slowly losing my mind

☆bucky barnes stan☆i'm a multifandom mess☆22☆she/they☆

[noahspickettfence]

The Only One 2/? (Part One)(AO3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!oc (Valerie Dietrich)

Warnings: none for now, future chapters will include more graphic content. All characters belong to marvel, except for Valerie who is my own creation.

Summary: More is revealed about Valerie and her powers, and Bucky finally works up the courage to introduce himself.

Word count: 2139

Author's note: Listen, Bucky is NERVOUS. He doesn't want to ruin a good thing before it starts but we'll get there. Slowly...

\\Unedited//

Valerie sits next to Natasha and across from Bruce - with Stephen observing from a short distance - answering the barrage of questions they throw at her.

"When did you start hearing thoughts?" Bruce asks.

She tilts her head to the side, thinking. "When I was six; around the same time I lost my sight."

Natasha next. "How did that happen?"

"No one was able to figure out why," Valerie says with a shrug. "It just kind of happened."

"It happened naturally?" Stephen chimes in, his curiosity winning over his resolve to observe in silence. "You weren't given enhancements of any kind?"

She simply shakes her head in response.

Back to Natasha. "How strong is it?"

"When it first started, I'd have to be standing right next to the person."

"And now?"

"Tony narrowed it down to a five mile radius."

"Five miles?!" Natasha exclaims.

"You can hear every person's thoughts within a five mile radius?" Bruce question.

Valerie nods. "It gets quieter the further they are and I have to really focus to hear them, but yes."

The three heroes sit in silence, staring at the blind woman in astonishment. A small smile appears on her face at the thoughts she hears coming from each of them.

Natasha is the first one to break the silence and Valerie turns her head in her direction. "How did Tony find you?"

"Him and my father are best friends; he's my godfather."

"How come he's only bringing you on the team now?"

She grins. "I've been in the service."

Stephen steps closer and she turns to face him. "Did they know of your abilities?"

She shakes her head. "Only the higher ups. But its easy to pretend to be sighted when I can see the world through everyone's thoughts."

"Wait, what?" Valerie chuckles at the confusion in Natasha's voice.

"Some people think in pictures," she explains. "Others in sounds or words. From there, it's easy to figure out what's happening around me without actually having to see it."

"This just keeps getting better," Natasha says, turning her awestruck look onto Valerie and the other woman smiles.

"What else can you do?" Bruce questions and Valerie once more pauses to think.

"I can access people's memories. The older they are though, the more time and energy it takes to access them." The three share confused glances. "It's like going to an archive and pulling out files. That's how I think of it at least."

Natasha looks at Bruce before looking back at Valerie. "Can you show us?" Valerie nods. "Do Strange."

"Excuse me?" The man says, an incredulous tone to his voice.

"It's for science."

"Fine."

Valerie turns her focus on Stephen and she closes her eyes. They sit in silence for a few minutes as the three of them wait with baited breath. After several minutes, she opens her eyes. "You decided to go into medicine after your sister drowned." Stephen's eyes widened in surprise. "She got a cramp while swimming."

Both Natasha and Bruce look at Stephen for answers. His eyebrows narrow and he doesn't look away from Valerie. "That's right…"

With a brilliant smile, Natasha looks back at the blind woman and slings an arm across her shoulders. "I think you're going to make an excellent addition to the team, Val."

It's only hours later when Bucky finally emerges from the gym, covered in sweat and limbs aching. He's tired and in desperate need of a shower, but he can't ignore the rumbling in his stomach for much longer and that has him ambling to the kitchen.

He hears the conversation and laughter before he even enters the room. It's difficult to distinguish who's voice belongs to who but as he comes to stand in the doorway, the picture becomes clear. Steve and Sam stand at the stove, cooking dinner and bickering over which spices to use. Clint is sprawled out on a couch, playimg video games with Peter while Thor chimes in occasionally, sometimes interjecting some story or another about Asgard, the Nine Realms, or whatever else he could think of.

Natasha sits in the far corner of the room, an excited smile on her face as she talks to Valerie. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of the new Avenger. He doest know why he thought Valerie wouldn't be around for dinner; she's now apart of the team, a new fixture to the group, of course she'd be around. He's not prepared to interact with anyone, least of all her. And that has him panicking.

His plan of escape is foiled when Steve notices him. "Hey, Buck," he says with a warm smile as he wipes his hands on a towel. "I was starting to think you'd skip dinner."

Bucky nods mutely, still unsure of what to say to the other man.

Sam turns around then and raises one eyebrow questioningly. "You okay there, bud?" He asks as Bucky shuffles awkwardly towards them. "You look like a deer in headlights... if I didn't know any better, I could've sworn you were trying to sneak away from us."

"Nope!" He replies quickly, eyes downcast. "Just came to get food."

"Well," Steve starts, grinning widely, "you're in luck because it's almost ready."

"Yeah, 'almost'," Sam scoffs. "It would be if the Captain over here would figure out his flavour profiles."

"I know what I'm doing, Sam," the blond man grumbles.

"The only thing you know is salt," he counters. "Now step aside white man."

Bucky sighs and resigns himself to not eating for another hour as he goes to sit at the island. He rests his elbows on the countertop, his fingers woven through his brown hair and he wills his mind to stay on track. All too often, his thoughts deviate to Valerie and with the woman herself sitting not too far from, hearing every thought, he knows he's in dangerous territory. He takes deep breaths to calm his nerves and looks up at Steve, who's watching him intently.

"You sure you're okay, Buck?" The concerned look in back on his face, clearly making itself a permanent resident and Bucky wishes more than that Steve would look away.

"'M fine," he says again, the words uncomfortable in the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Just... really hungry."

Steve nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer and returns to tending to the food in front of him.

Bucky lets his gaze wander and watches the way the other two move together as they cook. It's not long before they finish, Steve calling the others over to the dinning table while Sam asks Jarvis to summon everyone else.

However even as everyone crowd around the table, helping themselves to the food, even as his stomach growls, he can't bring himself to move from his place at the island. He can only think of how he doesn't want to do this, how much he can't do this. There are too many people - people he knows and that know him, people he should feel comfortable around but doesn't - he feels overwhelmed. His mind goes back to Valerie and he feels even worse because he knows he's not giving her a fair chance in ignoring her (even if she already knows the reasons why) but he simply can't help it.

The conversation continues on behind him as if he's not even there and that only reinforces the fact that he's alone. Separate and isolated from everyone else. Maybe he shouldn't have come here after all, his hunger be damned.

He's about to get up and go to his room when Steve joins him at the island, placing a plate in front of him. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything else except eat his own food in silence beside him. And Bucky doesn't know how to feel about that.

Conflicted in his feelings, Bucky eats with Steve in silence while the rest of the Avengers talk and laugh behind them. It's both oddly comforting and not, them sitting together as they eat dinner, and a small part of him thinks that maybe this is just how it is now. The familiarity of the past and the tense awkwardness of the present joint together in this strange new reality. Bucky doesn't think he likes it very much but he doesn't think he has the power to change it either. He guesses though, that it could be worse than this. Much, much worse.

Everyone seems to disperse after dinner, only a select few remaining in the common area. Clint and Peter are back to playing video games, Steve and Sam having joined them. Bruce remains at the dining table, now cleared of plates, with a tablet in his hands. Strange stands in front of the floor to ceiling windows, surveying the world beyond.

Bucky is still at the island, his blue flicking between the wall and one person only.

Valerie had returned to her corner, a book in her lap that seemingly materialised from nowhere. She's alone, surprisingly. If the time before dinner and dinner itself was anything to go by, Bucky had expected Natasha to remain by her side for as long as she could. He may not be able read minds himself, but the fascination the redhead has for the blind woman is clear as day.

But then again, he feels just as fascinated with the woman without even talking to her.

He's been trying to work up the courage to talk - a good half hour has come and gone - but he's failed each time he's told himself to get up and go over to her. He wonders how he ever managed to do this before; he used to be so smooth, able to talk to and charm any woman he wanted. Now that he doesn't have the power anymore, all he can seem to do is stumble along.

It's only when he sees Peter get up off the couch and slowly makes his way towards her, when he thinks fuck it, jumps off the barstool and beats the younger man to it.

"Uh, hi," he says, coming to a stop in front of her. "I'm Bucky." He mentally curses him for the introduction; of course she knows who he is already. He's already making a fool of himself, but it seems he can't help himself. He finds that he can't think straight with her in front of him. Not when she looks so... so beautiful.

She tilts her back in his direction, smiling warmly as her pale eyes stare vacantly at his chest. "Hi, Bucky."

"Can I sit?" She nods, and he sits down beside her, his mouth suddenly dry. He looks down at the book in her hands, the small bumps on the pages almost imperceptible, her index finger placed in the middle of the page. "What are you reading?"

She looks down at the book in her hand, and a small smile curls at her lips. "Lord of the flies." She turns her head in his direction. "It's my favourite. Though I've stopped reading... I got distracted."

"Distracted by what?"

"Thoughts." She says with a vague smile and a shrug. "It's like the telepathic version of people watching."

"Oh, yeah?" He says, a small smile of his own taking place on his lips. "Hear anything interesting?"

"Tons."

"Care to share any?"

She grins. "Well, now that would be a severe invasion of privacy, Bucky."

"Right… forgive me."

She laughs then and he's mesmerised by the sound. He makes it his life mission to always make her laugh somehow, simply just to hear it again. "Do you read a lot, Bucky?" She asks, pulling him from the depth of his thoughts and he blinks, her words slowly registering in his head.

"Not as much as I used to," he admits. "Or at all, I guess."

She smiles at him and he finds that he just can't help but mirror it, his heart racing. "Well, I have plenty of recommendations," she tells him. "You know, if you ever want to get back into it."

Talking with Valerie proves to be a lot easier than Bucky originally thought. She knows exactly what to say and when to say it, she knows exactly what he needs to hear. And if it were anyone, he might've felt strange about that. But Valerie is different in every sense of the word. She doesn't mention his thoughts that overflow and flood her senses, her ability to ignore them completely puts him at ease and it's almost as if she can't hear them at all.

Yes, Valerie is the only person he ever wants to talk to. He smiles to himself as he stares at her in awe, listening to her melodic voice and he thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe he has a chance after all.

[dear-ao3]

[konigslittleliebling]

when i’m reading an ‘x reader’ and he calls me his pretty girl

[ldrskul]

me when I have to go to lessons (I’m going to fail my exams and get no qualifications)

[walkingdolli333]

[buckyseternaldoll]

sergeant's magic mouth

🫦 based on this ask but I definitely diverted from the main plot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you were just his fling. He thought you were his girl. Then you overheard Steve teasing Bucky about his legendary skills in the bedroom—particularly his mouth. Bucky gets flustered. You get curious. A week later, he proved he’s still got it.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, oral sex (f receiving), pussy eating, misunderstanding trope, soft dom!Bucky, desperate!reader, overstimulation, slow burn tension, emotional release

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound was quieter than usual, the aftermath of a long mission settling in like a low, collective exhale. Somewhere in the common kitchen, someone clinked a glass. Distant laughter floated through the hall—probably Sam or Clint. But in the softly lit entertainment room, it was just you and Bucky. Again.

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. “About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“They didn’t even know half of it.”

[pellucid-constellations]

No Questions Asked

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers loved you gently, but Captain America treated you like a soldier. You learned the dangers of that dichotomy when his orders became too hard to follow. 

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Canon level violence, descriptions of injury, angst, Steve being a bad listener

a/n: Tiny break from ftlotg oneshots! First time writing for Steve :) 

I discontinued my taglist, but you can follow my library blog @pellucid-library​ for notifications 🤍

Masterlist

Steve Rogers loved you gently. 

He whispered in your ear when the kitchen got crowded, morning sunlight pouring into the Avengers Tower. Short and sweet. Just to tell you he loved you—in case you forgot. His hands would be fleeting on your waist as Tony yelled at you to get a room, and the coffee he made you would taste even sweeter on your lips. 

He let you drag him to that farmers market on the other side of town, carrying the baskets full of produce and armfuls of flowers you fawned over. It would be easy for him to tell you it was unnecessary; Tony had people for grocery shopping. But he loved you, and he loved the way you looked in the Sunday morning breeze. 

Keep reading

[pellucid-constellations]

Voicemails to an Unmanned Inbox

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: When Bucky takes an argument a little too far, you take off. All he wants is for you to come back home. 

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Heavy Angst 

a/n: I’m currently working on Flashing Lights part 2 and felt like I needed some angst in my life. So, enjoy the angst!!

Masterlist

The walk back to your shared room was excruciatingly quiet, the sound of Bucky’s angry footsteps the only thing reverberating against the halls of the compound. You jogged a little faster to keep up with him. 

“Bucky,” you tried, breath labored from your pace. “Bucky, just wait a sec. We can talk about this,” he ignored you, jaw set and mouth fixed into a frown. You let out a sigh and continued behind him, not looking forward to the discussion to come. 

You had just finished Bucky’s latest therapy session, the office across the compound. This week, his therapist had asked you to attend the session since you were such a major part of his life. Bucky had been hesitant to agree, but given that it was court mandated therapy, he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Your boyfriend’s current mood was brought on by your participation in said session. You hadn’t given up sensitive information or anything. His therapist just asked if Bucky had been waking up in the middle of the night and you said yes. That response had snowballed and Bucky was now set up with a sleep therapy appointment next Wednesday. 

You could tell immediately that he was upset about it. His hands balled up into fists atop his knees and his eyebrows shot up in silent disagreement. To be fair, he hadn’t told you beforehand if there was anything he wanted you to keep private. You didn’t think you would’ve been able to keep it a secret if he asked though; his nightmares were worse than ever before and he refused to get help for them. 

Keep reading

[pellucid-constellations]

Can’t Get the Words Out

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s been awfully distant lately. You don’t think your heart can take what you know he’s about to say. 

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst 

a/n: I’m so happy everyone enjoyed my first oneshot!! Here’s another one!

Masterlist

“You always bake at 3am, or do you have a bake sale coming up we don’t know about?” Tony’s voice carries across the kitchen, startling you into dropping the cupcake you were icing. You reach down to grab it and throw him a glare. 

“If I was having a bake sale, you just lost your cut of the profits.” 

“Doesn’t work that way, Marie Callender. I provide the kitchen, I get some of the cash.” He grabs a cookie off one of the many pans strewn about the kitchen. “Seriously though, what’s with the baked goods?” 

You sigh, abandoning the piping bag and wiping the excess icing from your hands onto your apron. It was Bucky’s. You gave it to him after he’d made you dinner for the third time. 

In all honesty, you don’t really have a reason for why you were baking enough to feed an army at three in the morning. You aren’t notorious for supplying the team with sweets, nor are you aware of any hidden personal hobbies involving the kitchen. You have just tried everything else already. You tried reading a book, taking a walk, watching a movie, and even writing in a journal. You knew that last one wouldn’t do anything for you, but it was after you tried to leave the compound in the late hours of the night and Steve was already waiting at the door to turn you back around. It was a last resort.

You tried it all and absolutely nothing could get your mind off of how distant Bucky was being, how standoffish he had been acting for the past 3 weeks. It came out of nowhere, honestly. You’ve been together for years and nothing seemed amiss. Up until a few weeks ago, you were so unbelievably happy you didn’t think anything could go wrong.

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[pellucid-constellations]

The Shot Heard Round the Tower

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You just want to know if Bucky has feelings for you. Bucky just wants you to be okay.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Canon level violence, some angst

a/n: I’m so excited to start writing!! WOOO. This now has a part 2 which you can read here!

Masterlist

Being a secretary was never your first choice. You went to college, bounced around a few majors, tried to “find yourself”, but nothing ever really stuck. So yeah, being a secretary was never your first choice, but nothing else really was either. It’s not like it really mattered, you were good at your job. In fact, after just a few short months, your meger front desk position at the Avengers tower was promoted. Numerous late nights picking up the slack for your coworkers to  avoid the empty apartment waiting for you a few blocks away, had piqued the interest of none other than Tony Stark.

It started off with small things. Grabbing him a late night coffee from that 24 joint two streets over. Cutting out those paper valentines shaped like Captain America’s shield for the children’s hospital the team was planning to visit. Going down to Tony’s lab at 10pm to hold a wrench for him because, “You’re the only one here, kid.”

It wasn’t until you suddenly found yourself walking home, clutching a binder to your chest filled with Tony’s engagements for the week, that you finally agreed to manage the team. Tony had asked you five times prior to your realization.

Keep reading

[pellucid-constellations]

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

[kinanabinks]

first night

18+

the biggest perk of marrying your long-time best friend? he knows exactly what your dream honeymoon is.

content warning: mob!bucky x best friend!reader, mature themes, the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, my dream honeymoon is your dream honeymoon now. idc what you wanted before. this is it now. fluff, smut (daddy kink, penetrative sex, aftercare).

series masterlist

That first step off of Bucky's private jet hits you with a flutter of excitement and awe. The snow-covered mountains in the distance make your heart skip a beat, and you're glad you obeyed Bucky when he told you not to look out the window while the jet was landing.

"You did not!" You gasp as your hand finds his and clutches it tightly. "Are we really in-"

"Welcome to Switzerland, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes!" A chipper man greets you with a wide smile and outstretched arms. "We are so honored to be hosting you for this most romantic of visits!"

Bucky shakes his hand, smiling back at him. "Thank you so much, Stefan," He says warmly.

"Please, follow me!" Stefan requests as he points towards a fleet of cars. "Your private driver for the duration of your trip will be Matteo; I hope you find him acceptable."

He leads you to a black Rolls Royce, outside of which whom you assume can only be Matteo is standing. Bucky shares a few words with him before helping you get in the car, while your heart races.

"James," You whisper as the car door shuts behind him. "You really brought me to Switzerland for our honeymoon?"

He pulls you closer while the partition rolls up, with that arrogant smirk on his face you so love. "Am I not your best fuckin' friend?" He asks with a scoff. "Do I not know you better than anyone else?"

Absolutely enamored by his adoration and thoughtfulness, you cling to him. "You're the best husband I've ever had," You say dreamily, leaning up to kiss him.

"I love you, Jamie," You reply sweetly after resting your head on his chest.

He kisses you deeply, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you closer. His tongue strokes yours, sending shivers down your spine. "I love you, Mrs. Barnes," Bucky whispers against your lips.

The rest of the car ride is spent in a blissful peace, as you look out the window at the gorgeous views. Bucky presses kisses to your cheek and neck while you gape at the stunning landscape. Having only ever seen Switzerland in pictures, you feel like you're dreaming now that you're right in the middle of the real thing.

Matteo drives you to a private villa, and you're thankful that there's nobody waiting to greet you here. The luxury chalet awaits you, standing tall and magnificent. While Matteo takes your bags inside, you take in the view of the massive building, in awe.

"Do you like it?" Bucky asks you, placing a hand on the small of your back. "Or would you rather we stay somewhere else?"

Letting out a dry laugh, you gawk at him. "Are you kidding? This is incredible, Jamie!"

He grins widely while taking you inside. "I'm glad you think so, fairy," He says while walking into the house.

"I hope the villa is to your liking, Mrs. Barnes," Matteo calls out as he comes back down the wide staircase.

"And what about my liking?" Bucky asks him teasingly, raising a brow.

Reaching you, Matteo grins. "If Mrs. Barnes is happy, then so is Mr. Barnes," He tells him while patting his shoulder. "And this is the beauty of marriage!"

The two of you laugh with him before he takes his leave, leaving you and Bucky alone. In a private villa. On your honeymoon.

Bucky attacks you almost immediately, throwing you over his shoulder and bounding up the stairs. You squeal with joy as he races up to the master bedroom, undeniably excited about what's to transpire.

He gently lays you down on the bed, smiling coyly at you. Standing up straight, he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes it off, and his shirt is quick to follow.

"Why are you taking your clothes off?" You ask him innocently, tilting your head.

Bucky takes a few steps back. "Because," He begins teasingly. "We need to get dressed for dinner."

Your face falls. "Huh?"

"C'mon, fairy, I bought you the most beautiful dress to wear tonight," He says, opening the closet to reveal a lone dress hanging there. "You're making your first official debut as my wife; this is a special occasion."

Standing up from the bed, you take a few slow steps towards him. "But, Jamie..." You trail off shyly, running your finger down his bicep.

"Yeah, baby?" He asks with a frown, cupping your face. "What is it?"

"I..." Your voice lowers as you blink up at him, addicted to his body heat as his bare chest begs you to touch him. "I wanna..."

"Tell me what you want, fairy," Bucky coos, knowing exactly what he's doing.

"I wanna have sex," You mumble, gently pulling on his arm. "Now."

A wide grin grows on his lips as he folds his big arms across his chest. "You have to be patient-"

"No," You whine, bouncing on your heels. "Now, Jamie!"

"Baby," He utters lowly, cupping your cheeks in his hand. "We're having a nice dinner first."

"Jamie-"

"Fairy," His voice is cold and stern, and pulls you right out of you bratty attitude. "We are going to dinner," He repeats firmly as his eyes darken. "If you want daddy to fuck you tonight, you're gonna be my good little wife and listen to what I say, the first time I say it. Got it?"

Your breath hitches in your throat and you want him more than ever before. "Jamie..."

He raises a brow, and it's enough to shake you to your core.

"Yes, daddy," You say quickly. "I understand."

A small smile blooms on his face and his eyes soften. "That's my good girl. Now, go ahead and get ready. Our reservation's for 5."

With that, he slaps your ass before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you with parted lips and a racing heartbeat.

There are many times in life that you've felt overwhelmed by beauty, most of them in places where Bucky has taken you, but none hold a candle to where he has brought you this time.

Matteo drove you to a castle, which was extravagant enough before a butler lead you through the halls and into a large room, the ceiling of which is made entirely of glass. In this dome-like chamber, you have a perfect view of the night sky, snowflakes falling as the stars glisten. You and Bucky sit at a table in the middle of the room while a small orchestra plays soft music to the side.

"Jamie," You breathe out as your heart flutters. "You have truly outdone yourself."

He smiles warmly, holding his hand out to you as he glances upwards. "It's pretty, isn't it?" He comments lowly, before looking back down at you. "And being here with such a beautiful woman only makes it better."

"How smooth, Mr. Barnes," You say with a smirk.

Lifting up your hand, he places a soft kiss to the back of it before shooting you a wink. "Hungry?" He asks you.

"Starving," You admit. And, right on cue, a door opens and in walk a line of waiters. They place plates of food onto the table and one of them tops up your wine.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I am Chef Hans, and I present to you the very best of Swiss food," The butler announces with a warm smile. "I do hope it exceeds your expectations."

"It looks lovely," You say with wide eyes. "Thank you so much!"

"Thank you, Hans," Bucky says, giving him a nod before the chef leaves along with the others.

"This is all incredible, James," You say, shaking your head. "It's too much."

"Too much? For my fairy?" He asks with a scoff. "Baby, you're my wife. There is absolutely no limit to what I'd do for you."

After indulging in the food and wine, you find yourself on Bucky's lap, your fingers entwined with his soft hair.

"You are so wonderful," You whisper into his ear. "My wonderful, wonderful husband."

"Always yours," He promises with a firm grip on your thigh. "And you'll always be mine."

"Prove it," You coax him slyly, trailing a finger down his chest. "Show me I'm yours."

His grip tightens and his eyes darken at your request. Thirty minutes later, you're back at the villa.

"It's our first night together, Jamie," You say nervously while the two of you make your way up the wide staircase.

"We've spent the night together plenty of times," Bucky reminds you with a smirk as you drag him into the bedroom.

With warmed cheeks, you turn to him and drape your arms over his shoulders. "But we've never had sex," You point out coyly.

Wincing, Bucky grabs your hips and pulls you closer. "I am painfully, painfully aware of that," He utters, resting his forehead against yours. "You've made me wait so long."

"You could've had me the night we met," You admit to him. "But you didn't try hard enough."

His eyes narrow as he walks forward, pushing you closer to the bed. "You're lying," He mumbles.

"Nuh-uh," You say through a grin. "I would've done anything for you, from that first moment."

"Anything, hmm?" He repeats with a quirked brow. "That's nice to hear, baby. Say it again."

"I'd do anything for you," You reiterate, bringing up your knee and gently brushing it against his boner. "Anything, daddy."

He swallows thickly and cups your face in his hands, tilting your head up. "That's my good girl," Bucky says lowly, stroking your cheeks. "Take off your dress."

You slip out of his grip and push him onto the bed, letting him sit back and watch you strip down. His eyes are glued to your body, observing the way you push the thin straps off your shoulders before letting the dress fall to the ground, leaving you in your lace bra and underwear.

Looking you up and down, Bucky clenches his jaw, a raw delight filling his eyes. "I'm so fucking glad you're finally mine," He mumbles, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer. "There's nowhere else you belong besides right here with me. Say it."

"There's nowhere else I belong, Bucky," You pledge, blinking up at him. "I'm entirely yours, forever and always."

He kisses you deeply, unable to hold back any longer. Years of tension and secret feelings have built up to this, to now. To Switzerland, the night after you stood before your loved ones and promised to love each other for the rest of your lives. Though Bucky expected tonight to be timid and slow, he realizes when you suck on his tongue that it will be anything but. Timid and slow be damned; you need to be fucked by him, now, and hard.

"Please don't make me wait any longer," You whine, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Bucky looks down at you with a whisper of a smirk. Having forgotten the meaning of patience, he needs nothing more than to take you. And so, he does.

After roughly tossing you onto the bed, he gets on top of you, grabbing your knees and spreading them apart. He slots himself between them, and somewhere within the desperate kisses, you both remove your underwear. You gasp when you feel his hard cock press against your thigh, and wetness pools between your legs.

"I wanna - fuck," He groans as his cock brushes against your pussy, a pained look on his face. "I wanted to take my time with you, fairy-"

"Just fuck me," You cut him off curtly, wrapping your hands around his neck and giving him a stern look. "Now."

"Shit," He whispers, quickly fumbling to bring his dick to your entrance. Your heart skips a beat as you feel him begin to push into you, every inch of your skin on fire. It's been a long time since you've had sex, and the fact that it's with Bucky is only intensifying your excitement. "Think you can take all of me, baby?" He asks you as he slowly inches into you, his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flutter shut.

"Yes, daddy," You reply breathlessly, arching your back against the mattress as he stretches you out.

Once he finally bottoms out, Bucky lets out a groan, falling forward to rest his forehead against yours. "Is this a dream?" He asks you in a daze. "Am I about to wake up?"

Smiling, you cup his cheeks in your hand. "Fuck me like you are," You dare him. "This might be your only chance, James."

He shudders before gathering himself with a look of determination. Fuck, you're right. This might be a dream. Driven by his fear that this could end any second, Bucky begins to fuck you, plowing into you hard and fast. Your stomach flips with every thrust, and you can barely let out a moan, let alone a coherent word.

"Oh, fuck," He growls, bringing his hand up to your mouth. "You feel better than I've ever imagined. Taking my cock so well, being such a good girl for me."

A string of squeals leaves your mouth and you tighten your grip on his neck, blinded by pleasure. Bucky slips his fingers into your open mouth, fucking your face with his digits. When you gag, he feels your cunt flutter around him, making him smirk.

"You like sucking, don't you?" He asks you teasingly. "Makes you feel good?"

You nod as best you can, moaning as your drool spills out and down your chin. Swirling your tongue around his fingers, you suck them hard, before accidentally biting down on them when he hits your g-spot.

"Fuck," He grumbles, clenching his jaw as eyes darken. "Do that again."

Gently, you graze your teeth against his fingers, scared to go too hard. He notices that you're holding back, and instead resorts to fucking you harder and faster to get what he wants. Instinctively, you bite him again, making him groan through his grin.

"You're so fucking sexy," Bucky moans as his cock, coated in your wetness, slams in and out of you. It feels better than sex ever has before, and you know it's because of how perfectly you belong together. Getting what you've been wanting after being patient for so long only makes the reward sweeter.

Bucky lets out groans with each thrust, unable to stop himself from speeding up. Neither of you have any patience left, and it shows in the desperate noises that leave your mouths. You're both stuck in a daze of pleasure, nearing your ends. You feel like you're on fire, every part of you reveling in delight. He's Bucky and he's your best friend and he's your husband, and nobody could ever change that.

"I'm close," You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

"Fuck, you gonna cum for me, fairy?" He asks you lowly, resting his forehead against yours as he pounds into you.

"I usually last longer, I swear," You claim, making him snort.

"Just give it to me, baby," Bucky mumbles, furrowing his brows. "Oh, shit, I'm cumming."

Yearning for release, you both let go and allow your climax to take over. He lets out a loud grunt and you gasp, throwing your head back as the shockwaves course through you. Your mind is foggy as you come down from your high, and you barely even feel Bucky cleaning you up. Slipping in and out of full consciousness, you take a few minutes to catch your breath and relax.

When you feel him lying next to you, holding you in his arms, you open your eyes and look over to him. He has a smile on his face, his hair is messy and his cheeks are tinged pink. Saying nothing, Bucky leans forward to kiss you sweetly, gently rubbing your side. Today has felt like a neverending dream, but you hope with everything you have that it isn't.

"How are you feeling, fairy?" He asks you lowly, stroking your cheek.

"Amazing," You reply truthfully. "I can't... I can't believe we actually did it. We're married."

"I always knew it would happen someday," He admits with a smirk. "And it finally did. And it was perfect."

"Wasn't it?" You swoon as the memory of the wedding fills your head. "All your nephews and nieces are adorable. They were so helpful, too."

"Our nephews and nieces," He corrects you with a wink.

Letting out a content sigh, you grin. "Our family," You say, before your eyes widen. "Oh, shit. I should probably let my mom know."

Chuckling, Bucky turns to lay on his back before pulling you closer to his side. "I'm sure she's heard it through the grapevine by now," He hypothesizes.

Shrugging it off, you cast your mind away from your absent mother and back onto the love of your life. "I'm your wife now," You remind him. "What does that even mean for us?"

"It means you're still my best friend, and still the only woman I need in my life," He replies, before lowering his voice. "The only thing that'll change is that I'll be fucking you a lot more."

You grin, tracing shapes on his chest. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. Though being married is a big jump from being friends, it feels natural.

"Is there anything you're worried about?" Bucky asks you while stroking your hair. "Now that you're my wife, you're gonna be a lot more involved in my work. I won't keep anything from you, won't sugarcoat it. You'll hear it all."

"I'm not worried," You promise. "As long as I have you, nothing could ever scare me."

"That's my girl," He mumbles, turning to kiss your head. "You're gonna have a lot of power, fairy. My guys will be your guys, too. They'll do whatever you say, no questions asked. New York is yours, now. You'll never want anything, or be without. You were untouchable before, but now you're indestructible."

Lifting your head up, you raise a brow. "You should've told me all this before. I'd have married you years ago," You tease him.

He smiles warmly, cupping your face in his hand. "Before, you were all mine. Just my fairy, belonging to no one else. But now, you're gonna be their Queen, too," He utters, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"What if I say no?" You question him curiously.

Bucky contemplates it for a few moments, his blue eyes hooked to yours as though searching for the answer. "Then we leave," He decides. "You're my wife now, fairy. You come before the mob. If you want out, we're both out."

"And if I want in?" You ask, your heart fluttering with excitement.

Smirking, he pulls you closer, lowering his voice. "Then you and I reign," He whispers.

Taking one of his hands in yours, you smile down at him, feeling more ready and willing than ever. "I look forward to reigning with you, Jamie," You tell him, kissing his palm. "I love you more than anything."

Your words make him grin, and he pulls you back down onto the bed before getting on top of you, making you squeal. With all the adoration in the world in his eyes, Bucky gives your lips a soft peck. "I love you, fairy," He says, filling you with warmth and peace with his promise. "Always, and forever."

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifs 💞

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[intrepidacious]

step number one

summary: You haven't kissed anyone in a couple of years. Johnny's more than happy to help you out.

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: friends to lovers, making out (in the name of practice) please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this was supposed to be my valentine's day fic but here we are. c'est la vie. hope you still enjoy this fluffy nonsense a week later 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

"You got any plans for tomorrow?" Johnny asks the day before Valentine’s Day, spread out on your bed like usual, his eyes not lifting from his phone.

You snort. "Yeah, right."

There’s something, you think, about the aggressively pink-and-flowers-and-chocolate aesthetic of this month that well and truly makes you want to throw up. 14 per cent discounts and coupley pictures and cutesy videos have been flooding your feed for the past week and a half, and with most of your friends neatly paired off as well, it’s like there’s absolutely no escaping the—

"Why not?" Johnny asks. "I mean, pretty girl like you gotta have guys lined up around the corner." The smile in his voice is sincere enough to let you believe he really does mean that as a compliment.

"First of all, ew," you reply, closing your app after yet another "date fit" video. "Second, the last date I went on ended with the guy leaving the country, so there’s that." Granted, you’d known about his travel plans beforehand, but still.

Johnny pushes up on one elbow. "Really. Coffee shop creep?"

You scowl at him. "Don’t call him that."

He’d been nice enough. Paid for your drinks and museum tickets. Hung his jacket over your shoulders when you started shivering. Yes, he’d also ghosted you and gone to Iceland, but it wasn’t like you’d known him that well.

You’d only gotten your hopes up too soon, like you always did.

"That was your last date?" Johnny says, attention fully on you now. "Wasn’t that, like, four years ago?"

"Five," you mumble, your cheeks heating. Almost six, but who's counting? "So, no, I’m not doing Valentine’s Day."

Being single is much easier, anyway. You don’t have to consider anyone else in your life; don’t have to wonder about what they’re doing or whether their family liked you or if they’re planning a three month trip abroad … huh. Maybe that one’s still somewhat of a sore point, after all.

"Why haven’t you gone out with anyone in five years?"

"I don’t know, it just sorta happened. Not everyone goes on a date with a new person every week."

"Gross exaggeration."

"Not really," you say, nudging his side with your toes. "Do you ever see those girls a second time?"

"Sometimes. Hey, when did this become about me?" He catches your foot when you make to poke him again. His smile doesn’t waver, but his voice becomes gentler when he speaks again, a little more serious. "I thought you want a relationship."

You swallow.

"I do," you say quietly. "It’s just … it’s scary. I don’t like putting myself out there, and I’ve been so busy with everything else. I don’t have time to worry about small talk or the fact that at this point I don’t even know how to kiss anyone anymore."

It’s a vicious circle, really. Wanting something serious while also being terrified of anything serious. And suddenly, almost without noticing, years have gone by and nothing has changed at all.

Next to you, Johnny goes very still.

Honestly, it’s not the reaction you’ve expected. Deep down, you thought he’d laugh, tease you about the fact that it’s been nearly six years since you’ve gotten intimate with anyone. Sometimes, you want to laugh about it yourself, even though at the same time, you don’t find it funny at all.

But Johnny Storm has always had more layers than people give him credit for; even you, sometimes.

"Do you …" His voice cracks and he clears his throat, staring at the wall behind you. "Do you wanna practice?"

You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks before you even understand what he’s asking. "Practice what?"

"Kissing."

…

Maybe your brain short-circuited. There’s been some misfiring in your neurons, mistranslating his actual words, because there’s no way on earth he’s just suggested what you thought you heard.

"I—"

"It’d be one less thing for you to worry about, you know," he interrupts, talking quickly. You’ve never seen him look at you this intently. He seems to realize from your stunned expression, and a shadow of his earlier smile softens his face. "Don’t worry," he says. "I don’t bite unless you want me to."

Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times, your heart pounding so loud you can hear feel it behind your temples. "I don’t know how to respond to this."

"Say yes," Johnny says. "We can just try it out. We don’t have to bring it up again after today, it’ll just be … preparation, you know? Step number one of getting you back in the game."

It doesn’t feel like a game at all, this suggestion.

The craziest part about it, though, is that you are seriously considering it. You stare at him, his pretty blue eyes and his cocky grin, and the earnest expression behind his nonchalant façade. No matter your answer, he wouldn’t judge you.

Besides, it’s not like you’ve never thought about it.

You’ve caught glimpses of Johnny kissing other girls one too many times not to secretly wonder what it would be like. To feel his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you, your hands gliding over the short buzz of his hair.

It’s longer now, maybe even long enough to tangle your fingers in and yank.

"Fine," you say quietly, and watch his smirk falter ever so slightly.

No matter his grand bravado, he clearly didn’t expect you to agree. It’s sweet, the way he scrambles to sit up properly, not even caring that his phone drops to the floor.

"Yeah?"

You swallow, nod. There’s an excited blush spreading on his cheeks that’s kind of endearing but also makes you want to melt into the ground. The way he’s staring at your lips makes you feel aware of every single cell in your body. You can’t remember ever being looked at like this.

"Do you want to …?"

"I don’t know, can you just—"

His hand cups your cheek, warm and steady. He’s always so warm.

"Close your eyes," he says lowly, and they fall shut of their own accord.

You don’t think you’re breathing as you wait, your hands fisted into your blanket as if you’re trying to hold on for dear life. Maybe you are.

For a very long moment, nothing happens, and you’re starting to feel like you’re being ridiculed after all. Like you’re going to open your eyes to Johnny laughing in your—

His lips brush against yours, just a single, careful touch, lingering, testing the waters. You don’t dare to move, or breathe, or do anything but feel. Your mind is racing, even though you cannot catch a single coherent thought.

The sheets rustle, the mattress dipping as Johnny breaks the kiss, adjusting his position. His thumb is still on your cheek, a gentle caress.

"You in there, darlin’?"

"Yeah." Your grip loosens a little.

"Okay." His breath fans over your lips. "You wanna try again?"

You’ve barely started nodding before he dives in again.

This time, you’re a little more ready for it, moving your mouth against his experimentally. He smells nice. You don’t know what to do with your hands.

He pulls away again and your heart tugs painfully, but he only tilts his head the other way and goes back to kissing you, still so soft, so languidly, like he has all the time in the world. He makes no rush of deepening the kiss, which is so like and unlike him at the same time.

It’s you, then, who leans in closer, your tongue slipping into his mouth, your brain going in and out of focus with each shuddering breath as he responds fervently. His fingers move down to your chin, angling it just a little. One of your hands lands on his shoulder, seeking balance.

He tastes sweet. Dangerously addictive.

This time, you’re the one to move back, your eyes flying open, feeling like his fire has set your entire body aflame. "How’d I do?"

Johnny blinks a couple of times, staring at your mouth, his pupils blown wide. You press your lips together.

"Not bad," he says hoarsely. "Maybe a little …"

"What?"

"Come here."

He catches your hands, putting them around his neck. It’s an awkward position, the rest of your body still angled away from his until he raises an eyebrow.

You realize there’s two options before you, and you’re not ready to have him on top of you in your own bed.

Instead, you straddle his thighs, looking over his shoulder to not have to meet his eye. His arms fall around you, settling at your lower back, pleasurable heat crawling up your spine.

"This okay?"

You kiss him again.

He makes a startled noise against your mouth, tightening his hold on you as his head drops back, granting you easier access. Your heart is pounding so wildly in your chest it’s making you dizzy.

It’s the most natural thing in the world, to kiss him like this. To scratch your fingernails against the nape of his neck until he makes that sound again. It vibrates against your tongue, and you melt against him, his body hot and solid against yours. Even when you come apart for air, he’s the only real thing in the world.

There’s nothing innocent about the way your mouths crash together now. He swallows your surprised moan like he’s been hungering for it, his hands bunching up your shirt at your back. You shudder against him when he grazes bare skin, each new touch burning in the most delicious manner. You’re weightless, intertwined, content to never again draw a single breath that hasn’t fallen from his lips first.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting your mouth in a way that borders on desperate. You press even closer to him, your fingers slipping into his hair in that way you’ve wanted to for longer than you’ve cared to admit even to yourself, hips involuntarily stuttering against his until he groans, responding in kind to each push and pull.

Finally, after what well may have been hours, you come apart, your forehead pressed to his, chests heaving. You don’t want to open your eyes; don’t want to return to the aftermath of what you’ve just done.

"Go out with me."

You sit back. Johnny’s arms are still draped around you, and there’s a mesmerized smile on his face as he looks at you. "What?"

"Go out with me. On a date." His voice is rough and strangely hopeful, and it makes your stomach flutter. "I promise no small talk."

"You’re not serious."

"About you?" His gaze drops to your lips again. "Always." His nose bumps against yours. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" You exhale shakily, dropping to a whisper. "That’s soon."

"Hmm."

"Maybe I should practice some more before then."

He smiles against your mouth.

thank you for reading my first full length johnny fic 😌 i'm sure it won't be the last. if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[louisegluckpdf]

need what hugh grant and his wife have

[victusinveritas]

[torschlusspanikattack]

these stories i think are more compelling than the experience is actually worth

[saltedume]

[navybrat817]

Lovelies, I'm exhausted and in a mood. Indulge with me, if you will.

Warnings: Steve Rogers, explicit sexual content, dry humping, grinding

banner by the talented @cafekitsune

We all know Steve Rogers can fuck for hours, right? Peak condition and all, but can we talk about the flip side and how sensitive he is some days? Just hard for absolutely no reason and he feels like he'll blow his load if you even look in his direction?

So, naturally, you decide to be a little bratty when you see him on the couch trying to hide the massive hard-on he’s sporting. And why wouldn't you play a little? The thought of the commanding, blonde, sculpted super soldier about to burst because of you is just too hot to ignore.

“Aww. Poor Steve. Hard in your pants just because I walked into the room,” you tease as you straddle him, the outline of his cock making you shiver. He's strong enough to push you away, but doesn't. So you take it as an invitation to shove your hips down in a slow, dirty grind. “Let me take care of that for you.”

He grunts, his pretty blue eyes fluttering as you roll your hips. You arch your back when he grips them hard enough that you can feel it in your bones. Other than that, he doesn't move. In fact, he hardly breathes. Because he doesn't want to lose it so quickly.

“Keep doing that and I'll come in my pants,” he grits.

And that makes you double your efforts.

You tug at his hair, biting at his soft lower lip. His eyes are hazy, his breathing heavy. “All the panties you've made me ruin. Only fair I return the favor just this once.” You smirk when his head falls back. “Can you smell how wet I am? Bet you wish you were fucking me. Too bad. You owe me an orgasm first.”

“Sweetheart.” He warns, his voice a bit hoarse, his cheeks flushed. He's beautiful. He’s yours.

“It's okay. You can come. I want you to. Make a mess for me.” Your lips move to his ear to breathe out, “Captain.”

Steve moans your name when you shove your hips down once more and he finally moves. His body shudders and you can't help but smile when you feel the wet patch through the fabric. You made Steve Rogers, Captain America, come in his pants. God, he even whimpers when he’s finally spent.

“Think you can get it up again, old man?” You tease.

Steve may spank you when he bends you over the arm of the couch and makes another mess.

This time inside you.

Nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business! ❤️