legs wide to accommodate him.
“You’re so soft.” He mutters, kneading your thighs as his mouth starts to trail hot kisses down your neck. “Thought about touchin’ you like this forever, about how beautiful you’d be under me. And let me tell you, baby,” he nips under your jaw. “Better than I managed to dream.”
You grind up below him, trying to chase a little more friction. You keep meeting the rough fabric of his jeans, and the drag is beautiful, but it’s still not enough.
“Needy girl.” Bucky drags your legs apart, pressing his hips firmly over your core. The sudden pressure does the trick, and you moan, tipping your head back in brief relief. “Yeah, you like that. Feels so good and I’m not even doin’ anything.”
“Bucky, don’t- Don’t tease-“
“But it’s so fun.” He coos, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You get all nervous, makes me want to stuff you up with cock and see how you squirm-“
You make a loud, wanting sound, trying to fuck your hips up into the air. But Bucky’s heavy. You can only claw at his shoulders, and it just makes him tease more.
His rolls his hips, dragging the bulge in his jeans over your burning core. Your mouth falls open, and he kisses you, sneaking and arm tight around your back.
The forced arch of your back makes your legs open widen, giving him further access. He starts to rut against your bare pussy, and it’s perfect torture. Your arms are tight enough around him to choke, but it doesn’t slow him down. Bucky dry fucks you, your pussy throbbing desperately for release, arousal trickling down your ass and every thrust filling you with a burning pleasure.
You hadn’t been lying. It’s been a long time. But that’s not the only reason why you’re already so close to the edge again. Bucky’s body is everywhere around you, his thick arms holding you tight, his lips wandering over your neck and cheeks, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The friction is everything, he’s everything, and you don’t have enough restraint to fight it.
The orgasm is sudden and harsh, shaking your whole body. You claw at his back, twitching and whining in his ear. You didn’t know you could cum that hard, hard enough to make eyes close from the overwhelming sensation, and it’s just from dry humping.
Bucky groans in your ear and pulls back suddenly. His eyes are lidded, expression lustful, and his palm flexes near his bulge like he’s forcing himself not to rub it. Your breathing is uneven, your pussy still aching, and you reach down to try and rub your clit until he collects himself.
He catches your wrist and pins it to the mattress, shaking his head. “You just fuckin’ came, baby.”
“I- I know- I just-“ You try to turn, and Bucky slaps your cheek lightly. Forces your attention back to him.
“You’re a big girl. Use words.”
You want to glare at him, but something about the slightly mocking order makes your pussy throb. Bucky raises his brows, and you barely manage not to drool.
“Want more.” You mumble, and he grins.
“And?”
“And?”
“You what?”
You stare for a second, then roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”
Bucky smirks, squeezing his hold on your wrist. “’S alright. We’ll get there.”
You stick out your tongue, and he hums.
“That’s not very nice, baby. Think we need to work on your manners.”
“My manners are fine-“
“You’re a brat.” He teases, and you flush.
“I am not-“
“Yeah, you are. You’re a wet, needy little fuckin’ brat.” Bucky starts to move your hand between your legs, and you pretend to try and pull away.
He sees the challenge, and yanks it down. Presses it against your core, making you shake. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky laughs.
“Look at you.
“You really still got that vibrator?”
You nod, and he pulls your hand up. kisses your knuckles, eyes sparkling.
“Grab it.”
You scramble up the moment he lets go of you, yanking open your bedside drawer and pulling out the pink rabbit. Bucky grabs your hips before you can roll back over, pulling you backward with your ass in the air. You twist to look at him and find his attention entirely fixed on your core. On the mess between your legs.
He’s almost in a trance, as he drags two fingers through your pussy lips. You flutter, overly sensitive from before, and Bucky shoves his fingers right into your pussy.
You go limp, at the sudden stretch. Bucky’s fingers are everything you’d imagined they’d be, and more. Rough in all the right place, deft and thick, crooking right at the edges as he finds your g-spot faster than even you can sometimes. He hums like he’s figured out something interesting and kisses the curve of your ass. He starts to rub the tips of his fingers, massaging that happy, spongey place inside you, and you moan into the sheets.
“Bu- Bucky-“
“You’re tight.” He mutters, kissing between your ass and pussy, the tiny patch of skin that sends a shiver up your spine. “And wet. Gonna feel real good around my cock, babydoll. Got a perfect pussy for me to fill up.”
You make another desperate sound, and Bucky presses further in.
“Oh, that sounds good to you, doesn’t it. Getting stuffed full of my cum, being my pretty cockslut. I’d make you walk around with it after, wear a skirt so I can fuck you again whenever you run out. Fuck you until it’s stained on your legs, until everyone can fuckin’ smell it. ‘Till they know you’re mine.”
Your pussy clenches at the possessive promise, and Bucky groans.
“You wanna be mine, don’t you sweet girl.”
“Ye- Yes-“
Bucky yanks his fingers out of you unexpectedly, and you almost scream in frustration. You try to twist around again to chew him out, but he grabs the back of your neck and shoves you into the sheets. You go limp, trembling as tears prick at your eyes. Bucky arms snakes around your stomach, his thumb resting under your clit. Never touch it, or where your pussy is fluttering, desperate to be filled.
“Say it.” He grunts, and you shake your head. You’re not that easy.
Bucky doesn’t seem in any rush to give up though. He spanks your pussy, and you cry out in a mix of pain and delight.
“Say it.” He orders, and your hands fist in the sheets as he spanks your pussy again. You grind against him, chasing more, and he pinches your clit hard.
You almost fly out of your skin, a lewd, garbled plea escaping your lips as another orgasms rushes through you. This one is shorter, but no less consuming. You clench around nothing, mouth hanging stupidly open, and Bucky sucks near your throat, his teeth brushing and making the pleasure all the more intense.
“Fuckin’ brat.” He mutters, awe almost coating his voice. “I’m a damn saint, making you cum again when you’re so greedy. When you got this hungry little pussy, begging to be stuffed with cock, and I’m letting you go first.”
“Please,” you try to flip over, but Bucky’s hold on you is too strong. “Bucky, please- Please just fuck me.”
“Oh, I will.” He kisses under your ear, voice silken and taunting. “But not now, babydoll. Then we would’ve brought this out for nothing.”
“What’s-“
A buzzing sound fills the air, and your eyes widen.
“Bucky, wait-“
“You know, you get more sensitive after you cum.” Bucky drawls, dragging the thick tip of the rabbit up and down your pussy. You try to focus on your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as your body starts to get swept away in a wildfire.
“God, fuck-“
“Quiet.” He grunts. “I’m trying to talk, sweetheart. Be good.”
You nod, biting on your lower lip, desperate to listen well. To be good.”
“Like I was saying.” Bucky drawls, shoving the vibrating dildo up against your clit, then yanking it away. “You get more sensitive. And I was thinking all night about your little confession. That you can cum just from listening to me talk.” Bucky hums, dragging the head down to rest right over your entrance. “I like a challenge, but I’m got enough on my hands with you today. And since I’m so nice.” He pushes the thick length a little inside you, and your pussy clenches around it. “I’m gonna give you some extra hands. Extra sensitive,” he gives your clit a series of tiny hits, shoving the rabbit in deeper. “Some fake fuckin’ cock to get you ready for the real thing, and me.”
Bucky drags you back into his lap, right as he shoves the dildo home. You almost scream as the smaller bit presses over your clit, the thicker part driven right against where Bucky already knew your g-spot was.
“Bucky- Holy shit-“
He pulls your face to the side, silencing you with a deep kiss as you shake. You’ve already cum twice. That’s more than usual, and you’re not sure if you’ve got another.
You don’t get to tell him that, though. You don’t think he’d care to hear it right now, and fuck, do you want to see him try.
“I said quiet.” He growls when he pulls away, and before you know what’s happening he’s shoving the same fingers that had been in your pussy into your mouth.
You melt immediately, sucking on them as your eyes flutter. Bucky groans in your ear, moving his free hand to hold the rabbit inside your gushing, oversensitive pussy.
“Good girl.” He drawls in your ear. “Didn’t even have to ask, you just knew didn’t you. Fuck, you suck my cock half this good I’m not gonna be able to last ten minutes.”
You moan, and Bucky kisses the corner of your jaw before continuing.
“I know you’d like that. What was it you said? That you wanted to touch me? When this is done we can get you on your knees. If you behave.” He nips at your sweaty skin. “I’ll let you suck my dick. I’ll even fuck your face if you ask real nice. I hope you’re nice, baby, cause I can imagine it. You crying, lips around me, fucking your fingers while you choke on my cock. My pretty baby, my sweet fuckin’ doll loving me so much.”
You slump back against him fully, hips rolling uselessly, and it’s more subtle this time. The heat building at the bottom of your tummy, winding tight and made of a strange pressure.
“You’re gonna say it.” He coos in your ear, and your pussy starts to fight against the rabbit. Like it knows you can barely take it.
But you can’t lend it much energy. You like this position well enough.
“After you cum for me again, I’ll fuck you. Fuck you properly like the brat that you are.” Bucky groans, pressing his nose into your hair. “Walking around, making me feel like I’m the asshole for wanting you, for loving you when you’re snapping off at me,you’re a mouthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you babydoll. Lotta bark but,” he pushes his fingers further into your mouth. “Not even a little bit of bite.”
Your eyes roll back, head pressing into his shoulder, and you give him a silent look of pleading that’s only met with a mocking grin.
“So pretty like this, sweetheart. Stupid and quiet, I ain’t even fucked you yet. Won’t clean you up after you’re done, just let you walk around with it dripping. Maybe I’ll fuck you until it sticks. Until you’re mine.”
Your back arches, and you’re so close. You can feel Bucky’s dick twitch against your ass, and somewhere in the distance your thoughts manage to collect enough to tell you that he removed his bottoms at some point.
“Fuck, ‘course you’re into that. Shouldn’t have expected more from you, with how much you love this. You’re close, baby.” His lips tease the shell of your ear. “So close.”
You whimper, grinding down onto him as the dildo vibrates, and Bucky groans. He pins you down to his lap with a hiss, fingers flexing on your stomach.
“Shit- You can’t just-“
He presses his mouth where your neck meets your shoulder, kissing and sucking as his dick throbs against you, and his dirty talk becomes mumbled and deep.
“My pretty fuckin’ girl, can’t even wait for it, cum for me, babydoll, come on, fuckin’ show me how much your greedy pussy wants my dick-“
The pressure breaks like a flood. Your pussy gushes so hard it pushes out the rabbit, and your head flies back as you grind into the air. Bucky moans, fully moans, and starts to rub your clit back and forth with the palm of his hand. You grab his wrist, spasming and trying to chase it and escape all at once. You whine as it becomes all too much, batting at Bucky’s hand.
He stops, collecting your release on his fingers.
When he presses them against your lips, you open. Hum as he feeds your own juices to you. All you can do is lap at his fingers and look at him under fluttering lashes, and he smiles.
“Good girl.” He coos, and your body seizes up again. You moan around his fingers, and Bucky laughs.
He pulls them out, turning your head for a gentle, deep kiss. You’re boneless and cockdrunk, only able to let him give and give whatever he’s willing. You can’t even try to drag him close.
Bucky rolls you over, making sure your back is pressed into the mattress as he kisses you lazily. He rises up after a few moments, his gaze raking down your body, and you flush. If you had more strength, you’d cover yourself. You’ve never been good at being looked at.
But there’s nothing expect awe and affection in Bucky’s eyes. He traces a hand over your every curve and softer spot, rising slowly on his knees to part your legs.
“You’re a miracle, baby.” He murmurs, pumping his cock in his hands and for once, you feel like one. “Look at what you do to me.”
You do, and you might be about to burst into flames.
Bucky’s thick. Long, but not enough to worry you, and thick. He’s going to drag, be able to get balls deep and make you feel him everywhere.
You’re drooling, and he sees it. He smirks knowingly, and you wrinkle your nose.
“Come on.” He teases. “Say it, and it’s all yours.”
You shake your head, and Bucky hums. Crawls back over your body, notching his cock right at your entrance. His hovers his lips over yours, not quite fully kissing.
“Say it.”
When you find your voice, it’s raspy and broken.
“No.”
“But you know you want to.” He presses the first inch inside, and if you’d had any worries about not being able to take more, they’re knocked away with how good he feels.
You were right. He’s an even bigger stretch than his two fingers, and it perfect. There’s a slight ache, but it’s overwhelmed by the closeness. By how well he fits, how much you need more of this brimming, explosive pleasure already threating to take you over.
“Just say it, pretty girl. Say it for me.”
You shake your head, and Bucky pushes further in, and your hands fly into his hair like they were pulled there.
He groans, rutting into you, and bottoms out. You didn’t know you could feel this good. Be this full. Bucky moans in your ear, and you breath slowly, trying to adjust.
“You feel so good.” He smashes his lips over yours, the kiss demanding and long. “Knew you’d feel this good, always knew you’d feel this good, Christ-“
You roll your hips up, and it makes Bucky jerk. He slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs, and your toes curl in delight.
He barks your name, grabbing your jaw, and you beam at him.
“More.” You breathe, and Bucky’s eyes widen in slight surprise.
He recovers fast.
“Yeah?” He pulls out slowly, then slams back in, his tip kissing your cervix. “You like that? Like being fucked like a toy?”
You moan happily, and Bucky laughs.
“Thought you might surprise me, babydoll, but no.” He taps your cheek, and you open without a thought. “You’re just the pretty cockslut I thought you were.”
He drags all the way out again, but this time pushes in slower. You whine, but he doesn’t even acknowledge you, setting a slow pace that feels good, but is far too much. The roughness made you numb with a good, fuzzy sensation, but this makes you feel it. Bucky’s cock dragging against your gummy walls, the press of him over your g-spot and heat of him, right over your clit.
You can barely take it. You’re already so fucked out from the other orgasms, you’re barely able to hold onto Bucky properly. You think you might be about to black out from pleasure, but no part of you wants him to stop altogether, and how you’re trapped somewhere between paradise and hell.
“Look at you.” He grabs one of your breasts, palming it as he thrusts smooth and deep. “Nobody else does this to you, do they. Makes you feel so good, gets you so stupid on their cock.”
You shake your head, and Bucky taps your mouth again.
“Words.”
“Bucky…”
“Want to hear you, sweet girl.” He kisses your cheek, words pure filth in your ears. “Here you scream for me while I fuck you, hear how much you love it.”
“Can’t-“
“Yes, you can.” He slams a little firmer, giving you a pointed look. “Good girls listen. And when they listen,” he repeats the motion, holding your gaze. “They get filled up.”
You whimper, but nod. Bucky smiles in satisfaction, returning to his torturous speed from before.
“Anyone else do this to you?” He grunts, and you shake your head.
“No- No. Never, Bucky, only you-“
He groans, picking up his pace. “That’s fuckin’ right. No one fucks you like this, I’m gonna ruin you. If you wanna cum you’ll have to find me, I’m the only one who plays this perfect fuckin’ pussy- Shit-“ He groans, jaw clenching as he hits a little deeper than before. “Nobody takes care of you like me-“
“No one.” You echo, and you’re rewarded with another rough slam. “No one, Bucky, only- Only wanted you, needed you- Fuck-“ You cry out, pressing your cheek into his jaw. “You and your thick cock, needed you so bad-“
“I know. I know, babydoll, but I’m here now.” He kisses you quickly, speeding up again.
It’s enough to make you start to feel it again. Not slowly building, but being dragged out. The tip of Bucky’s cock drags through you, and that hot feeling in your core starts to fill up again.
“Wanted to do this for so long.” He groans in your ear, and a loud moan escapes your lips. “You really got no idea, I thought I was gonna lose it every time I saw you, thought you’d never let me- God-“
You clench around him, and Bucky angles your hips up, allowing him to hit deeper. You moan, and he kisses the back of your neck, sucking a dark mark.
“My girl.” He mutters possessive, and you babble an agreement. “My smart, mean fucking baby, drunk on my cock. Prettiest girl in the world, mine-“
You moan, and Bucky cuts himself off with a groan. He kisses you again, then rises over you. Bracing his arms on either side of your head as he looks to where he’s fucking into you. Your gaze follows, and the warmth in your gut flares at the sight.
It’s the most vulgar, pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Bucky’s thick cock, sliding in and out of you with ease. Precum and your own need for him shining on the thickness of him, his chest flexing with restraint as he forces himself to keep the same pace. You watch his cock vanish into your body, and feel him deep inside you, and God-
You look up, checking if Bucky’s as strangely moved by that as you are, and find him staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he grabs your jaw, pressing you back down into the pillows with a rough kiss. You’re unable to do anything but take it all. Bucky’s tongue pressing down your throat, his lips moving expertly over yours, his cock fucking every word but his name out of your head.
“Look at me.” He rasps when he pulls away, and you nod.
His eyes are almost wholly black, and shining. Tears prick at yours, but Bucky leans down, kissing them away before going faster again.
His balls start to slap on your ass, his cock pumping in and out of you until it’s all you can think about. Bucky deep inside you, lighting you up, how you can feel a rush up your spine with his every thrust. A lewd, wet sound is filling the room as he pounds into you. Your pussy burns and spasms every time, but it’s too good to fight.
Bucky’s too good to fight. You don’t know why you tried for so long.
“Bucky-“ You breathe, and he grunts.
“You’re close, sweetheart.” He mutters, and you don’t know how he knows, but he’s right.
You’re about to snap again. To lose it from how he’s fucking you like you’re a doll and the love of his life, all at once. You grab his wrist, squeezing tight.
“Pretty girl,” he teases. “Gonna soak this cock like a good girl, aren’t you. Give it to me, baby, show me how much you love it-“
“Love you.” You breathe out, and Bucky freezes.
Balls deep, he stills. His cock throbs in protest, but he doesn’t seem to care.
You blink at him, praying you didn’t ruin it. Bucky swallows, and rasps out your name.
“What?”
“I- I love you- Oh.”
He jerks into you when you say it, and you almost fly out of your skin.
“Fuck, Bucky- I- I love you-“
It happens again, but you don’t think he’s doing it to mess with you. He can barely seem to control himself, his attention almost feral as his cock jumps inside you.
“I- I love you- Oh my god-“
Bucky dives over you, kissing you like he’s trying to steal the words from your mouth. Like he can taste them.
“Damn right you do.” He grunts, cock dragging inside you as he starts to fuck you, shallow and brutal. “Love you, love you so much, you’re-“
He kisses you, and somewhere through the floating, hazy dreamworld his cock is fucking you into, you think he’s run out of words.
Bucky’s fucking you like an animal, because there’s nothing left for either of you to say. He pulls your hips back up to that angle from before, returning to that pace from before that pulled the confession out of you. You’re in incoherent, babbling mess, tugging at the sheets and watching Bucky above you like he’s God.
“Good girl.” Is all he’s grunting out, but it’s deep and every word of a noise than anything else. “Mine, my good fucking girl, gonna fill you up, you’re-“ He moans, doubling over your body as his thrusts become short and harsh. “You’re perfect-“
From nowhere, you find the strength to reach up and grab Bucky’s face. You pull it down, kissing him with every word you’re too ruined to say, and he moans.
Bucky slams home, muttering your name against your lips like a prayer. You can feel him everywhere. Hot and sticky, pumping deep into your own heat, coating your walls, dripping out and running down your ass. When Bucky starts to move again, slow and lazy, he presses it deeper, spreads it everywhere.
It’s hot on your clit, and Bucky’s still jerking and spraying inside of you. You’ve never been this full, it’s addicting. Your brain is empty, body alight with the feeling, Bucky’s cum so thick and demanding that you could swear you feel it washing through your whole body.
He reaches between your legs to rub your clit.
You get there all on your own.
Your vision goes white, as you cum. You’re so out of it you feel it the same way you feel a cool breeze. Light and relieving, washing over the heat inside you and pulling a happy sigh from your lips.
Bucky kisses you, and this time it’s only sweet. All his mean words and taunts so easily dissolve as you reach up, running your fingers through his hair. He smiles against your lips, and you smile back.
“Told you I’d do it.” He mutters, and you shove his chest with a weak laugh.
“Shut up.”
He grins, moving up to kiss your brow, then the side of your face. He’s still buried inside you. Neither of you are in a rush to move any time soon.
“You mean it, though.” He pauses, moving back over your body.
There are those worry lines again. You reach up with a tiny smile, and soothe your fingers over them. Bucky hums, leaning into your touch, and you smile.
“Yeah.” You whisper, and his shoulders sag.
“Thank god.” He presses his face between your breasts. “That would’ve been bad.”
You laugh, running your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around your body. He’s slid out a little, but you’re still connected to him, and you never want to move again.
“How long?” He mutters against you, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Cause mine was when I saw you.”
You flush stupidly—he’s inside you—and mumble, “Me too.”
Bucky frowns. “But you were always- “
“And were you any better?”
He snorts, leaning up to peck your cheek. “Fair shot.”
“I know.” You snip, then, “You- You meant yours, right? I mean- What you said while…”
You trail off, because you didn’t imagine it. I love you and mine, too sincere to just be dirty talk.
Bucky rises back over you, gently guiding your gaze back to his. He smiles when your eyes meet, and kisses the tip of your nose.
“With everything I fuckin’ got.” He mutters, and you smile.
“Good.”
“I know. I mean, I did really well for myself- I’m complimenting you, woman!”
You’d shoved him, and Bucky grabs your wrists, wrestling them down into the mattress. He looks at you with a rough, fond exasperation.
“You’re a gremlin.”
“You like it.” You beam up at him, and he lower back down, kissing you lightly.
“Tough curse.” He mutters. “But I’m enjoying it.”
You roll your eyes at him, and he grins. Beautiful and all yours.
“Can we stay here for a while?” You ask, just because you want to have this, and sit in it. “Please.”
Bucky nods, and you feel your heart shine like it’s been given new batteries. Beating out of your chest and comfortably all at once, as Bucky rolls you both onto your sides, wrapping tight around you.
“We can do whatever you want.” He mutters, rubbing your hips and kissing the marks on your neck.
You relax, because you believe him. About all of it.
And now, you have him with you for all the time in the world.
✦End note: big fan of that horny old man in every universe.✦
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summary: you and bucky have always been close, close enough that everyone else noticed a spark long before you did. but after a shift leaves you both strung out, comfort blurs into something heavier, then when guilt tells him to pull away, you’re left fighting for the truth of what you did and what it meant.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut (first; not overly detailed, second; full on), fluff & angst, traumatic shift (not overly detailed), miscommunication, silent treatment, friends to something to lovers, arguments, confessions, mild dissociation (reader), bestfriend!bucky, emotionally repressed!bucky (wooow everyone act shocked), alcohol/bars, smoking, bucky smokes & it's implied reader does with him, switch!bucky, switch!reader, semi-public, making out, hair pulling (m&f!rec), dry humping, thigh humping, cumming in pants (f!rec), mean!bucky, whiny!bucky, uncut!bucky, tit worship, nipple sucking and pulling (james boobchanan barnes amirite), degradation (B wants reader to say mean things to him), the L word, lotus position, angry sex to sweet(?), missionary, clit stim, creampie, aftercare, showering together, sappy ending, no beta . . .
word count: 15.8k (i dont know either man...)
a/n: hey barbies !! it's babys first collab, and i can't be happier to be doing this with @stantastic-association !! thank you to the absolutely amazing @miraclediviner for creating this spectacular event, all the ideas, and graphics and keeping everything in check, thank you so so much mj :") and thank you to @metal-armed-muse for helping me with smart med stuff shdfsjsfh and @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @buckytakethewheel for keeping me from going insane with this fic, although i think thats too late,, i love you all so so much, thank you for letting me be a part of this amazing and beautiful collab and group <33
just a little heads up, i'm from the uk and also not a paramedic or work in the medical field so i relied heavily on google and reddit when researching about paramedic shifts, clock ins, where ambulances sleep at night and whatnot,, if theres anything wrong i am so sorry i really tried :')
✴︎ i'm just an art degree having person, i dont know shit about this im gonna be honest, but i wanted to challenge myself, so i am so sorry to the smart people in the ER, and to paramedics themselves, for anything wrong :") i'll grovel istg.
✴︎ Nat is head nurse at the ER (and readers bestie), Sam is a nurse, and Steve is Nat's partner who's energy can be felt if you look hard enough :") paramedics are basically the new avengers (Ava, Yelena and John) (im so sorry Bob..)
✴︎ this is all from reader's POV except for one small tiny bit near the beginning, but from then on, the rest is all reader and i apologise in advance:')
The call came late in the shift. The kind that settled into your bones without asking permission.
Everything that came after moved too quickly and not fast enough at the same time, muscle memory carrying you both through while something essential lagged behind. By the time you were at the ER — voices loud and assertive, arms still carrying the sting and scrape of metal, plastic and sweat — the adrenaline burned at the edges, a hum on the edge of your skin, a live wire through your fingertips, and left a cavity where certainty used to lie.
The paperwork was finished. The rig was cleaned and the building smelt like sickly-sweet antiseptic and medical supplies. A sterile zing, one you had gotten used to after a few days now burns through your insides, as if to rid you of what occurred just minutes ago. And the city outside went on, undisturbed, breathing.
It was well past evening when you finished, the sun barely had time to say goodbye, as you walked out into the parking-lot with both hands cradling your midsection, head down, hoodie up and the warm presence of Bucky beside you.
His hair was a mess from his fingers combing through incessantly. Eyes dark, jaw set and clenched with words unsaid and memories replaying, but his hand set low on your back, a radiator almost, rubbing up and down each ridge as if he was trying to remind himself that despite everything, you're still here.
"I spoke to Natasha," he spoke low, voice crackled from the tightness and silence. "She said it's best I take you home."
You stayed silent, not thinking, your brain stayed silent ever since you passed your case along, watched them try and try and try, until it was too late and now you're both stuck with a ballpoint pen that keeps skipping and fingers that wont stop twitching. Your writing was borderline unintelligible, and the pads of your palms still burn from how hard you gripped the gurney bars.
"I feel like I should be stronger than this," you huff, a mimic of a laugh that comes out tired, impatient. "I feel pathetic."
"You're not pathetic. You don't need to be strong. Not here, not right now." he responds, never letting your words hit the ground and holds his hand out. "C'mon, gets go home."
By the way his words come, the warmth that curls around them, and you, how he spoke with sureness, quickly and strong, never giving your own doubts time to release fully before they were fought back with praise, comfort. Hope squeezed your lungs together like the tightest embrace, and never let go.
Red light streaked through the windshield, spilling on the tarmac in velvet tresses, covering your faces. Bucky's car stood still with only the whirring hum of the engine to soundtrack your awkward silences. It felt full, too thick.
You sat too still, knees knocked together, hands in your lap, picking at the skin around your nails. No radio tonight. Even with an empty car, the two of you couldn't stomach some shitty three minute commercialised industry plant. Your combined sighs and incessant picking of skin will have to do.
Bucky's right hand gripped the wheel at two, thumb impatiently drumming against the fabric, and his left hand held up his head, elbow on the door.
Scraping his palm over his salt and pepper beard, he sighs.
"You did good," he says. "Really good."
Though your chest burns with the need to speak, you don't reply. You just let the soft fire creep up your sternum and lungs.
"Everything you did today was on point, no mistakes, no mishaps," He shrugs with his hand, two fingers tap on the leather. "You were perfect. You should be proud of yourself, I know I am."
A breath hitches its way from your nose, harsh and quick, a sob that stuck and makes itself known vehemently, and you grimace at the way it sounded humoured. Bucky turns his head at the sound.
"I'm sorry." Rubbing your eyes of the sleep and dirt and stress that accumulated in the corners with a deep sigh. He places his hand on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, peeling you back from your mind and into the passenger seat of his car.
He hums, "what for."
"Everything," you whisper. Letting the word lie, you expect him to find a way to reply, to reassure and find a solution to your desolate mood. But you find yourself sitting on in the silence you made. "I did everything right. But it didn't work."
This time the silence hangs clearer. Not man-made in an attempt at gaining soft words to pillow the fall, this time it stays still and works. Both of your brains sitting in on the rapt of earlier. Resolution wasn't what either of you needed, but it comes anyway. Only this time it's jumbled and frosted, and coming from the mouth of your best friend.
"As much as I hate to say shit like this, I'm gonna have to, so — I'm sorry if i cant find the right words," Bucky rasps, calloused palm scraping against his scruff, licking his lips, and he exhales. Deep and slow, letting it all out, and you cant help the tiny voice in the back of your head from murmuring 'ah, shit, not a speech'.
"Sometimes… things don't go the way we plan. We see a solution, we see the light at the end of the dark tunnel, but suddenly theres an obstacle we didn't see, a detour kinda…" he inhales, finding his footing, and it wheezes slightly in the back of his neck. "… and sometimes… sometimes that obstacle slows you down. Or sometimes, in this case, it wraps around your legs until you can't do anything but stay."
He winces slightly, appalled by his wording, how slow it comes, how his head tingles from trying to find synonyms and meanings. A grin points the edge of your lips. "What I'm trying to say is, the outcome is never what we expect it to be. Sometimes we have this image in our head of the perfect project, but along the line your tastes change, you hate a colour, so you choose a different one. Or sometimes, you scrap the project altogether. Your angry, sad, distraught, you should feel that way, you're human. But life has it's way of putting you through shit you didn't see comin'."
Staring out onto the street, you take in his words. Clumsy as they can be, over the years of your friendship with Bucky you've gotten used to his disorder and understand how to rearrange them into something slightly comprehensible.
"I liked the second one better." You hummed, eyes still glued to the watercolour of black, white and red against the dark street.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Nodding slowly, you turned to face him, smile still stuck to your lips. "And then you kinda referred to them as a 'project'. Very tasteful, Barnes."
He smirked lazily at your animated retort. Your words come humourless, sarcasm laced and sleepy, but they still had that sharpness you carried — that he loved. A scoffed chuckle fills the car and paints his face with smile lines and a colour, despite the red of the traffic light spilling overhead. It's contagious, and you cant fight the ache of your cheeks.
Once the light turns green, the attitude shifts. The laughter still ebbed around you both, but it felt like it was suddenly swatted away with a wave of remembrance, like you both had this need to stay composed and professional.
"I'll walk you in." He decides, shaking his head with the remnants of wit.
You run your palm over your cheek, feeling the warmth. Your eyes suddenly feel heavier, skin tighter yet so lose against your muscles you're not sure how to feel.
"You really don't have to." Slips out, lower than usual, you barely recognise your voice.
Everything feels… different. Yet the world keeps turning, his car keeps driving, streetlights still spilling against his arms, and the indicator keeps blinking with every turn.
"Please," he pleads firmly, edged with a wobble. A sound that tells you he needs this, maybe even more than you do. "Just… Please."
And you cant fight. Not him.
Not when a dull ache has been ruminating inside of your chest since the call, only to deepen and cultivate through the night.
He helps you inside. Takes your keys for you after he caught the tremor in your fingers, lets you rest against him when your knees felt too weak to hold — arm wrapped tight and securely around your shoulder, letting the hum of your buildings elevator ruminate as he presses a soft kiss against your head, whispering soft praises into your scalp, as if willing them to sink into your brain and keep.
Doing so well for me.
It's okay.
You're okay.
His hand squeezes the meat of your shoulder, a pattern of kneads against taut muscle and soft slides of his thumb against your hot collarbone. It makes you shiver in a way it never had before.
Your breath expels harshly, twitches of your lungs that quiver your ribs in his hold.
"Hey," you hear him say, hand clasping ever so slightly harder, "hey, look at me."
When you don't at first, he inhales your scent once more before he moves. Gently sliding his hand to your other shoulder, pushing you to look into his eyes as he tilts his head, his free hand finding your neck, your pulse, and caressing.
"Breathe in for me, sweetheart." He requests. You try, but the air gets trapped and sputters out. Your hands go up to push his own away, but instead they weakly circle around his wrists.
"C'mon, you got it, like this," Bucky inhales. The hand that rest on your neck finds its way to your jaw, then to your cheek, a mindless move to pull your sight from his shoes and into his eyes.
And you inhale. And exhale.
"There we go, just like that." The praise, though soft, hits you in every inch of your skin like tiny pin-pricks in each follicle. The warmth of his hand, his breath, his words, it all pulls over you like a wool blanket, like that one winter he made sure to use his break-time to check up on on you while you were sick, making sure you were warm, fed and relaxed, practically forcing a spoon into your face to get you hydrated and full of the proper nutrients, to get your eyes a little wider and joins less achy for tomorrows shift.
You both almost miss the ding when you get to your floor.
The walk to your apartment is quiet. Full. You can feel it all spill out at the edges once you shut the door and suddenly it all tips over. Contents gone, messy and everywhere.
Wires seem to get mixed up. Touches linger. Voices hush lower into murmurs and whispers.
Tension snaps like a taut rubber band, and comfort is the only thing the two of you need in that moment.
Years of friendship balling up into an combination of bodies — sweat, skin, tears, whispers and closeness you didn't realise could exist. Not with Bucky anyway.
Of course you had your fair share of quick crushes and epiphanies while he was by your side, but they all quietly dissipated with each new fling or relationship he brought into the mix. Nothing indicated reciprocation. So why stay at this bus stop when it had departed long, long ago.
Being needed felt so good.
You forgot to shut the curtains last night.
Bright morning sun filters through the panes, soaking your sleep ridden body in a glow that renders Bucky dumb. From the moment he woke up, warm from your body at his front, his arm tightly wrapped around your middle, face pressed into your hair that smelled like salt and sex, with the lingering scent of your vanilla shampoo.
Guilt hits like a sucker punch straight to the stomach, rattling up his chest, and blowing his knees, even while he was laying down. Getting up immediately, retracting himself as softly and quietly as possible, letting you bask unconsciously in whatever last night was. Whatever it became.
Putting his clothes back on his body, making sure to gather your own, throw them in your laundry basket and fold some fresher clothes for the new day at the end of your bed, he sat with a heavy feeling of remorse.
Last night was a mistake.
It shouldn't have happened. Not like that, anyway.
Too inebriated with adrenaline and 'too big' emotions; the both of you needed a vice to let it all out, and it just so happened to be each other — but Bucky can't, and won't, let himself believe that.
He insisted on walking you in.
He helped you with your keys.
He draped his arm over your shoulder, tucked you in close and whispered and pecked sweet nothings into your hair like it was just another day.
The coffee machine in your kitchen hummed as it filled your favourite mug. Bucky stared at the dark liquid as it filled the ceramic. Distant.
Silently praying the whirring wont wake you up, his brain replayed the way you looked underneath him. The way your lips felt, how you felt. Hands roaming with no destination, mapping new skin like this wasn't a fresh, quick adventure, but a finale, a place to call home, a place to familiarise.
His muscles tightened as they tingled with remembrance.
It was good. It all felt right, correct in a way nothing else he had ever felt before. But it had to have been because it was you.
Good old you, and your sullen, tired eyes that reddened around the edges with unshed tears. Back and shoulders arched into yourself, only to slowly uncover at his touch and voice. You, who always beamed each morning when your names were paired, as if it wasn't a regular, everyday occurrence, as if he didn't make sure to double — triple — check the sheet just in case he didn't read the name wrong. But how could he?
It's you.
Which is precisely why he gently makes your coffee exactly how you like it. Hands moving by their own accord, muscle memory working overtime while his brain tries to wrack around last night.
How you held onto him like you needed this, needed him. The soft whispers of his name mixed with sleepy praises breathed against his neck, shoulder and collarbone. Your hands roaming his body almost as if you knew it would end with detachment, like you wanted his skin pierced into your palms forever. How you asked him, so gently, voice laced with sleep and something so much deeper than he ever thought he'd hear from you, if he could stay, not move from his position on top of you, slowly twitching while you paced yourself back into reality with pulses that traced through his skin.
You wanted him to stay.
His warmth you craved, his weight atop of you, his skin, his presence, his body inside of you. You wanted it all.
And that's precisely why he places the mug on your bedside with a clink, careful enough not to wake you. Took one last, long look at your sleeping form. Unknowing of his internal dilemma.
And left.
The emptiness that comes after you wake up didn't deter you. You expected it, kind of.
Bucky has always been the type of person who gets into work bright and early, gets everything in check, memorise, recount, retain, as if he hasn't been doing this almost every morning for years. The routine helps him, and you know that.
The coffee was still warm, steam curling while your eyes adjusted to the creamy morning sun peeking through the window, and the first conscious thought of the morning is, 'i hope it didn't wake him'.
Friday busses are always busy, especially in the morning, but this time two of your usuals skidded past without a care of your hand waving out for them. Pure coincidence? Maybe they didn't see your hand, or maybe they're full and forgot to show it on the destination sigh.
Eventually, after your card failed once, twice, before finally going through with a huff from the driver. The road was bumpier, there were kids on their way to school way too energised this early in the day. And turns out you forgot to charge your headphones the night before.
Of course you did.
You clocked in mechanically, bones already awaiting the hours waiting to be endured. Flexing your head in a circle, ridding it of a readying strain, the building felt… off. It wasn't the kind that was spotted immediately, it was a feeling, an energy that laid itself on your shoulders like a perfectly content cat already cozying up while your back started to ache and it's claws poked.
At your locker, the hallway felt emptier, the room itself was only full with the incessant humming of the ventilation and pipes in the walls — a tune half unknown to you with the accustomed noise of yours and Bucky's lazy conversations, his body facing yours, leaning against the locker beside by his shoulder, arms and legs crossed, tired grin on his face while you ramble on about anything to keep your brain awake.
The thought crystallised. The routine, the meticulous rules he ran himself by all day, everyday, simply vanishing after twenty-four hours.
You didn't put it past him though. Last night was a lot. Mentally, physically.
As if to rid you of your doubts, you shook your head, taking a deep inhale of antiseptic and a floral zip of a Dollar Tree air freshener, masking the smell around with hopes and dreams.
The rest of the team greeted you like normal. Short waves, tight-lipped smiles, though this time, some had added a soft pat on the shoulder — a gesture you should find endearing, but it only just digs its fingers deeper into the wound.
Walker was the first to talk to you. Sat at the break table, legs up, fiddling with his watch. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps.
"Hey," He said, light like usual but it dipped like a question — interrogating — looking at you quizzically. "Aren't you supposed to be with Barnes?"
Stopping in your tracks, your boots squeaked against the linoleum. "Uh," you shake your head quickly in confusion, sputtering. "I don't know, am I?"
He scoffs amusedly, "I dunno, you two are like," he gestures, hands spread wide, interlocking his fingers once, then twice, before dropping them down onto his lap. "Y'know? So."
The sentence hangs, his voice echos quietly through the dead halls, bouncing off the walls while he waits for you to speak. But you don't. You just stand there, head tilting to the side as an open invite for more context.
So he adds in a mumble, staring back down at his watch. "Think he left already though."
"What?" The words slip out before you could try to catch them, and you flinch back minutely.
John catches on, tickled by your automatic obtrusion. He settles back with a sigh, bluffing, putting on a show of carelessness. "Left like a half hour ago—"
This time you don't even try to stop yourself from asking. "With who?"
Glancing back up, he grins, shrugging his hands up. "Check the sheet. You can even find your new partner."
Your stomach churned with the words — 'new partner'. Yet, still, anticipation flowed through your veins, and you couldn't keep moping like a puppy at the door.
"Huh."
Your head flinched back slightly, tilting to the side. Thumbing at your lip automatically, scraping across the skin in an attempt to rest yourself from picking at it.
He was on call. With Yelena.
"You okay?" a voice snapped you back. Eyes clenching shut for a moment before turning your head around to face Ava.
"Hm?" You squeak, "oh, right. No, yeah, I'm fine. Great."
Brows creasing, she crosses her arms lazily, leaning back on one foot, scanning you up and down.
You scowl. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" She asks, voice pitched innocently as a teasing smile cloaks her lips.
With a tut you turn back to the sheet, finger brushing against the paper. "That scanning thing you do with your eyes, like you can read my mind."
She pouts, hands over her heart. "So you do notice the little things, huh?"
Without looking away, you kick at her shin, chuckling softly.
She takes a peek at the sheet from beside your shoulder, humming in contemplation. "No Bucky today, huh?"
Your face pulls, "seems like it."
"Hey, it's okay," tapping your bicep with her knuckles, she tips her head back. "You're with me anyways."
Your chest eased at that. Ava was better than John. But then again, anyone is better than John. And Ava had this 'no nonsense' energy you absolutely adored and found intimidating in one giant cluster, and it sent your body tingling with readiness to get the day started.
But there was no familiarity. No comforting jabs, no inside jokes, no off-hand bets you'd always gasp at in disbelief (a smile always finding its way on your face), yet add a twenty to the pool.
"Come on," Ava clicks her tongue twice. "Better to get this started sooner than later. Let's shut that brain off, shall we?"
Shut your brain off it did. In the opposite way you had hoped.
The hours you had spent working alongside Ava, speeding down streets, rushing to a patients side, checking, working, calculating, pumping the heels of your hands against chests until your wrists ached. But along the line, once the coast was clear and the area seemed to let your body rest, you sat in the passenger seat silently, thinking.
It seemed to you like the majority of those back at the bay believed you were still shaken — rightfully so — and that little assumption had your chest scarcely easing.
You couldn't fault Bucky for leaving early, that was his routine, even during hangouts that turned into impromptu sleepovers, he'd wake up earlier than you to get ready for the day ahead, leaving you a text and a coffee in his wake.
That's what was missing. A text.
Heart picking up, thumping softly against your sternum, brows furrowed, you go for your phone and scroll through your notifications. Empty, apart from the occasional passive-aggressive instruction from the work group chat and a Facebook post from your mom (you'll get back to her later), it all seemed to be crickets from Bucky's side.
Sighing louder than you anticipated, you scroll to manually check your conversation itself.
You [7:16am]: See u at work B.
You [7:16am]: Bringing u some coffee btw. Deserveddd.
Yesterday morning seemed so far away. Reading back with a feeling of nostalgia that laid tainted and blackhole-like in your stomach, staring specifically at the little pink heart he had sent back as a reaction. The last sign of reciprocation through pixels before the day would inevitably wash you both up to shore, an island where only the two of you inhabit, and made nature take it's course.
Sure you weren't bright-eyed and bushy tailed, having seen the worst of the worst in your first few years, memories and shifts you buried in your brain so deep, you couldn't even remember them if you tried. But for some reason, yesterday stuck. The patient, the technique, the van ride, the whispered prayers of loved ones while you worked in the back, moving as steadily and quickly as you could with the rocking of the cab. The aftermath. The numbers that passed through your lips like a ghost itself, and the goddamn aftermath.
Cutting the thoughts off immediately with a jolt back, and you found yourself in the back of the van. Working on autopilot, hands moving with muscle memory, the tingles of used equipment still tingling on your palms.
You cursed under your breath, how long has it been? Did you dissociate that whole time? Flexing your fingers and patting down your hips, you realise your phone is still in your pocket, thanking the universe that the patient onboard the gurney was passed out, looked after well and seemingly looked like they were making a mends after you went and triple checked them over. The minor panic subsided and was immediately by the opening of the tailgate doors, listing off every bit of information and detail your unconscious mind miraculously retained, wheeling them down and out and into the anarchy that is the ER.
Instantaneously, as you moved about the bustle of bodies, Nat's eyes caught yours from the nurses' station. Standing up, she was leant forward, her weight on her palms that stuck to the desk, focused on lab results or a patient's medical history. It was as if her body was attuned to your whereabouts, finally waking up once you rushed through.
By the time the case was handed off, finding yourself strolling back through where you had entered, the scene ahead was practically unchanged. Only now, Ava seeped into the image. Cool as can be, her body slanted with her elbow to the desk that sheltered the computers while her free hand sat confidently on her hip, attention set on the redhead in front. She had a smile on her face, one that only came when gossip was shared, mouth slightly agape, eyes rocking up and down Nat's face.
Strolling past with a rigid exhale, a breath you hadn't realised you've been holding in for how long now, a hand curls it's way around your bicep. Voice, low and velvety, speaks before you could turn.
"You know, you could power an entire state with the amount of energy you're giving off."
With a playful tut and a smile, you tilt your head to the side and cross your arms. "Hello, good afternoon to you too, Natasha and Ava."
Returning your demeanour, she speaks with a classy intonation. "Hello and good afternoon, grumps," she smirked. "Now whats up with you."
You turn and nod to Ava, eyes squinting at her laid back manner. "What did you tell her."
"I had absolutely nothing to do with this," her eyes hold defence, nodding her head back in Nat's direction, "she can just read people. And to be honest you do have this energy."
"I do not."
"Yeah you do," Nat chimes back in, now holding you still with both hands on each bicep, scanning, analysing, brows taut, eyes wandering. "Was it the shift? You did look more shaken up than usual."
Without much of a pause, your lungs inhaling deep with frustration, eyes moving to the ceiling. Ready to deflect, to push away, build a wall higher than any skyscraper in Manhattan, complete with steel walls, bulletproof and all, but it all crumbles apart as Ava hums, tracing nonexistent patterns in the corian surface.
"Barnes did switch partners this morning."
As quick as her murmur came, Nat whipped her head to face her, only to start looking back and forth between the two of you, the hold of her hands becoming tighter and tighter. "Deliberately?"
"Ava—" You warn, praying the way you speak — tired and gritted — will help camouflage it into something softer than it actually is. Only it falls on deaf ears.
She hums again, a hint of amusement in her voice, song-like. "He's with your sister today."
As much as you want to let the topic go, let it lie and mend itself with the passage of time, the casualness of your two friends still pokes and jabs at your ribs like tiny pin pricks. Each easy slide of their tones, their quips, their treating your internal dilemma as nonchalant gossip, it's just another tough poke to the side that'll most likely bruise, and you'll have to endure the growing pain in fear of being a coward.
"Lena? Really?" As Nat's attitude morphs into something akin to scepticism, you try to push the pain aside. Her voice growing higher with curiousness, a scowl curling her lip even when she tries to hold it down.
Tiredness blankets you like a storm cloud, only just about half finished with your shift, and you realise now, with the new unauthorised information shared, this shift will last a lifetime. You can already feel it in your bones, and the way you barely try to debate. "We seriously don't have to talk about this."
And it was then, every ounce of you, you had left, completely left the building.
"Talk about what?" Sam's voice felt like a strike to the already blossoming purples and yellows from Nat and Ava. You love him, honestly, he's the first person you go to when you find some good, hot gossip that's burning on the tip of your tongue, begging to be free.
And that's exactly why, to the trio's hilarity, you groan obnoxiously loud, turning away, only to turn back to your spot.
"Bucky changed his partner this morning." Nat replied, low and conspiratorial, already plotting ways to talk to her sister off he clock with unsuspecting questions that Yelena will very much see through.
With a huff, Sam leans forward, palms braced on the counters edge, "And why would he do that?"
"Okay," Ava cut through, turning herself to you, closer, hands together, pointed. "Just walk us through yesterday evening."
A sigh wracked through your body, dragging a hand down your face. "He drive me home, like you told him to," glancing at Nat, who nodded attentively, silently asking for more, "he walked me in, and I didn't wanna be alone so he stayed the night."
"And that's it?"
"Yeah, basically," you suck in a breath, "he didn't text me this morning though."
"Huh…" Nat paced in her spot, "but did you text him at all?"
The silence was enough to answer.
"Sweetheart—"
"Listen I'll do it later," stepping back to address them all, you edge closer to Ava. "I'll update you or something, it's probably just because yesterday was a lot. I'll see you guys later, come on Ava."
The room moved without disturbance. Still breathed with frenzied bodies walking, jogging, hands moving without thought. Yet Nat and Sam just watch on next to each other as you and Ava scurry out through the doors.
"I bet twenty she and Barnes fucked."
Wheezing, Sam bowed his head, shaking it. "They just walked out the damn doors. You're cold, Romanoff."
"What can i say," she smiles and saunters backwards, "I like to play dirty."
"Hey, save that shit for Steve, he's not gonna be happy when you have to add another five to the jar." He called out to her as she turned, but she didn't look back. Red hair a beacon among the pack around them, her voice picks up.
"I'll make it up to him!"
After a couple days, you let it slide. Perhaps memories, emotions, muscle aches got the better of him and he needed some quiet. But his name seemed to find another, every single goddamn shift, while yours was stuck paired with Ava (not that you minded), and your days overlapped more-so than usual. Trying to find him around the station felt worse than trying to scout a glimpse of Bigfoot. His presence felt ghostlike, almost like a memory taunting you with the scuff of boots on linoleum, a hint of his aftershave in the locker room, all sharp and clean, sending your brain miles and miles away, back to your bedroom and the pillow that still carried his air like it was made for him. His voice sometimes echoes, only murmurs, nothing intelligible, your brain cannot process the words while they grasp onto his gruffness, right where it spilled onto your neck and the hinge of your jaw, just on the soft skin where it dips into your tendons.
You can still feel the warmth of it lingering. Especially after shifts that burned in your muscles and your head unfortunately laid too deep into your side, excreting his scent like the skin of an orange, reminding you that you did, in fact, text him after the shift. But his replies after felt vacant and unenthusiastic, so again, you chalked it up to him wanting to be alone.
But you tried not to let three words from forming after that thought. 'Away from you'.
He wanted to be alone, away from you.
Late nights seemed the most vacant over those silent hours. Your apartment, a place once full of joint laughter, a warmth that permeated even when his presence lacked amongst the soft pillows and handmade throws, and soft yellow lamps, it all seemed… empty. Your phone dared to buzz against your bedside table, even though you turned it onto 'do not disturb', too nervous to hear that ding of a notification. What if it's someone else? And it always is.
Natasha, ever the observer, caught wind of this sudden change between you and Bucky too quick for your liking, and understood how deep it truly was after the first day without him — something totally not lightly mentioned by Steve over takeout. Nat had a way of sniffing things out, too smart for her own good, and throughout the years (much to your chagrin) she's just gotten better at reading you. Even when it's through short two minute glances across the ER as you wheel in a patient, body running on stale gas-station coffee and burgeoning resentment. Try as you might to keep stats clear and hands steady, your eyebrows apparently have this minuscule taut the redhead can pull twenty different meanings from, just across the bay, and they're all correct.
And then there's Sam. Who wouldn't leave her alone until she spilled something. Even when he got most of the story beforehand, the man just didn't let up until someone broke, and even then you both knew he'd just take one glance at Bucky's tight jaw and immediately guess correctly, or corner Steve when he brings Nat her lunch and he'd spill. So there was really no winning. And in the ER, your business is everyone's business.
The mawkish scent of the bay hit's your gut even before you arrive.
"Incoming!" Speaking before your body could catch up, your entire nervous system, muscles, worked while you were put on standby, praying everything that came out of your mouth was eligible. "GCS 12 and dropping, heart rate 130, BP 90 over 60. twenty four year old male, MVA at 18:27, approximately twenty minutes ago. Blunt force trauma to the chest with a suspected flail segment… obvious compound fracture of the right femur. Diminished breath sounds on the left, and cool, clammy skin. Showing signs of compensated shock."
As if sensing your apprehension, Ava cut in, composed and ready. "Two large bore IVs started with a litre of saline running, and a needle decompression performed on the left side for tension pneumothorax." She nodded, eyes sharp on your own. You reciprocated, quick and tightlipped.
Once your presence was quickly filled by staff on hand — Ava moving to take a call outside — you found yourself leaning with your back against the brick wall at the side of the building. Head tipping back with a dull thunk, exhaling, you close your eyes at the feel of the early evening breeze. Light hues of yellows and oranged curtained the sky, and you let yourself bask in it for as many seconds as you possibly could.
Gravel crunched underfoot, pace quick, but not distressed, just determined. Tilting your head to the side, the bright flash of red coming closer to you settled a weight on you, yet you couldn't help the lazy smile that grew on your face.
She hummed before you could counteract, eyeing you like a cat, up and down, with a pleased smirk on her face, the kind that reads 'I know everything just by the way you're carrying yourself'.
"Still trouble in paradise?"
Taking one quick glance at her, you suck in a breath. The tiredness of the shifts, of the silence, of the week — even though it's only been a few days — hits you in a wave through your body. "I'm fine."
A singular, amused laugh claps back, "He still hasn't texted you back?"
"Who?"
"Don't 'who' me, you owl," she takes a small step forward, leaning beside you, voice lowering just enough to be heard through the hums and whirrs of traffic. "Steve mentioned earlier that Buck's been all weird and you look one second away from snapping your molars. And stop chewing the insides of your cheeks."
You swat her hand away with a groan as she tries to squish your cheeks.
"It's nothing," you sigh, hands folding over your chest, looking away from her gaze. "You know how he gets sometimes."
"Yeah, but he's never gets like this with you,"
Rolling your neck back, you shoot her an unimpressed, flat look to say 'that didn't help one bit'.
Sucking her teeth, she tapped your shoulder with the back of her hand, eyes rolling to the back of her head.
"Listen. Whatever happened — actually happened — big or small, I'm always here. So is Steve, and unfortunately by default, so's Sam," the soft attempt at humour works. Breathing out sharply through your nose, a tight, but real, smile stretches across your lips. Finally looking at Nat in the eyes, her own smile is warm. Cosy in the way that something familiar is, the way something tainted in autumnal orange and gentle grazes can be. "Just give it a little more time, yeah? He'll come around."
You sniffle, something you instantly regret with a shake of your head and murmur, but push through anyway. "Thanks Nat."
"Anytime," she replies, "Now back to work, you've got a long day ahead of you."
The next time you're back at the ER, Steve's there. A sight you rarely ever see during work hours, only if timed perfectly — which, when you're no longer next to his best friend, is scarce. His presence, though you saw him the week before, felt like a comet sighting. An eclipse in a way.
Only now, you weren't filled with delight at the sight of the blond. Not with him talking up close in hushed murmurs with Natasha and Sam.
Before you could walk up and greet the group, the redhead spotted you, and without a word, expression, or a goodbye to the guys, she was on you. Manicured hand pulling you by the bicep, down crowded hallways, weaving through bodies like it was an Olympic sport. Her face was stern, set in stone, and no matter your half-assed protests, and jokes of "it's nice to see you too!", she made no indicator of stopping, nor giving you any warmth back.
It was like third grade all over again. When your favourite teacher suddenly got stern with you one lesson, and all resolve would come tumbling down, and from then on til you left school, they were now just a teacher, and nothing else. But Nat is your friend. Albeit, terrifying sometimes, especially when you close off back into your shell and try to work shit out yourself, even when you both know that's not how you work. But she is still your friend.
Rounding a corner, your body flung slightly off circuit, boots squeaking the linoleum, scuffing the light blue with a dark grey smudge.
The closet clicked shut. Flicking the lock shut, more for theatrics than for any real purpose, Nat stared with taut brows and a confused glower. Hands snake their way to cross over her chest, she leaned back against the door with a cool ease you can, and will never get used to.
"I love you way too much and you know that. Sam is tired of you and Bucky's silences, and that's saying something. Steve won't stop talking about how tired he looks, and his default face is unimpressed and bothered. Keeps saying he's sighing like an old dog, snapping at people, hell, he's smoking more!"
Your chest does something torturous. Caves in on itself with a sound you never thought you could make. Your body sinks into the wall opposite her, spine curved, arms crossed, a mimic of Nat's powerful stance, only for it to fall weak and wet, as you turn your head to stare at the floor while your nose tingles.
Anger, frustration and anxiety start to creep up your spine. It wouldn't have gotten so bad if you both just… talked.
"I'm worried. You two were so inseparable, and now it feels like all of us are living with two ghosts who refuse to move onto the afterlife even though you both hate the house you haunt. Steve and Sam can't get a goddamn lick out'a him, and you're here," she motions you up and down with a lazy hand, "I don't even know what you're doing. 'I'm fine', 'don't worry'… Fuck, i know i said to give him time, but at this point Sam and I are so close to pushing you both into a closet, locking the door and making you sort it out."
Silence spreads in the closed off space. The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Guilt spread through your veins like poison, and your stomach rolled.
"I love you. So does Steve and Sam even though they never say so. But they, we, also love Buck. And we care so much about you both, and your friendship, and we don't want this to split anything up — especially if it's over some childish bullshit, you know?" She lets her words sit for a few seconds before continuing. "So please. Spill."
The throb up your nose worsened, ascending up to an ache in the inner corners of your eyes, darkening the skin around your cheeks.
"That Thursday… a week ago or something, you know," you mumble, voice croaky and whiny, your gut clenched with how embarrassed you felt. Childish. Barely able to take your eyes off the floor, and through the blur of unshed tears you see her nod for you to continue. "It was stressful. It—I, we—"
Hands cradled your shoulders, albeit cold through your shirt, but the temperature helped to mix with your warming cheeks and flushing body, as with her soft voice when it came.
"Breathe with me, hun," she exaggerates her inhales, eyes widening until you follow shakily. "In and out, that's it. Take your time, we can work this out together."
You tried. Staggering the first few breaths, breathing too quick and short, but Natasha stayed still and quiet, letting you gather yourself in your own time. After sputtering, covering your face with the back of your hand, trying to hide yourself behind tightly shut eyelids, you finally find your footing. Humming to find your voice, whispering the first utter of the situation you've been cruelly holding tight to your chest.
"Bucky gave me a ride home," you swallow, jaw clamping shut, you breathe a couple more times, feeling the next few words in your mouth before setting them free. "… and we had sex."
"Halle-fuckin-lujah."
The confession was still fresh. Warm in the confines of the tight four walls you both occupy, but the redheads bluntness swatted the squishy texture until it rid and became something hard and natural, and something… normal. You hated it.
"Nat."
The look on her face was an accumulation of happiness, irritation, and impatience. She scoffed, almost scorned by the casualness of this secret.
"What? We've been praying for this since you two were rookies, and Sam owes me twenty," She jabs, trying to fill the tiny supply closet with a lighthearted joke, but it falls a little stiff.
She sighs, "look, I know this may seem like the end of the world, but Bucky's just," she waves her hands trying to find the words, "stupid. He's doing this shit to process his feelings and this new dynamic you two created — also, this started, what? The call on Sixth?" Her voice lowers, tentative and almost motherly.
Nat's hands stay firmly on your shoulders, not in a vice grip, soft enough to say 'you can leave if you want' but tight enough to let you know this means business and you'll want to hear what she says. Her head dips, trying to hold eye contact.
"From everything the boy's have been huffing about, he most likely feels conflicted. That was… a night," she exhales harshly, "I saw the way he looked at you while you were handling paperwork. He cares. Maybe a little too much, but fuck, he really cares."
When you look up, all you see is comfort.
"I'm not saying the way he's handling this is correct or healthy, or even remotely okay, but… It's just what he does, and it's so aggravatingly him and it's dumb."
The edge of your lip points. "He is dumb"
"The dumbest," squeezing your shoulders, she shakes you softly. "Listen, Steve and I are going out after tomorrow's shift to that bar on First — shit, what's it called… the one with the karaoke?"
You chime in, voice still croaky, whispering unevenly, "The Plum Tree?"
"That's the one," her smile broadens. "Come with us. Sam'll be there, Lena and Ava too —"
"And Bucky?"
She chuckles lightly, fidgeting, but she stays collected, like this is just a tiny bump in the road and she has all the tools to fix it. "Steve's already on it. Placed a few mentions of the name here and there, said 'beer' one too many times—"
"Are you… using subliminal messaging?"
"Potato Potahto," she dismisses with a flick of her wrist, already edging backwards to the door. "In no time it's all gonna seem like it was his idea to go out."
"Wait but what will I —"
"My love, I'm begging, do not worry," flicking the latch, she opens the door and the flood of chatter and beeps is back to dull your senses. "Everything you need and want to ask will come. Don't dwell on it, even though i know you will, but Steve and I've got it. We're smart."
"Sure you are."
"Oh, was that a little sarcasm?"
"Shut up"
The bar is livelier than you expected, even though it was a Friday and it's just started to drizzle. You arrived alone and on foot, hoping to get at least a little bit of alcohol in your system just to pump yourself up and get your confidence boosting. You opted for comfort too, a casual long-sleeve and jeans combo, though the weather called for a jacket despite the nearing warmth of the sun whenever it peaked midday. The chill never ceases to bite once her company has gone. And you have an intimation something else might sink their teeth into you later.
Warmth evaded your senses, heat from bodies; familiarity in almost every corner of the place, groups of fours or more occupied booths, whereas couples stayed put by the bar. Amber lights basked on their skin, washing everything in a dark orange that felt more intimate than it needed to be, mellow and harmonious. It felt like a joke made at your own expense.
Slipping your way through, you locked onto Sam who sat at a booth. Wooden table stained with rings of condensation and carvings from years of use, half drunk glasses and cups sat atop, ice melting, dripping onto the surface and you have half the mind to collect a bundle of coasters. The acrylic sheets of maroon that coated the seats looked worn in, and well loved.
It wasn't until you neared closer to the man you saw that beside him was Ava, and in front sat Yelena.
"And here she is."
Sam's bright voice followed through the music overhead, tickled, his smile carried through. You grin despite yourself, and took the empty spot next to Yelena as she scooted to give you room.
Scanning the table with squinted eyes, you sigh. "So was this all a ruse to get Bucky and I locked in the same room?"
Hushed mutters and mumbles of 'maybe's and 'perchance's hum across the table, and Sam completely diminishes your smug with a push of an untouched bottle. "Just drink your drink."
You have no choice but to huff out a chuckle mixed with disbelief and something akin to feeling impressed.
Taking a well needed sip, letting the coldness, the fizz, the alcohol do it's work. "Where's Nat and Steve?"
Chiming in, speech slurred slightly — not from alcohol, but from drowsiness — Yelena grumped out a sound with an elbow to the table, closed fist against cheek. "Back alley with the perpetrator. Probably on his fourth pack of the day."
You wince ephemerally, catching the slight turn of your face, but the blonde is quick to catch it and try to backtrack.
"I'm sorry. He's just been so — God, shit, I don't even know —"
Ava watches on amused, and meanwhile Sam just sips this beer, looking out behind you, like it's a regular night.
"Lena here, thinks you hate her."
The sly lilt of Ava's teasing has you perking up in your seat. Tilting your head in question, eyes widening. Your hand mindlessly moving an inch closer to her as if to comfort. "Lena, please, I don't hate you."
"Good! Because really, I had no say in the matter," she mumbled into her cup, taking a gulp. "It was like babysitting an thirteen-year-old emo kid who had his first heartbreak. Sad. Made my arms hurt."
"Poor boys been sulking for a week."
You hum unamused at Ava, sarcasm dripping from your lips as you take another sip. "I wonder who's fault that might be."
"Oh, he knows." Sam quips, sarcasm filled the words he spoke, but the truth remained clear and deep. Glancing back and forth between you and the space over your shoulder, he straightens. Nodding to himself, to you, with a tight smile, trying to make light but you saw the hardness inside of it.
Taking another sip, a hand slides over your shoulder, making you lock up, only for a voice, ever so familiar and velvety, to murmur beside your ear like this was a stakeout. Clandestinely working with the grace of a spy. "He's outside. Talk to him."
You wince into your drink, groaning into the spout as you swallow. "Nat, come on—"
"Talk to him," she declares. Eyes widening, voice dropping with seriousness you only ever heard when she was on the clock, "or I swear I will drag you outside myself."
You scrunch your face with a huff, pushing yourself out of your seat with a squeak. "I hate you."
Without as much as a glance back, hearing the softness in your words despite the bite, she slips into your spot. "You so love me," she smiles. "And you'll love me more after this!"
The smoking area smells like old ash and rain. Bucky’s leaning against the farthest wall, covered by the smallest of awnings, watching the rain fall with his arms crossed, legs stretched out with a kind of composure that jabs you in the chest.
There's a warm light above him, a curved fixture that spotlights over him, making him like some kind of divine presence. The smoke he exhales trails off above him, dancing around his head and it makes you think of a halo.
You should hate him.
Your chests grows tighter as you just stand and watch him, all casual, all him with no audience. After not seeing him after a week, it felt torturous how your body immediately reacted. Emotions ended up manifesting to physical aches, tightening in your biceps and gut. Besides that, the worst part, it seems the little dog in your brain — the one that latches onto familiarity like a chew toy, holding it in your locked jaw, growling at anyone who dares to take — remembers that night like it was yesterday.
The tightening in your gut coincided with another feeling. It coiled and dragged, too sensitive and delicate, your breath hitched when you felt the first wave wash down and spill in your underwear.
A cigarette hangs from his lips barely halfway done before he sees you, silhouetted by the light of the frosted windows and outdoor lights, and holds it in his fingers.
“Nuh-uh, nope,” he mumbles the second he notices you. “I'm not doing this right now.”
A sigh slips out, small and steadying. You could already feel your eyelids drooping from tiredness.
From knowing how this will go. From being in his presence again. From the week you've had. You couldn't count all the possibilities on one hand, so you push it down and decide to make Nat and the group at least a little bit proud, and rip the bandage off.
"Too late," you draw out, inching closer slowly, testing the waters. The playful hint you always kept for him slipping out, but you catch it quickly before you could finish. "We have to, or all of them back there are handcuffing us together for the next week."
Silence.
You don't expect him to talk immediately, but there's something about this particular stillness that makes your gut tense more.
You let the rain, moved from a drizzle to a downpour, orchestrate the moment.
"Bucky, why didn't you just talk to me."
The quiet stays, though now you understand he wants to fill it. It pulls harder and hits thicker after you speak. And you can see his chest move inwards on a breath.
With a ruffle of his jacket as he shrugs briefly, a scratch of the back of his neck, an awkward, a smoke, and breathy chuckle he does when he doesn't quite know what to say. So you let him stew, like how he did to you before, only this time a minute of your withdrawal feels like years to him.
"I'm a coward."
"Not good enough."
You almost flinch at the harshness of your voice. Almost cower in on yourself and apologise, but you stand down. You stopped just in front of him, close enough that he can see the tiny movements of your face, the tightness of your jaw, and the stare of your eyes, how the honey coloured lamp above him colours your irises, but far enough that theres an obvious space between the two of you — there is now a distance, and he should notice and want to fix.
"Okay," he sighs, minutely amused, "but it's the truth."
"Okay, so, I'll reword," shuffling in your spot, your arms tighten over your chest like a physical barrier. An added wall to the stretch, and you can just about see his restraint start to fray. "Why did you shut me out for an entire week without a word?"
He chuckles again, breath and smoke swirling in front of him as he flicks the cigarette out into the rain.
"Sweetheart—"
“See, because from where I’m standing, you fucked me and then decided I was too fragile to deal with the aftermath.”
You don't shout, but the truth comes louder than expected and you're both glad no one else occupies the space with you.
"No," he straightens, jaw clicking, “I took advantage of you.”
This time you chuckle, “that's bullshit, and you know it.”
“You were shaking.” He replies, voice unshaken and fair.
“So were you!" You counteract louder and frustrated. As you lick your lips you check yourself, lowering your voice back to something that holds structure. But Bucky knows you, knows you completely and, as of recently, wholly. The watches the space between your brows crinkle and the way your right cheek hollows as you scrape your teeth against it. "We'd just worked a long shift, Bucky, and a really shitty one at that. That doesn’t make us incapable of… of consent. Of wanting something.”
“You weren’t thinking clearly.”
A groan almost slides up your throat. Tipping your head back with your eyes closed, drawing in a breath that tastes too much like warm rain and earth, and the fatally addictive scent of his aftershave and cigarettes that sunk into the fabric of his clothes and skin.
“You don’t get to say that,” you mutter, stepping closer. “You don’t get to strip me of my agency because it makes you feel better about bailing.”
"I didn't bail," His hands curl into fists at his sides, only for him to hold them up, palms out. Another barrier. “I’m trying to not be the kind of guy who—”
“Who what?” you interrupt. “Who fucks his coworker and, what? Regrets it?”
"Oh?" His eyes flash, widening a fraction and he just about stutters on his words. “Oh, 'coworker' now? Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” He steps closer, never minding the space, the makeshift restrictions you both created wordlessly, his eyes dark, voice low. “You’re the one who keeps saying it like that word didn’t mean something different two weeks ago.”
“That is not what I meant." You could laugh. Annunciating each word carefully, feet planted to your spot, tipping your head like it was the only part of you that wanted to be closer to him.
“Sure sounds like it.” His jaw tightens again, ready to bite. “Funny how it’s ‘coworker’ when you’re mad, but — oh, when you were pulling me in by the shirt—”
"You're fucking mean." You swallow, eyebrows furrowing deep as anger flares hotter.
“Yeah?” He asks, stepping closer, voice rising, rough around the edges. “Say it again. If that’s all I am to you, say it to my face.”
Your pulse thunders, anger buzzing so loud it makes your hands shake. “You’re such an asshole.”
His eyes flick to your mouth, dark and heated. “Then why are you standing right here?”
You scoff incredulously, still unwilling to move, standing ground like a stubborn horse.
"Get in my face."
Something in you snaps. Tiny, but it snaps nonetheless. You tip your head back, hand wiping down from your eyes to your neck, anger sparking hot, you almost shout. "Oh, Jesus Christ —"
"Just me, sweetheart, and I'm serious," he steps closer than ever, repeating the same line again like a mantra, a demand for something, a plea of sorts, but you don't want to dig too deep into it. "Get in my face."
So you do. One step forward, boots knocking on his own, chest to chest, air exhaled becomes his, and suddenly you feel warm and clammy.
Your eyebrows tighten as you look up to him. His perfect eyebrows, the harsh crinkle of crows feet beside his eyes, those azureous pools that maliciously make your stomach flip even know. They warmed in the golden lamplight, almost a sea foam green.
His pupils flickered then, and it all snapped.
His hand fists in your jacket and he hauls you in, mouth crashing against yours with zero finesse and all intent. It’s rough and hungry, all teeth and pressure and pent-up frustration finally given somewhere to go. His kiss tastes like tobacco and anger and it ached underneath.
You make a sound you don’t recognize and grab him back just as hard, fingers digging into his shoulders like you’re trying to anchor him there, merely to plant onto his neck. Bucky kisses you deeper, sloppier, like he’s furious at the distance he created that ever existed at all.
His teeth scrape your lip. You bite back, breathless and unyielding.
"You," you murmur against his lips breathlessly, "you are so mean."
But he doesn't stop. The hands that had crumpled into your clothes rummaged up to your face, cupping your cheeks with a soft reverence that spread molten through your entire body, forcing another noise from you that he swallowed entirely. They tangled into your hair, keeping you in, holding you steady.
"I know, I know," he whispered back, lips never letting up, hands cradling you gently, one back to your cheek while his other held you by the nape of your neck. "I'm the fuckin' worst."
Nodding in agreement, you hum, your own hands finding purchase back on his shoulders and down his front, smoothing down his chest.
His soft lips mapped with earnest obedience, slipping away without a notice or protest from you. Pecking the edge of your lips, to your cheeks and temple, before moving downwards, slow and steady, memorising the way you feel, sound and taste as he licks, nips and sucks at the skin of your jaw and neck.
"Awful… just," a broken, breathless sigh leaves your mouth as he grazes the soft spot just beneath the hinge of your jaw, making you ball your fists into his front. "God, the worst."
Bucky grunts, feeling a heat accumulate where you both begin to ache, and he finds himself already in too deep to care, and his lips find yours again, bruising.
The brick crumbles and catches against your back as you both writhe, hands with no destination cling onto any surface and inch of clothing, your fists clench around his shirt, creasing the fabric, trying to pull him closer into you as possible.
Without preamble, Bucky's knee knocks into your own, hastily pushing them apart with a grunt into your mouth to which you steal gratefully, the vibration lingers on your lips and tongue. This dance the two of you follow, a new creation of the nights lingering need and unabashed desire, all made up on the go, seems to fall together so perfectly, even the clumsy shoves and hums and touches hard enough to leave tiny yellowed bruises seem so purposeful.
His fingers trail down your body and through your belt loops, keeping you secure in his palms as he pushes you down, just a slight crook to your knees atop of his thigh with a groan. Splitting from your lips, his breath strokes your ear.
"C'mon, that's it," he praises as your hips grind, denim on denim, "take it out on me, right here."
Your fists ball tighter, and a whimper falls from your slacked jaw from a strong mix of arousal, annoyance, forgiveness and punishment.
It's not him. Well not fully. It's his thigh, his thigh that's covered by denim, against you, who's also covered. The barriers of thick cloth makes your head thunk back onto the wall, but your hips never stop their movements, nor can they stop with Bucky's strong grip guiding them to and fro. The warmth of them tightens your chest, and your hands fall to them, holding his forearms, his wrists — to keep you steady, grounded, or to just touch some semblance of his skin.
You watch his eyes through heavy lids, staring down at where you frot, how you arch into him instinctively, how your nails dig into his skin without remorse.
"You're such… an asshole." You pant shakily, and he finally looks up. When he does so his grip tightens, making you grind into him, hips to hips, harder, slower, than before, and you can feel the obvious hardness of his cock tented beneath his zipper against your hip.
"I know."
You scoff weakly, "I didn't even wanna be out here."
"Understandable."
"I hate you." You bite. It's sleepy under the haze of lingering nicotine and liquid courage, but the nip is there, nonetheless. And the worst thing is, he smiles. Something that makes your heart flip inside of your chest, cracking beneath your ribs, thumping so hard, you lick your lips and clench your jaw.
"That's good to know, sweetheart," he huffs, smirk wobbling for half a second before correcting itself. "Fuck, say it again."
"I fucking hate you," you repeat, harsher than before, cutting to his chest but it feels good all the same. His arms move faster, bucking his knee up as he whispers approval in the heady air around you and against your sticky skin.
You move your hips in time, missing the short but momentous touch of his clothed cock against your hip. The note of you doing something to him, making him turned on — this turned on — brings a whole new wave of wetness to pool in your panties and ache to your already stimulated clit.
"The worst person ever… leaving me like that." You're half-gone and just about ready to cum. Thighs trembling around his own, hands shaking against his shirt, and your teeth chatter from the excess adrenaline.
Completely forgetting where you were.
As his name whispered past your lips, escaped by a sharp exhale against his neck, your movements were suddenly halted. Bucky's hands had moved you up, just enough for you to miss the friction, to drive you to the edge, and have it tingle and linger.
"Buck," you started, a hiss between your teeth as your nails dug into his skin. "Bucky, what the fuck?"
He sighs, unmoving from your temple. "You deserve better,"
"Jesus Christ, Barnes."
"I'm serious," one hand moves from your belt loop, tangling itself within your hair, keeping you close — scared of you running, of watching him undo himself in front of you. You feel him exhale shakily. "Not… Not in your jeans in the middle of some alley. I want you to cum on my cock again."
With a wobbly, breathless chuckle, you shake your head. Disbelief washing through you. "Bucky."
"Please sweetheart," his tone lingers on whiny, pleading, a complete contrast of his earlier disposition. His hands held tighter, fingertips digging deep enough for your ribs to stutter. "Please, I wanna feel you again."
The trembling of his breath, his body softly reeling against yours with leftover adrenaline, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt against your chest. For what, you have no clue — it's stupid, really — so you shove it down, exactly like you have for the last few days.
His gentle pleas lodged deep inside of you, pinging a new ache in your abdomen, making you feel cruel and hot.
"With the week you've put me through, I deserve this shit," pushing your hips back down, you're so glad Bucky had the gall to move one of his hands away, giving you less strength to fight against, less weight to push, and you find yourself stationed back against the thick plain of his thigh. "You started it, right here, so you finish it, Bucky," a strangled choke breaks from his lips, the hand that stayed stationed to your hip readying.
"Make me cum in this alley, and you can finish where we left off last week," you whisper. Meanwhile, Bucky stays still like your words lodged him into place, sifting through his brain, so you give him a little nudge with your own knee against his tent. Just a split second of boiling bliss, before you moved it away. "Deal?"
He wheezes. An unfortunate sound, sweet yet sharp and it reminds you of all the cigarettes he smokes, and the ones you'd share on nights where shifts hung tight and heavy on your shoulders, where you would lose track of how many beers you drank and laugh a little too loud on the fire escape. And though it's only been about a week, you missed it ever so badly.
But in that moment, the pious hums were gone, and left was the Bucky Barnes you'd only ever imagined when he'd invite the latest girl he was seeing on a night out with you and your friends — the Bucky who liked to chase and challenge, the one who had the kind of hunger in his eye that would glint insurgently. Even when the attitude wasn't directed at you at those times, it still sparked a light up your spine. And it was wholeheartedly and perfectly worse now it was for you, and only you.
Smirking, he glanced away for a split second. Back to the door where anyone could walk in to see your position, and he shrugged. "Deal."
The drags, starting slow, almost teasing with how measured and deliberate they were, drawing out the pleasure in long stretches, quickly accumulated into short bursts of need and attention.
Pulls turned to grinds. Tiny jolts of your hips on his lap, moving yourself in his hold as much as you could as he pushed.
Slick puddled, wet and sloppy between your thighs and words felt like water in your hands. Slipping from the crevices that was your lips in quick, unintelligible mumbles and whispers. Your eyes glossed over, unfocused, rolling up to look at the sky as if you were ready to ascend straight to heaven.
Your hold tightens, nails leaving deep, dark red punctures in his arms while you work yourself over the edge. Gasping, grinding slower with the help of Bucky, his breath glues to your neck with praise so sweet it just about prolongs the feeling of ecstasy.
"That's it, good girl," he draws out, holding you down, letting your senses fire up as pleasure ebbs into overstimulation. "So beautiful. So good for me, God, you're beautiful."
He whispers against you, around you, letting the breeze of the night carry them against your flushed cheeks as you come to. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth, eyes slacked but they stared unto his face as he slowed down to a stop.
You looked wrecked.
You were wrecked.
"You…" catching your breath, your mouth opened, never wandering your gaze from his face that now looked down on you with wonder. "You brought your car… right?"
He nods. Lips parting, only to close, wet and red.
"Deals a deal," You tap on his wrist twice with a smile, one too sweet for the moment shines on your face and fills your cheeks, eyes glinting with leftover pleasure. "Let's go to my place. "
The drive home felt like déjà vu. Quiet and loaded all the same, now its filled with a different kind of adrenaline. It wasn't a mystery this time, the universe wasn't pulling cards with a hand over its eyes, now it was clearer.
Anticipation thrummed through the vibrations of the engine. Words seemed too much and not enough, both of you too worried about scaring off the other, even though you both knew that this was it. Permanently and irrevocably.
The elevator ride wasn't filled with soft spoken words and comfort, this time it felt telepathic. Leaning against the handrail on the further wall, watching the red light counting floors flicker by, while in the corner of your eye you could see him looking. Watching you feign casualness with a soft smile on his face. You wanted to slap it off him, and kiss it better all at once.
Once you got to your floor, to your door, all reserve fell through the cracks in the floor boards.
Lips finding yours in a breathless mess, moving you blindly until your back hit the wall, holding your head in his hands like something precious, because to him you are, and he's not making any mistakes ever again. Humming into the touch, he takes the opportunity to run his tongue across your lip, before deciding to jump the gun. One hand moved backwards, finding the same position from back in the alleyway. The hand that rest on your cheek stroked with a loving calmness that contrasted to the way his mouth had you, and how his other hand — now threaded through your hair — pulled, causing your mouth to open with a gasped moan. He dove in.
His hands move with a sharp purpose. Sliding through the opening of your jacket, it slipped and hit the ground with a clink of the zipper, his own following, and his palms smoothed over your face once more before grazing down. Curling lightly over your neck, squeezing at the sides just enough to have you feeling light and desperate.
You tugged him closer, moving back into your home while you both became a messy bundle of hands. Touching and groping with fervour.
Bucky didn't let you get so far, pushing you back by your hips and pulling your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and jeans.
"I missed you." He muttered as he kissed up your cheek and down your jaw. A sentiment slipped out before he could stop and inspect it. As if to divert your attention, he cups your breasts, nipping and licking at your neck.
You arch your back at the feeling. His jaw scraping raw against you, the heat of his mouth, the marks you'll see in the morning. The way he squeezes your chest just right, pinching your nipples over the fabric, making you arch into his hold.
Coasting your hands down to his jeans, you cup his crotch, palming leisurely as you feel it twitch under the thick denim.
"Fuck, don't do that," Bucky groans loudly as his hips jerk into your touch. "Please, baby."
"But you look so pretty." You whisper back, dragging your palm over him once more before holding his hips.
"You're trouble."
His hands don't let up their grip, holding, massaging, until he sneaks a hand behind you and unclips your bra with precision you file into the back of your mind for later. You push his shirt up. He helps you, tugging it off, while you slip out of your bra and quickly unbutton your jeans.
"Oh, Jesus Christ." Bucky pauses for a moment, caught in a trance, watching you unzip your fly and slip out of your pants and underwear. Watching your breasts, the way your hair covers your face messily, all before snapping out of it when your arms extend outwards to unbutton his jeans.
You giggle softly under your breath at his exclamation, and how his fingers start to fumble over yours as you both try to get his pants off.
"You okay, Buck?" You tease, staring up at him, pushing his pants down his thighs. Its then you find yourself on your knees, helping him untangle his feet from the legs.
Lips parted in harsh breaths, ears tinted pink, chest wobbling as he tries to steady himself. Bucky is conflicted between two scenarios: Watching you take him in your mouth, have you choke so beautifully around his cock, see how you look with your eyes and nose all red while you swallow around him, taking all his load. Or take you to bed.
As much as he wants to, even when people find he's such a selfless man. Bucky often finds himself in moments of weakness, a reminder that he is a part of the male species. But this time, he chooses the latter. "Sweetheart, c'mere."
With hands finding your face again, he doesn't miss the gentle confusion that washes your features. Your hands stuck on each of his thighs as he tries to hold you up, shushing your protests quickly.
"I wanna fuck you, on your bed," he clarifies, stroking your face, "I would take you on the floor, right here, but I don't think you're neighbours would appreciate that. And I wanna do this proper." He chuckles lightly with a wonky smile, thumbs tracking over the apples of your cheeks again as you whine but comply.
Once you stand at full height, he runs his big hands down your body. Cupping your breasts once again, thumbs circling your nipples as your breathing picks up, watching them harden, before giving them a lazy pinch as he trails lower and lower, down your waist, circling to your back, and finally resting at your ass. He massaged playfully, pulling you closer to his chest.
You sigh theatrically, "You're such a mean man, Bucky."
"Am I?" Tilting his head, he pouts, "talk to me, sweetheart. How am I mean?"
"First of all, you — Oh!" With one last squeeze of your ass, his hands lowered, and gripped onto the backs of your legs to hoist you up. Without a word he moved down the hall, leaving your clothes to wrinkle on the hardwood floor beside your front door. "Bucky!"
"C'mon, tell me," with his hands still on your ass, he bounced you up, making you both fall into soft laughter and sighs with a minute relief as you both grazed each other. His voice dipped breathy and low, "I'm curious, baby, don't leave me like this."
His brows dipped dramatically, smiling wide as he glanced into your eyes, trying to find your room without looking (as if he doesn't know the floor plan like the back of his hand).
"For one," you start, fingers tugging on the fuzz at the nape of his neck, making his cheeks blush, teeth to bite into his bottom lip and dick stir against you. "Leaving me all by my lonesome, all goddamn week."
Turning you both around, he pushes the door open with his back, and kicks it to with his foot.
"Lonesome," he repeated, hiding his face in your neck and scraping his teeth, "you poor, poor thing."
Your room, a disastrous mess of you. Sleep clothes stay screwed up on the floor, bottles of perfume and makeup you wear on the rare occasion you get to go out, or on random nights when you want to try something new, laid haphazardly on your desk with colourful puffs of dust coating the surface like watercolour. Your bed, Bucky's destination, was cleaned ever so quickly with a tug of your duvet and quick turn and press of your pillows just to pretend and make yourself believe you have your shit together.
"I am a poor, poor thing, Bucky," you grin, carding through his hair and pulling him back with a moan, "so you better make it up to me."
"Oh, I think I will."
Kneeling against the edge of the mattress, his knee dips, settling you down against the pillows. He follows, blanketing your torso, licking kisses down to your collarbone, easing his body down until his tongue reaches the expanse of your sternum.
"Keep talkin', sweetheart, I'm not gonna stop until I don't understand a single word that come out'a your mouth," one of his hands holds your chin, making you stare into his eyes. The blue, once vast and freeing, were now swallowed by the darkness of his pupils, leaving a ring as dark as the ocean, deep and tenacious. "Got it?"
You nod quickly, adamantly, and before you could register, Bucky licked up the middle of your chest in a broad stripe. He moves, sucking kisses around the top of your left breast, nipping into the skin, leaving soft bruises and red marks, a trail running around until he finally circles your nipple with the wet tip of his tongue.
Whispering a curse, your legs open wider and hips buck up trying to find any way to release the tension throbbing against the gusset of your panties. As he suckles, he breathes out moans, sounds that release like sighs to your wet skin, making you shiver. His free hand moves to copy on your neglected nipple, pinching, rolling between his thumb and forefinger, tugging off, before repeating.
"Teasing me, an-and," your jaw slacks as he switches sides, slipping his thumb over your wet, bullied nipple while he sucks and grunts on your other, sending vibrations through your body. "Fuck, you — oh…"
With his body over yours, his hips met your own, still covered, now in ruined, wet cloth. He lurched his hips against yours, looking for some semblance of relief as he nipped your breasts.
Unlatching with a soft pop, he pushes the mounds together, squeezing them in his grip as his hips dragged at their own rhythm. Shaky, messy, twitching at every flick down and against your sopping core. "What was that?"
"Fuck you." You bite, hands coming up to push into your eyes.
"Soon, sweetheart," he hums, dragging his tongue out to lick from one tit to the other, dragging lazily while he squished them together, leaving a sloppy trail of spit. "Patience."
A singular laugh pierces out with a shake to your chest. Your hand runs up the front of Bucky's hair, and you pull his face up.
"Patience?" You probe, staring into his watery eyes like that one pull of his hair undid his mask in just one second. His lips spit stained, kissed red and full, a string of dribble still connected him to your slick breasts.
When he stayed silent, gulped heavily, and ground his hips into yours, pushing his luck, you let go of his head and pushed his body back by his shoulders.
He stayed sat upright on his haunches, trying to catch any crumb of power, but you kept pushing until his back hit the mattress, head whipping down making the frame creak, and he watched you straddle his lap with a light grin.
You moved quickly, as if at any moment a spell would break and you'd wake up in this exact bed, only for it to be empty and cold. Fingers curling over the waistband of his boxers, silently admiring the mess he made of the front and the silhouette of his thick cock straining. Tugging without preamble. Once they got to his thighs, down to his knees, Bucky launched.
"Fuck!" You squeaked at the surprise attack, barely enough time to fully appreciate the heavy smack he made against his abdomen, or the veins that trailed down his shaft to his balls, the aching red tip that peeked out under blushing skin, wet and sticky, so needy.
Because his hands worked faster. He was always better than you at work, even though whenever you'd tell him, he'd either wave his hand and grumble or put it over your mouth and tell you to 'shut up'. But his hands always worked faster. He memorised, took notes, and when in a new environment, he made sure to understand, appreciate and work.
Understand, appreciate and work was absolutely what he did.
Your underwear was gone with a rip of the waistband, surprised they even lasted this long, sticking to your slit from cum and arousal.
Warm on your waist, pulling you forward, Bucky began to direct your body. The other snakes to your back, right between your shoulder blades where he could hold you close. His eyes bore into yours while sliding from your torso, to the curve of your hip, until it fists and kneads down your ass again. The pulsing of his fingers pushes your hips forward and into the slick heat of his cock.
"Still mean, aren't I?" Pulling from your ass with a quick, stinging slap, he holds his weeping cock in his fist, sighing with relief as he slides his hands up and down the shaft, slicking it up with his own pre, right in front of your cunt. "Tell me I'm such an asshole. Tell me you hate me for fucking you so good."
Your walls clamp around nothing, aching uncomfortably with emptiness as you whine and shift your hips closer. Your head tips forward, holding your arms around his neck and hiding your face into his collar as he slowly, achingly makes love to his hand.
"Say that you hate me and I'll let you have him," he whispers so quietly, so softly it makes your bones feel like jelly. The saliva pooling in his mouth clicks around the words, something you've always hated on others but in this moment you cant help but feel the burning desire to lick it all from his tongue and swallow it for yourself.
He nudges your head up with his shoulder, making you look up at him with a tired gaze, sleepy with need so thick it hurts, eyes dark and settling into the skin underneath. God, he hasn't seen anything so beautiful in his life.
To wake you up further, he sets his hips so the tip grazes over your clit. The shock is immediate, burning, vicious, it almost feels delirious. How your entire body jolts in short shakes, how your hands tighten around his neck, how you coat him. The sounds you both create, syrupy and sweet, mixed with the ever light taps his tip makes as he drags himself through your mess. And your chorus of moans and sighs, all while he keeps composure — tries to.
"C'mon, baby, say it," he jerks up, slipping between your lips. Hardly hiding his neediness and desperation. "Tell me, God, please just fuckin' tell me."
You have half the mind to leave him like this. Wet, shaking, pleading at his knees for you like a man praying for forgiveness, like you hold a sword to his shoulders. He deserves to wait, to beg, and whimper — needing to hear your words, hear you reprimand and berate him for what he did.
But there's a quiet voice in your head that asks: what's a week next to years of friendship?
Your hips tip up, catching the head of his cock in your entrance, and the words on your lips feel odd and quiet.
You mean them.
"I love you,"
The burn reaches every corner of your body as you slip. Taking him all. All of him. Of Bucky. Your coworker, your partner, your best friend. Inside of you, held snug and tight in your walls, twitching against your cervix, as your body greets him again.
Your breaths mingle as you share gasps and skin.
"I love you so much, that I hate…" you strain, inhaling deep and hard, swallowing back the feeling of anxiety and his length all the way in the back of your throat. "I hate that you left me, and made me guess, and — and made everyone stress the fuck out."
You don't feel the tears until he starts wiping them away from your face, cooing gently, kissing away the salty tracks.
"I'm sorry."
You sniffle, causing your walls to clamp messily around his erection. He groans under his breath, holding your hip while moving your hair away from your eyes.
The feeling of his thickness and the attention on your face and emotions has your hips canting in his hold. Grinding down and against him, clit grazing the hair of his abdomen, making sure your body remembers him completely. "Never do it again."
"Never," he shakes his head, still wiping away the tiny trails welling in the corners of your eyes, kissing your lids, breathing in your scent. He holds onto your hips tighter, following your lead, your rhythm as you find it, and starts to shift his own to your beat.
"Not — never in a million years," his head cranes back on a grunt in his throat, and he lets go of your hip, moving his arm behind him, holding your sheets, and himself from behind. He lets you move. "Make me pay for it… for the rest of our lives, and I'd — fuck, baby — I'll thank you, forever."
As your hips grinded, Bucky's eyes never faltered off yours (as badly as he wanted to watch the way your pussy swallows his cock). His hand stayed on the side of your face, moving down, just enough to cup your jaw when he felt your gaze slipping away.
Grinding, the slick sounds of your exertion got louder, your walls aching around him, his breath coming out in tight, long pants, you slowly started easing into confidence. Tipping your hips up every time you eased forward, short inches at first, letting him know you're ready to take him, until you start to ride.
Hips rocking off his, bouncing on his lap, taking his length over and over again. You could feel him deep in your belly, making himself home. And through your frosty eyes, you saw him gaze on you like you were another being.
As you locked sights, his hips pushed up into yours at every touch down, chasing you. To retaliate, you moved your head to the side and took his thumb into your mouth, humming around the digit.
He scoffed, huffed a laugh out, and pressed it to your tongue.
"You feel so good baby," he breathed, pressing up into you, chasing a speed you cant get. "Takin' me so good. Missed this pussy so bad, sweetheart. She miss me, too?"
Of course she did. You wanted to scream at him, strangle him for asking such a dumb question. But the only thing you could do was nod, moan and suck around his finger.
"Is my girl getting tired?"
Despite your previous words, you do hate him. All these nicknames, now with a little addition. An ownership.
His.
You hate him in the way that he know exactly how to push your buttons and get you going in the same order, even after just one play, because your cunt traitorously clamps around him.
Moaning, his eyebrows dip, and his hips drive up again and again.
"Yeah? Sleepy thing, aren't you?" it's with that, he leans forward. Hand back on your ass, as you're being laid down onto your back.
You want to fight back, to push him back down and take and take until your body burn and tears flood your face. But you can barely hold on.
Legs dropping open around his hips, cock still sheathed inside. And he's still so goddamn attentive, even when he speaks with sarcasm.
"I hate you," you shake your head and grumble, "fuckin' asshole."
His cock stuttered inside you, and you could've sworn you felt his balls tighten. But all was lost once his hips started moving. Smacking against yours, wet trails of fluids dripping and splatting on skin, it was all too perfect.
His girth leaving and entering in quick succession, leaving your whole body tightening, right on the edge of hysteria — unable to breathe or know if you want to laugh, cry, or both.
"You wanna cum so bad, sweetheart, i can feel it," he clasped at your hips, digging into you while he held you down and close, keeping you still while he works. "Speak."
"Fuck, yes! Fuck," You wailed into the sheets below you. Your cunt clamping down so tight, it hurt. "Bucky, please."
He didn't let up.
"Please what?" He panted, fingers tight on your skin.
Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, coming out breathy. "Please touch me. Please, please."
There was no need for spit. With the amount of cum you had created, from the exact moment you saw him in the alley at the bar to now, spit wasn't needed at all. But the thought of more of him being close to your pretty pussy, the fact he didn't get to know what you tasted like tonight, couldn't see how his saliva mixed into you so pretty. He had to drop a fat string of spit from where he sat, still fucking into you deep and hard, and chase the dribble with his thumb.
Wiping circles over your neglected bundle with the accumulated stickiness, watching how it frothed and bubbled, how a ring of cream settled at the base of his cock as you brace.
Jaw slacking with pants and whines, body fastening as every second closer to finishing comes. Bucky notices how you seem to quiet down, how you start focusing on the pleasure at hand. The drilling of his cock, his thumb bullying your clit so perfectly, it only toppled over, finally, to the sweet release when his body folded over yours, breathing sweet nothings into the corners of your mouth, where he kissed and sighed and grunted, until you shook in his embrace.
Molten, white hot, and wet. He took you in his arms, easing off your clit, keeping his pelvis to yours to bring more relief to the nerves, while he wrapped himself around you and held you close as you both finished.
Your hands fell to his skin as he filled you up. Heavy breaths slippery on your jaw, cock and balls twitching with each burst inside of you. You gripped onto his ass with each twitch, keeping him in, holding on, wanting it all to last.
It took a while for your heavy breaths and jelly-like limbs to subside.
"Wow." You don't know who made the noise, but with Bucky's face still hidden in your neck, kissing soft pecks, rustling his beard, you're pretty sure it was all you.
"I'm sorry."
Laughing softly, accidentally squeezing his half-hard cock, you pull him up to look at him. You're both fucked out. Ugly in the most beautiful ways. And it's this time you both laugh.
"Thank you for apologising," you whisper, "but I don't think I can forgive you. Not yet anyway."
He nods, the smile that was on his face before, eases into something slightly more serious. Sadder, but understanding. "Of course."
Easing up, Bucky makes no mistake in taking care of you. Picking you up, carrying you down the hall like absolutely nothing, sitting you at the toilet, cleaning you with a warm rag and making you pee, despite your protests in him being there, watching.
"Sweetheart I've seen everything," he replies, standing in front of you, cupping your jaw. "I'm seein' everything now, too."
You don't really know how it slipped your mind that you were both still naked in that moment, but it felt… strange. In a good way.
Showering with him felt harmonious. As with his touch, cleaning you all over, reverent, not lustful. Careful. He looked and worked with determination, lips pouted and brows taut, making sure your hair was thoroughly washed out of the products before shutting off the water and plopping a towel over your head, only to then start to messily rub it around. Something he would do on beach days years ago.
Laughing comes easy, same with the teasing and groans of displeasure.
"Bucky! Come on, you'll tangle my hair!" You whine from under the sheet, flicking it up and slapping his hands away with a grin and squint. His smile is wide. Bigger than you remember it ever being, all as he watches you dry your hair in comfortable silence.
"I meant what I said by the way." You say after a while, watching him from the mirror.
He hums, snapping out of the trance you put him in by just being.
"When we… I said 'I love you'," you pause for any indication, "I meant it."
Coming up behind you, arms slinging tight around your waist, holding you close. He automatically kisses your temple as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "I know."
Looking at him through the glass with your brows furrowed. "You know?"
Bucky shrugs casually. "Sweetheart, we say it all the time."
You refrain from sighing loudly, so you turn in his hold. Naked chest to naked chest and his arms stay secured, lazily draped on your sides.
"Yeah but this time its…" you gesture broadly, "different."
He smiles, breathlessly staring into your eyes, like he needed to memorise the colour and swirls of your irises. "Different."
You didn't need to clarify if it was good or bad. Didn't need to tell him anything, because when Bucky looked at you, he understood every minuscule detail your body was trying to explain.
Different isn't so bad after all. And when it's something you get to enjoy with your best friend, it's actually a lovely feeling.
" The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow. "
please support your writers! reblogs and comments are so appreciated
ᝰ.ᐟkey: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I ~S- implied smut I H/C -comfort I 04/22/26 I gif - @/ransomflanagan
꒰ masterlist ꒱ ꒰ marvel ꒱ ꒰ one I two I three I four I five I six ꒱
handful ── @tw1sters I H/C
Your infatuation with one firefighter brings you to the station every day. That is, until you hear him call you a handful.
consolation ── @/tw1sters I H/C
A memory from Bucky's past cracks open your confidence in his love for you. With your heart on the line, Bucky has to convince you that his belongs to you.
already yours ── @/tw1sters I H/C + S
Getting cheated on mere weeks away from the holidays has you fleeing to your parents' holiday house upstate. What you don't expect is to find and fall for the groundskeeper there who seems to know more about you than you might think.
we’re not really strangers ── @/tw1sters I H/C
Three levels. Two people. One night. You and Bucky learn a little bit more than anticipated about each other from a simple card game.
so, this is love? pt2 ── @superbassbuck I H/C + S
The Prince of Brooklynne is hosting a grand ball to find a future princess. But when you secretly slip away from your chores to attend, it isn't the Prince’s heart you capture—it’s his father’s, King Barnes.
table for two one ── @/superbassbuck I A + C
One arranged marriage, one homemade dinner, two cold plates... and a husband who showed up three hours late, drunk, and heartless.
grade-a pain in my ass pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9 pt10 pt11 pt12 pt13 ── @/superbassbuck I F + A + S
Bucky Barnes is a single dad who doesn’t do love. He’s got everything he needs: a steady job, cozy home, and his whole life wrapped up in one little girl, his daughter Rebecca. No complications, and absolutely no room for romance. After a rude and not-so-pleasant first encounter, he finds out you're the elementary school teacher of Rebecca's class. He would make it his mission to avoid you at all costs and to absolutely not fall in love with you. How could he? Especially since you're a grade-A pain in his ass.
anesthesia haze ── @w1nter-fairy I F
After waking up from surgery still under anesthesia, you meet a ridiculously pretty stranger who claims to be your boyfriend. Convinced he's too perfect to be real, you spend the next hour flirting with him.
don’t play with love potions ── @witchywithwhiskey I S
bucky barnes barges into your workshop while you're brewing a love potion and when you're startled into spilling it, the containment protocols in new avengers tower are triggered—trapping you in with the super-soldier and a whole lotta love potion.
perfect partner ── @helaintoloki I F
Bucky has loved you for as long as he’s known you, but he’s not willing to risk your friendship by telling you that. thankfully, you take matters into your own hands
back to the old house ── @/helaintoloki I H/C + S
Bucky finds out he has a teenage daughter he never knew about because Hydra took him before he could find out. He reconnects with her later in life and tries to be a dad. The daughter might even try to get him and her mom (the reader, his ex-gf) back together!
black sheep ── @aquaticmercy I A + F
The Winter Soldier fell in love with his doctor. Bucky Barnes remembers.
flight risk ── @wkemeup I H/C
Bucky becomes a flight risk after a failed mission and is put in lockup under Steve’s orders. Even though Bucky won’t say a word of what happened, you camp outside the door to his cell so he knows he isn’t alone.
pinefall valley ── @chipotleburritobowl I H/C + S
heavy with the weight of a job you never had any passion for, you decided to open the envelope your grandfather gave you after shoving it in your office drawer for years. suddenly, you’re living in a small obscure town in the middle of nowhere getting more than what you signed up for.
Summary: Based on this anonymous request here, after you’re struggling to fall asleep one night, Bucky notices and… helps put you back to bed.
Warnings/Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Established Relationship, Plot? What Plot?, Fingering, Clitoral Stimulation, Overstimulation, Smut But With Feelings
Word count: 1.2k
Music:
Alkaline - Sleep Token
Kiss It Better - Rihanna
Earned It - The Weeknd
Notes: hi hello!! A short and spicy request that I hope you all enjoy! <3
Night has settled over the compound like a woolen blanket, thick, muffling, almost too warm. You’ve kicked off the sheets twice already, flipped your pillow to the cool side three times, and still your mind buzzes with static. Beside you, the mattress dips under the steady weight of Bucky sprawled on his back, left arm bent behind his head, moonlight spilling across the ridged vibranium plates.
He’d been motionless for twenty minutes, but you hear the shift in his breathing the instant restlessness coils through your muscles again. A soft scrape of stubble against cotton, then that deep-rumble whisper:
“Still awake, doll?”
Your answering sigh feels petulant even to your own ears. “My brain won’t shut up.”
“C’mere.”
It isn’t a suggestion. He rolls onto his side, covers the narrow space between you with one languid slide, and pulls you against him so your back meets the furnace of his chest. The weight of the metal arm drapes over your waist, the cool vibranium contrasts deliciously against your overheated skin. His flesh hand splays over your abdomen, thumb stroking tiny half-moons just beneath your navel.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “What’s keepin’ you wired?”
“Tomorrow’s briefing. The paperwork I forgot to file. The way Sam teased you about the coffee mug…” The list tumbles out in a breathless stream.
He chuckles, low and fond. “That mug had it coming. But none of that matters right now.”
His hand drifts lower, lazy, exploratory, until the pad of his thumb grazes the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts. He pauses, waiting. The question hangs in the hush: yes?
You nod. “Please.”
“Good girl,” he praises, voice honey-slow. He curls closer, nuzzling the spot where your neck meets shoulder, breathing you in like home. Then his fingers slip beneath the fabric, into humid warmth.
He starts with feather-light strokes along your inner lips, coaxing slickness with every unhurried pass. You feel the stretch of his grin when your hips buck at the first direct brush over your clit. He doesn’t linger… instead, he sketches broad, soothing circles across your mound, grounding you in the sensation of being touched, owned, adored.
The rhythm builds in increments, fingertips sliding, pressing, withdrawing, then returning with a firmer sweep that drags a gasp from your chest. Your knees draw together on instinct, but his vibranium arm tightens, guiding your top thigh over his, opening you wider.
“There we go,” he croons, pressing a slow kiss beneath your ear. “Let me take care of you.”
His middle finger finds your clit again and begins a pattern, three languid circles, one deliberate tap. Circle, circle, circle… tap. The gentle percussion sends little sparks ricocheting through your belly, each tap a tiny shock that spikes pleasure higher before the soothing circles smooth it flat again. You ride the rise-and-fall, breath hitching on every fourth beat.
The metal arm shifts, cool fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your tank top to cup a breast. His thumb flicks your nipple lightly, syncopating with the rhythm he maintains down below: circle, circle, circle… tap. Pleasure migrates up your spine, meets the heat blooming in your chest, and forks down your thighs in tingling threads.
“Feel how soft you are,” he marvels, kissing the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Could touch you for hours.”
The words unzip something inside you: confidence, hunger, ownership. You press back into him, offering. He takes the invitation, sliding the finger lower to gather more slick, then returning to your clit with exaggerated slowness. This time, after the third circle, the tap is firmer, sharp enough that you whimper.
“That’s it,” he soothes, easing the circles again until your pulse evens. “Gonna do that a few more times, sweetheart. I want your body nice and heavy when you finally drift off.”
And he does. Each set escalates: circle, circle, circle… tap, circle, circle, circle… tap-tap. Your hips jerk, your thighs tremble. He murmurs praise for every twitch, sweet, gravel-rough endearments that settle warm in your chest.
By the fifth repetition, the tap becomes a staccato double beat that sends an electric crackle tearing through you. Your hand shoots out to grip his wrist. “Bucky—”
“I know,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles before guiding your hand away so he can continue. “Trust me. Let me push a little more.”
His flesh fingers change tempo, circles tightening, taps turning into toe-curling flicks. Your vision whites out with each measured strike, then melts into velvet with the slow swirl that follows. The duality, sharp and soft, tease and balm, drives you higher than relentless pressure ever could.
You pant into the pillow, thighs quivering, nerves humming a single-note plea. He massages the oversensitive nub with tender circles, lets you settle, then taps three quick times. The world tilts.
“Bucky, please… I’m close.”
“I feel it,” he answers, voice reverent. “Come when you’re ready, doll. I’m right here.”
He resumes the pattern until your body bows despite his hold. The coil snaps with a soundless cry, heat pulses outward in concentric rings, gripping his finger where it still moves in steady, grounding circles. He doesn’t stop, eases the rhythm instead, drawing out aftershocks until you sag boneless against him.
But he’s not finished.
While your muscles are still fluttering, he coaxes your shorts down your thighs, leaving them tangled at your knees. Cool air kisses swollen flesh, a delicious counterpoint to the furnace of his body. He drags the flats of two fingers through your slick folds, collecting evidence of your release, then slips those fingers into his mouth with a groan that rattles your bones.
“Taste so good when you’ve just come,” he mutters, hips grinding forward so you feel the hard length of him against the curve of your ass. “One more, sweetheart. You’ll sleep like a baby.”
You whimper, half protest, half need. He hushes you with kisses along your shoulder blade, then slides wet fingers back to your clit. This time he alternates pressure: firm anchoring presses that make your toes curl, followed by rapid-fire taps you feel in your teeth.
Stimulation skates the edge of too much, but the overwhelming care in his touch steadies you. He murmurs constant assurances, “I’ve got you”, “So perfect for me”, “Let it wash over you.” The words weave into the rhythm and become another kind of caress.
Your second orgasm hits quick and bright, a burst of stardust that leaves you gasping his name like a prayer. He rides the wave with you, whispering praise, easing the tempo until your tremors subside.
At last he withdraws, pulls the discarded shorts free of your legs, and settles you back against him. His vibranium arm curls protective across your middle while his other hand strokes gentle patterns over the thigh draped across his own.
“Breathe,” he instructs softly, syncing his inhale with yours. The room is silent save for the joint cadence of your breaths and the distant hum of nighttime generators. Your eyelids grow heavy, every limb feels dipped in warm honey.
Somewhere in the haze you sense him press a final kiss to your hairline. “Sleep, doll. Paperwork and mugs’ll still be there tomorrow.”
You manage a sleepy smile. Wrapped in unbreakable metal and unwavering devotion, you yield to gravity, sinking through the mattress into a darkness threaded with fireflies.
The last thing you register is the steady drum of his pulse at your back, two heartbeats, perfectly in time with yours, lulling you into the kind of rest only love can buy.
“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings…”
Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Married Couple, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Slice of Life, Idiots in Love, Healthy Relationships, Flirting, Married Life, Thunderbolts!Bucky
You go to bed plotting.
Your first anniversary. 365 spent in marital bliss with the man you could have only dreamed of. 365 sunrises with him pressed against your side and 365 sunsets with him sprawled across your torso. It was only natural that you were going to want to prepare something special for such a momentous occasion.
Unfortunately, Bucky has other plans.
And by other plans, you mean the exact same plans, but before you.
Curse him and his self-discipline and his early-rising ability, because before you do much as open your eyes, you can hear the sizzling of bacon from the other room and the range hood whirring to muffle the sound. Your palm grazes over the dip in the mattress beside you and finds it empty and growing cold.
That little…
You can’t help but yawn as you glance at the clock and peel back the covers, shivering at the sudden chill. You slip your housecoat from the hook on the bathroom door, wrapping it around your mismatched, rumpled pyjamas and tying the belt in a haphazard bow before padding down the hall in slipper-clad feet.
Sound travels easily under the vaulted ceilings of your New York apartment, the melting snow outside nor the exposed beams and industrial pipes no match for the coziness you’ve both built beneath it. You follow the off-pitch melody of his humming to the open kitchen and pause for a moment, leaning against the edge of the kitchen island just to watch from afar.
Bucky is a marvel. Six feet of corded muscle and toned flesh softened by morning light, sweatpants slung loose and low on his hips, his shoulders and back open to the elements. His hair is a sight, sticking up in all directions in the lax kind of way that just made you want to run your fingers through it, whether it smoothed or not. He is deliciously domestic when his walls come down like this, unguarded and unafraid to make noise or take up space.
“What’cha up to, Buck?” you close the distance, fingers ghosting a pass over his shoulder blade. The transfer of cold sets off a shiver that ripples up his neck and makes the hairs stand on edge.
He turns under your grasp, wearing that ridiculous “Kiss The Cook” apron Alexei got him as a wedding gift as part of his curated “grilling essentials” bundle, and his whole being brightens when he sets his sights on you.
“Mornin’, sunshine…” He hasn’t been up for long, his voice still gravelly. Bucky discards his spatula in favour of drawing you into his arms and against his lips, tasting like dark roast. “Sleep well?”
“Very. Do you…happen to know what happened to my alarm?”
He turns his head, but the flush on the shell of his ear gives him away. “I don’t know nothin’ about that…”
“James Buchanan Barnes! I was going to make breakfast for you!”
“Come on now, sweetheart. I couldn’ bear to let you do all that just for me when you were sleepin’ so soundly. You’re already working yourself to the bone, and sleepin’ terribly as it is.”
How were you supposed to say no to that, when he looks down at you with such affection and tenderness? His skin is warm when you pout into his collarbone. “Would’ve done it anyway…”
Bucky cards through your hair just as you had wanted to, fixing your bedhead with practised ease. “I know you would, and I love you for it, but it’s my turn. That alright?”
“It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Smells amazing. What did you make?”
“Full spread. All your favourites.”
“It’s your anniversary too, y’know. You don’t just have to cater to me.”
“Wanted to, doll. Besides, my favourite is watching you eat your favourites.”
“…and turkey bacon.”
“Yes, and turkey bacon.”
“Can I help with anything?”
He shakes his head. “It’s all handled. You just sit your pretty self down,” he switches off the burner and takes you by the shoulders, herding you into the breakfast nook, “before it gets cold.”
And it is a spread.
Strawberries cut into rosettes, his knife skills repurposed and certainly not going to waste. Heart-shaped pancakes stacked a mile high, golden brown with crispy edges. Eggs and toast, fruits and potato hash, pastries and preserves, all plated on your fanciest dishware and set on a vintage lace tablecloth. Next to them, the pile of turkey bacon that has become Bucky’s one modern obsession. A bouquet of spring blooms so big the vase is overflowing blocks out the sun from the window to cast wispy shadows over the table.
Your heart swells. “Buck! You’re unreal! How long have you been up doing all of this?”
“Irrelevant.”
“This is too much…”
“S’the perfect amount, I think. Makin’ up for all the late nights and long missions you’ve put up with,”he noses your hairline and kisses where it meets the curve of your ear. Bucky reaches around your form and pulls out the chair with the handsewn seat cushion, motioning for you to claim it before settling into the banquette across from you himself.
“And where did these flowers come from? How did you manage to sneak these in here?”
“Met the delivery guy downstairs while you were still dreaming,” he reaches across to snatch your plate and fill it with all the things he knows you love, down to the pancake toppings, before repeating the process for himself.
You can’t help the groan that slips out as the first bite touches your tongue.
“Good?”
“I’th delithith,” you mumble, mouth full.
“…Translation?”
You swallow, washing the lump down with a swig of orange juice. “It’s delicious, I said. Did you get an email from the restaurant for tonight?”
“Our reservation is confirmed and I pressed my suit.”
“The pinstripe one that makes me want to eat you alive?”
“That’s the one,” he winks over the lip of his coffee mug.
“Man, do I love that suit…” you muse, driving your fork into one of the berries before setting the utensil down entirely and circling back. “I still can’t believe this you pulled all this off under my nose! I mean, I had everything planned out, bought the ingredients and everything.”
“That explains why there was a Costco-sized pack of bacon in the fridge,” he shovels a generous helping of it onto his plate. “And why the pantry was so well-stocked.”
“You love that stuff. You’re such a carnivore, you’re like a…I don’t know, a T-Rex.”
“Old as one, too,” Bucky quips.
Your poorly-timed sip of juice spews as you snort in laughter, pulling the liquid up into your nasal cavity. “Ack! It burns!” you sputter and hiss as your eyes start to water. You continue to cough and hack and choke as Bucky all but lunges over the table with a napkin, howling in his own laughter with such intensity he turns red as the strawberries.
“Are you okay?!”
“I can taste my thoughts…”
He gazes at you with as much concern as adoration. “I love you.”
“…Even when I shoot orange juice out of my nostril?”
“Especially then. And when you drool all over my shirt in your sleep and when you put on your clothes backwards or inside out. I love it all.”
The burning subsides, leaving your vision in a sort of dreamy haze perfectly suited to the occasion.
“I love you, too. Even when I find your arm in the dishwasher or trip over your massive boots in the entryway or when I wash your stinky, marinated mission laundry. And I am going to get to surprise you one of these days! Just you watch!”
Bucky just beams. “Can’t wait. Happy anniversary to us,” he toasts.
summary: Bucky Barnes is one mission away from strangling his team, so naturally they do the reasonable thing: spend $800 on a matchmaking service as a prank. The plan? Humiliate him. The outcome? Not what they expected.
word count: 5.3 k
warnings: fluff, humor, idiots to lovers, mild language, mentions of violence (mission related), awkward dates, soft!bucky, teasing, light sexual innuendo, workplace boundaries (kind of... ignored), happy ending. (also, bucky sounds kinda pretentious because I just know that man is super smart, you'll get this when you get to this part) english is not my first language so I'm sorry if you see any mistypo/grammar error.
a/n: idk how I even came with this idea, lol, but I had something very clear: I wanted to post it in April Fools. also, who is this? Me not writing angst????? somebody call the police. I hope you enjoy it!
read on AO3
The warehouse was supposed to be empty. It wasn't.
"Fall back!" Bucky shouted into the comm, but Walker was already walking forward, his taco-shitty-shield raised like he had something to prove… which he always did.
The explosion took out the east wall. Bucky felt the shockwave before he heard it, tackling Yelena out of the debris field. When the dust cleared, Bob was pinned under a beam, and Walker was on his back, groaning.
"I said fall back," Bucky snarled, hauling Walker up by his tactical vest.
"I had it under control—"
"You had nothing under control. Bob almost died because you couldn't follow orders."
"Hey," Ava said, helping Bob to his feet. "Everyone's fine. Let's just—"
"Fine? We walked into a trap because someone" Bucky jabbed a finger at Walker. "—couldn't wait for recon."
"The intel said—"
"Well the intel was wrong. That's why we recon first." Bucky's voice was cold enough to frost the air. "Next time, maybe think before you rush in like an idiot."
Walker's jaw tightened. "You know what, Barnes—"
"What I know is that I'm tired of babysitting grown adults who should know better."
Yelena stepped between them. "Okay, everyone back to base. We debrief when we're not standing in a building that might collapse at any minute."
The ride back was silent except for the engine. Bucky stared out the window, jaw clenched, vibranium arm whirring slightly—the tell that he was still worked up.
"You could've gone easier on him." Yelena said quietly.
"He could've gotten Bob killed."
"But he didn't."
Bucky didn't answer.
Back at base, Bucky didn't even wait for the debrief, he dropped his gear and headed straight to the gym.
"Guess we're doing this later," Walker muttered yanking off his tactic vest.
"He's not wrong though," Bob said softly. "I was pinned pretty badly."
"He's also not right," Ava countered. "Shit happens on missions, we all know that."
"He's just…" Yelena searched for the word. "Tightly wound."
"Tightly wound?" Walker scoffed. "The guy's a nightmare. Every mission it's something: too slow, too fast, too loud, didn't follow protocol—"
"He keeps us alive," Bob pointed out.
"He also makes us miserable." Walker grabbed a water bottle. "When's the last time anyone saw him smile?"
They all thought about it. From down the hall, they heard it, the rhythmic aggressive thudding of someone punching a heavy bag like it owed them money.
"He needs to get laid," Ava said suddenly and everyone turned to look at her. "What? I'm serious. The man is wound tighter than a clock. When's the last time he went on a date? Relaxed? Did anything that wasn't working or brooding?"
"Barnes? Dating?" Walker snorted. "Who'd want to date that?"
"Someone with a thing for emotionally constipated super soldiers?" Yelena suggested.
Ava grinned. "I'm just saying, maybe if someone got him out of his head for five minutes, he'd stop biting ours off."
The thudding continued on the background, harder now.
Yelena's eyes lit up with that particular gleam that meant she was having an idea. Usually a bad one.
"What?" Walker asked warily.
"We should hire him a matchmaker."
"A what?" Bob asked.
"Matchmaker. Professional dating service." Yelena was already pulling out her phone. "We set him up, they find him dates, maybe he meets someone and stops being so…"
"Grumpy?" Ava supplied.
"I was going to say 'insufferable', but yeah, sure."
Walker's grin was slow and dangerous. "That's actually hilarious."
"It's mean." Bob protested weakly.
"It's a gift." Yelena said. "We're actually helping him."
"By tricking him into dating?"
"By forcing him to have a life outside of this." Yelena was already scrolling through websites. "Look at this one, 'Professional matchmaking services. Personalized consultations. Find your perfect match'. This is perfect!"
Ava leaned over her shoulder. "How much?"
"Two hundred each for the premium package."
"I'm in," Walker said immediately.
"Ava?"
"Oh, absolutely. This is the best idea you've ever had."
They all looked at Bob.
"I don't know…" he said.
"Bob," Yelena put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want Bucky to smile? Ever?
"…Yes?"
"Then we're doing this for his own good."
The thudding from the gym was relentless, angry.
"Fine," Bob sighed. "But if he kills us, I'm haunting you."
"Deal." Yelena started filling out the form. "This is going to be amazing."
In the gym, Bucky drove his fist into the bag again and again. The mission played on loop in his head: the explosion, Bob pinned, Walker reckless charge.
He overhears Ava saying something that sounded like "he needs to get laid." Her words echo in his head. He hits the bag harder. Maybe she wasn't wrong, maybe everyone was alright and he was too tightly wound. Too quick to snap, too…
Another punch, the bag swung violently.
It didn't matter. This was who he was: focused, careful. Always three steps ahead because that's what kept people alive. If that made him miserable to be around, then so be it.
His phone buzzed. He nearly ignored it, but something made him check.
Dear Mr. Barnes,
Congratulations! You've been enrolled in our exclusive matchmaking service…
Bucky stared at the email and then slowly turned toward the door. He could hear them in the common room, not the words, but the tone—conspiratorial, excited. They were waiting for him to explode. He looked back at his phone, read the email again.
A matchmaker. They'd hired him a matchmaker.
He should be angry. Should march in there and tell them exactly where they could shove their prank. Instead, he pocketed his phone and headed for the showers.
Fine. They wanted him to date? He'd date.
And when it inevitably failed and proved his point—that some people were just meant to be alone—maybe they'd finally leave him the hell alone.
Your office was smaller than Bucky expected… warmer too. Books lined on wall, plants sat on the windowsill, and the desk was cluttered with papers, a half-empty coffee mug and what looked like a collection of vintage postcards.
You looked up when he entered, and your smile was immediate and genuine. "Bucky Barnes? Come in, come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? I have tea but I'll warn you, it's the cheap stuff."
"I'm good."
"Suit yourself." You gestured to the chair across from you—not the stiff formal kind, but an actually comfortable armchair. "So, I'm guessing you know why you're here?"
"My teammates think I need to get laid."
You blinked and then laughed—not a polite chuckle, but an actual laugh. "Well, that's certainly the most direct answer I've gotten. Usually people say something like 'my friends think I work too much' or 'I'm ready to find someone special'."
"Would you prefer me to lie?"
"Absolutely not. Honesty is refreshing." You leaned back in your chair. "For the record, I spoke with Yelena when she set this up. She said you were 'grumpy and needed an attitude adjustment', but I'm going to go out on a limb and guess there's more to it than that."
"Not really."
"So you're just naturally grumpy?"
"Yeah."
You studied him for a moment, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that you were seeing more than he wanted to show. "Okay, different question—are you here because you want to be here or because you want to prove them wrong?"
Bucky paused for a minute and actually think about it. "What if it's both?"
"Then I think we can definitely work with that." You pulled out a notepad, but your posture was relaxed, open. "Fair warning, I'm going to ask you some questions, and some of them might feel silly, but they help, that okay?"
He wasn't sure what he'd expected, maybe someone who'd tiptoe around him, or worse, someone who'd treat this like therapy. You did neither of that. You were just… warm, easy. "Sure."
"Great, let's start simple— what do you do when you actually have downtime? And before you say 'I don't have downtime', everyone has downtime. Including heroes."
"I read. Go to the park sometimes, there's a gym I like."
You were writing. "What kind of books?"
"History, mostly. Some fiction."
"Fiction like…?"
"Le Carré. Vonnegut. I just finished rereading The Hobbit."
Your eyes lit up. "You're a re-reader? Me too, there's something nice about going back to a book you love, right? Like visiting an old friend."
"…yeah." He hadn't expected that answer. "Exactly like that."
"See? We're finding common ground already." You made a note. "Okay, favorite food that isn't whatever protein shake I'm guessing you have for breakfast."
"Plums."
Your pen paused. "That's a fruit, not a meal, but I appreciate the specificity. Favorite meal?"
"My ma' used to make this pot roast…" He trailed off, surprised he'd mentioned it.
But you just smiled, soft and genuine. "Comfort food, the kind that tastes like home. I get it. My mom made this chicken soup that I swear could cure anything—bad days, broken hearts, existential crisis."
"Does she still make it?"
"She does, I visit every couple months and she always has a pot waiting." You tapped your pen against the notepad. "Okay, rapid fire—morning person or night owl?"
"Morning. I like when the city's quiet."
"Oh, see, I'm the opposite. I'm a night person. Everything feels more possible at night, you know? Like the world's asleep and you can just… be," you made a note. "Deal-breakers in a partner?"
He thought about it. "People who are too loud, or rude to waitstaff. Bad hygiene… hm, anyone who claims to be brutally honest in order to be rude."
"Good answer… now tell me about the green flags?"
"What?"
"What would you want in someone? And 'I don't know' isn't an answer."
Bucky sat back. No one had asked him that before. "Someone who doesn't… make a big deal out of things. Sense of humor, I guess."
"You guess?"
"I'd like someone who can make me laugh."
You made a note. "This is workable."
"That easy?"
"I didn't say easy, I said workable." You set down your pen and looked at him directly. "Here's the thing, Bucky. I think there's someone out there for everyone. And I don't mean that in a cheesy, fortune cookie kind of way. I just mean… people are surprising. And connection is surprising. You just have to be open to it."
"You actually believe that?"
"I do. Occupational hazard, maybe, but I've seen it work too many times not to believe it." You stood up, stretching. "Ready to actually try, or are you just here to prove your friends wrong?"
"Both."
"Fair enough. Honesty will get you far in this process." You walked him to the door. "I'll set up some options and email you. And Bucky? For what it's worth, I don't think you're that grumpy."
"You just met me."
"True, but your face lit up when your mentioned your ma's pot roast. That's not a grumpy person thing." You shrugged. "Just an observation."
He left not quite sure what to make of you.
Date one: Michelle.
Michelle was a lawyer. She was smart, attractive, professional. Exactly the kind of person who should be perfect on paper.
"So," she said, stirring her latte, "what's it like working with the New Avengers?"
"It's work."
"Must be interesting, though. All that action."
"Sometimes."
She smiled, but it looked a little strained. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"
"Not really."
"Do you prefer urban operations or undercover missions?"
Bucky blinked. "I… what?"
"I did some research. I thought it… might help us connect."
It didn't.
When he showed up at your office two days later, you were watering your plants. You looked up with a knowing expression. "That bad?"
"She was nice."
"But?" You set down the watering can.
"Felt like a job interview. She asked if I prefer 'urban operations or undercover missions.'"
You winced. "Okay, that's… yeah. She mentioned she did some research. I thought she meant like, looking up your favorite restaurant, not studying your… tactical preferences."
"She was trying."
"I know, but trying too hard is still trying wrong." You gestured to the chair. "Coffee? I just made a fresh pot."
"Sure."
You disappeared into a small kitchenette and came back with two mugs. "Okay, real talk—was it just the research thing, or there was just no spark?"
"Both."
"Well, yeah… chemistry's the hard part," you admitted, settling into the chair. "I can match interests and values all day, but at the end of the day… that thing were you just click with someone? That's lightning in a bottle."
"You think it exists?"
"I know it does, I've seen it." You took a sip of coffee. "When was the last time you felt it? That click?"
He really thought about it. "Honestly? Right now. Talking to you is easy."
You stilled, mug halfway to your lips. Then you smiled, a little softer. "Well, that's my job… to be easy to talk to."
"Is it just a job?"
"No," you admitted. "I actually like people. I like hearing their stories, figuring out what makes them tick. It's…" You searched for the word. "It's hopeful work, you know? In a world that can be pretty cynical."
"You're an optimist."
"Guilty. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No." He surprised himself the moment the world left his mouth. "It's kind of nice, actually."
Date two: Jade.
Drinks with an artist named Jade. She was fun, energetic, laughed easily. She also talked… a lot.
"—and that's when I realized that abstract expressionism is really about the negative space, you know? Like what you don't paint is just as important as what you do paint, and I think that applies to life too, don't you? Like the things we don't say—"
Bucky nodded at appropriate intervals, wondering if you were free tomorrow.
"You seemed distracted," Jade say as they left.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Sorry."
She smiled. "It's okay. I don't think we're a match anyway."
Let me guess. Too much talking?
Is that bad?
Not bad. Just not right for you.
Bucky showed up at your office an hour later with two coffees. He told himself it was because he was in the neighborhood.
"You didn't have to bring me coffee," you said, but you took it anyway.
"You brought me some last time."
"That's different, you looked tragic."
"And I don't now?"
You studied him over the rim of your cup. "No. Now you just look like someone who's figuring things out." You gestured to the other chair. "You have time? Or do you have to save the world."
"I have time."
"Good." You curled up in your chair, coffee in both hands. "So tell me something."
"About what?"
"Anything. Something you don't usually tell people." When he hesitated, you added, "I'll go first… I'm scared of birds."
"Birds?"
"Specifically pigeons… They're unpredictable and they have those creepy little feet." You shuddered. "Everyone thinks it's hilarious, but I'm serious. One flew at my face when I was seven and I've never recovered."
Bucky felt himself smile. "That's actually pretty funny."
"See? This is why I don't tell people!" But you were grinning. "Your turn."
"I'm terrible at technology… I mean, I do understand how to fly jets but I'm terribly bad at remembering to check my email."
"You're a ninety-year-old man, Bucky… a man out of time, that tracks."
"I'm a hundred and nine, actually."
"Even more reason. Okay, next question—what's something that makes you happy? And don't say 'nothing' because I won't believe you."
He was thoughtful for a minute. "Those historical plaques around the city… the ones that tell what used to be there. I like seeing how things have changed."
Your expression softened. "That's really lovely, actually. You're a sentimentalist."
"Don't spread that around."
"Your secret is safe with me." You took another sip of coffee. "Okay, harder question: what are you afraid of?"
"Being stuck," he said after a moment. "Just… existing without living. I disappeared for five years during the blip and ever since that's been my fear."
"I didn't know that." You were quiet for a moment. "But yeah, I get that."
"And you? What are you afraid of?"
"You mean… beside pigeons?" You smile. but it was more thoughtful now. "That I'll wake up one day and realize I've spent so much time helping other people find happiness that I forgot to look for my own."
"That's deep."
"You asked."
"Do you…" he trailed off. "Do you think you forget to look for your own?"
"Sometimes," you admitted. "But then I meet someone like you and remember why I do this. You remind me that connection is worth it."
"We barely know each other."
"Maybe, but I like getting to know you." You meet his eyes. "Is it weird? Given the professional situation."
"If it is, I don't care."
Date three: Rachel.
She was a software engineer… and she was quiet. Probably too quiet.
"So…" Bucky said after a long silence. "You work in tech?"
"Yeah."
"Do you like it?"
"It's fine."
Another long silence.
"Do you… want to be here?" he finally asked.
Rachel looked relieved. "Honestly? I think my sister set up my profile without telling me the full details. And you're so handsome that it's a bit intimidating."
Bucky's ears turned pink and nodded. "That's fair."
They split an appetizer and called it a night.
"Okay," you said when he came in the next day—unscheduled, you noted but didn't mention. You'd started to expect these visits. Looked forward to them, actually. "So we've ruled out: too professional, too talkative and too quiet. This is actually helpful data."
"Is it?"
"Yes! We're narrowing down what works." You made a pause. "Do you want some tea? I finally upgraded and got some fancy stuff."
"Sure." While you made tea on the kitchenette, Bucky looked at the postcards on your desk. "Where are these from?"
"Oh, those?" You came back with two mugs. "I collect them, they're from everywhere. Every time I travel I send myself a postcard. Sounds silly, but I like having the physical reminder."
"What's your favorite?"
You picked up one with a faded image of a lighthouse. "This one, it was on Maine. I traveled alone after my last breakup… it was a rough one, so I just breathed for a week, read books on the beach, ate lobster rolls and didn't talk to anyone unless I wanted to." You handled it to him. "Sometimes you need to be alone to remember who you are."
"Yeah." He looked at the postcard. "I get that."
There was a comfortable silence, but you blinked away. "Okay, back to business. You need someone comfortable, someone who doesn't need you to perform or be anything than yourself."
"Well, good luck finding that."
"Hey, I'm an optimist, remember? I don't give up that easy."
Date Four: Amanda.
Amanda was a bookstore owner. By this time, Bucky lost track of what he was supposed to do. Amanda was great—funny, sharp, had an opinion on everything from classic literature to the best pizza in Brooklyn.
"I like you," she said at the end of the night. "But I don't think you like me the same way."
Oh no. Did he say something wrong?
"Uh— what makes you say that?"
"Well… you kept checking into your phone, and I noticed the one time you only smiled today was when you looked at it, maybe you received a text from someone?"
Bucky looked down at his phone. He received a text from you in the middle of the date.
How is it going? She seems promising!
Also, I just saw a pigeon steal someone's sandwich and I thought of our conversation, they scary.
"It's not like that."
Amanda gave him a look like she knew better. "If you say so. But Bucky? Life's too short. If you already know you like someone, you should tell her… or him. It's the twenty first century, we don't judge anymore."
"Maybe fifth time will be the charm," you said as soon as he crossed your door. "I have another candidate that will be perfect for you, she's—"
"I think I'm done trying."
"What— why? You can't give up this easily, there are…"
"Before you say anything else, I would like to ask you… do you ever go out?"
"You mean dating?" You laughed, but it was a little self-deprecating. "Occupational hazard. I'm too busy setting everyone up that I don't have time for my own life. Besides, I'm picky."
"About what?"
"I don't know. I need someone who gets me, I guess. Someone who I can just be myself around without feeling like I'm working." You shrugged. "Someone who doesn't think it's weird that I'm scared of pigeons and I can tall about my interests like my postcard collection and all of that."
The words hung in the air between you.
"Someone like that exists," Bucky said quietly.
"Maybe," you set down the files. "Why do you ask?"
Bucky braced himself, this was harder than any mission briefing. "Because I keep coming here—"
"Well, yeah, that's kind of how this works."
"No, I mean—" He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I show up even when I don't have an appointments. I texted you three times this week about nothing important, and last Tuesday I walked twenty blocks out of my way just to grab coffee near your office."
You were very still. "Bucky…"
"And during that date with Amanda? I was checking my phone because you sent me a text about a pigeon stealing somebody's sandwich and I smiled because of that, not because of the date." He met your eyes. "She told me I should probably tell 'her' how I feel."
"Tell who—" You stopped for a second and your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
"Yeah." You seemed wordless for a minute, so he continued. "Look, you don't have to— I know this is your job, and I'm probably breaking some sort of professional code or something but—"
"You're not breaking anything," your voice was softer now. "It's just that I didn't think…"
"That someone like me—"
"No!" You stood up, moving around your desk. "That someone I was helping setting up would—I'm supposed to be a professional. I'm not supposed to look forward to our meetings, or text you random stuff that make me think of you, or…" You trailed off.
"Or?"
"Or hope that this dates were failing for a reason."
The relief he felt was immediate. "So I'm not completely crazy."
"Oh, you're definitely crazy." But you were smiling. "Coming to a matchmaker to find a date, and then asking out the matchmaker? That makes you complete insane."
"To be fair, I came in here because my teammates thought it would be funny to make me go through all of this… so it's that a no?"
"You're lucky I find your insanity charming, but I would have to refund your friends."
"Why?"
"Professional ethics, I can't charge for matchmaking services If I'm the match."
Bucky felt himself smiling. "Pretty sure finding me someone would count as a success. So… dinner? This Friday."
"Wouldn't miss it for anything."
You met him at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. Nothing fancy, just good food and dim lighting and tables far enough that conversation felt private.
"Hi," you said, suddenly nervous.
"Hi." He was nervous too, you realized. It was oddly comforting.
"So," you said as you sat down when he pulled the chair for you. "Do we have a rule about not talking about your failed dates?"
"Let's not talk about work at all."
"Deal, so… what do we talk about?"
"Tell me something nobody knows about you."
You thought about it for a while while the waiter poured water. "Well… I wanted to be a teacher, specifically a kindergarten teacher."
"Why didn't you?"
"I did, for two years. I loved the kids, loved the work but suddenly I realized I was spending all my time trying to help the parents more than the kids. One day one of my kid's father came for a parent-teacher night and spent the whole night talking about his divorce and how he didn't know how to date anymore…"
"He probably was trying to hit on you."
You laughed at that. "Well, I don't know about that, but I gave him advice for twenty minutes, then set him up with one of my friends."
"And then you became a matchmaker?"
"Yup."
The food came—pasta for you, chicken for him. You talked about books and movies and the best pizza in Brooklyn; you had strong opinions, he was amused by them. You talked to him about the pigeon accident when you were a child, and he talked to you about his short time trying to figure out how online dating worked.
Somewhere between dinner and dessert, his hand found yours across the table.
"This is nice," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I don't feel like I have to be anyone other than myself."
"Bucky, that's the whole point of dating someone." You squeezed his hand. "You should never have to be anyone else."
"Even when I'm grumpy?"
"Even then, although I have to say, you've been less grumpy than advertised."
"That's because I'm here with you."
"Smooth, Barnes."
Later, walking you back to your apartment, he said. "So, what's your verdict on this?"
"On what?"
"The date. Do we forget it happened or…"
"Are you kidding?" You stopped walking and turned to face him. "Bucky, this was the best date I've had in years."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You stepped closer. "So, here's the thing. Professionally, I should probably refer you to another matchmaker because I'm completely biased now."
"And unprofessionally?"
"Unprofessionally, I'm hoping you'll want to do this again."
"Tomorrow?"
You laughed. "Wow, eager much?"
"I've wasted enough time," he said simply. "I don't want to waste more."
"Tomorrow works." You reached up and kissed his cheek.
Two weeks into dating, you showed up at the New Avengers tower with a bag of plums and a soft smile you only reserved for Bucky.
"You can't just bring me fruit every time you visit," Bucky said, but he was smiling as he let you into the quarters.
"Watch me." You set the bag on the kitchen counter. "Besides, you texted me that you had a rough morning briefing, and since I still don't have your mom's pot roast recipe… plums should make it for now. They make everything better."
"That's not scientifically proven."
"It is now, I'm declaring it." You hopped up to sit on the counter. "So, rough briefing?"
"Walker wanted to charge into a situation without waiting for backup… again."
"And you told him that was a terrible idea?"
"I may have used a strong language."
"But did you yell?"
He took a pause. "No, actually. I just told him why it wouldn't work and suggested an alternative."
You reached out and tugged him closer by his shirt. "Look at you, personal growth."
"Don't make it a thing."
"Too late, it's a thing." You wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm proud of you."
"For not yelling at Walker?"
"For being you, not the grumpy armor you wear around everyone else."
He settled between your knees, hands on your waist. "I'm still grumpy."
"You're smiling right now."
"That's your fault."
"I'll take the credit." You kissed him softly. "So, what's the plan? Movie? Food? I'm thinking we could order from that Thai place you liked—"
"I have a better idea." He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you made a happy sound against his mouth.
"Oh, I like this plan."
You were laughing—actually giggling, as he kissed along your jaw. "Bucky Barnes, are you trying to seduce me in your kitchen?"
"Is it working?"
"Absolutely." You were leaning in to kiss him again when you heard it.
"—telling you, he's been different. Less— HOLY SHIT."
You and Bucky froze. Then slowly, very slowly turned toward the door… where the entire team stood in the door. Walker's jaw could've been on the floor, Ava looked delighted, Bob seemed mortified at interrupting. Yelena was smiling like Christmas had come early.
"Hi," you said weakly, still perched on the counter with Bucky between your knees.
"Barnes is… smiling," Walker said, like he was announcing a natural disaster. "He's actually smiling, his face is doing the thing!"
"And giggling!" Ava added. "She was giggling and he looked—"
"Happy," Bob finished quietly. "He looked happy."
Bucky's entire demeanor shifted, not back to grumpy, but protective. He didn't move away from you, but his posture straightened. "This is— this is my girlfriend. And you're gonna be respectful about it."
"It's nice to meet you," you said. Then because you could feel Bucky's tension you added. "All of you. Sorry you had to find out like… this." You gestured vaguely at your position on the counter."
"Are you kidding?" Ava said. "This is the best thing that's happened all week. Barnes was practically glowing."
"I don't glow," Bucky groaned.
"You were!" Walker insisted. "You were all smiley and you were giggling."
"No."
"You did!" Yelena looked thrilled. "I heard it! Barnes giggled!"
"I'm going to kick all of you out," Bucky said, but there was no real heat in it.
"You can't kick us out," Walker said. "This is the common area."
You slid off the counter, squeezing Bucky's hand. "It's okay. They were going to meet me eventually, right?"
He looked down at you, and you watched his expression soften again. "Yeah, I just wanted it to be on our terms."
"Well, now it's on chaotic terms, but that seems to be how things work around here." You turned to the team with a smile. "Hi, I'm the matchmaker… the one you all hired to prank Bucky."
"Best prank we ever pulled." Yelena said. "Although, we expected him to get mad, and storm out so we could all laugh."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Bucky murmured.
Bob cleared his throat softly. "I think it's really nice, you both seem very happy."
"We are," you said warmly. "Thank you."
"Okay, so now that we've all crashed your date," Ava said, "are we leaving, or…?"
"Yes," Bucky said immediately.
"But—"
"Yes, you're leaving. Now."
"But I have so many questions!" Yelena protested.
"Ask them later."
"When?"
"When I decide to answer them." Bucky was already steering you back toward the kitchen, away from the door. "Which might be never."
You were trying to not laugh as the team reluctantly filed back toward the door. Bob was the last to leave, pausing in the doorway.
"Bucky… Is good to see you happy. Really good."
Then he was gone, pulling the door closed behind him. You and Bucky stood in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the team's voices fade down the hallway.
"Well," you said finally. "That happened."
"Yeah," he pulled you closer. "Sorry they're—"
"They're wonderful," you interrupted. "Chaotic and nosy and a little overwhelming, but wonderful. They love you."
"They're a pain in my ass."
"That too." You wrapped your arms around him. "But you love them back, I can tell."
He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I do. But don't tell them that."
"Your secret's safe with me." You kissed his jaw. "So, where were we."
"I think I was trying to seduce you in my kitchen."
"Right, was it working?"
"You tell me." He lifted you back onto the counter, settling between your knees again.
"Definitely," you said, then laughed as he kissed you back.
He stopped to look at you and smiled while brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "How did I get this lucky?"
"Well, your team paid nine hundred dollars to prank you into meeting me, so technically you have them to thank."
"I'm never thanking them for this."
"No?"
"No, because then they will never let me hear the end of it."
taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @wintersoldier-gal @globetrotter28 +comment here if you want to be added to my general taglist.
yayayayay for spring break!! I had an idea!! what about reader who tells (beefy) bucky she can't come during sex with a partner but she still enjoys it and he's all understanding & sweet but then they're having sex and he puts her in a mating press and she comes for the first time ever with someone and he loses it and is all cocky and saying "you just needed it deeper" and then every time after that, she's whiny and desperate to come and he's teasing her saying "you need me to put you in position?" and she begs for it, only coming when he puts her in a mating press
- @buckybsdoll 🫶🏼
mating press mention; hello blue!
--------
You’d told him on the couch, legs tangled under a blanket, his metal fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bucky had listened with that soft, patient look he saved just for you—brow furrowed, blue eyes steady.
“I just… I don’t finish with partners,” you’d said, cheeks burning. “I get close, I enjoy it, but it never happens. I still want you. I still want this. I just don’t want you to feel like it’s your job to fix me or whatever.”
He’d cupped your face, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Doll, nothing about you needs fixing. If you wanna feel good with me, we’ll feel good. If you don’t come, we’ll still have fun. I’m not keeping score.” Then he kissed you slow and sweet until you were breathless, and that was that.
Two hours later you’re in his bed, sheets already twisted, his mouth between your legs like he’s got all night. He’s so careful—broad shoulders keeping your thighs open, tongue slow and filthy, two thick fingers curling just right. You’re moaning, hips rolling, pleasure coiling tight and warm in your belly, but you know how this ends. You always know.
“Bucky,” you gasp, fingers in his hair, “you don’t have to—”
He lifts his head, lips shiny, eyes dark. “I want to. Let me take care of you, baby.”
You nod, because how are you supposed to say no to that? He crawls up your body, all that beefy muscle and warm skin, cock heavy against your thigh. When he pushes in—slow, thick, stretching you open—you moan loud enough to echo. He feels incredible. He always does. You rock with him, hands on his back, nails digging in as he fucks you deep and steady, murmuring praise against your throat.
“That’s it, sweetheart. So fucking tight for me. You feel so good.”
You’re lost in it, in the drag of him, the way his dog tags brush your chest, the low rumble of his voice. But the edge stays just out of reach, same as always.
Then Bucky shifts. He hooks his hands behind your knees and folds you clean in half.
Your eyes fly open.
The press is sudden—your thighs pressed to your chest, ankles by your ears, his massive frame pinning you down so completely you can’t even squirm. He sinks in deeper than you thought possible, cock dragging right against that spot that makes your brain short-circuit. The angle is filthy, overwhelming. Every thrust grinds against your clit and punches straight into the place that’s never been touched like this.
“Oh my god—Bucky—”
He feels it the second you clench. His hips stutter. “Fuck, doll, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—”
You come like a freight train.
It hits you so hard your vision whites out. Your whole body locks up, thighs shaking against his shoulders, a broken cry ripping out of you as you pulse around him, wet and hot and endless. You’ve never come with anyone before. Never. Not once.
Bucky loses it.
His eyes blow wide, pupils swallowing the blue, mouth dropping open in pure stunned lust. “Holy shit—did you just—?” He drives in again, harder, chasing the way your cunt flutters and gushes around him. “You came. You came on my cock, baby. Fuck, look at you.”
He’s grinning now, cocky and wild, sweat dripping down his temple as he fucks you through it, hips snapping sharp and deep. “You just needed it deeper, huh? That’s all it took? My pretty girl been waiting for me to fold her in half and ruin her little pussy?”
You can’t even answer—just whimper and nod, tears slipping down your temples because it feels too good, too much. He groans, low and wrecked, and comes right after you, buried to the hilt, growling your name like a prayer.
After that, everything changes.
The next night he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter, fucking you slow and lazy while you try to finish the dishes you started. You’re close—whining, pushing back on him—but it’s not enough. You know what you need now. You hate how badly you need it.
“Bucky… please…”
He chuckles, dark and knowing, and slows down even more. “What’s wrong, doll? You sound so desperate. Use your words.”
You shove your face into your arms, mortified and aching. “The position. Please. I need—”
He pulls out, spins you around, and scoops you up like you weigh nothing. In two strides he’s got you on the couch, legs shoved up and back until your knees are by your shoulders. The second he sinks back inside you come again—hard, fast, sobbing his name while he laughs softly against your mouth.
“Greedy little thing,” he murmurs, still moving, still hard. “One taste and now you can’t get off unless I bend you in half like a pretzel, huh?”
It becomes your thing.
Every time after that you turn into a whiny, desperate mess the second he teases you with shallow thrusts. You’ll be riding him, hands braced on his chest, bouncing so pretty, and he’ll just smirk up at you.
“You close, baby?”
You nod frantically, hips grinding faster. “Mhm—Bucky—please—”
He grabs your waist, stilling you. “Nah. Not like this.” His voice drops, filthy and sweet all at once. “You need me to put you in position? Need me to fold those pretty legs up and fuck you so deep you see stars?”
You whine, high and pathetic, cheeks burning. “Yes—yes, please, Bucky, I need it—”
He flips you so fast your head spins. Knees to chest, his massive body looming over you, cock sliding back in with one brutal thrust. You come instantly, screaming, nails raking down his back while he fucks you through it with that smug, adoring grin.
“Every damn time,” he growls, hips snapping. “Only come when I’ve got you pinned and open like this. My perfect girl. Say it.”
“I—fuck—I only come when you put me in the mating press—oh god—”
He kisses you messy and deep, still thrusting, still teasing. “That’s right. And you’re gonna keep begging me for it, aren’t you?”
You nod frantically, already feeling the next one building.
Because now you know the truth: you can come. You just need Bucky Barnes to press you down, fold you up, and give it to you deeper than anyone ever has.
read first chapter here! (i'll be making a series masterlist)
a/n: hello! back with the second chapter, this is a slow-burn friends to lovers story, i promise it'll get better :D to be completely honest with all of you this plot has been a constant bedtime scenario to help me fall asleep, everything is vivid in my imagination however im having a hard time writing it because i dont want it to get boring for you all. i think reader and bucky connect a lot through eye contact and unspoken feelings, bucky still doesn't see himself as a good person and he doesn't feel deserving of all this still. hopefully the writing isnt toooo bad. i kinda dont know what im doing
warnings: tooth rotting fluff. description of PTSD nightmare, mentions of medication, bucky still a tad disoriented from his trauma, bucky being obedient and a subby good boy :3 woops
the apartment was pitch black dark. bucky hadn’t meant for it to be. he left the television on earlier, some late night background noise to fill the space, but he had reached for the remote and turned it off, thinking it would help, thinking the quiet would be peaceful. it was not.he woke up with a sharp inhale, his body already tense before he fully understood what was happening, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him in fragments he couldn’t piece together. his chest rose and fall quickly, breaths uneven and shallow, like his body was trying to catch up.
for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. that was always the worst part. yes, the nightmares are always sinister, but when the past and present blended together, he always had a hard time with grounding himself.
the darkness pressed around him. his eyes moved quickly, trying to find something recognisable, something that would anchor him, but there was nothing immediate. he pushed himself up slightly on the floor, his hands pressing into the blankets beneath him like he needed something solid, but it didn’t settle him in the way it should’ve.
his skin was damp, sweat clinging to him, his shirt sticking to his back. he dragged a hand over his face, trying to slow his breathing.
you woke up when he started screaming and panting. you checked the time, seeing it was 2am, immediately realizing what was going on. so you got out of bed, and opened the door of your bedroom quietly. you didn’t rush in, all panicky, instead you took a deep breath and took him in. you could almost feel the tension in his shoulders. you moved towards him slowly, slow enough not to startle him.
“hey,” you said softly. bucky looked up at you, and something in his expression shifted the second he saw you. “it’s just me,” you said gently, lowering yourself down onto the floor in front of him. “you’re safe, buck. you’re okay.”
you reached out to him, your hands resting slightly on his shoulders, trying your best to anchor him without overwhelming him. your touch was warm, something he could follow back into himself. “can you breathe with me, just for a bit?”
he tried. it took a while, his breaths still uneven at first, but with you there, something familiar, it started to slow little by little, his body catching up to the present instead of staying stuck somewhere else. after a while, when his breathing had evened out and the tension in his shoulders started to ease, you shifted slightly. “you’re soaked with sweat, buck.” glancing at him. “you’ll feel a lot better if you take a nice shower. trust me.”
he nodded. showers always helped, he liked to think of them as cleansing and starting over. by the time he stepped out, you were still there watching television sitting on the blankets near the couch. a small lamp and the soft light from the television filled the open space of the apartment just enough to take the edge off. “you can go to sleep,” he said, voice quiet. “i’m okay.”
you shook your head. “i don’t wanna leave you alone out here, though.” you replied. “is it okay if if i stay a bit longer?”
he nodded appreciatively as he lowered himself on the blankets next to you. you didn’t share much conversation after that, the sitcom you put on playing quietly in the background. bucky sat close enough that he could feel your warmth beside him. eventually, without realizing, bucky fell asleep with his head on your shoulder, and you didn’t even try to hide the smile on your face.
bucky thought time moved a little different in your apartment. he didn’t feel constantly on edge, and the days had started to settle and create a routine. he liked routines. he felt like he had control. he started to expect certain things, like you making him a smoothie in the morning, or reminding him to take his medication, or the sound of the hairdryer after he comes out of the shower.
bucky stood in front of you with his hair still damp, the soft hum of the dryer filling the space between you as you worked through it gently, your fingers threading through his brown strands with ease.
“have you ever thought about cutting it?” you asked gently. “i don’t mean all of it, just like, a trim, you know? could be healthy.”
his gaze dropped slighty. “yeah,” he said, letting you just do about anything to him if it brought a smile to your face. “might be a good idea.”
you grinned, already moving to grab your handy dandy scissors. “okay, stay still,” you said, stepping back behind him. your fingers slid through his hair separating sections. the soft pull of his hair and the drag of your nails against his scalp sent shivers down his spine. his shoulders lowered involuntarily, his head tilting into your touch.
you noticed everything. but you kept going, trimming just enough, your movements unhurried, because frankly - there was nowhere else you’d rather be.
when you were done, you stepped back slightly. “you know, while we’re at it,” you added, “your beard also really needs a trim. what d’ya think?”
he nodded. he would fly to space and steal a planet from the milky way and bring it back to earth for you if you asked.
as you reached for the electric shaver you borrowed from sam a few days prior, bucky frowned slightly at the sound the second you turned it on to make sure it works, the low mechanical buzz was sharp enough to pull his attention, his body tensing before he could stop it.
he laughed nervously. “what the hell is that?”
“it’s an electric shaver. no need for the buffer brush or whatever you guys used back then.” he looked uncertain. “hey, it’s okay. i’m not gonna hurt you, i promise.” you stepped closer, your hands coming up carefully, one resting lightly against his jaw, the other near his shoulder. “if it hurts, tell me and i’ll stop.” you said softly, almost certain it would not hurt, but giving him the peace of mind. bucky took a deep breath and nodded.
you turned it back on, your hand still on his face, your thumb moving slowly, just enough to keep him anchored. you guided him a bit closer, and without thinking he stepped forward until he was standing between your knees where you sat on the bathroom sink counter. the sound of the shaver didn’t feel sharp anymore, not with the way your thumb moved slowly against his cheek like you were reminding him, over and over again, that he was safe. with your hands on his face and your attention fully on him, taking care of him with such gentleness, bucky felt something settle into place in his head, like a piece of a puzzle. he could definitely get used to this.
tags: MDNI, SMUT, pornstar f!reader x body guard joel!miller, porn, age gap (late 20s/50s), yes the title is a line from p*r star by nessa barrett, two mentions of y/n and l/n, readers parents are briefly mentioned of being supportive, reader is described wearing clothed but her physical features aren’t talked of, set in modern day LA, voygurism, sexual tension, m!masturbation, awkward Joel, flirty reader, lingerie shopping, pervy fans, kinda forced proximity, submissive reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, teeny tiny bit of foot play, multiple orgasms, creampie and aftercare.
summary: joel gets hired as a body guard for you, an adult film actress.
12.2k (oops)
Joel didn’t exactly plan for his life to turn out like this.
Moving out of his hometown in Austin had been a rational decision to say the least. A stupid one he made at forty-two when he was almost certainly in the middle of a midlife crisis.
And living in downtown Los Angeles was supposed to be exciting, right? I mean, he’d built this whole life for himself on his own back at home, had thousands in savings that he’d always planned on putting towards a ranch or when he’d settle down and start a family. But that never happened for Joel. He didn’t meet this amazing woman and have amazing kids. And there was only so much junk he could buy to spend his money for the sake of it not rotting in his bank account.
He wanted a change. Maybe hope of meeting someone wasn’t all gone just yet, he’d try and convince himself. It just came so naturally to everyone else — meeting the one. But for Joel, he always had to put the effort in, unlike some lucky bastards who’d just happen to meet the future mother of their children in a bar.
But moving to California and spreading his wings didn’t exactly pan out the way he’d hoped. Turns out, no matter where you go, how elaborate the change of scenery is, your problems still find a way of following you. And now he was fifty-six years old working a shitty, unglamorous personal security job for clients he could hardly stand half the time.
And he couldn’t believe he was really saying this but, he missed the damn construction work. He didn’t feel so out of place doing that. In fact, that was the one thing that actually did come naturally to him. But this? Getting hired to escort actors and singers he’d never even heard of to places he didn’t even know the purpose of, was way out of his comfort zone.
And he wasn’t in a financial position to just up and leave either.
He was stuck there.
You enjoyed your job.
Not many people in your line of work could genuinely say that. But it was the truth.
Being a porn star probably wasn’t the career path you’d envisioned yourself taking, but turns out? It’s not as bad as some others make it out to be.
Of course there was the occasional comment on your body underneath your films, probably made by some middle aged man shaped like a fridge anyway. And then there was getting over the hurdle of telling your parents which, in time, became quite accepting to what you chose to do as long as they didn’t have to see it and you were happy.
You did worry for a while about how others would treat you. Friends, acquaintances ect, but after a while, you came to terms with who you were and what you did. And that then followed with you not giving a flying fuck about what anyone else had to think about you.
But one thing that had become a little hard to manage recently was the fans. If you could even call them that. Pervs, maybe? People who watched your content anyway.
It had started off with a couple of guys slipping you a knowing look across the bar or in a grocery store on a random Sunday. But then it progressed to people identifying your car and almost anytime you had filming, at least one or two people would manage to follow you to the address of the set and attempt to get closer to you.
And one time when you had a man climb over the gate of the filming house as you exited the car with your manager Dhuni and the guy tried to grab your butt, you drew the line.
You started looking for security immediately. Just someone to accompany you to shoots when you’d get a chauffeured ride because apparently being a pornstar means you can’t drive your own fucking car anymore without being harassed.
And then you found Joel’s agency, one night while scrolling through security companies close to where you lived.
IronGate Security.
Their reviews all seemed relatively positive and while reading up on them, you found out they’d worked for some Actors and singers you’ve heard of. Quite repeatable.
Joel couldn’t fucking believe it.
This was the last thing he needed right now. His previous client, Bob Schiller had dropped him as security for no apparent reason. And now here he was out of work so abruptly, frantically driving to his managers office to try and figure out what the fuck to do.
The sterile smell of IronGate Security’s office provoked Joel’s nose as he marched through the building anxiously, making his way to Brian’s office and pounding on his door with an impatient knock.
Brian’s irritating voice comes from the other side of the wall, beckoning whoever it was to come in. When Joel opens the door, he’s sitting hunched over his desk, digging into some kind of sandwich, looking very not-busy for the CEO of a company.
“Joel!” He greets with a mouth full of bread and meat, putting his unfinished sandwich down on his plate and wiping his hands on his trousers. “Take a seat, man. I’m assuming you’re here to sort of that little pickle of yours, huh?” He jokes with an obnoxious laugh.
Joel crosses the room and takes a seat on the other end of the desk, clearly unamused but trying to be professional for the sake of his job. “So what am I gonna do? Please tell me you have another job lined up for me.”
Brian shoots Joel a proud look from across the table and rolls his chair in closer to the desk. “As a matter of fact, I do. You’re a very lucky boy there, Miller. Coincidentally, we got a call yesterday evening from a Y/N L/N. Said she’s looking for security ASAP.” he explains.
Joel sighs in relief, closing his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them again. He clears his throat. “Right so.. what is she then? She famous?” He inquires.
Brian shifts uncomfortably and sniffs rather obnoxiously. “Uh — well, you could say that. She’s an.. actress of sorts.”
Joels brows furrow in confusion at his bosses sudden lack of details on this new client. He tilts his head. “An actress of sorts?” He repeats.
“Anyway! What does it matter, huh? It’s money in your pocket either way,” he changes the subject and Joel almost flinches at his sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Look, she wants an interview for tomorrow. Wants to meet at some.. coffee place or other. I have the address here somewhere..” he trails off, searching through a drawer and humming thoughtfully until he finally pulls out the post-it note with the address of the place you’d suggested to hold the interview at. “Here we are,” he says as he slides the note across the table and Joel takes it from him. “3pm tomorrow afternoon. She seemed pretty desperate, I can’t see that she’d turn you down, buddy.”
Joel physically holds himself back from rolling his eyes at his bosses nickname and nods, stuffing the note into the pocket of his jeans and reaching across the table to shake Brian’s hand. “Thanks sir, “preciate it.”
The next day after corresponding with a secretary at IronGate security, you get word that a security guard named Joel has accepted an interview with you and will meet you at the location you provided. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a Starbucks you went to every now and then to read or meet up with new co-workers. You always liked to meet up with your scene partner before shooting with them to get to know them a little better.
For some reason, you feel obliged to dress in something fancy. So you show up in a matching chocolate-brown coloured pant suit and your black, surprisingly comfortable pair of kitten heels. You wanted to look the part, something that said “Pornstar but not with a lack of self respect.”
You took a seat in a private booth near the window, close enough to the entrance for you to see when a man who, according to the secretary you phoned was around 5”11, had brown, slightly greying hair, in his mid fifties and was almost always dressed in a suit at work. You ordered a vanilla latte for yourself and a cappuccino for this faceless Joel, deciding that you couldn’t really go wrong with a cappuccino. Well, maybe you could if he didn’t drink coffee. Fuck, what if he hated coffee?
Maybe you were stressing too much. This was your first time interviewing someone for a job after all.
After about five minutes you look up from your phone to the sound of the busy street floating in the open door and see a man stepping inside. He fit the description the woman gave you on the phone, but he wasn’t exactly the person you expected.
When she said fifties and greying, you thought of someone who looked like one of your dad’s scruffy work buddies, not.. well, him. He was handsome, a rugged sort of handsome. Not a guy that you would come across too often. He looked as if he had some South American in him judging by his tanned skin. His body was broad, muscled, but not ripped in a gym rat kind of way. He had dark eyes that projected a sort of guarded personality, maybe a little sadness too.
You stood up from the bench you were sitting on in your booth and wave casually over to him with a smile, catching his attention. He doesn’t smile back, just nods in acknowledgment and makes his way over to you.
When he reaches the booth he exchanges a hand to shake your own, stepping into his side of the booth. “Joel Miller,” he introduces gruffly, shaking your hand with a firm grip before pulling away and sitting down. “Take it your Miss L/N?” He asks.
You smile and sit back in your previous spot, clearing your throat to snap out of your surprise at his appearance. “Yeah, that’s right. But you can call me Y/N, no need for all that “Miss” bullshit,” you laugh at his manners. “Nice to meet you, Joel. I ordered you a cappuccino. From your description I didn’t take you as a Frappuccino kinda guy.” You joke lightly, pulling out your phone and tapping into your notes app.
“Got that right. Ain’t into all the.. sugary stuff,” He scoffs out a weak, slightly awkward laugh before clearing his own throat. Fuck, you were beautiful. And not just on an average scale of beauty. The kind of look that would make anyone stop and stare. Suddenly he feels a little intimidated by your presence. “Thanks.”
You seem amused by his awkwardness and smile to yourself, scrolling through your phone. “No problem,” you reply lackadaisically, pulling up the note with your questions. “Sorry, just grabbing the questions I’ve written down in my notes,” you apologise quickly, not wanting him to think you’re just scrolling through instagram. “Ah! Here it is. So,” you sigh finally. “I presume you already know what I do?”
Joel makes an “uhh,” sound as if trying to find a way to answer the question. “See, uh.. that’s the thing. My boss didn’t really tell me what you did.”
You cringe a little at that. Great, now he mightn’t even take the job. You don’t really blame his boss for not telling though. You know you wouldn’t like to be the one to have to. “Right.. so, he didn’t tell you anything?”
“Well he did say something in the acting field. Are you an actress?” He asks, unknowingly.
A smile breaks out on your face and you chuckle lightly, shaking your head at his naivety. “Oh, no. No honey, I’m a pornstar.” You confess, not lowering your voice. You didn’t really care if others heard. You weren’t ashamed.
Joel’s brows raise a little in surprise and he shifts awkwardly in his seat, a red flush painting his cheeks. He scratches the back of his neck and tries (and fails miserably) to nod nonchalantly. “Oh, oh okay. Yeah no, that’s..” he trails off.
You tilt your head to the side at his embarrassment. “That’s not going to be.. a problem, is it?” You ask him sweetly.
Joel immediately shakes his head no, straightening in his seat and snapping out of his shock. “No! No, not at all. I was just a little, uh.. surprised. Never worked for someone in that.. industry before.” He chokes.
You smile in entertainment at his squirming. “Well.. there’s a first time for everything then, right?”
And just like that, he was hired.
Normally, when Joel would attend an interview, they’d tell him whether he got the job the day after or just simply not call back. But not you. You’d seemed so sure of his fitness for the job that you’d decided there and then. Stunned didn’t even begin to cover how Joel felt.
You’d talked to him about how you’d like him to assist you. Accompanying you to shoots, industry events or when you’d be somewhere very public where you could be vunerable to be harassed. You’d told him about a couple of instances of creeps, predominantly men, who’d tried to cross the line with you, some physically and some with lewd words.
Nobody was deserving of that.
He wasn’t sure whether it was the attraction he was already feeling for you, but he felt bad for you. Lots of people had negative opinions on those in the public eye, especially people working in the Porn industry like you. Like how if you chose to be in that line of work, you had to just deal with overbearing “fans” and harassment in public.
But Joel didn’t think that. No matter what you worked as, you still deserved to be treated with decency and respect. And secretly, he made a promise within himself to not let anyone treat you any other way when he was around.
But his curiosity also got the better of him.
When you’d told him your porn star name was Miss Malice — purely for professional reasons, of course — he couldn’t help but search it up.
Initially, he felt a little perverted doing it. Maybe this was an invasion of your privacy. But on the other hand, if he would be accompanying you to shoots, he might as well get used to seeing you naked giving the chance he may see you like that.
The first movie that popped up was a video of you giving a blowjob. You seemed to know what you were doing, good with your hands and pulling back to whisper things to the faceless man above you.
It was sexy, sure.
But he could see the look in your eyes when the man would reply dryly. The disappointment, the craving for more from him. How him pushing your head down to silence you would make you tense for a moment before getting back to work.
He wouldn’t do that.
He’d take his time with you. Let you take things at your own pace and find out what felt good for you. He’d talk you through it, tell you how beautiful you looked taking his cock, how good you felt.
God, he was done for.
Joel’s first day of working body guard for you was nerve wracking to say the least.
He got up about two hours before he needed to and got to work on tidying himself up to the best of his abilities. He’d never felt so obligated to do so for anyone in years. Maybe he just wanted to make a good impression.
So after showering, shaving and applying the cologne he’d had sitting on his nightstand for the past six years that he was sure must be out of date, he got changed into his regular suit.
He wasn’t even really sure how to dress if he was being completely honest. On all of his other jobs he dressed this way and he had three or four suits to switch between. Was it better to just go casual while working security for a porn star on her porn shoot? He wasn’t sure. He decided it better not to change before he worked himself up even more.
He was set to pick you up at 12pm to get you to your filming location before 12:30. You’d told him that you weren’t to start filming until 1:30, something to do with prep which he didn’t really know what entailed.
The drive to your home feels tense and hot, like Joel didn’t know what to do with himself. He found himself rehearsing in his head what to say and how to act around you. Pathetic, wasn’t it? Being so worked up over a woman he’d met once last week and briefly corresponded with over text and phone calls.
When he pulls up to your house, he hesitates on whether to walk up to your door and knock or if he were meant to keep it casual and beep. He settles for the first to seem more professional but as he gets out of the car and turns back to your house, You’re already walking down your driveway with a smile on your face.
You are dressed in a casual pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair thrown up in a claw clip with a black rucksack thrown over your shoulder. Joel noticeably freezes when he sees you before snapping back into action and walking around to the passenger seat and opening the door for you.
“Hey!” You greet cheerfully, beaming sweetly at him as you step into the car and remove your bag from your shoulder.
“Afternoon,” Joel greets back shortly, reaching out to take your bag from you. “Let me put that in the trunk for ya.” He offers politely. You thank him casually and he shuts your door for you, quickly throwing the rucksack into the boot of the car, rounding it and getting into the drivers seat.
“You have that address I sent you?” You ask, pulling your seat belt across your body and buckling yourself in.
Joel nods, pressing the start button on his cars GPS. You settle back against the seat, unfazed by Joel’s lack of conversation as you smile to yourself. “So,” you start blithely. “The scene I’m shooting today is with a friend of mine, Gabriella. Filming and prep shouldn’t take much longer than an hour. There’ll be an area for you to chill while I’m working.”
Joel’s face flushes slightly, not judging just surprised. “You shoot with uh.. with girls?” He tries to ask casually, keeping his eyes fixed on the road as he starts to drive.
You grin and turn to him with a smile. “Swing both ways,” you explain shortly. “Why? You homophobic or something? Or does it just turn you on?” You ask bluntly, watching the way his pink ears darken.
Immediately joel tenses up, shaking his head to the first part truthfully but lying a little when it came to the second part. He wasn’t fetishising the fact you were into women too, it was just the thought of you filming porn with anyone that turned him on. “I — no. I’m not — I, of course, am not homophobic and the other part I’m.. no.” He blabbers in panic.
You giggle and reach over to clap him on the shoulder, amused by his anxiousness. “I’m just fucking with you, Joel. No need to get all hot and bothered on me. You can always watch too with the directors, if you want. It’s not all sex, really. A lot of it is just blocking and cuts to change angles and stuff. Just saying in case you get bored in there.” You suggest nonchalantly, clearly unfazed at the thought of a man you’ve known a couple of days watching you have sex.. naked.
But then Joel supposes you’re probably used to strangers seeing you naked, with directors and random people on the websites your videos are posted on. He swallows harshly and shakes his head no. “No — thanks, but I think I’ll stick to a private room.”
When the two of you arrive, the house is buzzing with people eager to get you ready. Joel was half expecting the place to be filled with sleazy, old, misogynistic men but surprisingly, it was a mixed bag of different people who all seemed rather professional. Joel was taken into a private room where he could stay for the duration of the prep and filming and was offered snacks and water — the water which he took considering how fucking sweaty he was from this whole deal.
He was used to taking celebrities and people of importance to meetings and other outings where he would be escorted to another room until the person was ready to leave, but this felt different than those times. He felt on edge sitting in the small, comfortable room.
It was painted a nice shade of grey and had a comfortable couch situated near the window with a coffee table in front of it. He assumed it was for people like him or other acquaintances who would accompany porn stars to their shoots. And as he sits on said comfortable couch, holding the cold bottle of water up to his sweaty face, he wonders what kind of scene you’re filming.
If it’s something hot and sweaty, a forbidden romance with a teacher and a student or a stepmom and stepdaughter. Or maybe it’s something a little more low-key without any major plot. Just two beautiful women enjoying each others company. He got a brief glimpse of Gabriela while he walked in with you. She was in the main living area in a white fluffy robe with a wide smile on her face, waving enthusiastically to you.
She seemed to be in her late forties or maybe earlier fifties from what he could tell from the brief look he got at her. It made him wonder if you’d be into other people of a similar age..
Around thirty minutes in, the filming started, the prep seemingly not taking much time. He’d heard various things being said through the wall about glow oil and makeup. He assumed the oil was to make your skin shine on camera and the makeup was relatively self explanatory.
Then the moans started. Initially he could just hear bits and pieces of cheesy dialogue being said from the room you were filming in down the hall and from what he gathered, the movie was about an older sex therapist (Gabriela) being confided in by a younger woman (you) about her sexual troubles with her boyfriend. She talks about her fantasies and a lot of them entail graphic descriptions of lesbian sex. Then of course, Gabriela goes on to physically demonstrate how those certain fantasies can feel.
And now, here he was listening to you and Gabriela moan exaggeratedly while pleasing each other in ways Joel couldn’t see.
And he tried to distract himself.
He stood up and gazed out the window, taking in the beach of Playa Del Rey that seemed only centimetres away from the house from where he was standing. He tried to watch an episode of breaking bad he’d downloaded on his phone.
But nothing, not even his own thoughts could drown out the sound.
And you did say you didn’t mind him watching, right?
He haphazardly rises from his seat on the couch and walks to the door. After about five minutes of debating, he finally plucks up the courage to open the door a smidgen. He’s met with a short hallway and just around the corner was where you were filming. Momentarily while he was hesitating behind the door, he heard the director stop you two and he disappointedly thought you were finished, turns out he was just switching your positions.
Joel creeps down the hallway, careful to keep his footing light. He’d die of embarrassment if somebody caught him perving on you. He could hear the mixture of moans but for some reason, yours sounded a bit muffled while Gabriela’s were perfectly clear. He stops at the corner and slowly peers around it, being met with numerous camera men, directors and other crew members. And then, he sees you. You’re laying flat on your back on the couch, your head propped up with a fluffy cushion as Gabriela rides your face, her head scrunched up in ecstasy that was difficult to make out whether was authentic or dramatised.
He thought her moans must be overemphasised. Nobody eats pussy that good. Although, you did look as if you knew what you were doing, you tongue flicking her clit with perfect technique. Joel feels his face redden at the sight and immediately pulls away from the wall, marching back to the room he was previously in and internally scolding himself for his behaviour.
It was only when he plonked down on the couch rather aggressively did he notice the sensitivity in his pants.
Fuck, he was hard.
Which was quite the miracle considering his dick didn’t work as well as it used to. I mean, it got the job done when he’d have an occasional — and when Joel says occasional, he means occasional — hookup with someone from hinge, but it didn’t really get hard in any other circumstances. He can’t even remember the last time he’s masturbated.
But, Jesus. That was record time to get a hard-on for an old man like him — any man now that he thinks of it. But no, he can’t do this here. He’s working we’re crying out loud. He’d definitely get fired if he was caught. No, no he can’t do it. Not now.
Oh, but he did it.
It wasn’t what he necessarily wanted to do. He doesn’t think anyone wants to have to jerk off rooms away from two other people having sex. God, he felt pathetic even pulling his cock out of his pants and fisting it.
He squeezes it despite himself, groaning lowly at the brief loss of pressure. He then takes his hand to his mouth and, with embarrassment, allows a glob of his saliva be spat from his mouth and into his palm. He then quickly grabs himself again, figuring the quicker he could get this done and over with, the better he’d feel.
Joel starts to yank his cock up and down at an eager pace, a pitiful moan falling from his lips as his head thumps the wall behind him. He doesn’t think this will take too long. It was only him after all. Nobody to impress with a long-lasting performance.
His head drifts back to the image of you on his screen last night, mouth stretching and full of a cock so big he wondered if it was even real. He didn’t really know how porn worked these days, if someone could wear a penis extension or something.
He remembers how beautiful you looked, your gorgeous nipples standing alert as you gagged yourself on the nameless and faceless man above you. He imagines it was his cock you were sucking. That you were preparing him for your pussy, getting him nice and messy for that perfect cunt of yours. And oh, how you moaned. So sweet and high pitched as he’d buck his hips up, thrusting his cock in and out of your throat furiously, telling you how much he loved your mouth and how he can’t wait to stuff you full.
Yeah, that did it.
Joel was spilling all over his hand then, rope after rope of white spend coating his fingers messily.
The drive home felt.. normal. You’d come through the door about fifteen minutes after he’d.. relieved himself, and you were now all set to go, buckling yourself in as Joel pulled out of the driveway.
He wasn’t sure what to expect from you if he was being honest. Was he supposed to ask you how it was, try and make conversation about the whole ordeal? He wasn’t sure. But you seemed quite able to make the conversation flow between the two of you. You were easy going and didn’t become offended at his unintentional stand off-ish nature.
“So.. did you grow up here or..?” You ask casually, rolling down your window and allowing the breeze to flow through the cracked window, your hair dancing gently in the wind.
“Uh, no. M’originally from Texas but I moved here about..” he thinks for a second, his head running through the years of living here that felt almost like centuries and, “almost fourteen years — yeah.”
“I thought I noticed a little southern accent in you, Joel,” you smile teasingly, giggling at the way his cheeks heat and how he turns back to the road almost immediately. “What made you move out here, Mr Texas? Seems like a pretty drastic change.”
Joel grunts with awkward humour and shrugs, bringing the car to a gentle stop at a red light. “Well I — I never got married and I guess I just wanted to do somethin’ new. I worked in construction almost my whole life and.. well — and excuse m’language — it was fuckin’ exhausting. Figured it would be kinda cool to get outta Texas too, wasn’t really anyone tyin’ me there.”
You nod in understanding, your face slightly sympathetic. There was just something in the way you listened so intently, not pushing him to get into anything personal, just happy to let him talk. It had been a while since anyone has been genuinely interested in what he had to say — that was sort of the reason he was so quiet all the time. But it also felt a little intimidating, being the one in the spotlight. He then feels the need to switch the spotlight to you. You didn’t seem to mind talking.
“What about you? You from here originally?” He asks a little abruptly, finally turning to face you as he waits for the light to turn Green again.
You smile at the chance to speak about yourself and sit up. “Yup, born and raised! My parents live in Malibu now, though. They moved there about three years ago after retiring,” you tell him, watching as he shifts back into gear as the lights turn Green, a little disappointed at the loss of eye contact. You were quite enjoying the view of him and if you weren’t mistaken, you think he might have been too.
Joel starts to drive again, scrambling for a way to respond and continue the small talk. “Nice. Well uhm.. when did ya start doing this then?” He asks as nonchalantly as he can but then frantically backs himself up, afraid he was overstepping boundaries. “— of course if you feel comfortable answerin’ that. You don’t have to, I’m not tryin’ to pry, I’m just — ”
You cut him off with a gentle chuckle, reaching across and pressing a hand on his thigh to quiet him. The touch sends sparks of electricity up Joel’s spine, the weight of your palm comforting and soft. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I get it, y’know? You don’t see or hear of people working as porn stars everyday. It’s only natural that you’d wanna be a little nosey. Shit, I would too.” You laugh.
Joel swallows thickly, nodding and allowing himself to laugh a little genuinely at your ice breaking. You clear your throat before starting, not sounding nervous in the slightest. “Well, I never wanted to go to college. I never really enjoyed school and just didn’t want to spend another four years in university working for some degree or other I may or may not even use in the future. So.. when I was nineteen I started waiting tables and i did that for about four years. I found it difficult financially to move out of my parents house and when I did, the bills just got on top of me,” you start with genuineness.
Joel nods. He understood to a certain degree what it was like to struggle with money as a young adult. Lord knows he’s spent many nights back in the nineties without dinner or enough money for gas.
You continue easily, the words flowing out comfortably onto non judgemental ears. “I tried getting another job — one that paid better and felt a little more.. grown up, I guess. But, almost every decent paying job I was interested in required experience in the area or some kind of college education. But then.. one of my friends mentioned a job in or around my twenty-fifth birthday. It was porn, of course. And initially I was little unsure about it, but the money was good and you didn’t need a.. I don’t know, degree in fucking, so!” You shrug with a giggle.
Joel laughs too, sort of allowing himself to become accustomed to you speaking easily about such a lewd line of work. He found it interesting how comfortable you were with your job. He admired it a little too. After a while of chatting you brought up something Joel wasn’t sure he was ever ready to hear.
“Oh! There was actually something I wanted to ask of you to do for me this week.” You say, finally remembering what it was you wanted to ask him about.
Joel turns to you and nods, clearly not expecting what you were about to ask, especially not the casualness in which you spoke about it “Okay.” He replies, focusing on the road in front of him.
Now, if you were being honest, the thing you were about to ask him wasn’t necessarily needed for you. You’d been shopping on your own numerous of times and didn’t face any problems, but maybe this was a test for Joel of sorts. You could tell he was a little awkward in nature, but you felt as if there was more to him. Felt as if there was some kind of attraction between the two of you, and there was nothing wrong with playing your own little game with him to get those walls of his down.
“Well, I need to go shopping for some stuff for a future shoot, but the stuff I need is a little.. intimate. And buying this stuff might leave me a little vunerable to harassment.” You explain, being quite vague just to get a feel for his mood.
That makes Joel perk up, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. He pulls into your street and continues to drive, only about five minutes from your house. He uses his silence as a way of telling you to continue.
You clear your throat and continue, biting back a smirk. “It’s just some lingerie. I was thinking you could take me this weekend? It wouldn’t take too long and.. who knows? Maybe you can review them when I try them on and tell me which is best.” You jest, turning to watch Joel’s face redden once again.
Now, when Joel took this job, he never expected this to be a part of his duties. Hell — he didn’t even know that he’d be working for a porn star initially. But then again, working for someone like you didn’t exactly come with its list of things that were necessary to do and not to do.
“Uh.. yeah. Yeah, I mean, I don’t know about the whole.. reviewin’ part but I can take ya.” He nods, swallowing his feelings and trying to think of anything else other than the way you were staring at him. He wouldn’t let himself fall for your beauty like he did back at the shoot.
You smile and nod, watching the way the hand that wasn’t on the wheel twitched uselessly in his lap, and his lip stayed caught between his teeth. He pulls up outside your house finally, stopping the car and turning to you awkwardly.
“Great! Thanks, Joel,” you appreciate, smiling softly as you remove your seat belt and reach into the back seat to grab your bag. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you.. Saturday?”
Joel nods quickly grunting and removing his own seatbelt. “Yeah, no problem,” he agrees, bunglingly moving toward the door handle. “Do you want me to — to get your door, or —?”
You laugh and shake your head, pulling your bag over your shoulder and opening your own door. “I can open my own door, Joel,” you answer with an obvious tone with a smile. “Shit, you must have had some lazy ass people paying you. See you soon, Joel!”
And then you’re closing the door in his face and walking away with that cocky and knowing strut, leaving Joel with a twitching cock and a stuttering voice.
Saturday couldn’t have come around any slower, Joel thinks. He found himself anxious about seeing you for the rest of the week. You were just so easy going, you know? Most people found it difficult to talk to him because of his awkwardness, but you? You didn’t seem to pass any remarks on it.
But the one thing Joel couldn’t get out of his head was how fucking flirty you were being in the car on the way back from the shoot. You talked about shopping for underwear so casually, almost as if you were just asking to be taken to the grocery store.
You knew how this was affecting him, yet you continued to tease and embarrass him. And the thought of shopping for lingerie with you? Having to accompany you as you searched for the perfect pair of panties and bra. He just knew his mind would drift to how beautiful you’d look in whatever set you’d pick out.
He dressed himself in a different suit to the other day, but the make was very similar to the last one he wore. Black, sleek, simple. And he felt.. confident. More confident than he’s felt for a while now. Every time he went to work, it was just routine, you know? Get up, shower, dress himself and head to pick up whatever snob he was working for to take them to whatever fancy event or meeting they were attending.
It was the same thing day in, day out.
But with you? He felt like he has a reason to take care of himself, to do things that made him feel comfortable in his own skin. You were a reason to put on a nicer pair of shoes for work, or a reason to trim his beard a little more precisely.
A reason to clean his car out a little more and attach a soft cover to the seatbelt on the passenger side of his car ever since he noticed you fiddling with it on the ride home from your shoot.
Maybe it was pathetic and one sided, but it felt natural. Especially so as he drove his recently car-washed Hyundai to your address, humming along to a song he couldn’t quite name on the radio.
He settled for staying in the car this time and allowing you to come out on your own. It felt more natural.
And when you did? Lord, nothing could’ve compared Joel for how gorgeous you looked in such a simple, pretty outfit as you strutted casually out your front door, your handbag slung over your shoulder as you waved happily to the car parked out front.
You were dressed in a pair of short, yet not too-short, dark blue, denim shorts that showed enough of your legs to make Joel’s chest tighten with barely contained fascination. While your baby doll top was simple — a silk, burgundy, ruffled material with a v-line that showed a glimpse of your breasts and spaghetti straps that sat prettily on the glowing skin of your shoulders — you made it work. Because with your beauty, you could wear a damn trash bag and still look positively devourable.
Joel awkwardly raised his hand to greet you back and watched as you rounded the car and opened the passenger door. “Hey!” You greeted cheerily, removing your hand bag from your shoulder and placing it on the floor before climbing into your seat and shutting the door behind you. You turned to Joel with a crooked grin as you fastened your seatbelt. “You ready to pick out some lingerie for me to be fucked in?”
As you and Joel step into Ivory Veil Lingerie — a store tucked in the back of the mall on the second floor — you already feel mischief rise in your chest.
This game you were playing with Joel was fun for you. You enjoyed watching him squirm as you mooched around the store, picking up different sets to get a better look at them as he followed alongside you, trying to look professional as he stared straight ahead, trying not to look at you oohing and ahhing at the various silks, cottons and lace pieces you came across.
As Joel stood away from the part of the store you were in, pretending to be interested in a shelf of candles, you call his name in the most saccharine tone, beckoning him over with a wave of your hand as you stood at a rack of bra and panties sets.
Joel shuffles a little on his feet before finally joining you, stuffing his hands into his pocket. “S’everything okay?” He asks, trying to seem insouciant.
You run your hand along a silk set of leopard or cheetah print (he couldn’t tell them apart) bra and underwear that was hanging from a clothes hanger, attached to one another. The bra’s cup seemed to be your size from what he’d seen in person and in the brief video of yours he’d watched, and the panties were Cheeky style, perfect for showing off just the right amount of booty. They also had a pretty, black, lace trimming that completely tied together the look.
You rub the fabric between your fingers and hum conflictedly. “I just don’t know how I feel about the silk. I usually prefer cotton even in sexy lingerie. Here — you feel.” You say, picking one of Joel’s large hands from his pockets and bringing it up to the panties.
Joel’s face flushes a deep red immediately, the thought of touching a pair of panties that may or may not be worn by you in the future making his palms sweaty and his pants too tight. He clears his throat trying act natural as he takes his hand from the lingerie quickly after a brief feel, stuffing it back into his pocket. “I uh — yeah, s’nice. I mean — I don’t know what material you find most comfortable but it’s uh.. it’s.. pretty.” He stutters, feeling heat coil in his gut as he speaks. He feels immediately embarrassed by his pathetic stumbling over words, feeling like a dumb teenage boy talking to a highschool crush.
You smirk at his clumsy stammering, watching him with an innocent look as he tries his best to act natural with his feedback. You hum and bite down on your lip, reaching up to remove the set from the rack and take it down, turning it over in your hand. “Maybe I should try it on in the dressing room. Do you think you could come with me, Joel?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, anticipating his nervousness. “Maybe just wait outside and tell me how I look. Just for a second opinion, of course.” You suggest lightly.
Joel opens his mouth but nothing comes out. What was he meant to say to that? He was always told to accommodate and cater to the people he worked for, but this was likely crossing a line. No, scratch that. It was definitely crossing a line.
But you seemed comfortable with it. Matter of fact, you were asking it of him. Practically offering it to him on a silver platter. How was he meant to say no without hurting your feelings, even if it meant making himself sweat like an idiot, completely humiliated by your beauty.
You fasten the bra clasp at your back and adjust the panties properly on your hips. You study yourself in the mirror, smiling in satisfaction at your reflection. The lingerie fit you perfectly and accentuated all your best features, hugging you in all the right places. You feel empowered, a pretty set of underwear always made you feel so confident in your skin and you knew they would be perfect for your next shoot.
You couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought of Joel’s bulging eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you with your new set on. He seemed to enjoy looking at you and Gabriela so you could only imagine how he’d feel about this.
Oh, yeah. You knew about that.
About his little peeping tom incident. You couldn’t say it didn’t flatter you, and it felt even better when you noticed how awe-struck he was rather than just aroused and perverted.
You wonder if he thought about that moment at night before he’d go to sleep. Whether he’d lay in bed and stroke his cock to the thought of you, feeling such shame for being so unprofessional about his employer.
You take a deep breath to steady yourself before unlocking and opening the door to the changing room, revealing yourself to an awkward Joel who stood outside the room shuffling on his feet. When he looked up from the ground, his eyes practically popped out of the sockets, his hand coming up to palm the back of his neck.
“Sooo.. what do you think?” You ask excitedly, spinning around playfully to give him all the angles of your outfit. You bring your hands up to run your palms over the fabric of the bra, fingering the lace of it. “I actually really like the material.”
He lets out a shaky, quiet sigh, his eyes running over your body respectfully, not lingering anywhere they shouldn’t for any longer than an appropriate time. “You.. it’s definitely somethin’ it’s..” he trails off, clearing the nervousness from his throat. “You look — you look very beautiful, Y/N.” He says finally, his stomach washing around with a newfound confidence.
And Joel’s compliment was the only encouragement you needed to buy the set. So after tapping your card and taking the bag with your purchase inside of it off of the woman who smiled to much behind the counter, you and your bodyguard’s work was finally done.
You anticipated being able to get home and try it on properly without the tags attached to it and digging into your skin. Maybe you’d even take some pictures with it on too.
But things didn’t exactly pan out the way you’d expected it to as you lounged in the comfortable passenger seat in Joel’s car, your windows rolled down slightly to allow some of that warm California breeze to drift in and flow through your hair.
As you Joel drove closer to your house, the two of you immediately spotted the unmissable mess of eggs splattered all over the outside of your house and your car parked in the driveway. The ground was a mess of egg shells and two littered egg cartons. But the worst wasn’t the mess of yolks dripping off your windows.
It was the red, messy spray paint writing on your front door.
“Whore” it read.
Your chest caves at the sight, the utter humiliation of it being so visible and loud to all your neighbours, but especially to Joel. This man who you’d become to feel things for seeing such degrading filth left at your house, proving what the world thought of you, what maybe he thought of you.
“Oh my god,” you panic, unbuckling your seatbelt as soon as Joel stops the car, getting out of the car as Joel called after you. You jog into your driveway, stopping to look at the complete mess of your home as Joel caught up to you.
“Hey — it’s — it’s not as bad as it looks.” Joel scrambles for words, immediately regretting his down-playing of the awful situation you were in.
Your head snaps to him, your eyes unimpressed. “Not as bad as it looks?” You repeat angrily, storming toward your front door and scrubbing your hand against the paint, the stubborn letters not so much as flaking off the material. “This is my home, Joel! This is humiliating!” You exclaim.
You continue to scrape furiously with your nails against your door until Joel finally comes up behind you and gently yet firmly removes your hand from it. “Okay, oookay, that isn’t gonna do anything. Come here — look at me,” he encourages, gently pulling your wrist until you finally turned to face him. “Listen, I’ll sort this out, okay? How about you uh.. how about you run inside and pack an overnight bag. It’s not safe for you to be sleeping here if people know your address. I’ll call you an uber to my place and you can chill out there until I’m finished talking to the cops. I have a spare room you can borrow for the night.”
His offer is almost too generous that you have to study him for a moment before determining whether he was serious or not. You’d only known Joel for a few days but.. you trusted him. He was a good guy. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, then guilt washes over you for snapping at him previously. “Right, okay. Thank you, Joel, this is.. really kind.”
You decompress a little as the taxi drives you to Joel’s place. You wonder where he lives on the way there. Whether it’s a fancy penthouse, an apartment or just a regular old house. He’d given you the key to let yourself in and the thought of letting yourself into his home felt incredibly intimate yet a huge relief considering you weren’t all that sure who you would stay with if he hadn’t offered and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink with paranoia if you just stayed home.
The uber comes to a stop and you almost pay the driver before remembering Joel had taken care of that, before lugging your bag onto your shoulder and removing yourself from the car. The building in front of you seemed to be a penthouse and when you walked inside, the doorman informed you that the elevator would open with the key and take you to Joel’s home on the first floor.
What you didn’t expect was for the elevator to open inside of Joel’s place, being greeted with his living room. Your brain short circuited for a moment as you took in the comfortable home that your body guard lived in. It was cozy and surprisingly stylish for a man’s house, the main colour scheme involving browns and plaid patterns around the living room and as you stepped out of the elevator, also following into the kitchen.
The place smelled masculine. A mix of clean laundry and woody, cedar scent too that complimented your nose. You bring your bag with you in through the small hallway and to the first bedroom on the right.
You’d only packed basic essentials. A pair of pjs, an outfit or two, your skin care and, for some reason, the pair of lingerie you’d picked up today.
You weren’t too sure why you’d decided to bring it along, I mean, it wasn’t like you and Joel were going to hook up or anything, right? But.. it was always good to be prepared for anything.
The room was simple and a comfortable size, the bed dressed in simple white sheets and a nightstand and wardrobe on either side of the double bed.
You start to unpack some of your stuff and change into the pair of pyjamas you’d brought.. and the new lingerie set before heading out to chill in the living room until Joel came back.
The cops were pretty cooperative when Joel called them and explained the situation and introduced himself. They were sympathetic toward you and had let Joel know that they would go door to door to the surrounding houses and ask if anyone had security cameras so they could possibly retrieve some footage and catch whoever had done this.
It was quick, easy and done in half an hour. Then he was heading back home to his place. He anticipated the sight of you in his home, even if it wasn’t very professional of him. He knew you were upset and he was very willing to make you feel better, even if he wasn’t very good with words. He stopped at a fast food place on the way home and grabbed a pizza, hoping (and overthinking a little) that you actually liked pizza.
Kind of like how you were worried about him not liking coffee, huh?
And when the elevator door of his home opened and he spotted you on the couch, sitting comfortably with your legs folded under you and your phone in your hand as you scrolled through it, he was almost brought to his knees.
You looked so beautiful like this, with your makeup off, your hair up in a messy, half-assed bun with loose, pink pyjama bottoms and your baggy t-shirt. He liked knowing you were comfortable. Safe.
“Hey,” he greets, stepping out of the lift as the doors shut behind him, holding up the pizza box with an offering look on his face. “I grabbed somethin’ to eat.”
You look up from your phone, not even had heard the elevator as he walked toward you, setting the pizza box down and heading into the attached kitchen for plates. “Oh, hi. Thanks, I’m starving,” You smile and answer truthfully, opening the box and pulling out a slice to dig into. “So, what happened?” You ask, a mouth full of Italian goodness.
Joel turns around, two plates in hand, not expecting you to dig in already but happy that you were enjoying it all the same. “Oh, yeah. The officers arrived pretty quickly and took a statement. They said they’ll try and get some footage off your neighbours, but that it’s probably best for you to not go home until they do. Just in case anything more dangerous happens while you’re there.” He explains, walking back over to you and sitting down next to you, a respectful distance between the two of you.
You nod and sigh as you finish the slice. You turn to Joel with a serious look and smile in gratitude, reaching across and placing a hand on his bicep. “Thanks, Joel. For — you know.. handling it. And I’m sorry if I was a little snappy earlier, I was just shocked.”
Joel shakes his head and pats your hand awkwardly as you remove it from his arm, goosebumps being left in the wake. “It’s nothing,” he shrugs, passing you a plate. “Now eat.”
After six slices of pizza each, the two of you were completely high off sugar. You were now laying back on the couch, your head hanging over the arm rest, your bare feet occasionally brushing Joel’s leg.
You break the silence with a question, completely unapologetic and uncensored. “So.. did you like what you saw at the shoot? Y’know, when you were playing peeping-Joel when Gabriella was riding my face.” You poke him lightly with your toes, a grin tugging at your lips.
Joel immediately startles from his post a thousand calorie pizza daze, turning to you immediately and perking up. “Wh-what? I uh.. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stutters, immediately getting defensive.
You sigh, giggling as you sit up and sit with your legs criss-crossed. You rest your elbow on your knee, your chin laying on top of your fist as you state at Joel with teasing accusation. “Oh, Joel, please. Don’t act innocent. I saw you poking your head around the corner while I was filming,” you raise your hands with mock defence. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging. I’d probably want a front row seat too, if there was two women going at it in the other room.”
Joel stares back at you, his mouth agape as he tried to scramble to an explanation. “Listen I.. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be.. you know..” he trails off, interrupting himself with a mortified sigh as he covers his face with his hands.
You chuckle in amusement, reaching to pry his hands from his face and hold them in your own. You scootch closer to him, looking at him without judgement yet there was still a lingering giddiness. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, Joel. Hundreds of people watch me have sex online, I’m well used to people seeing my body, and.. I don’t know, it was kinda hot.” You admit.
Joel finally meets your gaze, his cheeks flushed and eyes surprised. He shifts in his seat a little sheepishly, tugging on the collar of his suits shirt, his jacket previously taken off in the kitchen. It felt tight on his neck, like he was being suffocated, but he thinks that that may be down to you more than his shirt. “You.. you shouldn’t say these things, darling,” he starts, trying to conjure his words but his tongue betraying him. “It’s-it’s not.. s’inappropriate.” He finishes, his breaths heavy as he tries to control himself.
You huff at his stubbornness, sitting up onto your knees on the couch and tugging his wrist impatiently. “Joel, come on. I know you feel the same, it’s obvious. I see the way you look at me, how you acted when I was I picking out my lingerie today. You want this, why not just let yourself have it?”
Joel stands up abruptly, shaking his head and raising his hands to gesture wildly before putting them down. “This — you don’t want this. Me. I’m too — I’m too old,” he stammers, pacing the living room slightly, refusing to turn and face you. “You have all these guys and girls — people your age — that you — you sleep with it at work. Why would you want an old man like me?” He asks himself more than you.
You stand up and cross the room in a couple of steps, stopping his pacing and wrapping your arms around his neck, rising on your tip-toes and bringing your lips to his own, shutting him up. Joel freezes in surprise momentarily before responding to your mouth, moving his own against yours. The kiss is messy and obscene, all teeth and tongue battling with one another as you try and prove your feelings to him.
Joel’s arms hesitantly loop around your waist, pulling you closer to his body as if he were afraid of you pulling back. You could feel in his touch his wariness, like his mind was telling him no, to stop, but his body was betraying him, his heart telling him he owed himself this, that he was worthy of you.
So he hoists you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he clumsily backs up to the couch, breaking the kiss momentarily to lay you down before resuming it while covering your body with his own. You whimper softly against his lips and the sound goes straight to his cock, blood rushing to it as he hardens embarrassingly quick.
But the more interesting thing about the sounds you were making wasn’t the fact that they were utterly adorable, but that they were real. Not exaggerated moans that wracked his head with lust. No, they were authentic, something that slipped out without you even realising it.
Joel breaks the kiss first, reluctantly at that. He gazes down at you, your face warm and eyes dazed and filled with desire, with want. He checks in anyway, his hand cupping your jaw and stroking it gently. “Are you sure, baby? We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. You’ve had a long day.” He offers, despite his body screaming, practically begging you to want this, to want him.
You nod immediately, your palms cupping his cheeks, a soft, giddy smile crossing your lips as you look up at him with sweet doe eyes. “Please, Joel. I’ve been wanting this. Wanting you. Please let me make you feel good.”
And as tempting as that sounds, you taking care of him, he has to politely decline with a shake of his head. “No,” he says, much to your confusion. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna focus on you. On your pleasure. When’s the last time someone did that for you?”
The question hits you square in the chest, and for a moment, you aren’t sure whether you can even answer his question. Because, you don’t think anyone has ever truly focused on your pleasure. Because at work, it’s not even about pleasure, it’s about entertainment. And hookups outside of work are even more underwhelming. Just quick bunk ups with men and women you barely knew.
You inhale slowly and shake your head slowly, feeling yourself become slightly emotional. “I.. I don’t know.” You reply simply, unsure if you could say more than that without your voice shaking.
He nods in understanding, his lips coming down to your forehead to press a gentle, grounding kiss to it. “Well that’s gonna change, sweetheart.”
When Joel’s large paws peel your pyjamas off your body, the sight of you in those leopard print lingerie drives him insane. Slowly and reverently, he slides the fabric of your underwear aside, baring your pretty, drooling cunt to his face. “Fuck,” he mutters softly, removing the underwear from you completely with your assistance to get a proper look at you. He leans in and presses some kisses to your inner thigh, trailing his tongue around the area to tickle your skin softly. “Beautiful pussy’s just cryin’ for me, baby. So wet already.”
You nod, a breath slipping out as your head tips back against the couch arm, the hard-ish material a little uncomfortable on your neck, not that your comfort was really on your mind when Joel’s head was dipping between your thighs, his tongue dropping from his mouth and licking a slow, flat line from your pulsing hole to your puffy, swollen clit.
The action makes you jolt a little, a hand darting down to fist his curly, salt and pepper hair, a soft sigh escaping your throat. Joel hums as he tepidly nudges the hood of your clitoris up and sucks it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he nurses on your pussy.
You squeal a little at the sensation, your thighs clamping around his head to pull him in more, the thought of him halting his ministrations for even a second being agonising. “Fuck!” You exclaim, starting to jerk uncontrollably from such direct pleasure. “Ohhh, yeahyeahyeah. Joel that’s so good.” You babble, your head getting hazy already, his technique perfect.
Normally when you’d be eaten out in porn, it was all for show, the man of woman lapping and drooling between your legs performatively. They weren’t thinking about what would feel good for you or coax an orgasm from you, they were thinking about what looked best.
And that’a possibly why you were already trembling beneath Joel, sobbing softly into your arm that was now draped across your face, your mouth undoubtedly drooling. Joel mumbles encouragement into your vulva, soft praises as you started to convulse. “Good girl, there you go. Cum for me, just like that.”
And you did, soft sobs erupting from your dry throat as you arch into and away from his mouth at the same time. Joel just keeps eating you through it though. Sucking, licking, kissing, relentlessly until you can’t help but push his face away, your body going lax as you pant into nothingness.
Joel lays small kisses around your thighs and mound, not leaving one area unloved. He’s patient with you like that, mouthing at you until you’re ready for him to crawl up and over your body once again. “Fuck, Joel,” you sigh exasperatedly, chuckling softly. “That was.. that was..” you trail off, unable to find the words.
“Good?” He offers, a bashful smile tugging at his lips as he presses kisses to your face. You giggle and nod, reaching up to start to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Better than good. But that is definitely one way to describe it.”
Joel groans low in his throat as you remove his shirt from his shoulders, relishing in the warmth of your palms roaming his back. You wrap your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his ass to press his bulge against your stickiness.
You lean up to whisper in his ear, gently sucking his lobe before saying, “Please fuck me, Joel.”
That was all the confirmation he needed from you. Yu were beautifully seductive, and not in a fake, porno way. Not begging him for his cock just to boost his ego. But because you actually wanted it. He could see in the way you looked at him, in the way you touched him.
Joel frantically begins to remove his pants, lifting his hips up and pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, his underwear almost certainly stained with his pre-jack. His length bobs to his stomach, proud and thick, not particularly long, but girthy, wide enough to make you swallow harshly.
You curse softly to yourself, reaching down to softly squeeze him in your hand, just to feel his warmth, his skin. Joel groans softly at the sensation and you make quick work at spreading your legs wide for him, hiking your legs around his hips to give him enough access.
The proximity of your bodies was intoxicating, the feeling of Joel’a thick, pulsing cock pressed against your entrance was driving you crazy. You look up at Joel to find him already watching you, a look that could only be described as awe etched in his features.
In one quick motion, he drives his hips into yours, pushing his dick inside of you slowly yet brutally u til he bottomed out. The stretch was intense, his tip likely to bruise your cervix. He was deep enough to knock the air from your lungs, make you drop your head back against that uncomfortable arm rest once again.
Before you can even register what he’s doing, Joel is pulling a soft, plush cushion from behind him and coaxing your head forward, tucking it behind your neck while mumbling, “Need my baby girl to be comfortable while I fuck her.”
You moan at his words, the sound of his Texan drawl sending spiders walking down your spine, making your head swim and your core tighten. Nobody ever talked you through it like this, and that was what you craved the most from a partner. It was like he could read your mind. “I love it when you talk dirty to me. Makes my pussy so fucking wet for you, Joel.” You say through moans as he begins to fuck you at a slow, yet hard pace, his length bouncing off and stimulating your g-spot perfectly.
Joel starts to grunt under his breath, every thrust punctuated with one as he fucks into your heat, relishing in your enthusiastic sounds. He bites his lip, speaking through gritted teeth. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Just need someone to talk you through it, huh? Tell you how fucking beautiful you are, how good you feel taking my cock.”
You nod vigorously, your avidity coaxing him to suddenly hoist your legs up over his shoulders, suddenly catching one of your feet in his large hand as he uses his other to hold your soft stomach. You arch up into him, the position making him hit so much deeper, his cock brushes the most intimate and unexplored parts of you.
But what Joel does next is completely unexpected. He brings your foot to his mouth, pressing sloppy kisses all over your heel until bringing his lips to your toes, briefly suckling on some of your little toes, the warmth of his mouth sending a charming, tickling sensation up your spine, the foreign stimulation only adding to the pleasure he was inflicting on you.
Your breath stutters in your chest and Joel noticed, chuckling softly to himself as he continues to slam into you, your breasts bouncing beneath your bra. “Nobody ever pay these pretty feet any attention?” He asks, running his thumb over your painted toes. “These pretty white toes. Just couldn’t resist, Angel.”
You moan softly, his voice heightening everything, his pubic hair rubbing against your clit perfectly. “No,” you confirm to his question. “But it feel fucking good. I think you’re gonna make me cum, Joel.” You whine, your voice pathetic and high pitched.
Your confirmation makes Joel double his efforts, reaching down to cup your jaw roughly, forcing your gaze on him, your foot falling loosely down his back like the other. “Look at me,” he commands roughly, his voice ordering and firm. “Look at me while I make you cum. I wanna feel all of it, every squeeze, every ripple of that pretty cunt while you make a mess for me. Can you do that? Can you listen to me and be a good girl?”
And it’s just the way he is. So assertive without belittling you or being domineering in an aggressive way. It was all you wanted from a guy. To be able to talk during sex, to express himself and encourage you. His words land right in your trembling core and before you know it you are mumbling soft babbles as you cum around his cock, your orgasm crashing over you overwhelmingly as Joel fucks you through it.
You feel him start to pull back after a few seconds, his hips stuttering. You can tell he’s close yet the thought of him pulling out so soon is unbearable. Before your brain can even rationalise what you are doing, you reach up and tug him down to your level, your legs dropping back around his waist as you pull him in.
Joel mutters a “gonna cum,” but you don’t care. You simply reach up and whisper into his ear. “So cum. Shit, Joel. Cum in my pussy.” You beg softly; despite the idea being awfully irresponsible.
Joel can’t hold himself back. Not when you’re so close to him, when you feel so good wrapped around him, your pussy still softly pulsing in the aftershocks of it’s orgasm. Before he can second guess himself, his thrusts turn sloppy and he’s blowing his load inside of you, staining your walls with his seed, claiming you from the inside.
And for a while, the two of you just stay there. A tangle of limbs until Joel finally pulls himself off of you. When he does, you take it as your sign to get up too. You grab your clothes and attempt to put them on before Joel stops you.
He turns around to you, still butt naked as he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. “What are you doing?”
You are puzzled by his reaction and pause your movements, still in only your bra. “I’m getting dressed? Don’t you want me to leave?” You ask, completely oblivious. You’d assumed he would just want you to leave to your room for the night after. Most men you slept with preferred you to go straight after. It wasn’t even something that hurt you much anymore, you’d sort of become accustomed to it.
Joel tilts his head to the side, dropping to his hunkers to be at your level. “Of course I don’t want that,” he explains in shock. Shock that you would even think of him to be the sort of person to just fuck you and then discard or dismiss you like a piece of trash. “I was just goin’ to get you some water and something to clean you up with. Stay right here, baby girl,” he tells you gently, grabbing a soft blanket that was tossed over the back of the couch and covering you with it. As soon as your under it and comfortable, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for an extra amount of time then necessary before pressing one to your lips.
He starts to stand up to go, but you grab his hand and tug him back, looking up at him sleepily. “Joel?” You ask in a quiet voice, almost vulnerable. An emotion you’re not that accustomed to showing to others.
He looks at you so much to tell you to go on.
“Thank you.” And you meant it. Not Miss Malice, not Whore, but you.
a/n: oki so sorry about the long wait, I’ve been reading like CRAZY lately!! I got a little lazy toward the end I feel but I’m pretty proud. Pls don’t be shy with interacting! I’d love to hear from you guys :) this also took me AGES to proof read.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for six weeks, and sex is still a little clumsy and awkward. Until it isn't.
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings/tags: smut; lots of giggly/clumsy sex; p in v; praise kink (kinda); dirty talk; one instance of pussy pronouns; marking (fingers on back, light bighting); sweat licking; bucky's a very very very soft top; bucky & reader are in a new relationship
Notes: i'm not sure what this is. just something i had in my wips for a while and i got random inspiration for it this weekend. giggly sex is fun and hot and giggly sex with bucky barnes would be even funnier and hotter :)
You and Bucky have been dating for exactly six weeks.
Not that anyone’s counting. (You both are. Secretly. Bucky has it written down in his notes app, you’ve been crossing off days on the calendar on your fridge.)
Six weeks of him tugging your hoodie strings to pull you closer when no one’s looking, of the kind of late-night talks that drift into early-morning ones. It’s kind of a precarious middle ground, long enough that you already know exactly how he takes his coffee every morning, but short enough that your heart still does that funny little flip when his name pops up on your screen.
Domesticity settled with a terrifying ease. You know the weight of his arm draped over your waist in sleep, and he knows you being too quiet during a movie watch means you’re already falling asleep, even if you deny it a hundred times when he asks you about it. In certain situations, words no longer need to be spoken. Quick glances exchanged across a crowded room say ‘get me out of there’ or ‘you look incredible’. Six weeks is enough to make that kind of familiarity start to kick in.
And then, there’s the bedroom.
Inside those more intimate four walls, the practiced cool of the last six weeks tends to evaporate. It’s the one place where the “newness” of it all still feels just as electric and charged. And, occasionally, a little bit clumsy. The breathless “is this okay?” whispered against a collarbone, his hands sometimes hovering a second too long, unsure if he should grip tighter or be gentler. The awkwardness of trying to be sexy while accidentally kicking him in the shin, or a stray elbow hitting the wrong spot.
Neither of you is new to sex, obviously. Bucky had his fair share of it back before the war, even if it’s been a few decades since he’s been properly introduced back into the game; and you also didn’t lack experience, with your list of boyfriends and hookups that never quite made you feel like you do now. But sex with real feelings comes with a whole extra instruction manual that most people don’t talk about. How two very naked people learn to fit their bodies together when hearts are involved, too.
You hadn’t imagined it would be like this, the first time. Or the second. That even Bucky, who usually moves with soldier-like precision, would become a mess of soft sighs and flushed skin, wonderfully undone under you, over you, around you. Every touch feels like a first (sure, many of them are), and there’s a tentative reverence to it, a mutual understanding that you’re both still learning the map of each other’s skin.
Tonight you’re in his bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand casts a soft golden light over the dark vibranium of his left arm, and your fingers are dancing over it to the rhythm of a song that only exists in your mind. Bucky’s above you, weight braced on his forearms as his lips press against yours in a filthy kiss.
Already, you’re both a little sweaty, a little desperate.
He shifts his hips, lines himself up and pushes in, giving you that little pause at the beginning that’s both him waiting for permission and also letting you adjust to his size. Both are a testament to the way he’s always a gentleman to you, even when you’re practically begging him to fold you in half.
You arch, sigh his name… and then his phone starts going off on the nightstand. Unbearably loud and with a very specific, extremely annoying soundbite: a loud air horn.
Freezing mid-moan, it takes you half a second to realize what’s happening before you snort so violently you almost choke.
“Bucky, what the fuck?”
Bucky drops his forehead to your collarbone with a defeated groan. “I’m gonna murder Sam.”
"Why..." You can barely get the words out through the giggles. "Why is his contact sound a literal air horn?"
“It was funny at 3 a.m. last month,” he mumbles. “I was half drunk on your martinis.”
You laugh harder, unapologetically so, and your whole body shaking with laughter does interesting things around Bucky that make his hips jerk involuntarily.
“Fuck, baby, stop laughing, you’re gonna make me…” he cuts off with a helpless sound as you clench on reflex from giggling.
He retaliates by rolling you both so you’re suddenly on top, all the while the sheet is tangled around his ankle like a boa constrictor. He yanks, pulls, then his knee bangs something and his arm hits the bedside table. The lamp on it wobbles and the low, dancing lights on the ceiling make the scene look like it’s out of a low-budget horror flick.
You both stare at it, wide-eyed.
“Don’t you dare fall. We just fixed the trust issues from last week,” you whisper to the lamp. And by trust issues, you mean that one time Bucky decided to throw your bra against the lamp so hard it fell and broke the lightbulb.
Bucky wheezes. “I’m being cockblocked by furniture and my best friend. This is rock bottom.”
You choose that moment to move, a slow grind of your hips that works wonderfully at making his eyes cross. “Technically, you’re cockblocking yourself. You picked his ringtone, Bucky.”
“I was clearly a different man thirty days ago. One who didn’t understand the consequences of his drunken actions,” Bucky gasps, hands sliding down your body and settling at your hips to anchor you, thumbs digging into the soft give of your skin as he helps you ride him. The air horn finally cuts off, and you lean down, brushing your nose against his, hair falling like a curtain around both your faces.
“Think he’ll call back?”
“Let’s not keep talking about Sam,” Bucky murmurs, lips half curled up as he moves with an upward surge, doing his best to drag your attention back to him. It works, because you sink back down, the laughter in your lungs turning back into a shaky exhale. It’s still a little messy, sheets bunched awkwardly between your shins, but nothing really matters anymore when the cool of his vibranium hand fingers your inner thigh, squeezes, then moves up your stomach, crawling over the skin, before it reaches one of your breasts and palms it slowly.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice dropping into that gravelly register that makes your toes curl every time. You simply nod, unsure that the right words can find you in time before you make a fool of yourself by only babbling some sounds. Your hips roll forward, Bucky meets you by thrusting up as you shift your weight to find that sweet angle again. Doesn’t take for you to find it, hands clawing at his shoulders and nails leaving its usual faint red marks behind. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”
The praise makes your breath hitch in your throat, because it settles just like everything else in your relationship. Sweet, slow, still new, a little bit unexpected. Like you still can’t believe someone like Bucky Barnes would look twice your way, let alone have him under you, in his bed, calling you beautiful. He looks at you with a quiet sort of awe that makes the words land somehow deeper, branding themselves into your bloodstream. His thumb grazes your nipple, and you arch your back immediately.
“Bucky… fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep talking sweet like that.”
He chuckles, and pulls you down until his lips are grazing the spot in your neck where your pulse is hammering. “That is kinda the point of what we’re doing.” The statement is punctuated by a sharp thrust up that steals the breath out of you, and you respond only with a high-pitched sound that is definitely not a laugh this time.
“You always make such pretty noises,” he tells you, vibranium hand sliding up from your breast to cup your jaw, cold thumb tracing the line of your lower lip. His flesh arm fully bands around your waist and keeps you pressed flush against his chest, so tight you can barely move your hips. Six weeks is enough that you recognize this: he’s about to fuck you so good you’ll see stars for an hour after.
The bed beneath you creaks in steady protest as Bucky begins fucking up into you, his movements a little harder, deeper, eyes locked on yours as if he is memorizing the exact way you look every time he pushes home. Your fingers find the sheets under him, bunching the fabric until your knuckles go white, while your lips find his in a messy kiss, tongue, spit, some not-so-sexy teeth sometimes. Every time he hits that specific spot, your toes curl and you moan into his mouth, and his arm around your waist only grips you tighter. To this day, you still wonder how he’s been the first man in your life to find that spot so quickly. And how he sticks to it every time you make love to him, like he’s got a radar in his point pointing directly to it.
“Bucky,” you whimper, the name a prayer into his lips. You try to move, but his arm is solid around you, refusing to let you move an inch.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, shifting his legs so they’re bent at the knees, giving him a better angle to slide into your heat. “Just feel me, baby. You don’t need to do anything else.”
The friction builds, an electric coil in your lower belly that’s winding tighter with every thrust. Sweat slicks his chest where it presses against yours, a few drops pooling around his neck. Your eyes glint, and you consider reaching out and licking a stripe over him, but your mind slips. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the thought flickering through your heat-fogged brain like a dare. Maybe six weeks is too soon to get a bit kinky? Are you still in the “best behavior” phase?
Maybe coincidence, maybe the universe giving you the answer you were looking for, you hear Bucky speak in a quiet tone, right into your ear.
“She feels so good around my cock.”
The words sound more like a thought he couldn’t keep inside than a deliberate statement, the kind of blunt, dirty talk that is too far removed from his polite “is this okay?” that you’re used to. But he doesn’t retract it, and your heart trashes. You hadn’t realized that Bucky, always-a-gentleman Bucky, had this particular gear in him, and it’s a revelation that shatters your “best behavior” hesitation. If he can say that…
You lean up, your tongue darting out to lick a salty, searing stripe from the hollow of his throat up to the edge of his jaw, right where beads of sweat had been pooling before.
Bucky freezes for a heartbeat, then moves his vibranium hand to the back of your neck and pulls you close until he can bury his head in your neck and inhale before his teeth gently dig into the skin. You moan, and he knows enough of you to know how good that felt to you from your sounds alone. A wall is breaking tonight. You like that. He does, too.
His pace changes, no longer steady, just urgent now, with the kind of friction that makes you see colors behind your eyelids, a building pressure that almost sends your heart beating its way out of your chest. The clumsiness hasn’t left the building; your leg cramps once when you move it slightly further away, he yelps when you pull his hair a bit too hard once (before asking you to do it again right after). But it’s part of the heat, now.
“Bucky, please,” you sob into the crook of his neck as the first waves of your orgasm begin to lap at the edges of your mind.
You’d been used to men who thought the word please meant faster, harder. Now you’re in bed with a man who knows a please when you’re right about to cum means keep doing just that.
And oh, he does.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice thick. “Let me see you cum.”
You’d barely realized you had even closed your eyes, but you force them open anyway, vision swimming, only to find him watching you intensely, face flushed, jaw locked tight. And he keeps that soul-destroying rhythm that has your nervous system screaming until the coil in your belly snaps.
It starts as a low tremor that radiates from where you’re joined, heat that turns your bones to liquid. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and you sob, moan, maybe a mix of both, as a thousand golden sparks dance behind your eyes. All you can feel through it is the solid weight of him holding you tight.
Bucky doesn’t look away for a single second, because seeing you come apart is what does it for him, too. His muscles turn to iron, his entire body shuddering with beautiful force that has the bed frame groaning in protest. He thrusts one last time, buried as deep as he can go, and stays there until the world finally stops spinning.
When he finally rolls your bodies so you're both laying on your side, but still connected with arms wrapped around each other and legs slung over hips, he presses a soft kiss to your temple.
“You okay?”
You nod, still catching your breath. “Best sex of my life. Kinda also the most chaotic.”
He huffs a laugh, nose brushing your hair. “We’re gonna get better at being smooth.”
“Don’t you dare. I want more of this.”
His expression softens, something tender and a little awed flickering across his face.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
He kisses you slow this time. No rush, just the two of you learning what this feels like when it’s quiet too.
