I’m Kait - she/her/they, 26, bi, a raging feminist and occasional smut writer.
I ask that men don’t interact directly with me through this blog. This is a side blog, so likes/follow backs will be from that url @she**************ed
Do Not Interact if you are...
Under 18. NO EXCEPTIONS. I will block minors who interact with my content, please respect my boundaries.
Homophobic, biphobic, transphobic, racist, sexist, ableist, etc.
If you’d like to send me an idea for a one shot or drabble send me an ask! ✌🏻
Stories written are complete FICTION, meaning that events and actions of characters do not necessarily reflect how I feel about the subject matter.
I do not give permission for my works to be posted or translated on other sites.
All of my stories are 18+! Minors are asked to turn back until they’re at least 18 years old.
* indicates smut
+ indicates dark themes - read the accompanying trigger warnings!
Yes Alpha * (a/b/o)
Take It Easy*
What are friends for?*
Crossing the Line* - prequel to What are friends for?
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ANON SAYS: I saw a text post and it said something to the effect of him telling you to watch your mouth if you swear when he’s railing your brains out and this made me think of Logan IMMEDIATELY.
ᯓᡣ𐭩 CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, FEM!READER, established relationship, swearing, smoking, p in v, rough sex, riding, dumbification, degradation, pussy pronouns, logan howlett has a pain kink, god he talks so much shit mid-sex UGHH i hate him, belly bulging, size kink, creampie, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.
ᯓᡣ𐭩 NAT’S NOTE: everyone needs to thank this anon for single handedly making logan howlett relevant to the blog again. this ask came in my inbox and i genuinely had to set my phone down and just take a lap. i know i don’t really go here anymore but…hope y’all love it!
dividers by me! inspo from love @saradika-graphics!
logan teaches you a lesson…
Logan Howlett is big on manners.
You'd never know it by looking at him. He’s all grit, all sharp edges. You know him too well by now, you can see through all the gruff scowling and machismo.
The man’s old school. He doesn’t like when people interrupt or speak out of turn. Doesn’t like when people whine, or chew with their mouth open, or show up late. He’s got rules, standards. Expectations.
“Say please.”
“Get your elbows off the table.”
“Sit up straight.”
Logan was raised in time where you stood when a lady entered the room, said your pleasantries, and got your mouth washed out with soap if you dared to let a swear slip.
He’s also the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet.
Even with your tits bouncing in his face, your pussy fluttering around the base of his cock as you ride him hard enough to shake the cheap motel bed frame, he still has the audacity to correct you.
“Fuck–Logan, god, you’re so fucking big–”
A hand slaps your thigh, enough to sting. Not too hard. Not too soft—just right. You moan at the warmth blooming along your skin, rocking down harder on him like it’s a reward.
“Watch yourself.” The cigar in Logan’s mouth bobs up and down as he talks, the cherry red tip burning brighter when he takes another slow drag.
You’ve got both hands splayed out on his hairy chest, the metal of his dog tags clinking together with every bounce. There’s sweat beaded across your brow, dripping down your temple and the length of your spine.
The burn in your thighs is nothing compared to the stretch of him. Thick, hot, pulsing inside you like he owns your pussy, like he’s just gonna sit back and let you fuck your own brain right out of your pretty little head and feel no guilt about it.
The room smells like smoke and sex and something else that’s entirely him.
Logan is leaned up against the scratched headboard, all tan skin and rippling muscle. He’s not even sweating. Smoke curls up past his nose, eyes half lidded, watching you with that dangerous smirk like he’s letting you ride for your sake, not his.
He’s come twice already. You can feel it, the gooey warmth flooding out of your abused hole to drip down the length of his cock and soak the scratchy sheets beneath you. The creamy ring around the base sticks wetly to your drenched folds as you start grinding your hips in slow circles.
Logan hums, another thick plume of smoke flowing from his lips. “Feel’s good, huh?”
His free hand falls to clutch at your hip—a big, strong palm that could crush your pelvis to dust if he wanted to.
You whine, more high pitched than you mean to. “Yes, feel’s so good.”
You moan helplessly, trying to lift yourself again, trying to slam back down. It’s hard—he’s too fucking big, too thick, every drag of him against your insides dizzying and deep, like he’s rearranging something important.
Your head tips back. You swear you can feel him in your belly. And you know he can too, because that big hand drags up from your waist to press flat right over the bulge in your stomach.
“There,” he mutters, rubbing circles into your skin like it soothes the ache instead of making it worse. “That where I’m sittin’, baby?”
You whine, a pathetic sound clawed from the back of your throat. Your hips finally start to rise and fall faster, impaling yourself on the thick length of his cock again and again. The sound of your pussy sucking him in deeper has your ears burning, the wet noise of your slick bouncing off the walls.
You try to nod, but it comes out more like a trembling jerk of your chin. You nails dig little crescent moons into the firm muscle of his pecs, pressing down on the skin until it’s white and threatening to break under your touch.
“Answer me,” Logan rasps, voice thick with smoke and that low growl that never really goes away. “Where am I?”
“In my belly,” you gasp. “Shit, Logan–”
Another sharp slap lands across your ass, this one loud, echoing off the walls of the motel room. You yelp, clenching hard around him.
“What’d I say about that mouth?” he snarls, not even bothering to take the cigar out of his teeth. “You know I don’t like you swearin’ like a goddamn sailor when I’m bein’ so nice and lettin’ you get off.”
You whimper, hips stuttering as he grabs a handful of your ass, spreading you wide. “M’sorry,” you breathe, eyes glassy and wide, “jus’—jus’ feels too good—can’t think.”
He grins around the cigar. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Dumb little thing can barely ride without losin’ her damn mind.”
Logan plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting up hard. Once. Twice. Three times.
It knocks the air from your lungs, a moan getting trapped in the back of your throat as you collapse against his chest. You bury your nose in the space where his neck meets his shoulder, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck–”
“You say ‘fuck’ one more time, sweetheart,” he warns tersely, leaning over to drop the cigar into the ash tray resting on the nightstand. His rhythm doesn’t even falter, doesn't stutter in the slightest. “And I’m puttin’ you on your back.”
You smirk, even through the daze, even with your mouth hanging open and drool threatening to slip from the corner. You lean in closer, enough to speak directly into his ear, hushed and sugary sweet. “Fuck me, Logan.”
The moment shatters like you took a hammer to a pane of glass.
The next second, the world tilts and you’re flat on your back.
Logan’s body blankets yours, his skin white hot where it drags against your own. Those heavy, metal laced bones press you into the mattress so tightly that you can only lay there and take it.
“I said watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he growls, voice like gravel, like it’s been dragged over a hot engine. His hand slaps down hard on your ass, makes your hips jerk forward and your moan catch in your throat. “Usin’ language like that when I’m bein’ so nice to you? That isn’t the sweet girl I know.”
He feels even bigger like this, his cock carving a place for itself inside you so deep you can feel it in your throat. You can feel the fat head pounding against your cervix, the thick vein running along the side dragging across that special bundle of nerves inside you that have your nails raking angry red welts down his back.
You can feel the tacky beads of blood slicking the tips of your fingers before his skin knits itself back together.
Logan groans at the feeling of it, at the pain. His hands tighten around your hips as he thrusts impossibly faster. Impossibly harder. The lewd slap of skin on skin is all you can hear, loud and sticky with sweat and slick and pre-come.
“Count ‘em for me, baby,” he breathes against your skin, fever hot lips brushing the lobe of your ear with every word. “You’re a big girl. Show me what that smart mouth can do.”
You can’t think, can’t talk. You can hardly breath around the choking pleasure, your thighs pressed to your shoulders restricts your breathing enough to make you feel lightheaded in all the best ways.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He drags his cock out halfway, the head catching just enough to make your walls flutter and your toes curl, before slamming back in with enough force to jolt your whole body up the mattress. “Come on, now. Count.”
Your brain fizzes like static, like all the lights in your head got knocked loose and the wiring’s melting. Logan’s cock keeps pounding into you, each thrust punching a weak little noise from your throat, but you try.
You try, because he told you to. And that’s what good girls do.
“One.” The word bubbles up raw from your chest, broken and wet and needy.
Logan fucks into you hard.
“T-two.”
“That’s it,” he coaxes, grinning like the devil, like he owns you. And maybe he does—because you don’t know where you end and he begins anymore. Your body’s his to play with, his to use.
Another thrust, hard enough to sting the skin of your ass.
“Three, ah! Logan, please–”
The edge is so close, so sharp. You’re trembling all over, eyes glassy and unfocused as he presses his palm back against the slight bulge in your stomach, grinding the heel of his hand down until you feel like you’re gonna burst.
“You’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good,” Logan growls, and this time it’s not mocking—it’s reverent. “So fuckin’ deep. Look at you. Stuffed full of cock and still cryin’ for more.”
You clench around him at that, tight and involuntary.
“Oh, you like that?” He grins, eyes gleaming wicked. His teeth, sharp and biting, nip along the side of your neck. Bright red marks lay claim to your skin, you know they’ll be a deep, blotchy purple come morning. “That dumb little pussy squeezin’ on me like she’s tryin’ to keep me. Like she don’t already got all of me.”
You nod again, desperate. Sloppy. Mouth hanging open.
He leans in, foreheads touching, breath mingling. “You want it, baby? Want me to come again in this soaked fuckin’ pussy? Fill you up good?”
You make some pathetic, strangled noise in the back of your throat that could’ve meant yes, could’ve meant please, could’ve meant I love you—but all it earns you is a low groan from Logan as he starts fucking you even harder.
“Better not waste it,” he pants, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “You wanna act like a dumb slut, you take it like one too.”
You’re already gone.
Everything inside you coils and then unravels all at once, your orgasm tearing through you so violently you scream. You wail like it hurts, like you’re scared, like it’s the first time you’ve ever come in your entire life.
You crest over the edge hard, your orgasm tearing through you so violently your whole body seizes. You scream his name, thighs quaking as your pussy clamps down around him like a vice.
Logan doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Just chases his own high through the tight, spasming grip of your pussy, snarling against your throat as he thrusts through your aftershocks.
Your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Over and over. Each time a little more hoarse. A little more broken.
Logan hisses, the muscles in his back tightening under your calves. “Jesus Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—gonna milk me fuckin’ dry—”
With one last hard thrust, he buries himself in you as deep as he can and groans into your neck like he got shot.
He snarls when he comes, biting down into your neck like you’re prey and he’s more beast than man. You swear you feel it flood you, hot and thick, leaking out around his twitching cock before he even pulls out.
Your body shakes under his, legs locked around his shoulders, hips twitching helplessly as the last embers of your own orgasm fizzles out to smoke.
“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs, rocking into you even after you’ve gone limp, chasing every last drop of heat he can push into you. “Took it so fuckin’ good, baby. So proud of you.”
You whimper something that might be his name, might be gibberish, but it makes him smile.
Logan finally pulls out with a wet, obscene noise—and you can feel the mess of it, sticky and messy, dripping down between your thighs.
You gasp, hips arching slightly as the emptiness throbs.
He just laughs, low and warm. He falls onto his back beside you with a content huff, chest rising and falling with every quick breath.
“Now,” Logan mutters, eyes glittering with satisfaction, “you gonna watch that mouth, or am I gonna have to fuck the rest of the attitude outta you?”
You grin, slow and sly, voice wrecked and syrupy. “Fuck no.”
He growls—and just like that, he’s on you again.
MINI NAT'S NOTE: oh logan howlett how i've missed you. thank you again anon for sending this ask in, your mind is so beautiful and so big and i wish i could kiss it.
Holy hell reader seeing how big Logan’s dick is for the first time and Logan is laying on top of her and she tries to back or crawl away because she doesn’t think it will fit and Logan drags her back under him and says he’ll compromise by stretching her out longer
don't look at me i'm ovulating
18+ MDNI!!!
thinking about the way the two of you would be naked, you in bed, logan standing right at the far edge. you'd both be all flushed and panting from making out for god knows how long, hands in hair and under shirts and over skin, lips swollen from all that kissing. your neck would already be marked up, and his would be the same if he didn't have regenerative healing.
he smirks, catching where your eyes drift to, then looks down to glance at himself. red, veiny, raring to go—precum glistening at the tip like it's happy to see a little bit of fear in your surprised expression.
like it's payback for all the ways you got him messed up just by existing.
"you scared of cock, sugar?" he purrs, crawling on all fours towards you. you move back, propped up by elbows, almost confirming his taunt.
meanwhile, you're dealing with the reality of what that vein leads to—the one that makes itself known whenever he's shirtless with a pair of low-hanging jeans. no wonder he's so cocky.
he's bent over you, a hand beside your shoulder, the other groping at your breast to lead your flesh into his mouth. you arch, moaning. you can feel it, his cock twitching against your leg. he licks and sucks at your nipple, hips jutting, wiping precum on your skin. is that on purpose? you have no idea, too overwhelmed with the image of it burned behind your eyes.
logan parts from your chest with a pop, looking up at you. the smile on his face unsettles you, threatening pleasure and not comfort.
"'s okay, don't be scared," he coos almost mockingly, "just gotta stretch this tight pussy out f'me, hm? you can take it, know you can."
that's when his finger plays with you, drawing circles round your dripping entrance while you whine at his teasing. even when he slowly sinks into you, knuckle-deep, he doesn't. stop. talking.
"gotta take our time preppin' you, sweets. relax, 'kay? get you nice and loose..."
"that's two fingers, baby. wanna cum on 'em? yeah, there we go. good girl."
"fuck, look at 'er, all messy. wanna eat her up, sweetheart. you gonna let me?"
three orgasms later, he's feeding his cock into your pussy, groaning at the fit. you're too lost beneath him, left to claw at his forearms and babble incomprehensible moans that sound like "s-so big—ah—can't—" while he slowly sinks inside.
he has to pin your hips down to stop you from squirming away.
"fuck, there she is," he pants as he bottoms out, looking down at the way your tight cunt swallows him. "how's it feel, baby? full?"
you nod, already feverish just from taking his length. he hasn't even moved yet. the stretch is dizzying. you can feel him pulse inside you like some kind of monster, walls fluttering out of control.
he leans forward just a little more. there's a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he catches the faint traces of a bulge on your lower stomach.
slowly, he pulls out. your lips fall open in a silent scream, panting, the drag of his cock making you claw his biceps.
then he thrusts in, singular and deep, and you scream for real.
he grins, hearing your strained voice and the loud squelch from his balls slapping against the mess between your legs. he's trembling from eagerness.
"gonna take big cock so fucking good after i fuck you, right, baby?"
"a-ah!"
thrust. "gonna make you dumb with it." thrust. "make you want it all the damn time, 'til you don't want no one else. y'hear me?"
"f-fuck, y-yes—"
he takes you again and again in all sorts of ways that turn your brain into mush, making you cum around his cock every single time.
Pairing: Charles Blackwood x Reader
Summary: Convinced that Charles is cheating on you, you damage his precious car. When you realize your mistake, he decides to teach you a lesson.
Word Count: Almost 1.9k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dubious consent if you squint, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessive behavior, assumptions, temporary angst, threat of violence, Charles being Charles.
18+ Please!!!
This is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own.
Long overdue request for @finleyjayne who has always been so supportive and supplied the gif! Enjoy, lovely, and I hope you get a chance to relax soon! Divider by @whimsicalrogers.
You were a fool to fall for Charles Blackwood. The handsome man was a charmer, making everyone around him fall under his spell when he rolled into town. It frightened you how quickly he drew you to him. You believed at first that it was the thrill of someone new and exciting in your life, but it only grew the more you got to know him.
summary: You're not interested in anything personal the Scaretale offers. You just want to see it from the inside. Then, once your curiosity is sated, you're going home. But you forgot what curiosity did to the cat...
warnings: dark fae!Ransom; dark!Ransom; dub-con; drugging of sorts; power imbalance; dirty talk; Master/pet undertones (but no pet play); degradation mixed with praise; humiliation; brief F/F/F; oral (f receiving); rimming; fingering; forced orgasm; squirting; anal play; anal sex, unprotected sex;
word count: 5.6k
Author’s Note: Fae isn't exactly a monster, but it's still very fitting for the Scaretale universe 😎 Especially with how wicked and devious Ransom is. It's definitely dark, even if it feels light and almost playful, too. It's how the fae get you😏 Also, this is the very first time I wrote something so long for Ransom! But I have to admit that I had fun writing this devious, kinky Ran. I know @stargazingfangirl18 is doing a happy dance about it, lol.
To the tiniest button, to the last line, to the very detail - preparation was something you excelled at. It gave you a sense of control, too. Which, in turn, boosted your confidence.
If you were prepared, nothing would surprise you.
It’s why you researched Scaretale for over six months; following not only the online reviews, gossip, or comments from people and monsters who attended, but also spending hours upon hours in the library and online archives. You browsed everything there was about fae and their customs.
Since the Scaretale was founded and owned by a fae, you figured it had to be created and ruled by the fae magic. Learning about it as much as you could was a smart move if you wanted to enter the club.
And you wanted to.
It tempted you.
Not for the reasons most of the people went there - to search for love, or to taste the spicy taboo. No, you were curious. So achingly, annoyingly curious.
You wanted to walk in there, soak up the atmosphere and observe. Your thoughts often derailed, wondering how the interactions inside the club looked like. Was it a full on debauchery (so cliche), or maybe so similar to a human club (how disappointing)?
You’ve put a lot of thought into choosing your wardrobe, making sure to not pick anything too revealing as to not attract too much attention. As well, nothing too modest, because to some monsters that was even more appealing, with the whole innocence and fragility concept.
You weren’t going there to fill anyone’s lust. Only to sate your own curiosity.
By now you knew the exterior of the club by heart, having walked by it so many times and admiring the details. It had that enchanting allure of a building that stood out from all the others, veiled in mystery that one couldn’t resist unraveling. Like the abandoned, or supposedly haunted houses in the movies, where kids dared each other to knock on the door. Though Scaretale looked less creepy and more magical.
There were big, stained-glass windows, yet nothing could be seen through them. Not even in the late evening when the colorful glass glowed from the inside, but no shadows passed, no silhouettes were visible. As if the windows were only a decoration and not a means to give view either way.
Curved vines, with detailed leaves and thorns, weaved around the entrance. The door, too, seemed to be made from delicate, thickly woven ivy, though to the touch it was sturdy like steel.
The door opened easily, just from a single push. They closed behind you soundlessly.
Pleasant warmth welcomed you. Not too stifling like in most clubs, but rather reminiscent of a summer evening when the warmth lingers, but leaves room for evening freshness.
A softest kind of breeze brushed around your ankles and up your legs, like the faintest touch of gentle hands. It teased your collarbones and swept up your neck to flick a sensitive spot behind your ear. It evoked your surprised, tiny gasp.
That sensation wasn’t palpable enough for you to startle and search for invisible hands, but it piqued your already high curiosity.
Was it a welcome every human who entered received? Or maybe the sensations upon arrival were attuned individually?
Or was it just your own imagination?
If your unsatisfied curiosity was pulsing earlier, now it raged with hunger. You barely kept your pace slow, while all you wanted was to immediately check every nook, study every creature, taste and touch every single detail.
That would draw unnecessary attention. Which you didn’t need. You wanted to snoop around undisturbed.
And definitely not becoming someone’s interest.
Feigning nonchalance, you cast long glances at each booth and the monsters occupying it. A group of orcs, who were attempting to be politely quieter than their booming voices allowed. Two vampires, both more occupied with their sleek phones than with the pretty waitress who brought their wine. Though it seemed she had one of the orcs watching her every move.
At first, even at a second glance, it appeared that Scaretale was a boring, high end type of club where everyone was behaving themselves and only considering courting someone who caught their eye.
But you felt that raw, intense pulsing in the air. A tension that wasn’t about to break into violence, but rather into a primal chase and claiming.
That elegant veneer veiled a lethal doom.
Your blood rippled with a wave of thrill. Just adrenaline, you told yourself as your instincts tensed in anticipation.
Your gaze shifted back and forth, across the endless room, over every booth and nook and iron-wrought railings cutting off a few alcoves. Any moment now someone could snap. Any monster was bound to leap and find their prey, who would yield willingly, or put up a fight. To some, the prey would crawl over - mesmerized, enchanted, or simply so desperate.
A venus flytrap.
The club, you realized, was like a pulsing, living entity that lured humans in with sweet poison of mystery and promises of love; only to trap them the moment a predator lurking within decided to claim them.
You moved forward, toward the glowing oval bar that stood in the center of the grand space. As you approached, you felt your mouth going dry, your throat aching for a drop of liquid. Frowning, you forced yourself to swallow your own saliva.
Scaretale belonged to a fae. A dark fae. There was no way you were going to eat or drink anything served here.
That’s how people bound themselves to the fae. At least according to most legends. Even if it was an exaggerated lore, you preferred not to find out for yourself.
A blue haired woman minded the bar. She moved gracefully, floating from one end to the other in dance-like steps. Her smile was gentle, not a fake one forced to appease customers. She paused for a second as you neared the countertop, lips parting as if to ask what you wanted to drink. Before she uttered a single sound, her mouth closed and she twirled away, ignoring you completely.
You were about to study the short encounter, wondering why unexpected rudeness happened, but a different presence entered your personal space.
You felt a peculiar tickling grazing your skin, like tiny drops of carbonated drink bursting around your mouth and nose when you took a first sip of freshly opened soda, or champagne.
It wasn’t an overwhelming body heat you’d expect from most monsters, nor a piercing coldness a vampire might give off. This man’s aura was fresher. Like a stream weaving through the midsummer forest.
“Ain’t you a curious little creature?” His voice drawled in a soft, velvety mockery.
Eyes still glued to the empty space where the bartender stood a few seconds ago, your body froze on the spot the second the mysterious man invaded your personal space.
As his voice reached you, your curiosity yanked you into movement.
You had to see who it was.
Your eyes found themselves on level with a male chest. Not the broadest, if you compared it to some other monsters in the club that night, but corded with lean muscles. His shirt was a pearly white, similar to satin, or maybe silk. Definitely expensive. Tiny, golden buttons on it were fucking monogrammed.
Your gaze slowly dropped down, where his waist narrowed into tight hips and long, long legs (clad in equally expensive pants). His arms hung loosely at his sides, forearms exposed where the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up.
His skin was fair, a faint glow caught deep beneath the skin surface. What instantly caught your attention and filled you with an alarming sensation, were the black tips of his fingers. Color darkest at the fingertips, gradually fading as it went down his knuckles and into his palm.
Not just black, but a night sky ink that seemed to shimmer a dark dust in the blackness.
A dark fae!
Your gaze snapped up to his face. Most beautiful face you’ve ever seen. Even with the smirk curving his lips, which would usually annoy you in any human male.
Not a single feature of his face seemed flawed, or in disharmony. His irises were a crystalline blue, but the longer you stared into them the more it appeared that all changes in the sky were reflected in the fae’s eyes.
“You know what curiosity did to a cat, right? And yet you’re here.” He gave an almost disappointed sigh, but amusement sparked his eyes and his smirk didn’t ease an inch.
“A stubborn little, human tabby,” he chuckled, giving you a once over.
It was merely a flick of gaze and for some reason you knew it was only for show, because this man had been studying you for longer. Possibly, his attention was on you the whole time you thought yourself to be unnoticed as you explored the club.
You licked your lips nervously, but still straightened your back and titled your chin up in defiance.
“Humans are allowed here.” You bit back. “Encouraged to come, even.”
“Humans who seek a partner, yes.” He replied. His beautiful, tempting lips were ready to say more when you interrupted-
“Who says I’m not looking for one?” You crossed your arms over your chest, attempting for fake confidence to hide the simple urge to test everything.
“You’re looking for trouble, Tabby.” The fae tutted in a soft warning. “You’ve been after it for weeks. Every single day walking around the building and learning its details with a deep hunger that a desperate slut has for her Master’s cock.”
Fire blazed up within you, scorching your skin from the inside and melting low in your abdomen.
You weren’t sure if it was his dirty metaphor that ignited the reaction, or the scary fact that he was aware of your investigation. Of every single time you strolled around the building and watched it.
“Since you’re so passionate about Scaretale and I’m the owner, I thought it’s only polite that I attend to your needs personally.”
Clear sky in his irises dimmed into dusk, with blue so dark and seductive you couldn’t look away. Or perhaps it was his words that gripped you in a vice, shocking with the innuendo, but oh so tempting with it, too.
His curled forefinger lodged beneath your chin. Then his thumb pressed to the front of it, trapping you in a grip that only seemed gentle.
“Why don’t you give me your name, Tabby?” He coaxed and your tongue instinctively moved to roll out the answer.
Thankfully, the cautious part of your brain was still working and you caught the side of the spiderweb he almost launched you into.
“Nuh-uh.” Tip of your tongue flicked out to lick your bottom lip - a move that the fae caught with growing interest. “I know your kind’s tricks. I’m not going to fall for it and just give myself away to be bound. And before you offer, I won’t accept any food, or drink, either.”
You expected irritation. Anger that his smooth act didn’t work on you, while you bet so many would fall for his charm and flirting alone. Especially, since a man like that one rarely got denied anything he wanted. Fae or human, men of power and wealth were all the same in that department.
Instead, he smiled. There was something wicked to the way his lips curved and his eyes glinted with amusement. Even the crinkles that formed around his eyes didn’t ease the growing uneasiness deep in your gut.
“So clever.” He hummed, slowly dragging his thumb toward your lips.
He drew a line below the bow of your mouth first, then a warm pad touched your pouty lip and brushed along it.
It felt as if that touch grazed your clit.
He rubbed your bottom lip again and your thighs clenched in a foolish attempt to prevent the sensation teasing your nub.
Your body had always been quite responsive, though the fae might have been the first man to get your pussy started just from the way he played with your mouth.
“You can call me Ransom,” he offered his name, without any tricky games. Or so you thought. “Or-” he paused, for the third time brushing his thumb along your lip- “your Master.”
His hand withdrew, leaving a warm print on your chin and a tingling sensation on your bottom lip. It took your brain a second to register his words fully. Another second for your rebellion to fire up and react.
“My Master?!” You snorted in faint rage, hating how saying those words sent a jolt down your spine.
Your tongue poked out to lick the aftertaste of his touch. But it felt like there was an actual taste following, first coating your tongue then swallowed with your saliva. A little sweet, fizzing like pop-rocks.
Staring into Ransom’s eyes, you were focused on the touch of his thumb itself. Never expecting, or imagining the trail of sparkling black dust from his fingertips leaving traces on your lips.
Which you licked. And swallowed.
There was no dizziness, nor complete loss of limb movement, yet your whole body became pliant and hot. Fascination with the dark fae grew into devotion, eagerness to follow him. To please him.
“See, my fiery Tabby,” Ransom’s eyes blazed inhuman blue. “I don’t need your name to own you.”
“You tricked me!” You accused him, but couldn’t make yourself run away from him. Quite the contrary, you itched to snuggle into his arms and purr like the kitten he nicknamed you.
“I am a dark fae.” He laughed. Then he stepped even closer, your body touching his and reacting to the proximity with increasing need. His knuckles caressed your cheek, before his hand dipped lower and his fingers curled around the front of your neck.
“Now, give me your name. As you will give me everything I ask for, anyway.”
Your name rolled out on your tongue without any resistance. Your eyelids fluttered close when Ransom rewarded your obedience with barely whispered praise and mouth nearing yours. His lips almost touched yours, holding you on the precipice until you nearly whined.
With a triumphant chuckle, he withdrew. Your eyes opened when he snapped his fingers.
A heartbeat later two women appeared at your sides. Both with skin glowing from within, stunning and perfect. And almost naked. They had warm smiles and mischief sparkling in their eyes.
“Meet Dusk and Dawn.” He introduced the two fae, then directed an order at them - “Take her to my chambers and prepare her.”
“Prepare?!” You squeaked when the women simply hooked their arms with yours and began leading you, like a group of friends might support each other when walking after a few drinks.
“Be a good girl, Tabby.” Ransom grinned. “Do as they say. I’ll be with you in a moment and sate some of that curiosity of yours.”
“Yes, Master.” It spilled out of your mouth, before your brain even registered what you were saying.
Ransom laughed at your shocked expression and the embarrassment that followed.
Dusk and Dawn lead you across the club, toward the far back where the space diverted in three ways. Left and right corridors were swarmed with darkness, but the middle one was pulsing with an unusual glow. They took you to the central one.
A few steps down the corridor and an ornate, double winged window marked its end. Nothing was visible through it, beside the yellow-green light. As they pushed you through it, like through a dry waterfall, your feet landed on a carpet so plush and dark green, it might as well be moss.
Wait, was it moss?
The walls of the bedroom seemed solid, no trees suddenly sprouting from anywhere. But the dark jewel tones reminded the core of the woods. An explicitly large bed stood in the middle - a frame carved of dark wood, with a canopy weaved off gauzy fabrics and live vines and so many fairy lights.
You squeaked when the women started tugging on your clothes. They skilfully dodged your hands when you attempted to swat them away, moving fast and light like fireflies. One of them reminded you that Ransom asked you to listen and instantly that pull to obey made you cease your fight.
A part of you hated that automatic obedience, every rebellious streak in you fussed and stomped against it. But there was also that damn side of you, which was kinda fascinated with it.
Was whatever you tasted on your lips enough to bind you to a fae? What belonging to him would entail? How deeply your body’s reactions would attune to Ransom’s commands?
The fae spread you on the bed, cooing at you when you sank into the soft linens with a contented sigh. Their lips were warm and gentle as they kissed your exposed skin, stirring your arousal.
You’ve never been with a woman. There was some curiosity towards it, but never an actual attraction to study it deeper. Now two were playing with your body against your will, as if you were a kitten for their amusement.
And for the Master’s.
The thought of Ransom joining you in that bed made you shiver. Your gaze fitted on the slopes of the soft canopy hanging above, but you imagined his face filling your vision as he settled on top of you. Between your thighs.
A reluctant moan bubbled on your lips when Dusk parted your legs and with a giggle chased sweet kisses up your inner thighs.
Dawn closed her mouth around your nipple, plucking the other with her fingers.
You felt overwhelmed. Your body roused, your pussy was tingling, but you were also embarrassed, helpless, and in the back of your head still huffed that resistance.
“Nooo!” You whined, back arching, when Dusk’s tongue licked into your seam.
“Yes,” came an unyielding reply.
Your head lifted from the pillows, finding Ransom standing at the foot of the bed, watching your body being pleasured. Being prepared. For him.
He started to unbutton his shirt, lazily. All the while holding your gaze and with a triumphant look drinking in all of your expressions and sounds. He watched as Dawn kissed and licked all over your breasts and belly; as your hips rocked eagerly into Dusk’s mouth when she sucked on your clit.
“Dusk is really talented with her mouth.” Ransom complimented the other fae, who in return parted your folds with her fingers and began licking and kissing all over your dripping pussy. “You should thank her, Tabby.”
You whined, scrunching up your nose and refusing to comply. Which made Ransom chuckle at your defiance.
He walked to the side of the bed, one knee dipping into the mattress as he leaned across to grip one of your legs. He brought it outwards and up, opening you wider.
There were no words spoken, but perhaps they had some telepathic communication, or maybe they’ve done this dance before - because the moment Ransom had you spread wider, your pelvis slightly tipped up, Dusk’s tongue delved down.
Toward your tight rim.
“Oh fu-!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut at the humiliation.
Fae’s tongue circled your tight hole, teasing it and evoking unknown sensations. Then she wiggled it in, giggling when your pussy clenched in return, dripping more of your slick. And Ransom was watching it with growing hunger; his burning gaze focused on the shiny mess between your buttocks as Dusk licked and spit onto your asshole.
Dawn pinched your nipples playfully for the last time, then crawled across you. Without prompting, she unzipped Ransom’s pants and pushed it down his legs. Slipping off the bed, she helped him out of the clothes completely.
Not once did she touch him, however.
The second Ransom was completely naked, Dusk pulled away from between your legs. Her grin was wicked, her lips shiny with your wetness and she licked it with a broad swipe, winking at you playfully.
Both fae women left the bedroom, but you didn’t pay attention to where they were going. Your focus shifted completely to Ransom, who was now fully naked and moving towards you.
Your gaze slid from his beautiful face, down his unblemished torso. Like you assumed, he wasn’t a beefy kind of man, but there was a chiseled structure of muscles speaking of speed and stealthy kind of strength.
A tattoo of intricate vines weaved all around his pelvis; leaves and branches dipping down the V cut and running down his cock, too.
Usually you wouldn’t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but that fae’s was…
It was long and nicely thick, a pretty flush color that gradually darkened into the same sparkling black as the tips of his fingers.
Would his cum be as drugging as the dust from his fingers?
Ransom knelt between your lewdly spread thighs. His gaze lingered on where you were soaked and pulsing with need. His fingers brushed your thighs, then skimmed up your belly and over your breasts. When he pinched your nipples, it was more mean than how Dawn treated you.
Still, your chest arched and you hissed in pleasure.
One of his hands moved upwards, teasing your neck and then bracketing your face. He squeezed your cheeks and leaned closer. A strand of silky, dark blond hair fell across his forehead, adding a boyish charm to an otherwise lethally beautiful creature.
Ransom’s breath tickled your lips, his mouth hovering so close to yours. He let your lips brush lightly. Again and again, but not pressing harder. Until you squirmed under him and pushed against his hold to finally taste that wicked mouth. Would he taste like pop-rocks the way his dust did?
“To you I’ll taste like ambrosia, my feisty pet.” Ransom murmured, and you were unsure if he could read your mind, or if you blurted the question aloud. “I’ll taste like your last meal. Like all you ever want to have on your tongue for the rest of your life.”
“And when I break you-” he added, his deceivingly velvety voice more alluring than scaring- “you’ll never want to experience anything else but the pleasure and humiliation coming from your Master.”
Your brain fogged. Your body shivered with growing need, becoming restless the longer he denied you that fate.
It wasn’t all due to his magic. That curious spirit of yours was eager to find out how many sensations he could expose you to, how it would feel to belong to a dark fae.
“Master,” you breathed out a plea.
“Vow you belong to me.” Ransom demanded, tightening his grip.
“I belong to you. I give myself to you.” Somehow your tongue knew which words to say and the moment they bubbled out, your body filled with a certain awareness. Like an alert humming beneath your skin, attuned to the presence of the man above you.
It wasn’t just arousal anymore, or fascination. The need to be near him, to please him in any possible way, to be used, has taken root inside of you.
It illuminated with the power of the sun, filling you with warmth and ecstasy, when Ransom rewarded your pledge with a kiss. A sinful play of lips tasting of midsummer dreams and tongue teasing yours with promises of taboo.
When he pulled back, you looked at him in daze and admiration. Your mouth parted wider, tongue sticking out, when Ransom dipped two of his fingers into your mouth. His other hand sneaked down your body, black-tipped fingers playing with your already pulsating pussy.
He pushed his digits to the back of your throat, making you choke and splutter. Your eyes teared up, but you didn’t break eye contact. When Ransom added a third finger, pressing them down on your tongue and further in, you gagged. Your body spasmed, but he held you down still - fucking your face with his fingers, at the same time circling your clit with the other hand.
He made you come just by playing with your pearl. Or maybe the strongest shockwave was from the way he forced his fingers into your throat; filling you with more of the fizzy fae dust that made you salivate and crave him more.
“Good girl, Tabby,” he cooed as he kept his fingers on your tongue while you writhed and moaned your release.
Your body was still buzzing with the remnants of your climax when Ransom finally withdrew his fingers. Shiny with your spit, he brought them down between your spread thighs.
Without preamble, he thrust all three into you.
Your back arched as you fisted the sheets. Ransom’s name was a broken cry on your lips as your pussy welcomed the intrusion.
Like with your mouth, he set a steady, merciless rhythm. The second orgasm came quickly, not surprising you, considering how responsive your body was. It bubbled into the very tips of your fingers, making you mewl in pleasure.
But the cloudy lull dispersed when your body registered the continued stimulation.
Ransom kept moving his fingers. A little faster, too. He crooked them, pressing into your G-spot with each damn thrust. An embarrassingly loud squelching sound accompanied each move of his fingers.
His other hand played with your swollen clit, drawing you closer and closer to the precipice. When you whined, heels dragging against the mattress in a futile attempt of squirming away from the onslaught, Ransom’s hand changed its course. He splayed his fingers over your lower abdomen.
And then he pressed down.
At the same time driving his fingers into that most sensitive, responsive spot.
Your whole body jolted, bowing in half as pleasure more intense than before sizzled through your body. You screamed.
Ransom kept going and pressing and fucking… and you kept squirting.
Shaking and crying, you stared in disbelief at the mess between your spread thighs. Not only was his whole palm wet, but so was his forearm. A few splashes shone on his abdomen, as well.
Your breath was ragged, your mind somewhere outside of your body, when Ransom slowed and eased you through the aftershocks. Through half-lidded eyes you watched as he brought his soaked hand to his mouth. Holding your gaze with a wicked smirk, he sucked one of his fingers clean.
“I’ve never done that before,” you whispered shyly.
“Oh, Tabby.” Ransom’s gaze was both parts warm and evil as he lowered his hand between your thighs again. “I’m going to do to you a lot of things you’ve never tried before.”
“N-no!” You protested when you felt where his touch aimed.
Your fingers clenched on the sheets tighter when you felt his wet digits circle your rim. Your muscles cinched, but it only made Ransom chuckle.
“You’re going to let me,” he teased, “because you’re more curious than scared, little pet.”
Ransom’s lips puckered in a fake sympathetic pout and he let out a mocking coo as he forced a single finger into your tightest hole.
Your eyes were wide, your mouth opened on a distressed gasp. A tiny frown marred your forehead, as your natural curiosity probed at the new sensations he was stirring in your body.
“There you go,” he moved his finger in and out, “taking it so good, Tabby. Such a good pet.”
“Nghh!” You keened when he pushed a second finger in, stretching your rim wider.
“No need to be embarrassed that you like it. You’ll come from it, I promise.” His free hand teased along your puffy folds, mercifully not touching your oversensitive clit. “You’ll come with my cock deep in your ass, pet.”
“Someday,” he mused aloud, adding his dirty words to the torment, “I’ll keep you on my cock and spread you wide, so that Dusk can feast on your sweet cunt.”
The image his words painted sent a carnal response to your core, but also provoked an irritable cord.
“Gonna play with all of your pets, huh?” You glared; though it shifted into reflection of pleasure as fingers probed your unused channel.
“Sheath your claws, Tabby.” Ransom laughed. He reached for your face with his free hand and trailed a finger from the tip of your nose, across your lips and down to your neck. “No need for jealousy. Dusk and Dawn are a part of my family’s court. They love mischief and all things debauched, but they’re not my pets. Nor my lovers.”
He curled his fingers around your throat, demanding undisturbed eye contact.
“I let them touch you, because it pleases me when you suffer pleasure. When that silly, human propriety and reason fight your body’s eager responsiveness.”
He hovered above you, face so close to yours that his unruly strand of hair nearly tickled your forehead.
“If I wish so, they’ll play with you for my entertainment again,” Ransom’s tone lowered, turning a honey-sweet, but thick and sticky, clogging threat. “And you won’t fuss about it, because you want to please your Master.”
“Yes, Master.” Again, it flowed out of your lips so easily.
“Now kiss me and thank me for stretching your ass.”
Your lips pressed against his eagerly, as if you were starved for his taste. Your tongue poked out playfully, coaxing Ransom’s response. But what you earned in return was your own strained moan as he scissored his fingers inside of you.
“T-thank you for stretching my ass, Master,” you whimpered, though you honestly weren’t yet sold on the weird sensation. Or rather your brain wasn’t yet accepting it, because your pussy was weeping happy tears again, even though she wasn’t the one directly stimulated.
With wide eyes you observed as Ransom slowly withdrew his fingers, only to position the head of his cock right against that barely-opened hole.
You thought he’d torment you a bit with anal play, but then take your cunt. It appeared that the dark fae had other ideas. Unpredictable ones, which made you flush with dread and humiliation anew.
Ransom placed his hands on your thighs, keeping them spread wide apart. His hungry gaze was watching, nearly mesmerized, the way your tight, dirty hole struggled against his big cock.
He felt your whole body tense then yield with a broken moan as he pushed the tip inside.
Your rim opened, forced to swallow his cock. Your pussy was puffy and glistening, your clit engorged and tempting to torment it more. He noticed the way your other hole clenched in despair as he fucked into the one below.
He knew your cunt yearned to be fucked so good; fussy that he was neglecting it for the other hole, the one so many humans were squirmy and embarrassed about.
Oh, Ransom had every intention of fucking and filling your sweet pussy, but he wanted to play first. To torment you and your needy cunt, drawing your pleasure so high you would crawl and beg.
Besides, taking the virginity of your ass and seeing you fall apart from having something so dirty done to you, was a pleasure most exquisite.
You made the most delicious sounds - whimpers and mewls of crumbling resistance mixing with moans of a sweet, needy slut.
When he bottomed out in your ass, your pussy gushed with more of your wetness.
“What a naughty, messy pet,” he cooed cruelly. “Enjoying having her ass plowed. You gonna cum for me, Tabby? Gonna cum with my cock deep in your ass?”
You did. Crying out as your body tightened, squeezing his dick like a vice. Tears stung beneath your eyelids as he laughed and continued fucking into your sore bottom, yet pleasure still rippled as if his mockery was also a sweet caress.
You came again when Ransom groaned his release, filled you with hot cum and landed a slap on your exposed clit.
Rush of blood pounded in your head, muffling some of the dirty words Ransom was weaving like poetry. You stared at him with eyes glassy, admiring the raw, dark beauty of him. While he was watching your rim gaping slightly, his cum dribbling out.
Minutes, or perhaps hours later, your consciousness drifted back from the hazy cloudy space Ransom pushed you into. You were curled in bed, the sheets magically clean of any mess your bodies produced. It was warm and safe; a thin, soft sheet draped over your naked body.
You turned onto your back, yawning as you looked around. The canopy was drawn shut: gauzy curtains providing intimacy, fairy lights woven into the fabric glowing so beautifully.
Behind it, you could make out a shadow of a silhouette moving around the bedroom. Judging by the size and shape, you suspected it was Ransom. You were proved right when he parted the curtains a moment later.
“Dusk and Dawn will come to wash you.” Though spoken rather softly, it was a declaration that wouldn’t welcome any disobedience.
In your body, an eagerness to follow ignited, but your mind scowled at the prospect of being touched by strange women again. Washed and played with like a toy to be then presented to Ransom.
When you opened your mouth to protest against being touched and aroused by the fae again, Ransom cut you with a glare.
“They will wash and dress you, and you will let them. Then meet me on the main floor.”
“Yes, Master.” Your reply may have been obedient, but you still scrunched up your nose in discontent.
Judging by Ransom’s broad grin, he found your pout amusing. The glint in his blue eyes reminded of a lightning ripping through the night sky. It also suggested more humiliating torment coming your way.
Just reread Room with a View and I loved it the second time just as much as the first. Just wanted to tell you ❤️. I've always wondered where/how Bucky and Steve find their assistant? And does she know that she's signing up for from the beginning? If you're feeling inspired, I'd love a drabble. If not, any fragmented thoughts?
Fringe Benefit
pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers
summary: Steve and Bucky wanted to start looking for an assistant right after their visit to Ari, but unexpected business complications limited their time to organize a search. Luckily, the opportunity presented itself to them on a silver platter… You presented yourself, begging to squeeze in a ten minutes meeting in their busy schedule
warnings: dark Steve Rogers dark Bucky Barnes; dub-con; manipulation; forced orgasm; blowjob; deepthroating; power imbalance; explicit sexual situations; praise kink; breeding kink;
You came to their building - a forefront to businesses that you know are more illegal and dangerous than exclusive properties they deal with - five times, before a stuffy desk clerk written down your name in the calendar.
A small window for a very short meeting, possibly a dismissal, two weeks in the waiting.
You were patient, but in this case time was sensitive. Because money was sensitive.
A part of you wanted to drop it, not clean your younger brother's messes once again. Sense of responsibility made you cave in. As well awareness that if Noah can't pay his debts the sharks would turn your way to settle it, anyway.
You preferred to get ahead of things. Maybe your readiness to cooperate and a solid plan you've made would help you save life.
Barnes and Rogers were businessmen. Lethal mob bosses, but that was a sort of business too. And you knew how to deal with difficult clients as well demanding bosses.
So you poised yourself in calm, controlled demeanor as you sat down on a leather chair in front of a huge desk, holding your head high as two pairs of blue eyes settled on you.
Those eyes were more lively than you expected. Instead of sleazy, older men you thought you'd see, stinking of cigars, with greasy stains on their chins; you faced two men in their prime.
Handsome, to express it chastely. Fucking hot, if you'd describe them to your friends.
In their late thirties, maybe early forties; one with neatly trimmed beard, the other with some scruff. Perfectly tailored suits on lean, muscled bodies. They both had blue eyes; one an icy shade that cut through you, the other the depths of ocean that swallowed you whole.
They were watchful. Assessing your every gesture and tick.
Predators in vigil.
It's been a long while since anyone studied you so intensely. It made you feel uneasy, but also sent a hot wave through your bloodstream.
For a second you dropped your gaze to the folder you held on your lap, your hands gently clasped over it. Somehow you managed not to shiver.
You lifted your head up, meeting their gazes evenly. You weren't dumb enough to throw them an open challenge, but you hoped to look confident.
You wanted to introduce yourself, but Mr Rogers was faster, greeting you in a way that suggested they already knew a lot about you. More than just your first and last name. Probably did a background check on you. For the meeting purposes, you assumed.
After taking an encouraging breath, you began presenting your idea for a solution regarding your brother's debt.
All summed up and divided into regular payments, with extra interest included of course. And a big deposit right away, all your savings ready to give to them.
"You're very thorough." Mr Barnes commented, taking the folder from you when you pushed it forward, but not opening it.
"Indeed, she is." Mr Rogers nodded, rubbing his lip in thought. "A dedicated, hardworking girl, aren't you, doll?"
You frowned at the sweet, condescending nickname. You considered reminding him you had a name, but letting it go was a small price for leaving this meeting victorious.
"It's a good proposition," Rogers continued, "but has a few disadvantages. The main one is that there's a small chance your brother finds a job with decent salary to match yours, so you can pay us in the time you promise."
"Shitty brother at that," joined Barnes, "to burden his sister with this kind of debt. You sure want to take it up on yourself?"
He didn't sound as if he was only mocking Noah. No, there was an undertone of displeasure and annoyance, like he truly couldn't imagine causing a sister any grief or trouble.
"Me not taking it won't change the fact it falls on me anyway if Noah fails to deliver."
You weren't naive to think their wrath would skip Noah's family, if he failed. Or that you could go to the police with it. You were quite sure they had many high-ups on their payroll.
Rogers and Barnes exchanged looks. Something passed between them, though you weren't sure what they debated on silently.
"Since you have the spine and honor to come to us on your own and propose something actually smart," Rogers opened a drawer and pulled out a printed document, "we want to give you a counter-offer."
"Which is?" You narrowed your eyes as he slid papers across the desk towards you.
"As it happens, we have an open spot for a personal assistant. For us." Barnes smiled. It was as charming, as lethal.
"Long hours, including after hours if we wish. But we'd pay you double what you earn now. Also provide paid vacation and sick days, medical care. Bonuses of various kinds." Rogers' smooth voice tempted to trust their offer.
"That- that makes no sense." You shook your head, trying (and failing) to take your eyes away from his.
"You'd be paying me and I would be paying it back to you as compensation for my brother's debt. Your own money returning to you. Where's the gain?"
"Oh, doll," Barnes licked his lips as he leaned forward, "we will reap many benefits from your service."
"Benefits?" You swallowed hard, trying not to react impulsively to the implication behind his words.
Your mind instantly flashed with sinful images; indecent demands and harassment that should outrage you.
But then you reminded yourself that these men probably had stunning girlfriends, or even had a different beauty in their beds every weekend. They could afford the most exclusive escorts, if they wanted to. They wouldn't hire an assistant just to fuck her dumb.
Instead, you thought of all the other ways businessmen and businesswomen benefited from having a personal assistant. You vaguely remembered that from the time you worked as one right after college - not only assisting in the business area, but picking up laundry, buying coffee, buying gifts for girlfriends because they forgot to.
"Yes." Rogers smiled for the first time. "We'll make certain what you do for us is worth every penny of your brother's debt."
They allowed you twenty four hours to think on their offer.
Considering what you would gain, not only in your own payment, but with their proposed salary your brother's debt could be payed much much sooner, lifting the heavy burden from your shoulders.
Money wise, it was a gift like a star from the sky.
You feared participating in the other side of their business, but you told yourself they wouldn't take a meager assistant to a crime scene.
Though maybe you'll have to wash the blood off their shirts. That you could do, you supposed.
So you agreed.
In the first few days your work passed just as you predicted - long hours of trotting between their office and various places they sent you on errands.
But you were a quick learner and memorized their coffee and snack choices after three days; as well the fact Mr Barnes liked to sit in the armchair after a tougher negotiation and listen to music, and Mr Rogers went to the old boxing gym that was rarely frequented by anyone.
You ordered lunch for them if they were in the office. Twice they came back from whatever business they've been dealing with in the field, with pastries for you. Which was thoughtful and sweet, you thought.
Yes, the work was tiring and sometimes hectic (keeping up with their long strides proved to be a little difficult for you), but not as awful or blood-filled as you feared at first.
It was after about two weeks when you entered their office, pen and pad in hand, ready to take more requests for the rest of the day.
"Anything particular for lunch that you wish?" You asked, walking right into the center of the room.
You smiled - not only a false, practiced grimace, but their handsome faces and the crinkles in the corners of their eyes when they smiled in return always made you content.
Focused on Mr Barnes leaning against the desk watching you like a hawk, you didn't notice Mr Rogers closing the door behind you and locking it.
"As a matter of fact, I've been craving something for many days now." Barnes said, curling a finger at you and motioning for you to step closer.
You felt a rush of heat wash over you. His words, spoken in that low, seductive voice, and his beckoning weren't that subtle.
"Um," you bit your lip, feeling your cheeks flush. But you made little steps forward. "I- I can order anything you wish, Mr Barnes."
"No," he chuckled and suddenly grabbed you by the hips, pulling you close. "We will be ordering. Anything we wish."
"That's inappropriate, sir." You laughed nervously and tried to step away, though your resistance wasn't as fierce as it should.
"If you consider that inappropriate," Rogers' voice resounded in your ear as he slid behind you, caging you between the two of them-
"I wonder what you'll think of all the things we're going to do to you."
"S-sir," you trembled as Barnes traced your lips with his finger, as Rogers' tongue flicked your earlobe. "You shouldn't- I shouldn't-"
You shouldn't want it.
A part of you didn't, the scared part that feared awful things being done to you. Those two men killed without blinking, they made people disappear and suffer. They could break you.
The rest of you roused with thrill and anticipation. Your skin pebbling with goosebumps where their hands started roaming.
"You can use our first names, doll. And may I remind you of paragraph seven, point five of our contract." Rogers whispered, rolling the fabric of your pencil skirt up.
"Assistant will also fulfill requests and see to the well being of employers in matters regarding health and body."
"But-" a gasp interrupted your own words when Steve sucked on your earlobe at the same time that Bucky slid a finger past your lips.
"And our bodies really need your assistance right now." Bucky chuckled, slowly pulling his finger from your mouth.
He replaced it with his own lips. Soft, but demanding. A kiss that went deeper and rougher than you ever experienced before.
Then Steve's mouth was on your neck, licking and biting. And they both chuckled when you made a helpless sound as they began pulling your panties down your legs.
Everything was a haze of sensations and chaos of adrenaline buzzing through you. The world slipped from your grasp, as did your control over yourself. Your body was pliant in their hold. You wouldn't stand a chance even if you tried to fight them off, they were much stronger. Bigger. Dangerous.
And for some insane reason it made you wetter.
They pushed you onto your knees. Cold floor harsh under your knees, pressed suit pants and shiny shoes appearing in your vision.
Steve forced your legs to part wider and slipped his hand up your thigh, right over to your slick folds. He had his other hand weaved into your hair, holding a fistful in a strong grip.
Bucky's fingers were in your hair, too. Only slightly gentler in their hold.
They both moved your head back and forth over Bucky's cock.
"For someone who says they shouldn't do it, you enjoy it a lot, doll." Steve laughed cruelly, pushing two fingers into you.
Your whine resonated on Bucky's dick, a pleasant groan falling from his lips at the sensation.
Your hands clawed at Bucky's thighs, nails scratching his skin, but he didn't seem to mind it.
"And you look like you're loving every second of it, too." He patted your cheek.
Your started tearing up - from gagging every time Bucky pushed deeper and deeper into your mouth, and from the growing tension Steve's ministrations provoked.
His fingers inside you curled and his thumb rubbed merciless circles over your clit, pushing you steadily toward the precipice.
"That's it," Steve rasped in your ear. "You're going to cum with a cock down your throat."
Your moan sounded gargled as you choked on Bucky's dick when the head of it bumped the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your cheeks, smudging your make up.
"You'll learn to love it, dollface." Bucky cooed at you, pushing right back in after giving you a second to catch your breath.
"Learn to associate having our cocks in your mouth with ultimate pleasure." Steve mouthed on your shoulder, his fingers never ceasing in their torment.
And he was driving you towards climax expertly.
Your sounds pitched higher, your body shaking as you felt tension coiling in your belly. Steve kept urging you on, murmuring dark, filthy promises of breaking you.
Bucky slowed his movements, but each time he drove his hips into your face, forcing his cock down your throat.
He withdrew partly, keeping his dick on your tongue as he held your head in place, when Steve growled - "She's gonna cum now."
You don't know if it was his command, or maybe you really were right on the edge, but you shattered right after he spoke those words. A loud, pitiful keen, partially muffled by the dick in your mouth; tears falling freely.
Your body seized, but Steve quickly let go of your hair and wrapped a strong arm around you, holding you to him. His fingers were still buried in your soaked cunt, thumb giving your pulsing clit some reprieve.
Your head throbbed with white noise, your lungs burned. Everything slowly settled down, your consciousness falling back into your body.
Before you had a chance to calm down fully, Steve's thumb on your clit started moving again. In wicked eights this time.
"N-no-" your weak objection was cut short by a cock pushing back into your throat.
Bucky gripped the sides of your head harsher, pushing his hips forward. He forced you to swallow him to the root, his balls slapping your chin.
He didn't withdraw fully now, only rocked against your face, keeping himself at the back of your mouth. Each push forced strings of saliva to dribble out of your lips and down your chin, smearing on his sack.
Steve set a different rhythm on your clit now, somehow managing to arouse it all anew.
One of your hands tried to blindly grab his wrist when he thrust a third finger inside you.
"Take it, doll." He ordered, moving his digits ruthlessly despite your attempts to stop him.
"It's only three fingers. My cock will stretch you wider when I take your tight cunt."
You didn't know if Bucky finished first and that's what set you off again, soundlessly screaming as he spilled down your throat; or if Steve pushed you over the edge and your helpless, choking sounds made Bucky burst.
He groaned loudly, rutting his hips against your face as he came. Then withdrew slightly, keeping his still spurting cock on your tongue.
His icy gaze turned warmer as he watched you from above, admiring your ruined state and the pool of white cum sliding down the back of your tongue.
Steve pulled his fingers out of your sopping pussy at the same time that Bucky finally eased out of your mouth completely. The squelching sound of your cunt flushed you with embarrassment.
"Kiss the tip," Bucky's voice was soft, but you knew it was an order nonetheless.
You hesitated only a second, mostly due to tiredness. Steve slapped your puffed pussy in reprimand, causing you to squeak and lean forward instantly, placing a kiss on the head of Bucky's softening cock.
"Good girl." Their praise made your head swim. Or maybe it was the post-orgasmic exhaustion.
"You're perfect." Steve kissed your temple.
He was surprisingly gentle as he helped you up. Your legs slightly wobbled as you straightened and Steve quickly slipped an arm under your knees, picking you up bridal style.
You snuggled to him as he moved around the room. You heard some shuffling, items being moved away.
Then you were being lowered down, cool, solid surface beneath your back. A sound of chair being moved and a telling jangle of buckle belt being undone.
Steve's face appeared above you as you blinked your eyes open. He tapped your cheek a few times, rousing you back to consciousness.
Someone's hands moved up your legs - Bucky, you realized. He spread your thighs open, his hot breath puffing over your swollen, wet folds.
Steve gripped under your chin and forced you to tilt your head back.
"Ask me to fuck your mouth." His fingers wrapped around your throat.
He didn't clench them; his hold merely a reminder of who was in charge, and how easily he could hurt you.
"P-please, Steve, fuck my mouth." Your voice cracked.
You weren't sure there was enough air in your lugs left to survive another cock down your throat.
"More." Steve demanded. "I know you can beg prettily, doll."
Bucky nipped on the sensitive skin of your folds, making you yelp.
Seemed one would always punish you, if you didn't obey the other one.
"Please!" You babbled. "Please, Steve, feed me your cock. Fuck my mouth and fill my belly with your cum."
"Oh, we will." There was a dark undertone to Steve's chuckle as he guided the tip of his dick toward your parted lips. "We'll fill your belly plenty, little doll."
pairing: brother's best friend!bucky barnes x f!reader, AU setting
summary: It doesn't matter that you're obsessed with your brother's best friend - the one you have had a very complicated relationship with since childhood. It doesn't matter that you fantasise about him, nor does it matter that you keep a diary of all your dirty thoughts because he will never, ever know.
warnings: 18+ mdni!!, smut with minor plot, childhood frenemies to lovers, fingering, unprotected p in v, dumbification, creampie, dacryphilia, mean bucky, size kink, brat taming, bigdick!bucky, tummy bulge, general filth and debauchery, jealousy, use of petnames (sweetheart, baby, angel etc.), reader described having hair bucky can twirl and as being smaller than bucky, no use of y/n, lots of cursing, bucky convinces reader to let him hit it raw (idk if that's a warning lol), moodboard pics do not depict reader
word count: 11.1k
a/n: idk if this is deranged in a hot way or just deranged but i hope you enjoy lmao. bucky is very mean in this and invades reader's privacy so stay away if that's not your thing!!
The abrasive, thrumming buzz of the lawnmower lets you know he’s back. You stop tapping on your phone, pausing for just a moment while you try to resist the urge. You fail. You pull up to your knees and peer out the window beside your bed.
Bucky is in your back garden, driving forward the shabby rusted lawnmower that lives in your shed. The one that has likely never been used by anyone but him. He’s not shirtless like he sometimes is - he’s in a black t-shirt - but you swear you can make out the muscles of his strong back even from this distance. The way they clench and tense with mild exertion. A heat settles low and deep in your stomach.
He’s waving before you realise you’ve been caught. You roll your eyes - exaggerate it a bit so you know he can see - and slump down on your bed again when he gives you a slanted smile.
The air around you feels damp and raw now in a way that has very little to do with the early summer heat. You force yourself onto your stomach and stuff your face into your pillow.
You can’t keep doing this to yourself.
Or, rather, he can’t keep doing this to you. However excruciating his presence is when your family is around, it’s so much worse when they’re not.
Most of the time you want to throttle him. It had been that way since you were kids. You can still feel the grovelling embarrassment of being somewhere close to ten years old and begging him and your brother to let you tag along with them to do something stupid like peeking through the dirt-grimed windows of a neighbour’s house or sneaking into a derelict, moss-eaten hotel until someone called the cops. In defiance of all stereotypes, your brother never had a problem with it. He has doted on you since you were in the cradle.
Bucky, though. He was never receptive to it. He would let you make your case, watching you humble yourself with calculating, amused eyes that looked slightly wrong on a boy of only twelve years. You can still remember how he would make a big show of deliberating, before simply handing out a ‘no’, and moving away. Your brother would shoot you a remorseful grin but always followed after him without hesitation.
On the rare occasions he did let you trail after them, he made you regret it. He would poke and prod at you, pulling lightly at your hair or making fun of you until big, fat, brutally-resisted tears would well up in your eyes. Oh, you remember how much he used to enjoy that - the mean smile he wore while he called you a crybaby. It always ended with your brother sternly telling him to lay off, before walking you home.
Your parents refused to hear a bad word about him. They still won’t.
You’re not really sure what is up with Bucky’s family and his home life. You just know that he had always spent more time at your house than his own. Once summer rolled around, it was like he forgot he even had a house of his own to begin with.
Your parents treat him less like a guest and more like a favourite son. The guest bedroom became Bucky’s room when you were eleven. When he tinkers around and puts together your mom’s overly-complicated coffee machine or fixes the hot water or - the very worst - mows the lawn, your parents treat him like a king. They rave in public and private about how they don’t know what they would do without him. When you had tried to tattle as a kid, the most you would get was a patient rub on the back.
It was a push and pull between the two of you. Always had been. Bucky was either acting bothered at your presence, poking and prodding at you cruelly - or irritating you with his own presence and annoying taunts.
And all of that was annoying. Is annoying. But nothing compares to that feeling. The one you’re experiencing right now.
It started when you were pushing sixteen. You had stopped asking to tag along a few years ago but that summer was different. Bucky was told by your brother, firmly and categorically, that you would be hanging out with them whether he liked it or not. He stared at you with odd fixity but made no protests and suddenly you were part of the friend group. Your brother had a crush on your best friend Wanda, who was also hanging around a lot that summer. That played into it. But you took it as a win regardless.
You spent most of your time that summer hanging out in a clearing in the woods by your house. There was nothing else to do and even if there was, you had no money to do it. Most of the details of the day itself now evade you - they’re blurry around the edges. There was a new addition to the group whose name you cannot now remember. A persistent, uncomfortable pass made for you. Your brother distracted by Wanda. A few coarse comments made, before the new guy began to touch.
What you do remember - what you well and truly cannot forget - is what happened after that touch. The way Bucky propelled up from where he sat on tree branches and lichen. How he grabbed the collar of What’s-his-name and flung him to the ground with one heavy, solid punch. The silence afterwards. The crawling shameful pang of excitement in your gut.
You never looked at him the same.
It’s not for lack of trying.
God - you try. You try so hard. You have tried for so many years. But every fling you had in college ended up wearing his face when you closed your eyes.
Thoughts of him run through your mind while you fill your pillow up with gasps. You’re sure that if you wrung out the fabric or pressed down hard, those sighs would have to spill back out, surround the room with breathless cries of his name.
But you have graduated now. You’re back home until you find a full-time job and this childhood crush will no longer do. It’s remarkably inconvenient, the way your knees go weak and wobbly when he walks in the room, even while you paint a snarl on. The way a hot, sticky warmth begins to flood the space between your thighs when you watch him work like he is today.
And you’ve tried everything there is to try. You’ve tried dating other people - it usually ends sour. You made a trip or two to the counsellor on campus. You had even left stop-sign stickers around your dorm room as a reminder to snap out of it when you are thinking about him.
At Wanda’s recommendation, you have started a diary. Every time you think about him or let yourself get stupidly, fantastically turned on by him, you create a new entry. Not all of the entries are about him - some are flimsy little notes to distract yourself - but they all lead back to him one way or another. Once the book is full, you will burn it. You started it just before you left campus three weeks ago and the book is almost half-way full.
You know it’s a stupid idea. It won’t work, which is why you have already sought out a witch on Etsy for when this fails.
The deep, low tingle at the bottom of your stomach hasn’t ceased, because even while deep in thought, the image of Bucky’s strong back and his bold, lopsided smile are still running behind your eyes. You become suddenly aware that you’re lightly sweating. Your underwear is warm and damp.
You glance over at your diary on your bedside table - most recent entry late last night, courtesy of your traitorous imagination. You sigh and pick it up.
Bucky sees you in the window to your bedroom. You’re just a little floating head above the window sill. He can’t make out an expression very clearly. He waves and forces back a laugh when he sees your bratty eye-roll, the way you flop away dramatically.
You’re back home. For the summer, at least. Until all those fancy graduate jobs in New York or Boston or Philly start opening up.
He doesn’t need to be here, if he’s being honest. Has no reason to be. The lawn has no need for mowing and there’s not a damned thing left in the house to be fixed. His own apartment isn’t exactly a paradise, but it’s not bad either.
You won’t be here forever, though. He’ll take what he can get in the meantime.
He likes how it feels to annoy you without a buffer. With no parents to be on his best behaviour in front of, no brother to shoot him warning glances when he pokes too hard.
He regresses slightly every time he floats back into your orbit. Falls out of adulthood and back into the familiar rhythm. The push and pull.
His childhood crush has matured into something deeper, but his actions haven’t. He still tugs your pigtails in a metaphorical sense. It’s much too late to get you to see him as anything but an annoying, big brother-type figure now, but he can deal with that. He likes watching you get riled up, anyway.
You regress around him too. He takes great satisfaction in that. You walk into the house after months of being away, haughty and put-together, like you had finally done all your growing up in college. A few grating words from him can make you twitch a little bit while you fight the urge to snap, irritation spilling through the cracks. And you eventually do crack. All the way. Every single time.
He mows until the short tufts of grass turn to clippings. He spares no blade, weed or flower and thinks about you, lying up on your bed. Probably doing something dumb. Probably scrolling on your phone or flipping through some magazine. He remembers when you were thirteen and he found that stash of teen-pop magazines in your room, the pages with boyband members dog-eared, hearts circled around their pictures. He smiles, thinking about the way you screamed when you caught him red-handed. How you told him to “stop being such a pain in my ass”, pushing him out your bedroom door and slamming it shut behind him while he laughed. You were sulky at dinner afterwards.
He rolls the mower back into the shed, ties the padlock and tugs at it twice before walking into the house through the sliding glass doors.
He’s sweating lightly. He takes a quick swallow of water from the glass on the counter - whether it’s yours or his, he can’t remember - and licks a few beads of moisture from his upper lip. He feels good.
He flops down on the couch, puts on some show indiscriminately and wonders what you’re doing right now. He wonders if you’re on the phone with your college friends. Or with that Matt guy he had heard about through the grapevine. He wonders if you’re wearing the same tight shorts you had on yesterday.
He considers going upstairs to annoy you but thinks better of it. He will wait a while to see if you come downstairs on your own.
He imagines Matt as some football player. He can’t picture a face - just some obscure blur - but he’s probably handsome. Definitely blonde. Social butterfly. Good grades. He can’t see you going for someone without good grades.
Bucky’s grades were never great, but you were such a little swot. He used to sit alongside you while you did your homework. When you would tell him to get lost, he would shoot back that he had homework to do too. It’s probably the only reason he graduated high school.
Matt is probably biding his time right now until you both have steady jobs so he can propose. He’s probably boring as shit. Fucks you missionary for thirty seconds before rolling over onto his back. He probably asks you whether you came afterwards, and you probably talk to your stupid college friends about how much he cares and how respected you feel.
But that’s a dangerous avenue to walk down. Because now he’s thinking about how you would look afterwards, naked and unsatisfied. Would you ever think about shooting him a text when Matt drifts off to sleep after getting his rocks off? See if he could sort you out any better than your boring fuck of a boyfriend?
Obviously not. But it’s a nice thought.
You probably don’t do any of the things that Bucky would want to do with you - and definitely not with Missionary Matt. You’re too fucking prissy. No way in hell are you letting anyone take you the way Bucky wants to.
He doesn’t even understand why his brain has chosen you of all people to be the star of every daydream he has had since he was old enough to know what a crush was. You’re arrogant and spoiled and you think that just because you attract men like flies to shit that you can bat your eyes and get whatever you want. (You absolutely can. Bucky has tried to be the one exception to that rule, but he’s also just a man.)
Unfortunately, he knows all of this and still desires you desperately. And the want that pours out of him in waves isn’t strictly sexual - in fact, it’s mostly something else - but he’s not sure how to define it. He likes you, except ’like’ doesn’t seem strong enough to cover all he feels. So it’s easier to focus on the sex. Maybe that way he can convince himself it’s all he wants.
He has run out of patience. You still haven’t come downstairs and he can only deny himself for so long.
He takes the stairs two-at-a-time, but paces himself so you don’t hear his footsteps and think he’s eager. Your bedroom is at the very end of the hall. When he approaches your white door - still adorned with stickers and tags from every phase you ever went through - he thinks about knocking. He doesn’t.
He can’t remember the last time that he was in your room, but it is exactly as it always was. Pink wallpaper. A white desk in the corner armed with perfectly positioned sticky notes and neat, alphabetised folders. Stuffed animals perched in a line atop your bed like marching soldiers. Posters on the walls from films you thought made you seem edgy when you were fifteen, in direct opposition to the frilly pink decor of the room.
The only thing missing is you, but he can hear the shower going in your ensuite.
He goes to sit down on your bed and focuses deeply on not getting a hard-on while he watches the bathroom door. But he lands on something solid.
Reaching underneath his thigh, he picks up a little pink notebook, turns it over in his hands. More little stickers plastered to the front, hearts scribbled onto it with a pink gel pen. He knows instantaneously that he has gold dust in his goddamn hands. He expects to feel at least a little guilt or shame for what he is about to do and is mildly surprised to find he doesn’t.
This is your diary.
The first entry is from three weeks ago.
22 May
I just broke up with Matt. It was awful. He kept asking me why. I had to say that I didn’t want to live in Boston like him. He said he would find a different internship and we could go to New York instead, and then I really had no idea what to say. It’s not like I could tell him the real reason. He cried. I’m just glad it’s over.
I think I should feel at least a little bit sad about it, but I don’t. I’m just relieved and feeling awkward. I don’t think I could let him fuck me one more time without going out of my mind. This really is a curse. I hope he moves on quickly. I think Suzy is into him.
Bucky can’t help the stupid grin that breaks out across his face. Looks like Missionary Matt was too boring, even for prim little you. No engagement on the horizon after all. He shifts around slightly on the bed in the guest bedroom and tries not think about what might have been so lacking in the bedroom with Matt for you.
23 May
My family are ditching me. They’re all heading off to the south of France for three weeks, but I won’t be home from college early enough. They fucking suck. I wonder if Bucky will still be hanging around. Three weeks of torture incoming.
He laughs, loud and long, at that. What a spoiled little brat. Still, it’s kind of cute.
Bucky was asked to join your family on their holiday and declined. Partially because he still, after all this time, doesn’t quite believe them when they say it’s not a bother. But it was mostly because of a selfish hankering to be able to hang out with you alone. To not have to check himself when his gaze lingers a little too long or when he presses you a bit too hard to be able to convincingly feign disinterest. He reads on.
23 May
Now that I have thought about it, I can’t stop. Bucky is going to be hanging around the house. He always hangs around the house, even when nobody else is there. Dad said he’s going to help him with building a new shed outside. I wonder if he will be doing that while they’re gone. I remember that one time he helped Dad with that old vintage car he bought on a whim. I could see him from my window. He was shirtless and working under the car from a skateboard like something out of a goddamn porno. I think I’ll die if I have to see him do something like that again.
Bucky’s grin is frozen on his face, skin heating up around his bones. The shed would be a good excuse to stick around now that he’s done everything else - he had forgotten about that.
He wasn’t aware you had been watching him fix up that car from your window. That must have been, what - two? three? - years ago. Old Pontiac runs like new now. His eyes catch on the word ‘porno’, scribbled in your pink, curly writing. He thinks about you watching him from above.
24 May
I might be going insane. I shouldn’t have let myself think of the visual of Bucky under that stupid car last night. I think it’s a good thing I dumped Matt. I would have let him fuck me and felt so guilty afterwards for imagining someone else. I handled it myself but I woke up feeling just as riled up. My fingers aren’t big enough. Maybe I should buy a dildo or something. Bucky’s fingers are huge. One time he put his hand over my mouth because he said I was whining too much and it covered more than half of my face.
The blood rushes to his cock so fast it leaves him lightheaded. He has to read the entry twice to make sure he didn’t black out and invent something out of wishful thinking.
25 May
This stupid diary isn’t doing shit. It’s making it worse. Every time I write something down, it just makes me think about it more. I spent all of yesterday thinking about Bucky’s stupid fingers. I hate him so much. I want him to bend me over something and fuck me until I’m an inch from passing out. Maybe that’s all I need to get this out of my system.
26 May
Today I thought about that time last summer when we were at the bonfire and I made out with that guy in the Bulls jersey and snapback. I forget his name.
Bucky looked so angry. I think that’s why I did it. I think I wished he was jealous, even though I know he was just pretending he’s my fucking brother or something. It made me think of that time he punched that other guy in the clearing in the woods just for touching me. I forget that guy’s name too.
Bucky hasn’t forgotten either of their names. The bonehead from the bonfire was Jon and the asshole from the woods was Robby. And he was jealous. He was so fucking jealous. His dick is hard as a rock in his jeans, head spinning.
28 May
Yesterday was ok. I kept myself busy. Today has been terrible. Mom sent me a group picture of everyone eating dinner out in the back garden and Bucky was wearing a tight, white t-shirt. He looked so big, even bigger than when I last saw him. I just kept wondering if his cock would be big too. I zoomed in and took a screenshot like some fucking pervert. I got myself off so many times and I still feel like I haven’t gotten it out of my system. I literally fingered myself until my sheets were-
“Fuck,” he grunts, strained even to his own ears. His eyes squeeze shut and his dick throbs violently at the idea of your little fingers pushing themselves into your pussy at the thought of him. He’s not sure how much more of this he can read before jizzing in his pants like some kind of virgin.
Who knew? Who fucking knew? His stuck-up little priss isn’t so prissy after all. He’s a bit dizzy with want and some other unidentifiable sensation. Something warm and gooey in his chest.
He almost likes how ashamed you are of it. It makes it that much more satisfying - like he’s won some game that he didn’t even know he was playing. He’s dimly aware of the fact that he lost the very same game himself, but he ignores it.
You would be so embarrassed to find out he is reading this. You would yell and scream and throw shit around the room in a tantrum like a toddler. You might never speak to him again. Even so, he can’t help himself but flick over the pages to the most recent entry. It feels like a spoiler to a book he hasn’t finished.
14 June
He came around with the lawnmower again. It’s getting harder every day not to get myself off to the thought of him-
He clearly missed that part. He wonders how long ago you made that resolution. He will find out soon enough.
-when he looks that good. I could literally see the fucking muscles in his back through his t-shirt and it was black. I’m so fucking wet. I’m going to have a long, cold shower and tonight I’ll cum to the thought of someone else. Literally anyone else.
Then and there, Bucky decides that won’t be happening.
You feel better after your laborious shower but only for a matter of minutes. You walk into your room wrapped in your bathrobe and notice that you can no longer hear the lawnmower. Bucky must have finished the job. He’s probably in the shower now, washing off the pollen and sweat.
And that does it. You sigh at the stickiness forming between your legs and reach over to your bedside table for your diary.
Except it’s not there.
You open and close the small drawer underneath. Ruffle around in your sheets and pick up your stuffed animals one-by-one to look make sure they’re not sitting on it. Eventually you get up and remove the duvet from the mattress, pull the bed frame away from the wall, crawl to the floor. You even go to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t carry it in with you. It’s not there. It’s not anywhere.
You must have left it lying out somewhere outside. Your stomach lurches into your throat. Except that’s not possible, because your last entry was written right here on this bed just before you went in for your shower. You had left your room to get a towel and steal some of your mother’s hair stuff - maybe you had inadvertently carried it out with you. You had been severely distracted.
You dress as quickly as you can physically manage, ignoring the way your wet hair is soaking through your cotton sweatshirt, but when you leave your room your footsteps are hesitant and careful. The idea of Bucky picking up your diary somewhere and deciding to give it a browse sends a cold sweat of terror up the knobs of your spine. Oh god, don’t let him find it. Please don’t let him find it.
You tear the linen closet apart. You even pick up the piles of towels that you know you didn’t touch and shake them out. Nothing. You fold them in a way that would make your mother wince and put them back.
Your parents’ room wields no results either. You run your fingers over the wooden bannister faintly while you walk down the stairs. Bucky isn’t there - thankfully - but neither is your diary. You hadn’t even come downstairs between writing your last entry and going for your shower. That, you’re absolutely certain of. But you’re running out of options.
You have one room left to check, but you will have to play your cards carefully. One wrong move, a bit too much information, and you could find yourself on the receiving end of questions that you would really prefer not to be asked. Or of a bit too much curiosity for your liking.
Your fingers linger over the wood of Bucky’s bedroom door for a whole minute before you can bring yourself to commit to a small, tentative knock. Bucky grunts on the other side and it’s untranslatable but you take it to be an in invite.
He’s lounging on his bed, one ankle hooked over the other, head reclined back to rest lazily on the headboard. He doesn’t move his bored gaze from the television, where some reality television documentary about the daily lives of zoo veterinarians is playing. You’re distracted by it momentarily. You didn’t think this would be his sort of thing.
“What’s up?” he asks you, still not looking your way. He didn’t shower. He’s still sweaty and tense, the smell of grass sticking to his clothes and skin. You try not to look.
“Just saying hi,” you say, shifting feet. You look at the door for a brief moment before deciding to close it awkwardly behind you.
He looks at you then, one eyebrow and one side of his lip quirking upwards in tandem. “Just saying hi.”
You nod. His smile breaks free then, but it’s not altogether a nice one. “Well, hi,” he says.
“Hi,” you mumble back. You continue to look at each other while you fidget, stepping forward cautiously until your knees hit his bed. You look at him expectantly and he rolls his eyes before moving his own legs so you can sit.
“What’s got you all buggy?” he asks sardonically, giving you a light tap on the side with his foot. He’s not wearing his boots anymore, but some grass still rubs off on you somehow. You rub your side and shoot him a look as if it hurt, even though it didn’t.
“I’m not buggy.”
“Yeah y’are. You got bugs.”
“You got bugs,” you snap. “I’m perfectly fine.”
He laughs. “Alright, you don’t got bugs. I have bugs ‘cause I was out there mowing all day. Now what do you want?”
Your stomach gives an odd jerking motion at the memory of him out there mowing the lawn. You try to keep any guilt from showing on your face. “Maybe I just wanna talk to you.”
“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t seem convinced. You nod.
“Yeah,” you say, picking at a loose thread his bedsheet. “So what have you been up to?”
“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?” he chuckles, turning slightly on his side so he can see you. “You know what I’ve been up to. You saw me out there.”
“Duh,” you say. You roll your eyes again and you can feel him laugh more than you can hear it - the minute little vibration through the sheets. His skin is inches away from yours. If you reached out just a little bit, you could touch his hand.
“Duuuhhh,” he mimics you with an exaggerated Valley-girl drawl. “Why’d you ask then, smartass?”
“I meant, like, after that.”
“After I finished the lawn?”
You nod. You are so desperately bad at this.
“Not much. Watched this,” he says, pointing at the TV. He gets distracted by something there and begins to watch it again. “Did a bit of light reading. What about you?”
Your heart is moving up in a slow but steady elevator to the base of your neck. “I’ve been in the shower,” you say casually. “What are you reading?”
“Long shower,” he says.
“Well it was an everything-shower,” you say defensively, forgetting yourself for a moment.
“The hell is an everything shower?”
“Don’t be dense. It’s literally in the name. It’s called an everything shower because you do everything in the shower.”
His gaze flies back to you then, dark and questioning, eyebrows raised slightly. It takes for his lip to twitch into a small smile before you come to your senses.
“A-as in,” you stammer. “You do all your self-care stuff. Like shaving and exfoliating and hair masks. That kind of everything.”
His smile widens and he nods, half sarcastically. “Right. That kind of everything.”
Your face heats up. There’s a brief pause.
“So what are you reading at the mo-”
“Y’know I think you’d like this,” he says, pointing over to the TV again. You glance over distractedly. A giraffe is giving birth standing up. You can’t help the way your nose twitches slightly as you take in all the blood and goo onscreen.
“Why is that?” you ask.
“There’s this one girl who cries every time an animal dies. She’s been working there five years and she still cries every time. She’s like you.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Yes you are,” he laughs and the sound travels through you. “Remember that one time you cried because your dad asked me to catch and kill that mouse?”
You do. He had been strangely nice about the whole thing. He made a makeshift humane trap and brought it to the old railway line a few miles away instead.
“I was sixteen-”
“And if you’re tryna tell me you wouldn't react the same way right now, I say you’re full of shit.”
You look at him resentfully. “Like you’re any tougher. You’re the one who saved him.”
“Well you know I can’t help but give you what you want once the waterworks start. You’re a pretty crier, sweetheart.”
You just look at him, feeling a bit dazed and uncomprehending. Saliva floods your mouth and you’re forced to swallow. He just glances over at you for the smallest of instances. You like the handsome, self-satisfied smile he gives himself before turning back to his programme, even though it’s at your expense. You know instinctively that you’ll be failing at your new resolution tonight.
“Shut up. Don’t be weird,” you say, because you can think of nothing else. He huffs with humour and there’s something in his expression that you don’t like.
“So you said you were reading something?” you say. You’re aiming for a casual tone but you think you might be overselling it.
“Mhm,” he says, nodding once. The programme can’t be that interesting, but he seems absorbed in it.
“I didn’t think you liked reading.”
“I have a newfound appreciation for it.” He smiles at the screen and maybe you’re feeling a little jealous. You snatch the remote out of his hands, careful not to let your fingers brush, and blackness eats the image of a family of monkeys. His eyes snap to you with amused surprise.
“What are you reading?”
Your heart is pumping while Bucky appraises you for a second, eyes sliding their way around your flustered face. He licks his bottom lip slowly before sucking it into his mouth. He speaks low.
“Don’t worry about it. ’S’too dirty for you, sweetheart.”
You really fucking hope that doesn’t mean what you think it does. He has the book. Oh dear god, don’t let him have the book.
Your voice comes out weak and fractured. “Are you… reading smut?”
He laughs again, face lit up. Eyes still on you. “That what you call it? Sure. Something like that, at least.”
“Bucky,” you say, voice no more than a horrified whisper. There’s a brutal heat curling in your gut - embarrassment and something else. “What are you reading? Please.”
He looks at you for just a second longer before reaching under the blanket beside him. His hand reaches out again, fingers curled around a book that looks incredibly small in his large palm.
You blink at it for just a second, as if concentrating hard enough might make it disappear. Please make it disappear. Please make it nothing at all.
But then you’re rolling forward, hardly aware of what you’re doing until your back is bowed, a low, despairing groan escaping you while your limbs slip away from you. Eventually you’re played across the bottom of the bed, face firmly pressed to the soft memory foam. If you stay here long enough, your face might imprint itself there. A garbled, monotonous litany is spilling from your lips. You’re not even sure what you’re saying.
Your stomach is going haywire. Bucky is laughing like you knew he would - you fucking knew he would be an asshole about this - and you would go running from the room if it didn’t mean that you would have to move your face from the bed and look at him.
You suppose it’s better that he’s laughing than looking at you with the raw kind of disgust that you had pictured whenever you imagined him finding out about your feelings towards him. Maybe it means that you two can go back to normal at some point, even if the humiliation raging through your body begs to differ.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Bucky says and you hate him. Your face pops up to look at his. Still amused. Still wicked and gleeful.
“Where did you get that?” you bark.
“Your room,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “Interesting read. You should be a writer with that vivid imagination. What did you call it, smut?”
“Fuck you!” you screech, and Bucky physically recoils at the loud noise, irritation crawling onto his features for the first time in this interaction. “You had no right to go into my room and invade my privacy. What the hell is wrong with you? You are such a piece of shit!”
Bucky rolls his eyes while you make your way up the bed and take a swing for his chest. He catches your wrists in time and your traitorous body pauses at the touch.
“Like I said,” he says sternly. “Don’t be such a baby. You need me to help you get this out of your system? What was it you said again? Bend you over and fuck you until you’re an inch from passing out?”
You give one last valiant jerk to break free, but he has a death grip with seemingly minimal effort. You go still while the fight leaves you. Hot humiliation and more than a little arousal course through you.
“Fuck you,” you say again with considerably less vitriol.
“I will,” he says, eyes locked on yours punishingly. “If that’s what you want.”
Your breath stutters, heat rising up the length of your face. You’re not sure if he’s messing with you, but the words are having the intended effect regardless. Your thighs press together gently to alleviate some of the pressure that his words and his eye-contact are creating. His eyes flicker down quickly, following the movement, before moving back up to meet your own gaze.
“Got nothing to say now? That’s ok, baby. I saw enough in that little book. Let’s look.”
He lets go of your wrists and you immediately lurch forward to grasp the diary, but he gets there first. He opens it at a random page.
“I came home from college today,” he starts to read, voice low. “Everyone else was gone, but Bucky was here. I don’t know how it’s possible but he’s so much hotter since I last saw him. He wears a bit of stubble now and his muscles were almost bursting out of his t-shirt. We bickered a little bit in the evening, but the whole time I was just wondering what he’s like in bed. I don’t think he would be sweet and soft all the time, like Matt. Maybe sometimes but I think he would be so mean and rough most of the time. He seems like he knows how to make a girl cum.”
He looks up at you. You feel tears prickle behind your eyes, shame steamrolling through you. You reach for the book again but he moves it out of your reach effortlessly.
“You’re goddamn right I do,” he says, smiling as if he’s talking about something totally innocent. “You want me to show you, sweetheart?”
Your brain is scrambled and the only thing escaping your lips is a garbled mess of vowels. You’re still suspicious. It wouldn’t be entirely unlike him to get you to admit to this and then pull the rug out from under you a moment later.
He huffs an impatient sigh. “Don’t go dumb on me already, silly girl.”
He flicks to another page in the book, smiles, and finally hands it over to you. You take it uncertainly.
“Why don’t you read that for me? Out loud. Jog your memory a bit.”
You’re not sure what you’re doing, but at this point it’s easier to follow instructions than to figure out what to do yourself. You look down, take another hesitant glance at an encouraging Bucky and begin to read with a sheepish, shameful tone. Your face is burning.
“I want him so bad. I think I’ll die if I don’t have him. The orgasms I’m giving myself aren’t enough. I need him to fuck me, even just one time. I’ll never ask for anything else again in my life if I can get his cock inside me just once. I’m going so deranged, I actually pictured him choking me yesterday with those huge hands and it made me cum so hard.”
Your own words have done a number on you. You are stupidly, ridiculously turned on by his eyes on you and your own words echoing around the room. You raise your eyes slowly and sheepishly to meet his and the look on his face is nothing short of starving.
“Fuck it,” he breathes, pulling you forward and into a kiss.
Your unsuspecting mouth meets his with short, stabbing gasps. His right arm moves to the back of your neck, pulling you against him firmly, while the prosthetic arm pulls you onto his lap. His lips move against yours and the only word to describe it is filthy. His lips are still wet from licking them and his tongue is sliding over yours delicately but expertly.
You’re in a state of euphoria. Part of you always wondered whether you had played this up too much in your head. You wondered - if you were given the chance to finally touch him like this, whether it might be a bit disappointing after all you had imagined.
If possible, it might be the opposite. Your body is shaking with adrenaline. Without thinking too much about it, you grind down on his lap and feel his hard length through his jeans. A bolt shoots up your spine. Has he been hard this whole time?
He grunts at the friction, calloused fingers tightening their hold on you. His hand glides slowly down from your neck, through the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, playing with the waistband of your cotton shorts. You’re already so riled up, it makes you press down on him again, clutching at his shoulders as if you could possibly pull him any closer. You’re high off the feel of him when he pulls away, just a few inches.
“You ready to admit it yet? That you want me?”
“I want you,” you breathe. It’s almost embarrassing how automatic the response is. How little you even have to think about it.
You feel his smile spreading against your own face. “I know, sweetheart. Of course I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
Bucky is on the warpath, tearing your sweatshirt and his t-shirt off in quick succession. He takes a second to zero in on your breasts and you feel mildly self-conscious about your plain black bra, but he seems adequately distracted by them.
He slows down. Unclips your bra with languor. You shove away the sick, jealous feeling that creeps up when he doesn’t fumble even remotely with the clasp.
Once you’re bared to him, he seems to move slower. His hands go up to fondle them with uncharacteristic gentleness and you suck in a breath. His eyes darken to black, shiny knobs at your reaction and he maintains eye-contact with you while he presses a gentle kiss over your nipple, pulling it into his mouth.
A moan slips out at the sensation. So that’s what that should feel like.
“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs between kissing and sucking, moving over to your other breast. You nod, uncertain whether or not he can see you.
“Want you too. Wanted you since we were kids.”
You look down at him. He is seemingly avoiding your eyes. Your brain is a little hazy but still operational for the most part.
“Since when?”
“Just fuckin’ told you,” he says, moving a warm hand up your thigh. It’s a distraction tactic.
“No but when? What age?” Your voice is coming out breathy with the way his thumb is creeping underneath your shorts, stroking the sensitive crease between your thigh and the hem of your underwear. You wonder with some apprehension if his fingers can sense the warmth radiation from you. You’re soaked through.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, moving back up to kiss you. His thumb strokes over your panties now and you gasp into his mouth.
“Yes it does. Tell me,” you say. Because you’re muddled and jittery and incredibly fucking worked up, but more than all of that - you’re stubborn.
He gives you a hard look for a second, likely deciding whether he will be able to get you to let this go. You’re not.
“Was sweet on you when I was ten,” he says, rubbing you over your underwear harder now. Stars are exploding in your eyes, but the heavy, sluggish machinery that is your brain in its current state still chugs along at its steady, slow rhythm.
“Isn’t that when we first-”
“Yes.”
The shock almost overrides the sensation of his thumb slipping under the waistband of your underwear. But not quite. A loud, whining moan makes Bucky smile, but you still haven’t lost your head completely.
“You’ve liked me since we first met as little kids?”
He makes a loud, frustrated noise that vibrates through you and flips you over so you’re on your back. It happens so quick that it makes you dizzy. He folds himself over you and presses a vigorous kiss to your lips.
“Can you shut the hell up for two seconds?” he grunts, yanking your cotton shorts and underwear over your legs until you’re completely bare underneath him. “Tryna do something here.”
You laugh at him, but it doesn’t last long. He palms your breast briefly before trailing his fingers down, down, down. His fingers just barely graze over your clit and you buck up with a moan. All the humour is gone - you’re struggling to remember what you even found funny in the first place.
He brings his fingers up then to show them to you, glistening with your wetness. “You see how fucking desperate you are?” he asks. “Barely touched you and look how you’re reacting. Nobody’s ever touched you right, have they?”
You shake your head unthinkingly and his smile widens. It’s almost predatory.
“Poor thing,” he says with a smirk, lowering his hand once again to stroke over your clit. “I can tell. All jerky and twitchy. Just wait ‘till I get my cock in you.”
The whine you emit at his words slowly turns itself into a moan as he dips a finger into you. Slow, just feeling. He adds another when he sees how easily you accept the first. You had been right in everything you had ever thought about his fingers and how good they would feel inside you, how much they would stretch you out. Except it didn’t quite cover it.
None of the other college boys you had fucked had fingers like this. Calloused and big and rough. You clench around him when he begins to stroke, expertly curling into the perfect angle to hit that spongey spot inside you. Where the fuck did he learn to do this?
He presses you down with his other hand splayed over your stomach, stopping your hips which are moving down, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers. The pressure it puts on your lower stomach makes you clench around him.
“Y’feel so fucking tight,” he grunts, eyes on your lips. “This what you wanted, huh? This what you touched yourself thinking about?”
You nod, but it’s not enough. He pauses his ministrations and raises his eyebrows for an answer.
“Yes, I- fuck, yes keep going - I thought about this when I got myself off.”
“For how long?” he demands.
“I- what?” you ask, feeling a bit dumb. His lip twitches impatiently.
“How long have you been thinking about me like this? With my fingers stuffing your tight little pussy?”
Your face heats up with shame, but you know if you don’t answer him, he will stop again. And that’s a lousy deal.
“A long time,” you say, hoping he will accept it as an answer. Thankfully, he does.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Should’ve told me. Wouldn’t have let you go unsatisfied like all these other assholes. Would’ve kept this pussy so busy, you wouldn’t have had the time to write in that silly little book. Would’ve put you in your place.”
“Put me in my place?” you spit, dragged out of the floaty headspace you had been in. Unfortunately you can’t concentrate too much on your anger and indignation. The pleasure he’s giving you is too much to hold on to anything else but him. It does nothing to stave off your incoming orgasm - if it wasn’t so fucked up, you might admit that it probably brings you closer to the edge. His fingers push into you smooth and hard. He grinds his palm against your clit.
“Yeah, put you in your place. Such a fucking spoiled brat, always throwing tantrums and bitching. Whole time you just needed a good fuck. Well I’ll give you plenty, baby. Sort you right out. Your family can thank me for your good behaviour when they’re home.”
There’s something fucked up about the way his mean - and undoubtedly problematic - words push you over the edge. You clench down and all but explode over his fingers, bright spots in your eyes. You’re not sure if you’ve ever come so fast before, or so intensely. Your head is still spinning while you come down, twitching around his fingers until he draws them back out.
Your vision is still slightly blurred, but you see Bucky sliding his fingers into his mouth. He doesn’t even make a show of it - he’s not even trying to make you watch him. He’s just tasting you for the pleasure of it. Your pussy jumps.
When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. You should be spent by now, or at least somewhat less horny but you’re not. Your brain and body have clearly made a pact to make the most of your time with the man who has been driving you crazy for years. You begin to gush again when he bites your bottom lip. He releases a smoky chuckle against your mouth when your hips twitch against him.
He pulls up, standing over the bed to unbutton his jeans.
You’re still a little mad at him over that boorish ‘putting you in your place’ comment, but it does not stop you from getting dizzy when his cock is bared to you.
He’s the biggest you’ve ever seen and it’s not even close. Part of you knew he would be, but you didn’t think it would be this pretty. You didn’t even know a cock could be pretty.
It’s huge and rock hard where it presses up on his stomach. It’s very slightly curved with veins running up the flushed, heavy length. Your arm raises upwards unconsciously just to see how it would look in your hand, but you think better of it and quickly tuck it away again.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks and you realise he has been watching your reaction the whole time. Your face burns. “Feelin’ shy?”
Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t know how much…” you trail off, uncharacteristically nervous. You’ve never had a problem butting heads with Bucky before. Why is he so intimidating like this?
“Y’don’t know if it’ll fit?” he asks. You nod lightly and watch his cock give a small, light twitch. He takes it in his hand and gives it one slow pump. It makes your mouth hang open.
“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll take it slow. Don’t want to break you. Not this time, anyway.”
Feeling brave, you reach forward and take his warm, heavy cock in your fingers. It looks so much bigger in your hand than it does in his own and the sight makes your gut curl in both dread and excitement. He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded and dazed.
You give him one small pump and he grabs your wrist, shaking his head at you. You glare up at him.
“What the hell, Bucky? Don’t-”
He leans forward, grabbing your jaw in his hand roughly. “I know you wanna play with it so bad, sweetheart, but you can do that later. I’ll let you play with it as much as you want. But I’ve waited long enough and I’m not wasting another second. Gonna fill that tight cunt now. You hear me?”
You’re back in that floaty headspace, body feeling light, head feeling dreamy. You nod.
He smiles, using his leverage on your jaw to bring you in for a kiss while he climbs on top of you. You can feel the head of his hard cock pressing against your stomach.
“Good girl,” he says, moving away to lather kisses over your neck. His hips move to press the tip of his cock against your clit and you gasp. “My good girl You’re so sweet when you’re doing what I tell you to. Wish I’d known I could shut you up like this.”
You’re trying to be pissed off. You really are. But if you can be completely honest with yourself, it’s just turning you on more.
Your brain is almost gone, but you have one last spark of sentience. “Condom,” you gasp. “In my room.”
Bucky laughs against your neck. “You think I’m wearin’ a rubber with you?”
“Wha- yes?”
“Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart, I know you’re on the pill. Seen it in your bathroom.”
“What were you doing in my-”
“I’m clean, just got checked. And I’m willing to bet you’ve never let anyone use this prissy little pussy without a condom before.”
You take a second, trying to assess how you feel about this. He really is such a douchebag, but he’s a douchebag you know incredibly well - he wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’re sure you could talk him into wearing a condom, but it might take a lot of back-and-forth. And his cock is teasing your hole now, and you’re squeezing around nothing, trying to suck him in. His cock is fully lubricated, all from the wetness between your thighs. You don’t say anything, but your body goes a bit limp.
“Yeah?” he says, celebrating his victory with a smile. You feel it against your collarbone. “You gonna let me skip the rubber?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just stop fucking around Bucky. Please.”
He laughs lightly and begins to press in, the tight ring of muscle protesting against his size. You seize up while he stretches you out. It’s leaving a tight and uncomfortable sensation in your abdomen and you let out a quiet yelp.
“Such a good girl,” he says, reaching down to stroke your clit. He’s thrusting in slow, giving you just a little bit more with every press. His voice is low, as if he’s trying to comfort you, but it’s still coming across slightly patronising. “Letting me fuck you raw. Gonna take my cum like the good girl you are.”
You’re loosening up with the help of his dirty words and his fingers on your clit, drawing tight circles. It’s starting to feel good - more than good. But he’s still not in all the way. You have no idea how you’re going to take him.
His cock is insistent inside you, pressing in further and further while he whispers filthy praises and encouragements on your sweat-glistening skin. You brain is becoming jumbled with pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of fullness.
“This what you pictured when those other limp-dick assholes used to fuck you?” he grunts, bottoming out. You yelp at the angle he hits, body squirming around him. You thought you knew what getting fucked deep felt like, but you had never felt this.
He pulls out and presses another punishing thrust into you. You gasp. “Answer.”
“Yes,” you say and you might be on the verge of tears. You can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Everything feels a little blurry and his finger on your clit is still drawing tight circles. You just know that you need him to move. “Pictured you every time.”
He rewards you by beginning to slowly pull out and in, gently getting you used to his size. You’re filled to the brim with him. “I know. Read all about it in that dirty little book. Made them take you doggy so you could pretend it was me. So fucking desperate.”
Shame and pleasure are amalgamating in your stomach. It’s creating something more powerful than just the feeling of him moving inside you. It’s all becoming a bit too much, but in a way that you can’t help but love.
“It’s okay, angel. I’m no better than you. You turn me into such a fucking creep. Picking up girls who look like you. Leaving the dinner table to jerk it in the bathroom when you get all bratty and whiny.”
Just the thought of that makes you startle, pussy clenching around him. He looks so pretty, blue eyes dark with want, pink lips crushed between his teeth, gaze zeroed in on where you’re taking him, the light imprint in your tummy. The pleasure of it - the culmination of all your want - has you gasping, tears leaking from your eyes and trickling down your cheeks.
He sees it and startles. You can read it all on his face now - the awe and adoration.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooes, thumb reaching up to brush a fat tear from the corner of your eye. “Always been such a crybaby. You’re so pretty like this, such a pretty crier.”
It makes the tears puddle faster, the pleasure bordering on too much.
“I know, baby. It’s so much, isn’t it? I know,” he soothes you, while his hips work in direct opposition - fucking into you with brutality. It’s not just the pleasure, but the overwhelming emotion. You can’t work out exactly what you’re feeling, and you know that now isn’t the time to figure it out anyway.
Instead, you just let yourself feel it. The way his hips grind against yours, the feeling of him stretching you out, the crescendo of all that pent-up want finally bursting into song. You can’t stop looking at him, how pretty and fucked-out he is above you, even when he’s still pretending he hasn’t lost an ounce of control.
“Stop with those fuckin’ eyes,” he grunts, catching your gaze. You’re still teary-eyed and pouty. “Gonna make me lose it early.”
The thought of him spilling inside you does nothing to curb the feeling. Your eyes widen and he grunts, pulling out of you and sitting up with his eyes squeezed shut. He takes a deep, dogged breath.
“Turn around,” he bites out.
With the way his face is pinched, eyes squeezed tight, he might be greatly suffering or experiencing a euphoria of pleasure. You don’t disobey a man at either point.
You spin around, face-down on the bed. You can hear him shuffle around, but seconds pass where you don’t feel his skin on yours. The anticipation makes you shiver.
When you finally do feel his touch, it’s his two hands slowly stroking down your hips. You lean backwards into his touch, whimpering just a little.
“What you whining for now?” he asks from behind you. You hear the smile in his voice.
“Put it back in,” you moan, pushing back on him until you feel his cock prod against your ass. You’re no longer feeling any shame at your desperation. You’re too far gone.
He takes your hip firmly with his prosthetic hand, the other moving down to give your ass a loving pat. “You need it that bad?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
He laughs low. “Still so fucking bratty. Think I can fuck it outta you?”
You can do nothing but nod, head rolling forward while the thick tip prods your entrance, sliding in slowly once more.
“That’s it,” he groans. He feels so much deeper like this. You can feel him all the way up your stomach to your throat. “Knew you’d take my cock like this. Knew you’d feel this good, just didn’t think you’d be this fucking dirty.”
“Fuck, Bucky, I need you,” you moan. You’re obscurely aware of the fact that you’ll probably be cringing at the memory of saying those words later, but it matters very little to you in this moment. “Needed you so bad.”
“Yeah?” he grunts. “Why don’t you tell me what you needed so bad?”
Your brain is moving like slow, heavy machinery again - too slow to come up with anything. “I- no, Bucky, I can’t-”
“Let me help you out.”
His arm reaches out in front of you, pulling out the godforsaken book that started this entire mess in the first place. You’re still a bit dumb, watching him pull open the book and flick to a page he has ear-marked - like a significant page in his favourite book. He slams it in front of you palm pressing it open until you take it from him cautiously. You look down at the book uncomprehending, body still jostling with the force of his thrusts.
“Read.”
Your head spins back, even though you can’t see him from this angle. He can’t be serious.
One firm pinch to your ass confirms that he is.
Face burning and stomach clawing with shame and arousal, you clear your throat. Your voice comes out breathy and high.
“Matt always wore a condom but I think Bucky would be such a jerk about it. I wouldn't even mind. The thought of him coming inside me turns me on so- ooh!”-
Bucky’s hand reaches down below you, stroking at your clit.
“- so much. I really want him to fill me up. I wonder if he - fuck, Bucky - cums a lot. Whenever I think about him fucking me, I picture him filling me up to the brim until I’m dripping with his…”
You can’t go on any more. It just gets filthier from then on and you’re already on the verge of coming again. Thankfully, that seems to do enough for him.
“Jesus, you have a thing for this shit? That’s real fucking dirty, sweetheart. I promise I got a big fucking load for you. You’re the only one who is gonna take it from now on.”
You want to snap that he clearly has a thing for it too, judging by how riled up he is. He’s panting behind you, losing his rhythm. But you can’t do any such thing. All you can do is moan unintelligibly. You feel the familiar prickle behind your eyes, tears spilling out while you sniffle.
“Aw angel, you know what those tears do to me. Can’t help but give you what you want. You want my cum?”
You nod enthusiastically, spasming around him. You just wish you could see his face right now, but you can picture it.
“Fuck, yeah you do,” he growls. “Such a good girl for me. My good girl, all mine. Gonna give you my cum now, never gonna let you go empty from now on.”
With a firm hand between your neck and shoulder, he drags you upright against him. Your hands reach out to balance yourself against the headboard and he moves your jaw back until your mouth meets his. The kiss is brutal and sloppy, the angle not-quite-right, but just the feeling of his lips on yours and the movement of your tongues against each other makes you tumble off the edge.
A surge of unbridled want courses through you. You cry into his mouth, tears spilling between your lips until you can taste the salt. It’s either the taste of your tears or the sensation of your walls fluttering around him that causes Bucky to grunt, dick twitching once before spilling deep inside.
You had thought about this almost obsessively since you were old enough to understand the possibility. Somehow, you underestimated what it would do to you.
You might be floating or flying or drifting out of consciousness, but you are very conscious of the fact that you had never really known what it means to experience true pleasure until this moment. The noises he makes are filthy while he pumps you full of him, but you’re sure you’re likely giving as good as you’re getting. Not that you have the faintest awareness of what you’re saying.
Bucky wasn’t lying. You can feel his heavy load dripping out of you you, messing your thighs and the sheets. He continues to bounce you on his cock slowly and gently even after you have both come down from your highs. You’re sensitive and sore, but there’s something comforting about small, shallow thrusts, even if the squelching noises it’s making are obscene.
Eventually, he slides himself out of you and wraps himself around you instead. He envelopes you in a sort of gentle tackle, pulling your exhausted body with him deeper into the sheets.
“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You can feel his stubble against your temples, his breath on your skin.
“Uh huh” you try. It comes out as more of a garble. He laughs, light and airy.
You open your eyes, take in his tired, happy grin. His blue eyes have gone bright again.
“Thought you said you weren’t gonna break me,” you say sardonically.
He plays with your hair, twirls it around a finger. “Might have gotten carried away.”
You roll your eyes. He does a poor imitation of you, rolling his eyes all the way back into his skull in mockery. You try to glare but it doesn’t work against your smile. You settle back down against his chest. Feel it vibrate while he laughs.
“You really meant that?” you ask after a moment. You cough away a scratch in your voice. “About wanting me since we were kids?”
“Hell yeah,” he chuckles. Your head bounces against his chest lightly. “I was so crazy about you when we were kids. Can’t believe you didn’t know.”
“How could I know? You were always so mean to me.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means in kid-language.”
“You still are. Sometimes.”
He raises his head to look down at you, searching your face. “Old habits.”
You nod, but you’re still working through everything in your head. Your post-orgasmic brain is working no faster than it was ten minutes ago.
“I’m sorry for reading your diary,” he says after a few seconds and you swear you might see the raw edge of panic sitting somewhere there on his face. “It was a shitty thing to do. I don’t regret it, because I don’t know that I would have ever had the balls to make a move otherwise, but I am sorry.”
It’s so bizarre, so completely unexpected, you can only stare. He’s looking back at you with an uncharacteristic nervousness that makes you slightly uncomfortable. Truthfully, you had forgotten you were even mad about the privacy violation in the first place. Maybe it’s the two orgasms.
You still don’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Bucky - that might be pushing things a bit too far, a bit too early. Instead you lean forward to give him a small, chaste kiss. He smiles.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, pressing small kisses to your lips, moving down your cheek and on to your neck. “Just wait ‘till I get my tongue on you.”
You tense up, resolutely ignoring the heat pooling low in your stomach. There is no way in hell you can endure another round right now. Your limbs are still shaking.
Whatever expression is on your face makes Bucky laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll give you a couple hours. We got two long weeks in this house by ourselves.”
a/n: the diary entries are basically just my dms with my moots lmao
Pairing: Post-Thunderbolts!Bucky x NewAvenger!Reader
Summary: You hated him. You swore you did. Until the dick pics you’d been seeing for months turned out to belong to your mission partner—the man who barely looked at you in daylight.
Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, mutual masturbation (via FaceTime), p in v sex (unprotected), first time sex (reader), dirty talk, breastplay (nipple sucking), wet grinding (clothed and bare), edging (reader), orgasm denial (brief), praise kink, possessive!soft!Bucky vibes, intense intimacy, post-orgasm shaking, soft aftercare cuddling
Word Count: 8.7k
You hadn’t even made it halfway through your first week and you were already public enemy number one in the eyes of Bucky Barnes.
Valentina hadn’t given you much warning. One curt message, no fanfare. Just a quick relocation order and the kind of tone that made it clear you weren’t allowed to say no. You were to report to the newly restructured Watchtower—what used to be the old Avengers Tower, now stripped of its former glory and repurposed for the next wave of heroes. Or, as the media loved to call it: The New Avengers.
But the title never sat well with you.
“New Avengers” sounded like cheap branding. A desperate repackage. Like you were standing in the shadow of gods and legends, trying on their hand-me-downs and pretending they still fit. You didn’t see yourself in that lineup. You didn’t want to. So you clung to something else.
You were Thunderbolts. Raw, messy, cobbled together by circumstance and grief, yes—but still sharp around the edges. Thunderbolts sounded tougher. Grittier. Real. You liked that.
Your first day was already a disaster.
You’d overslept after flying in from a red-eye, scrambled into your navy leggings and cropped black tank, hair still damp from a rushed shower and barely twisted into a low bun. One hand juggled your phone, the other a hot, nearly-overflowing paper cup of coffee. Wedged awkwardly under your arm? A grease-stained paper bag with a very loaded chili dog inside. Extra chili. Always extra chili.
You were running toward the elevator when the doors slid open—and you didn’t realize someone was standing inside until your boot clipped the edge of the hallway runner and you were airborne.
You collided full force with a solid chest, and everything you were holding—coffee, chili, dignity—exploded across the poor bastard who’d been unlucky enough to stand in your path.
Bucky Barnes.
Your coffee soaked the front of his dark red henley. Chili smeared across his chest. A fat drop of sauce slid down the side of his neck, and by some miracle, a single black bean clung to his collarbone like a badge of shame.
His eyes snapped to you—ice-blue and narrowing fast.
You froze. “Oh shit—I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—I’ll clean it, I swear—like, personally. Or I’ll run your errands for the week. Seven days. No questions—”
He didn’t say a word.
Just a hard exhale. A glare sharp enough to slice bone. Then he turned, dripping and silent, and walked off the elevator like he hadn’t just been assaulted by caffeine and chili grease.
You stood there in stunned horror, the doors sliding closed behind him.
By the time you finally made it up to the Watchtower’s main lounge—jittery, sweating, and still slightly smelling like cumin—most of the team had already gathered.
Yelena had taken one look at your half-spilled coffee and chili-smeared shirt and declared, “You look like chaos. I like it.”
John Walker gave you a nod and a raised brow, then returned to sulking over a protein shake.
Alexei had tried to pitch you on his “secret endurance routine” within the first five minutes.
You laughed. Politely declined.
It was messy. Loud. Barely functional. But comforting in a strange way—like finding out the group project you were forced into was at least full of people who didn’t take themselves too seriously.
Then you saw him again.
Bucky entered the lounge a few minutes later, now dressed in his black compression shirt and tactical pants—his training gear. His hair was damp, brushed back behind his ears, and his jaw looked freshly clenched. You straightened up instinctively, wiping your palms on your leggings, then took a breath and stepped toward him.
You opened your mouth to greet him, maybe even introduce yourself properly this time.
He walked past you.
Didn’t look. Didn’t stop. Just kept moving like you weren’t even there.
You heard him grunt—low, sharp, and unmistakably annoyed.
You knew it was meant for you.
A warning shot.
A sign of war.
—
It didn’t end there.
Over the next few days, Bucky made it very clear you were on his shit list. Every time he assigned training rotations, you got the worst of it. Your combat drills were brutal—sparring reps that left your ribs aching and your pride in pieces. While others got to rotate partners, you were stuck running simulations against one of the Widow bots that seemed permanently set to maximum aggression.
The gym sessions? A damn death sentence. Weighted vests. Endurance drills until your lungs felt like they were trying to claw their way out of your chest. No water breaks. No mercy.
He didn’t speak to you. Barely looked at you.
Except when he did, and it was always across the room—like he could smell your failure before he saw it. Like your presence alone was a personal offense.
You tried. You really did. But by week two, your patience ran out.
One late afternoon, you were in the pantry with Yelena, peeling open a protein bar and venting under your breath.
“He’s just—ugh, he’s a grumpy old bastard,” you muttered. “Looks like he hasn’t slept since the Cold War and acts like he’s allergic to joy. Like, take a goddamn nap in a grave already.”
Yelena snorted into her coffee, half-choking.
Unfortunately, you didn’t notice John Walker stepping in through the hallway behind you.
“You know Bucky’s just next door, yeah?” he said casually, leaning against the counter with that smirk he always wore when he was about to stir up some trouble.
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, so?”
John arched a brow. “And you do know he’s enhanced.”
“So what?”
“So…” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “He can hear all that shit you’re talking. Loud and clear. Pretty sure he’s listening right now.”
You froze mid-bite, mouth still half-open, stomach dropping like a stone.
Yelena widened her eyes in faux horror and whispered, “You’re so dead.”
You considered apologizing. Maybe retreating. Maybe fleeing the country.
But the truth?
You were tired of walking on eggshells. You’d tripped once. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to spill anything on him. And if the great Sergeant Barnes wanted to crucify you over one clumsy mistake and make your life hell over a chili dog and a coffee?
Then let him.
You swallowed the bite, turned back to your protein bar, and said with zero remorse—
“Good.”
—
You didn’t stop shit-talking Bucky Barnes after that first day.
If anything, you escalated.
Not publicly—well, not all the time. But every night, without fail, you’d unload your frustrations somewhere far safer. Somewhere faceless. Somewhere private.
You had a fling.
Not a lover. Not even a real person, as far as you could prove. You’d met him long before this whole Thunderbolts mess started, back when your life was quieter, lonelier, when everything still felt like it was just slightly out of reach. You were still moving between safe houses and temp assignments then, with no anchor point but your own reflection—and a damn dating app that promised distraction if not affection.
He caught your eye immediately. Not because of the photos—there weren’t many—but the bio. Dry. Hilarious. And oddly sad in a way that curled around your ribs and settled there.
Been cold for a while. Warming up slowly. Thought maybe someone out there had the defrost button.
It made you pause. Laugh. Swipe right.
He matched with you in less than a minute.
The first message was a joke. Obscure, borderline ridiculous, laced in some cryptic code about how hard it was to feel human again in a world that never really waited for you. You responded in kind—half sarcasm, half curiosity. It spiraled from there. Inside jokes layered like bricks. Memes, strange hypotheticals, long nights of talking in half-truths and wry honesty.
And then, somewhere along the line… things turned filthy.
It wasn’t planned. It just happened. Like a switch flipped. One voice note became two. Then came the late-night confessions. The breathy admissions. The images. Not full nudes—he never sent anything that showed his face. But the way he described things? The way he talked? It made your stomach twist and your thighs squeeze together under the sheets.
His voice was low, rough in the corners, always a little tired like he’d recorded it with his head resting on a pillow. But the words were razor-sharp. Soft growls of praise. Dirty commands. Compliments that didn’t sound like he was bluffing, like he actually meant it when he called you his “good girl” or said he’d drop to his knees for you if you just asked.
And then there were the pics.
Oh, the pics.
Awkward angles, yes. But unmistakable. He was filthy thick. Curved slightly to the right. Veiny in a way that made your mouth water. Every photo was captioned with some deadpan comment that made you laugh and ache.
This angle is 90% countertop and 10% cock. Not sorry.
Too cold for dick pics but I suffer for art.
If I die of embarrassment, bury me face down so you can sit on my shame.
You’d called him the King of Come-dick (get it? Comedic Dick?), and he told you that was going in his will.
And even without a name or a face, you felt more seen in those chats than you ever had in real life. He made you laugh. He made you beg. He made you feel good.
But lately, those voice notes had taken on a different flavor.
Because now you were venting.
Every night.
After a day of getting your lungs torched by combat drills and your pride mangled by James freaking Barnes, you’d crawl into bed, roll onto your side, and let it all pour out.
Your messages to the fling started as innocent rants.
You ever met someone who just hates you on sight? Like your existence is their 13th reason?
He’s the human version of stepping barefoot on a plug. Like I’m convinced he’s been possessed by an ancient war ghost who hates fun.
I tripped once. ONCE. Now I’m stuck doing training reps that make my organs feel like they’re auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.
And your online fling—bless him—never once dismissed you. He didn’t ask too many questions. Didn’t push for context. He just listened.
Told you you were strong. That your instincts were good. That whoever was tearing you down probably didn’t deserve to know the real you. That maybe this guy—this “grumpy dickhead on permanent PMS”—just didn’t know how to handle someone like you. Someone bright. Loud. Capable. Free.
And God, those messages always left you warm. Floating. Like he saw you, even without seeing your face.
You never told him you were a Thunderbolt. Never mentioned the Watchtower. You kept it vague—just some asshole colleague with authority issues.
And he never told you where he was either.
You didn’t need names. Didn’t need faces.
It was better this way. Safer. More honest, somehow.
Besides, it wasn’t like you were in love with the guy.
It was just sex.
Just comfort.
Just a voice in the dark whispering that you were worth more than how Bucky Barnes made you feel.
And if, sometimes, that same voice made your breath hitch and your toes curl under the covers, whispering filth that left you gasping into your pillow?
Well.
That was nobody’s business but yours.
—
By now, the tension between you and Bucky Barnes had evolved into something legendary.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t dignified. It was a living, breathing force that stalked every shared hallway, every joint training session, every goddamn mission briefing. You didn’t speak. He didn’t speak. But somehow, every grunt, eye-roll, sigh, and clipped command felt like it echoed through the whole goddamn Watchtower.
The others noticed.
They definitely noticed.
So much so that one morning in the lounge room—barely ten minutes into your coffee—Yelena snapped.
“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned, slamming her mug down a little too hard. “Can someone ask Bob to summon the Void again? I’m serious. Trap them in it. Lock it. Throw away the key.”
Across from her, Bob nearly choked on his protein shake.
He looked up, blinking. “You want me to… what? No. Absolutely not. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to keep that thing buried?”
She narrowed her eyes. “So don’t be the Void. Be Sentry. Throw Bucky somewhere far. Like Antarctica. That should fix it.”
You were already suppressing a laugh, staring into your bowl of cereal like it had the answers to your spiritual collapse.
Bucky, of course, was seated at the end of the long couch—tablet in hand, thumbing through mission briefs with a scowl that seemed surgically attached to his face.
“I heard that, Lena,” he muttered dryly without looking up.
Then he did look up.
Right at you.
The kind of look that scraped across your skin like ice on bare flesh. Not even anger anymore. Just a quiet, simmering disdain. A full-body ugh.
He dragged his finger across the tablet, ignoring everyone else, scrolling like you weren’t worth more than a line item in his day.
You bit the inside of your cheek, hard.
It had been days since you last messaged your fling—missions had kept you busy, bruised, mentally wiped. But today? You needed a lifeline. You needed him.
You reached for your phone under the table and typed, thumbs moving fast, tension bubbling under your skin.
Shitty day at work. Missed you a little more than usual today. Hope you’re alive and not plotting your escape from Earth.
A second later, a ding echoed across the room.
You didn’t look.
But from the corner of your eye… you saw Bucky smile.
Just the ghost of it, but it was there. Quick. Sharp. Subtle enough to vanish in a blink—but unmistakable. The corners of his mouth curved, softening his jaw, lighting up something that should’ve made him look kinder.
Instead, it pissed you off.
How could someone with a smile that beautiful act like such a piece of shit?
Your phone buzzed.
Hey babe. How bad are we talking? On a scale from paper cut to arson?
You nearly melted at the sight of the message. The nickname. The teasing tone. Like your body had been waiting to exhale.
Your fingers flew, fire in your blood as you rose from your seat and power-walked out of the lounge, phone still in hand.
You headed straight for one of the smaller mission debrief rooms—locked the door behind you and threw yourself into the nearest chair like it was a confessional booth.
Same old dickhead being a dickhead again. Just needed your voice or your cock. Either one will do.
It didn’t take long for the response to ping through.
Rough day too. Holding the world together with duct tape and a smile. My shoulders might collapse from all this weight.
You snorted softly, your anger already softening into something warmer, darker, messier. Your thighs pressed together.
Your fingers danced across the screen again.
Maybe a dick pic would help redistribute the emotional labor? 😌
You hit send.
Hot tension unfurled low in your stomach. That fuzzy, heavy pulse building behind your navel. You leaned back in your chair, the silence making your heart beat louder.
A beat passed.
Then the reply:
Not now. Mid-meeting. Bad time.
You pouted, eyes narrowing slightly.
Then your screen lit up.
Image received.
You tapped it open.
It was… tight. Somewhat zoomed in, framed awkwardly from waist down—but unmistakable. The outline of his cock straining against dark, snug tactical pants. Like it was furious to be caged. The bulge was obscene. Rude. Practically throbbing through the screen.
You blinked. Sucked in a breath.
Your pulse jumped.
Mmm, excuse me, bold and nasty? In a meeting?? Someone’s got issues 🫦
No reply.
You waited, but you weren’t upset. He disappeared like this sometimes—usually when work pulled him back under. You understood it. You respected it.
So you looked at the photo again.
Zoomed in a little.
God, it looked so good.
But then… something tugged at your brain. A weird, annoying sense of déjà vu.
The pants.
The texture of the fabric. The way they clung. The slight reinforcement at the side seams. They looked… familiar.
Too familiar.
You frowned.
Hadn’t you seen these somewhere?
But no—no, that was stupid. There were probably ten thousand pairs of pants like that in the world. You were just horny and paranoid.
And horny.
Mostly horny.
You shook the thought away, closed the image, and leaned back with a dreamy sigh.
Whoever your mystery man was… he was your safe space. Your escape.
And there was no way the guy sending you filthy bulge pics from some secret meeting was the same one currently glaring at you every day like you were a plague.
Right?
—
As if things couldn’t get any worse, Valentina had to stick her designer heel right into the wound.
She called it a “strategic adjustment.”
You called it cruel and unusual punishment.
From now on, until further notice—her favorite three words—you were to be partnered with Bucky Barnes. For missions. For sparring. For everything.
Her exact phrasing?
“For God’s sake, Barnes. You’re over a hundred years old. You’ve survived wars, Hydra, cryo, and three near-apocalypses. Fix this shenanigan already. Or I swear, I’ll fix it for you—and neither of you will like my method.”
You wanted to protest.
Bucky didn’t even blink.
Just gave her that flat, dead-eyed look that said he’d rather be in a Siberian prison than listening to this briefing.
So it began.
The first few sparring sessions were nothing short of apocalyptic. Poor coordination, missed cues, accidental hits that didn’t feel that accidental. Zero trust. Zero chemistry. Just bruises, swearing, and thick silence that felt louder than gunfire.
And finally, you snapped.
You threw your gloves across the mat, stormed toward him as he stood there like a statue, and spat the words out like venom.
“What the fuck is your problem, Barnes? Can you say something for once instead of treating me like I’m radioactive?”
His gaze lifted to meet yours. Calm. Unreadable. Stormy blue with something you couldn’t quite name hiding underneath.
He let out a breath.
“This is why,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.
You blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re still a kid.”
The words landed like a slap—sharp and low.
“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” you shot back, voice rising.
He exhaled sharply, looked away like he was already done with the conversation.
“You’re not in the right headspace for this. Neither am I. Let’s call it for today. I’ll reschedule the gym session.”
He picked up his towel, unbothered, collected his things like your fury was a passing breeze. Then walked out.
Left you standing there. Burning.
You kicked the mat. “Fuck!”
It echoed. Pointless. No one heard.
Except the part of yourself you were trying desperately to ignore.
The part that kept noticing things. Soft, human things about him.
You’d been avoiding him for so long that you accidentally started watching him. Observing. Catching details you didn’t mean to.
Like the way he always knew what the team needed. Quietly. No fuss.
He gifted Bob a stack of niche self-improvement books—nothing preachy, nothing corny. Just thoughtful reads that let Bob’s mind wander somewhere better. Gave him a way out of his own head.
He remembered Yelena’s favorite protein bars. Replaced them in the kitchen when they ran out, even though no one asked.
And the chili dogs.
You didn’t eat lunch one day—too many back-to-back briefings. You hadn’t even said anything.
But there it was, sitting on your desk an hour later: a warm paper bag with a chili dog inside. Extra extra chili. No mustard.
Exactly the way you liked it.
You never told him how you liked it.
And he hated you. Didn’t he?
You laid flat on the training mat, arms spread out, chest rising and falling fast. Not from the sparring. From the confusion. The ache. The messy swirl of wanting and not wanting and wishing he’d just say what the hell he was thinking for once.
It made you miss your other one even more.
Your secret.
Your escape.
Your not-a-lover, not-a-boyfriend—your ghost between the sheets.
And it made you horny as hell.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. The sweat. The anger. Maybe it was the sound of Bucky’s voice still echoing in your ears. Maybe it was the impossible urge to burn everything down and touch yourself through the flames.
You grabbed your phone.
Your thumbs hovered for a second.
Then you typed.
Throbbing for you today. Thinking of trying something new. Facetime tonight? I want to see you. It’s time.
You stared at the message.
Then hit send.
Your heart fluttered like you just disarmed a bomb.
You’d never done it before—not live. Always voice notes. Pictures. Heavy breathing and whispered praise in the dark. But you wanted more. You needed to see him. To watch his mouth when he groaned. To show him your face when you broke.
Your phone buzzed.
One line.
Been waiting for that, babe. Can’t wait for tonight.
You closed your eyes. Smiled.
Something bloomed deep in your chest.
But then…
Bucky’s face flickered in your mind. That last glance he gave you before walking out—not cruel. Not angry.
Not… disgusted.
For the briefest second, it looked like he wanted to say something. Like he was holding back.
And that scared you more than anything.
Because what if?
What if all this time, he wasn’t just avoiding you?
What if he knew exactly what he was doing?
—
Night fell like it had been waiting all day just to wrap around you. Heavy, quiet, almost expectant. Like even the shadows knew what was about to happen.
You’d made the room exactly the way you wanted it—dim, intimate, anonymous. One small lamp by the bed, screen brightness lowered. Location off. Door locked. Twice.
He had your Apple ID now. You’d never given him your number. That felt too personal. Too dangerous. But your old burner email from when you were eight—the one that made you cringe now?
It made you feel hidden. Untouchable. Like no one could ever guess who you really were behind a name that dumb.
At exactly 9:15 p.m., your phone buzzed in your palm.
Incoming FaceTime call. From an email you’d never seen before—cryptic, strange: [email protected].
Your stomach flipped.
That was new.
You inhaled deeply, thumb hovering. Then tapped accept.
The call connected.
No faces. No hellos. Just dark screens and careful camera angles.
He had his camera angled low—blanket pooled around his hips, the lens tilted toward the rise under thin dark fabric. Boxers. Nothing else.
Yours was already aimed at your chest—lace crop top, black and barely-there, your nipples visible through the sheer. That was the rule. No real names. No faces. Just bodies and breath. Just touch without touching.
“Hey, babe.” His voice was soft tonight. Lower. Warmer. “Your room’s so dark. I can barely see anything.”
You smiled, voice light. “Same here. What are we—covert ops?”
He laughed quietly. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve done.”
There was a pause.
Heavy with something unsaid.
You reached over and adjusted your lamp just enough to cast a golden wash over your skin. Still cropped. Still framed. Just enough for him to see the swell of your chest.
On the screen, his hips shifted. The blanket moved slightly.
He let out a groan. “Fuck… you’re starting with that?”
You tilted your head, teasing. “What? You think I dressed like this for me?”
He chuckled. It sounded a little strangled.
You flipped the camera to the rear, aimed it lower—down your thighs, where the blanket still clung. Slowly, deliberately, you peeled it back. The cool air hit your bare cunt and made you flinch.
You didn’t need to look to know he was watching.
His voice thickened. “Jesus, baby… you’re unreal.”
You stayed quiet. Let him drink it in.
He shifted again. His hand slid down, over the bulge pressing hard against his boxers. You could see it straining—long, thick, clearly aching to be freed.
“You see that?” he murmured. “Already hard for you. Always.”
You moaned softly in response, your fingers teasing between your folds. Dipping slow. Making a mess of yourself just for him.
“God, yes,” you whispered. “You see this? So fucking wet. For you.”
His hand stroked himself through the fabric, slow at first. Measured. Like he was pacing it just for you.
Then—he dropped the phone.
Just for a moment. The screen tilted to black.
You heard a muffled shuffle of fabric. Movement. A grunt. The sound of him exhaling hard.
Then—
He picked the phone back up.
And there it was.
The cock you’d seen in pictures, now in motion. Hard. Heavy. Curved slightly to the right. Veins running along the shaft like paths you wanted to trace with your tongue.
You whimpered, breath catching. “God… your cock looks so fucking good.”
He wrapped his hand around it and stroked slowly, deliberately.
“Stroke it for me,” you begged, eyes fixed on the screen as your own fingers worked faster. “Let me hear you, baby.”
You turned off your camera for a second—adjusted your angle—then turned it back on. Still cropped. Still hidden. But now angled perfectly between your thighs. Slick. Open. Needy.
“See this?” you whispered. “See what you do to me?”
He moaned—deep, rough, just a little breathless.
The call dissolved into heat. Sound. Wetness. Praise. You whispered filth to him like prayer. He groaned your name like he was falling apart just for you. You were close. So close—
Until—
WEE-OO-WEE-OO. WEE-OO-WEE-OO.
The emergency siren shrieked through your phone like a gunshot.
You gasped and jolted upright—until you realized…
It wasn’t just coming from your phone.
It was echoing.
From his side too.
Same pitch. Same frequency.
Watchtower protocol.
Your heart seized.
You stared at the screen—just as he cursed under his breath.
“Shit.”
Then the screen went black.
Call ended. Gone.
Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands still between your legs. Your body raw with need.
But your brain?
Your brain was moving in slow, precise horror.
That siren wasn’t public. It wasn’t general Watchtower protocol.
It was specific.
Each mission pair had their own unique alert—encrypted, untraceable outside their shared comms. And that tone… that exact pitch sequence…
It was yours.
Yours and your assigned partner’s.
And your partner?
Was Bucky Barnes.
Your stomach clenched.
You stared down at your phone, pulse pounding. Your body was still humming from the aftershocks, but the rest of you was unraveling.
You blinked at the dark screen. Tried to breathe.
And then your mind began to pull—thread by thread—backward.
The voice. That low rasp that lived somewhere in his throat. Always a little tired. Always a little rough. You’d heard it in the sparring room. You’d heard it moaning your name in the dark.
The timing. The discipline. The almost militant sharpness of his replies. Always exactly on time. Always controlled.
And then—
The way he touched himself.
One hand.
Always the right.
Every picture. Every clip. Every motion you’d ever seen. Cock in his right hand. Phone in his left. You’d never seen anything else. Never thought to question it.
Until now.
Until you remembered exactly what his left hand was made of.
The vibranium.
Always gloved in daylight. Always held behind his back, or casually resting on his hip like it wasn’t worth using. Always there, but never used—not unless it had to be.
Your breath caught.
The pieces stopped falling.
They just… clicked.
The voice. The siren. The silence. The lack of left hand. The way he moved. The refusal to show his face. The email so purposefully anonymous. The instinct to keep himself hidden—just like you had.
You stared at your reflection in the black screen.
Still damp. Still trembling.
“…no fucking way.”
But there was no more room for doubt.
Because if your gut was right—and every part of you said it was—then the man who had just come for you in the dark…
…was the same man who couldn’t even stand to look at you in the light.
You weren’t just turned on.
You were completely, utterly fucked.
—
“Shit,” Bucky muttered, breath still ragged as he ended the call with a swipe of his thumb.
He was seconds from coming—already flushed, tense, his hand wrapped tight around his cock—when the emergency siren blasted through his phone.
His specific alert. High-pitched, short burst, then a long one.
And then… the echo.
The same damn siren, faint but unmistakable, bleeding through the other end of the call. His caller’s phone.
Your phone.
He froze.
Chest still rising and falling. Sweat on his neck. Mind racing.
It took him three full seconds to understand what it meant.
And when it hit—it hit hard.
You.
You.
The woman he was supposed to protect. Train. Lead. The one who spent every meeting glaring at him like he’d kicked your dog in a past life.
You were the one he’d been jerking off to for the last six months.
The one sending him voice notes at midnight. The one calling him baby and making him laugh without even trying. The one who knew exactly how to pull pleasure out of his body with just the sound of your breath.
He dragged a hand over his face. His heart was still pounding, but now it had nothing to do with arousal.
He leaned back in the chair, stared up at the ceiling, and cursed again under his breath.
He hadn’t known.
He swore he hadn’t known.
—Bucky’s POV—
The memory came back uninvited. That first day.
The elevator.
The hot splash of coffee—steaming, not just warm. It scalded straight through his henley, soaked the skin over his chest and shoulder. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, just to keep from reacting.
He could’ve cursed. Could’ve snapped. But you were already panicking, mumbling rapid apologies, trying to wipe it off with your sleeve. He’d seen the horror in your eyes—wide and sincere and a little ridiculous, considering the chili dog now sliding down his shirt like it was trying to escape judgment.
So he said nothing.
Just clenched his jaw and stepped out the second those elevator doors opened, beelining to the men’s room. Cold water. Fast scrubbing. Quiet pain.
By the time he’d changed and returned to the lounge, he barely had time to scan the room before John Walker waved him over.
“Bucky,” John had said, holding out a tablet. “Priority situation in the Balkans. You’ll want eyes on this.”
Bucky was halfway across the room before he noticed you were there—standing off to the side, a coffee-stained shirt clinging to your frame, looking small but composed, like you were trying not to exist too loudly.
He hadn’t even realized he’d brushed past you until later.
To be fair, you were… small. He towered over you by nearly three and a half heads. And when his mind was in mission-mode, everything else blurred.
But from that moment on—you were cold. Icy. Guarded. Like he’d somehow declared war just by existing.
—
It wasn’t hate.
Not from his side.
Far from it.
Your file had flagged you as physically promising but slightly under-trained in stamina and real-combat conditioning. So he’d structured your simulations to push you—to meet you at the edge of your capacity.
He wasn’t trying to break you.
He was trying to build you.
And goddamn, you’d risen fast. Quicker than most.
You were smart. Sharp. Focused in a way that made him take notice. Your recovery rate improved. Your reflexes tightened. Your rhythm in combat sparring became beautiful to watch.
And yet, you never gave him anything back but sarcasm, glares, and whispered insults when you thought he wasn’t around.
He had heard you in the pantry that day—grumbling to Yelena.
“Grumpy old bastard,” you’d muttered.
He almost laughed.
Because… yeah.
He was grumpy. He was old.
He didn’t take it personally.
But it confused him.
He’d never insulted you. Never shut you down. Never raised his voice.
Even the damn chili dog—he ordered it because you skipped lunch. And because, after weeks of listening, he knew how you liked it. Extra extra chili. No mustard.
It wasn’t a peace offering. Not exactly.
He just… wanted to talk to you. Properly. Without you frowning at him like he was the plague.
But when he dropped it off at your desk, you didn’t even look up.
—
And now?
Now he couldn’t breathe.
Because the woman who shut down every attempt at conversation—the one who rolled her eyes during briefings, who sparred like she was trying to draw blood—
Was the same woman who sent him a voice note last week whispering “I wish I could ride you until we both black out.”
The same woman who tonight had parted her legs on camera, fingers working between her folds, moaning for him like it was a prayer.
And the worst part?
He liked you.
He already liked you.
Even before tonight’s accidental reveal, there was something about you that got under his skin. Your fire. Your mouth. The way you never let him off the hook.
It drove him crazy.
And now?
Now you were burned into his hands. His sheets. His bloodstream.
He groaned, dragging both hands down his face.
You were going to hate him.
You were going to find out. If you hadn’t already.
And when you did—
He wasn’t sure what would destroy him faster.
Your disgust.
Or your silence.
—POV end—
—
You got dressed fast.
That siren could’ve meant anything—civilian threat, global emergency, interdimensional chaos. You’d heard stories. One time they scrambled a team for a goose that got too close to a Stark satellite. Another time, someone joked it might be Galactus. No one laughed.
Whatever it was, you weren’t risking being the last one to show up.
You tugged on your gear, tied your hair up, and bolted for the elevator.
And then—ding.
The doors slid open.
And there he was.
Bucky.
Fully dressed in tactical gear, all buttoned up and brooding like usual. Black compression shirt, black pants, boots laced with military precision. His eyes flicked to you once—just a glance—and then back to the elevator panel. But the tension? Instant. Thick.
It had only been a few minutes since you were both naked, panting, whispering filth into your screens. You could still feel the echo of his voice in your bones. Still hear the ragged way he said “fuck, baby” like he was breaking.
You kept your eyes forward.
You meant to keep them forward.
But your gaze dipped anyway. Just for a second. A glance.
Black tactical pants.
The same ones.
The exact same fit, the same cut. The same pants from that picture. From when he said he was “in a meeting.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your eyes flicked back up—and met his.
Caught.
He saw it.
He saw you seeing it.
Your head snapped to the side, heat crawling up your neck, burning into your ears.
Shit.
The silence pressed in on all sides, humming with everything neither of you were saying.
Then you forced yourself to speak.
“Can we talk… after this? After whatever this whole thing turns out to be?”
Bucky didn’t move much. Just a slight nod, his voice low and steady.
“Sure thing.”
—
The siren turned out to be a false alarm.
A rat.
A rat had chewed through a critical cable cluster near the ops wing. Short-circuited a core and triggered multiple alerts. It was now extra crispy and mostly unrecognizable.
The debrief was short. Everyone dispersed.
You didn’t even breathe until the elevator doors closed again.
Then, his voice beside you.
“Talk in my room? Or do you want the common area?”
You looked up at him, fingers fidgeting at your side.
“Somewhere private. Your room sounds… nice.”
He nodded once. Wordless again.
You followed him down the hall. Past mission boards and storage units.
When he opened his door and let you in, you were hit with the quiet scent of aftershave and clean cotton. Dim lighting. Neat, except—
Your eyes caught it.
The bed.
Blanket slightly skewed. Pillow dented. The indent of where he’d been sitting when the call came in. Like you could trace the shape of him from the air still hanging around it.
He didn’t say anything about it. Just walked to the small kitchen island and poured a glass of water. One for you. One for him.
You sat down on the stool beside him, fingers wrapping around the glass like it could anchor you.
Silence stretched.
And then he spoke.
“So…”
You looked up. His eyes were on the counter. Then on you.
“I know you probably hate me right now. Or want to kill me. Or both. And I get it,” he said, voice low, careful. “But… I’m not gonna pretend I regret any of it. The voice notes. The pictures. That call.”
That call. The way he said it sent heat crawling up your spine.
“I never hated you,” he added, softer now. “Honestly, I never understood why you hated me.”
You blinked.
Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “What are you talking about?”
He looked at you fully now. Not like a soldier. Not like a leader. Just… Bucky.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, the words coming quicker now. “You assigned me harsher drills than Yelena or Ava. You didn’t look at me. You didn’t talk to me. You treated me like I was on your shit list from day one.”
It wasn’t accusation this time. Just confusion. Honest and aching.
Bucky’s lips twitched—not in amusement. Just… exasperation. At himself.
“I never meant to make you feel that way,” he said. “I thought I was doing my job. Training you based on your stats. You’re… more capable than most, and I didn’t want to hold you back. That was it. And yeah, I’m not great at small talk, but I swear—I wasn’t ignoring you.”
You stared at him. Processing.
“Even the chili dog?” you asked, a faint smile threatening.
He cracked the smallest smirk. “Extra extra chili, no mustard. You looked like you were gonna pass out from hunger. Seemed like the least I could do.”
You looked down at the counter, your fingers inching closer to his. Slowly, purposefully, you touched your fingertips to the edge of his vibranium hand.
He didn’t move.
You swallowed.
“You know, Bucky,” you said, voice quieter now. “I liked what we had. That connection, when we didn’t know who we were. When it was just… voice and breath and instinct. Felt honest in a way nothing else has.”
You met his eyes again.
“I don’t want that to be ruined because I misread you. Because I let my anger get in the way. That’s on me. And I’m sorry.”
Bucky exhaled through his nose. Not annoyed—just like he’d been holding that breath for days.
“I don’t want it to be ruined either.”
There was a pause.
You felt it first.
The shift in the air.
The hum.
Your thighs clenched, your body already remembering the sound of his voice, the weight of his moan, the way he said babe like it was a promise.
You leaned in slightly, just enough.
“In all honesty,” you murmured, “I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want us to stop. I mean, if you’re done with it, I’ll get it. But…”
You tilted your head, your voice a little more playful now.
“I’ve never liked a cock this much in my life. And that cock happened to be yours.”
That did it.
Bucky froze. Blinked. Then his ears went red—just a little. His jaw tightened, but not with anger.
The tension snapped.
And the room started heating up again.
Fast.
—
Your mind could barely register what had happened.
One second, you were sitting on a stool at his kitchen island—nervous fingers tracing your water glass, heart beating louder than the silence.
The next?
You were in his arms.
Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your back against the wall. His mouth on yours—crashing, pulling, devouring.
It was messy. A little rushed. Reverent in its desperation.
Like something ancient had finally been set into motion.
Like this wasn’t just inevitable—it was fated.
You clung to him, hands clutching the collar of his shirt, your mouth parting under his as he kissed you harder, deeper. Tongue slipping past your lips like he already knew what you tasted like.
He walked you backward, blindly, the metal plates of his vibranium arm pressed firm against your thigh. You barely noticed the shift until he sat down at the edge of his bed, dragging you down with him, your thighs straddling his lap like you’d always belonged there.
The kiss never broke.
Only deepened.
Your fingers dove into his hair, tugging hard at the roots, and he groaned into your mouth. His hands were everywhere—the metal one gripping your thigh tight, anchoring you to him, while the warm flesh one came up to cradle your jaw.
His thumb stroked slow, soothing circles into your cheek, a contrast to the way his mouth devoured you.
Then his hand slid lower.
Over your neck.
Down to your chest.
And then—he cupped your breast.
You gasped into the kiss. His thumb brushed over the peak through your shirt. He pulled back just slightly, breath ragged, eyes blown black with need.
“Fuck, doll…” he rasped. “You’re so soft.”
His palm squeezed gently, reverently, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
“No bra?” he asked, voice hoarse, lips still grazing yours.
“Non-padded,” you whispered, your fingers finding his vibranium wrist and guiding it higher, sliding it over your other breast.
“Jesus,” he muttered, gripping it with care, the cool metal pressing through your shirt as he kneaded both like they were a goddamn miracle.
You reached down, starting to unbutton your shirt from the bottom.
But he stopped you.
His hand caught yours gently. “Lemme,” he breathed, already slipping the buttons open with a surprising ease, one by one, baring more of your skin with each.
When he pushed the fabric aside and saw the bra—thin, delicate, your nipples barely hidden—he groaned.
“Goddamn,” he whispered. “Been dreaming about this… for way too long.”
He reached around you, unhooking your bra with a flick of his fingers.
And when they spilled free?
He froze for half a second. Jaw tight. Throat flexing.
“Fuck me…” he muttered, his hands sliding back up to cup you properly now—skin to skin.
You were already grinding against him. Slow, controlled, your clothed pussy pressing against the thick ridge in his pants.
He let out a low sound. A growl.
Then dipped his head.
And devoured you.
His mouth latched onto one nipple, tongue swirling, lips sucking hard enough to make you arch into him. His metal hand squeezed the other breast, thumb flicking the peak in lazy circles.
You moaned, loud, fingers gripping his shoulders, nails dragging along the fabric of his shirt.
Every flick of his tongue sent electricity down your spine. Your panties were already soaked. The pressure in your core was unbearable. The need clawing at you from the inside out.
“Bucky—fuck—” you gasped, as he moved to your other nipple, worshipping it with the same urgency, same hunger.
He moaned in response, mouth full, pulling back only to whisper, “You sound even better like this. In real life. On top of me. Falling apart.”
You whimpered.
Because it was too good.
Too perfect.
You’d never had sex—not really. The only thing that ever “took” your virginity was a purple dildo named Tomdildody that lived in a shoebox under your bed.
But this?
This was everything Tomdildody could never be.
This was hot breath and strong hands and the delicious stretch of a man who wanted all of you. Not just your body—but the sounds you made. The way you shivered. The way you whispered his name like it was your final prayer.
Your thighs clenched tighter around him, your hips rolling now, slow but shameless, as his tongue dragged one last, greedy circle around your nipple before he looked up at you.
He was wrecked. Eyes dark. Lips slick. His hands still full of you.
You were already shaking.
And it was only the beginning.
—
You slid off his lap without a word.
Your body moved on instinct now—too hot, too full, too overwhelmed to think. You stood at the edge of the bed and peeled off your pants, one leg at a time, your soaked panties clinging to your folds before you yanked them down and tossed them aside.
Bucky followed your lead, rising from the bed like a force of gravity had pulled him up behind you. He undid his belt with one sharp pull, shoved his tactical pants down, and yanked off his boxers.
You froze for a beat.
They were the exact same ones from the FaceTime. Black. Faintly stretched at the waistband. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist and your pussy clench with anticipation.
He sat back down—legs spread, cock heavy and flushed between them. Thick. Glistening. Leaking at the tip like he’d been waiting hours for this.
You climbed into his lap again, bare skin on bare skin now, your knees pressing into the mattress as you straddled him. You sank down just enough for your soaked cunt to drag along the length of him, slow and hungry.
Wet, filthy squelches echoed in the quiet room. You both moaned—loud, ragged, desperate.
Your forehead dropped to his shoulder.
“Let me feel you, Bucky,” you begged, your voice shaking. “I need it. I need you. My pussy wants you so fucking bad…”
You rolled your hips against him again, your slick coating him, teasing him. Your walls clenched at nothing—frantic for him, aching to be filled.
His breath stuttered. Then he growled.
“Fuck, baby…”
He gripped your thighs—metal on one side, warm skin on the other—and lifted you just slightly like you weighed nothing. Then with one hand, he angled his cock and pressed the tip against your entrance.
And when he lowered you down?
Plop.
His cock slid in with ease—your body parting like it had been made to take him. Welcoming. Greedy. The stretch made your mouth fall open. He was thick, curved just right, sliding into you like a prayer answered.
Both of you moaned—loud.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching him. His hands stayed firm on your hips, anchoring you, grounding you.
He pulled out slightly, then slid back in with a guttural groan. “You feel like heaven, sweetheart. Fuck.”
You barely managed a sound—just a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as your walls clenched around him involuntarily.
“God, your pussy feels so good. So fucking good,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to your chest as he rolled his hips into you. “I wanna live here.”
You let out a sob of pleasure.
Because this—this was bliss. The kind of sex that made you forget time, space, rules. The kind that made your thighs shake and your stomach tighten and your soul hum.
You bounced on his lap in slow, messy thrusts. He met every movement with a snap of his hips, driving deeper each time. His cock rubbed every right place inside you, that slight curve hitting your sweetest spot again and again, forcing sounds out of you that you didn’t know you were capable of.
“Fuckfuckfuck—Bucky—oh my god—” you cried out, hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him close like he could stop your body from combusting.
He moaned your name.
Over and over.
Like he was tasting it. Claiming it. Like it lived in his blood.
“Say it again,” you breathed, dizzy from the rhythm. “Say my name.”
He thrust up into you with purpose—sharp, needy—and whispered it like it was holy.
“Baby…” he gasped, voice shattering at the edges. “God, you feel so fucking good—fuck, I’m not gonna last.”
And then he said it—your name.
Low. Rough. Worshipful.
Like it wasn’t just something to call you, but something etched into him. Something his. He kept saying it, over and over, like it grounded him. Like it was the only thing he could hold onto as he drowned in the feel of you.
You were unraveling.
Clit grinding into the base of his cock with every drop of your hips. Slick running down his thighs. Your body clenching tighter around him with every thrust.
You didn’t care who heard.
You didn’t care who knew.
Because this was the best thing you’d ever done.
The most right thing you’d ever felt.
You were full of him. Wrapped around him. Buried in him. And as your orgasm started to crash through your belly in pulsing, blinding waves—
You knew this was more than just sex.
This was the beginning of everything.
—
You moaned into Bucky’s ear, breath hitching, hands clawing into his back.
“Baby, I’m so fucking close—harder, baby—don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
God, he didn’t.
His grip tightened on your hips, the vibranium fingers splayed with reverent strength, anchoring you to him as he bucked up harder, faster, deeper. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—slaps, gasps, choked curses. Heat built between your bodies like friction could burn through time.
And then—
It hit.
Your orgasm shattered through you like something sacred. A wave that cracked your spine and left your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Your body trembled, clenching around him, pulling him deeper even as your climax dragged you under.
Bucky groaned into your shoulder, one final thrust before he pulled out, gasping through his teeth as he spilled across your belly, thick ropes hitting your skin, streaking your thighs. You could feel his chest rising and falling under you, faster than usual. Ragged.
And still—you collapsed against him. Boneless. Wrecked.
He caught you instantly. Wrapped both arms around your waist and held you close like you were something he’d been fighting to protect this whole time. His breathing slowed quickly—thanks to that goddamn serum—but you could feel something different in him. Something deeper than just release.
It wasn’t just sex for him.
It hadn’t been for you either.
You stayed like that for a long while—just breathing, just tangled. Your face buried in his neck, skin warm and slick with sweat and something else you didn’t have the language for yet. Something like peace.
Eventually, your arms slid up to hook around his shoulders, and you lifted your head—only just—to find his eyes. Those steel-blue eyes that always looked like they’d seen too much. But now?
Now they were soft. Glowing. Staring at you like you were some kind of beginning.
“That was…” you started, voice raw, shaky with the aftermath.
You paused.
Then you smiled, just a little.
“That was my first time.”
Bucky blinked. Like he hadn’t heard you right. Like the Earth had tilted sideways under him.
You touched his cheek, thumbing at the stubble there.
“And it was the best,” you whispered.
His throat bobbed. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you, as if the words would never be enough. But you could feel it in his hands—the way he held you tighter. How he kissed your forehead, slow and reverent. Like you’d given him more than just your body.
You let him pull you under the blanket with him. Still bare. Still warm.
You curled into his chest, his arm wrapped snug around your back, your leg draped over his. One of his fingers traced circles into your spine, and he whispered things into your hair you couldn’t quite make out—murmured words like baby and you feel like heaven and can’t believe it was you.
And for once, there were no missions. No sirens. No grudge hanging heavy in the air.
Just the quiet weight of new beginnings.
You closed your eyes against his collarbone, and for the first time since joining this chaotic team, you let yourself rest.
Kinny i have embarrassing news that would probably be a good drabble, so awhile ago i gave my friend my old phone and like I swear i deleted everything on it but he told me he somehow found some ✨spicy pics✨ of me on it and i wanna DIE. Anyways feel like it would be less embarrassing if i gave my old phone to cocky!bestfriend!bucky OKAY BYE I LOVE YOU CONGRATS ON 10k FOLLOWERS!!
art imitates life or whatever so here we go
separation anxiety
18+
content warning: semi-dark!frat!bucky x bestfriend!reader, mature themes, fluff, sexy pictures, bucky is a perv but are we surprised? he's also an annoying finance bro in this but we can look past that, smut (DUB!CON, CNC, daddy kink, mommy kink, forced breeding kink), fluff.
the smut got a lot darker than i planned oops
"And there you go," Sam says proudly, handing you your new phone. "All set up and ready for you."
"Thank you so much!" You exclaim, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "I'm so glad; I had my old phone for half a decade."
"Speaking of your old phone," Bucky begins, sitting at the breakfast counter. "You got it with you?"
You stand up and walk over to him, digging through your jacket pocket to pull out your old phone. It's in relatively good condition for a 5-year-old, but you were bored of it. "Why do you want it, again?" You ask him with a raised brow.
"I'm sick of using my phone to keep up with stocks," He tells you, taking it from your hand. "This way, I can keep it all separate."
Rolling your eyes, you shrug. "Alright, Wolf of Wall Street, have fun."
"Come on, sprinkle," He groans with a smirk. "You know how hard it makes me when you call me that."
"Freak," You mutter, hitting his shoulder before making your way back over to Sam on the couch. Steve and Wanda are making out by the speakers, Natasha's in the kitchen making nachos, and Thor and Peter are playing video games on the other couch.
"We should do this more often," Sam suggests. "You know; instead of stupidly big parties, just hang out and chill."
"You're right, Sammy," You agree as you rest your head on his shoulder, looking around the room at your friends. "A lot less clean-up, too."
"And nobody's trying to have sex on my bed," He adds bitterly, still jaded from the last party.
Coming over to sit on the other side of you, Bucky sighs. "I don't know; I kinda like when everyone's having sex everywhere," He chimes in. "Makes it more fun."
"Perv," You mutter while Sam grimaces.
"You love it," Bucky mumbles, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to him and away from Sam.
"Oh! He did it again!" Nat calls from the kitchen, pointing at you. "Steve was right!"
Pulling away from Wanda, Steve grins and says, "Told you fuckers. Thor, you owe me twenty bucks."
"Fuck's sake," Thor grumbles.
"What are you guys talking about?" Bucky asks them, utterly baffled.
You throw your head back over the couch, shaking your head as you smile.
"Sprinkle?" He utters lowly. "What are they talking about, huh?"
Sam leans forward, smirking triumphantly. "Steve pointed out a few days ago that you cannot handle anyone else touching Y/N," He reveals. "And you always have to be touching her yourself."
"That's not true," Bucky argues with a frown, keeping his arm around you nonetheless. "It's just... comfortable to hold her. To hold anyone. I do it to Nat all the time!"
"No, you do not," She counters with a smirk.
"It's true, J," You tell him with a shrug. "You're sorta obsessed with me."
With a scoff, he just pulls you even closer to him. "And? You're my best friend; I basically own you."
"Woah!" Thor and Peter call out with wide eyes.
"Not in a weird way," Bucky clarifies, though you aren't so sure. "Sprinkle's my best friend, so I can do whatever I want to her."
"I'm not sure that's how consent works, Barnes," Wanda says with a raised brow.
"It's fine, guys, he's harmless," You assure them, before turning to him. "I know what you mean, J."
"See?" He asks the others pointedly.
"You have severe separation anxiety, man," Sam comments, standing up. "Since you met her, what's the longest you two have spent apart?"
The two of you look at each other with a frown, each trying to figure it out.
"So... met on the first day of college three years ago," He mumbles. "There was that time in second year when - no, that was only two days."
"We had that week you went to Portugal with your parents," You add. "That's probably the longest we've gone."
"Oh, that was horrible," He whines, resting his face in your neck.
"You guys even make a point to see each other during the holidays," Steve points out as he and Wanda walk over to join the rest of you. "Even Wan and I haven't spent Christmas together, yet."
"Well, maybe you don't love Wanda as much as I love sprinkle," Bucky says with a shrug, causing everyone to burst into offended groans.
"Jamie, you cannot say that!" You scold him, hitting his shoulder.
"I'm kidding," He swears between laughs, resting his free hand on your thigh.
"Prick," Steve mutters, wrapping his arm around an irritated Wanda and placing a kiss on her forehead.
"Whatever," Bucky says bluntly. "You guys are just jealous-"
Peter groans, "Oh, don't pull that card-"
"- that sprinkle and I are close," He finishes proudly. "And you virgins wish she loved you as much as she loves me."
"Virgins?" Sam repeats with a sputter. "You're one deluded son of a bitch, Barnes."
"You're such an idiot," You mumble to him between laughs, before the others continue to rip into him.
You glance up from your notes to look across the room at Bucky, who's currently playing around with your old phone.
"Having fun there?" You ask him.
He nods, "Mhm."
"Can I borrow a red pen?" Wanda requests, leaning towards you. She takes the pen from your outstretched hand before looking over at Bucky. "What are you doing, Barnes?"
"Setting up the phone," He mumbles in response.
You try to get back to work, but you can't stop staring at his concentration face. It's too damn adorable to look away from, so you carry on staring at him as he types and scrolls. A few moments later, his eyes widen and his lips part. He takes in a quick gasp before swallowing thickly. His eyes glance up at you, an unreadable glint in them.
"Buck?" You ask with a frown. "Everything okay?"
He slumps down on the couch, staring down at the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, everything is absolutely... amazing," He breathes out before biting down on his lip.
"Did you win the stock market, or whatever?" Wanda asks him with a bored tone.
Smirking, he continues scrolling. "Something like that, Wand. I've just come into some incredibly valuable goods."
"Yeah?" You ask, sitting up. "Anything interesting?"
"Ugh, no finance talk, please," Wanda begs. "I'm sick of work and I'm sick of numbers. Can we talk about something else?"
"That's a great idea," Bucky replies, sitting back. "Why don't we talk about boys?"
Snorting, you raise a brow. "You want to talk about boys with us?"
"Sure," He says with a shrug. "Let's start with you, Wan. How's Steve?"
"As I'm sure he's probably already told you in more-than-necessary detail, Steve is absolutely perfect," Wanda replies smugly.
Bucky nods slowly, before his eyes flicker over to you. "And what about you, sprinkle?"
Putting your notes to the side, you give him a smile. "Uh, there are approximately zero romantic leads in my life right now," You admit. "Why the interest?"
He keeps his eyes trained on you. "Y'ever wear lingerie for Steve, Wan? Take sexy pictures for him?"
With a look of disgust, she stands up. "Okay, you're in a pervier mood than usual, so I'm gonna go before you do or say something that Steve would beat your ass for," She states before gathering up her stuff and storming out of your apartment.
When the door slams behind her, Bucky stands up with a sigh. "Finally, am I right?"
"Don't be mean," You scold him, watching as he comes over to sit next to you. "You get me to yourself every day; it's nice to have a little girly company now and then."
"Not right now, though," Bucky says, placing his hand on your thigh as he smirks at you. "Have you ever worn lingerie for a guy?"
You think it over, resting your head on the back of the couch. "Yeah, a few times."
"And... y'ever send sexy pictures?" He pushes, leaning closer to you with a wry grin.
Narrowing your eyes, you push him back. "Stop being weird, James."
"One last question," He promises with a cocky look before lowering his voice. "Have you ever forgotten to delete those sexy pictures before giving your old phone away?"
Slowly, realization dawns on you. Surely not. Your face drops, along with you stomach, as you feel a rush of embarrassment. "What?"
Lifting up the phone, he chuckles. "Thanks for the surprise, sprinkle. These are gonna help me out so much tonight."
You immediately attempt to grab the phone out of his hand, but he stretches his arm out, making it impossible for you to reach it.
"James Barnes!" You yell, hitting his shoulder. "Give me the phone, now!"
He pushes you down onto the couch before straddling you, the cocky smirk never fading. "Oh, but I can't give up these pictures now, my little sprinkle," He claims lowly, slotting himself between your legs. "Not when you look so fuckin' sexy in them."
"Stop being such a perv, for one minute!" You cry, trying to push him off of you but failing terribly. "Those pictures aren't for you!"
Bucky pouts playfully at that, grabbing your wrists in his hand to keep you subdued. "No? Then who are they for, sprinkle?"
You say nothing, struggling against his hold.
"Who were they for?" He asks, lowering his voice as he leans closer to you. "Who'd you take these pictures for, sprinkle?"
Shaking your head, you keep your mouth shut.
"Aw, you don't wanna tell me?" He coos teasingly, letting his crotch press against yours. "But you tell me everything, bubba. I'm your best friend. Who did you send these to?"
You swallow thickly, knowing he won't let up until you tell him what he wants to know. "They... I sent them to Sam."
His face drops and he clenches his jaw. Rage clouds his eyes, making you shiver.
"It was last year," You reveal. "We just... we fooled around, a little. It was nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" He repeats with a mutter.
"We didn't even have sex," You tell him truthfully. "It was just a little bit of fun, and it was all over the phone. Nothing in person."
"How did I not know about this?" Bucky asks you gravely.
"You were too busy with that girl that worked at the cafe," You tell him with an eye-roll. "Cathy, or whatever."
"Callie," He whispers, before raising a brow. "You were jealous, hmm? Not getting enough attention from me, so you went and got it from Sam?"
"Maybe," You mumble bitterly, before pushing his chest. "Now, will you get off me?"
"I can't, my darling sprinkle," He says with a sigh, grinding his hips against yours. "I have separation anxiety."
"Jamie-"
"Shh, baby," He hushes you softly, slowly thrusting against you. "It's alright. Don't you wanna feel good?"
Your heart is racing as your pussy throbs through your clothes, your breath hitching in your throat.
"Don't you wanna make me feel good?" Bucky adds with a smirk.
"This is- we shouldn't do this," You warn him. "We're best friends, Buck."
"Exactly," He chuckles darkly, bringing his lips to your ear. "And that means I can do whatever the fuck I want to you."
"Bucky, stop," You utter, unable to hold back the whimpers as he grinds harder. Shit, that feels good.
He lets out a low groan, bringing one of his hands to your throat. "Fuck, baby, makes me so hard when you tell me to stop," He mumbles, brushing his lips against yours. "You don't really want me to, do you?"
"Jamie," You cry out, arching your back. "I- please."
"Say it again, baby," He mutters in your ear. "Tell daddy to stop."
You feel your panties soak at his words as your eyes roll back. Weak moans escape your throat as you buck your hips up to meet his. "We- you shouldn't be doing this, daddy, stop."
He lets out a low groan, thrusting faster. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking hot," He says, before pulling up your skirt and pulling down your panties. "Such a fuckin' slut, getting so wet for me."
You gasp as his fingers slip inside your entrance, opening you up for him. He curls them inside you, brushing against your sweet spot as you cry out in pleasure.
"Yes, daddy, right there!" You cry, digging your nails into his shoulder.
He thrusts his fingers in and out of you for a few more moments before pulling down his zipper and taking out his throbbing cock. It rests heavy on your thigh, making your cunt clench around his digits.
"Want daddy to fuck you, baby?" He asks you teasingly. "Want my big, fat cock inside you?"
"Daddy," You breathe out, eyes wide. "Kiss me."
With a smug smile, he complies, leaning down to press his lips against yours. The kiss is messy and hot, and he slowly brings his dick to your entrance. Just as tip inches in, you pull away from the kiss, gasping.
"Too big," You whine, shaking your head as his girth stretches you out. "Hurts, daddy."
"I don't care if it fuckin' hurts, baby, you're gonna take it all," He tells you coldly, clenching his jaw as he continues sinking into you. "You're gonna be a good little slut and take it all for your daddy."
You hold your breath as he bottoms out, his cock sitting in you and pulsing against your walls. A weak cry escapes your mouth as he slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.
"Pussy's so fuckin' tight," Bucky grunts as he lifts up your legs and folds them against your torso to fuck you deeper. "Fuck, baby, I've dreamt of this so many times."
"Jamie," You begin, running your hands through his hair. "Feels so good."
"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk. "Been wanting to rail my little girl for so fuckin' long. You know how crazy you make me?"
You do nothing but moan as he slams in and out of you, making your core burn with delight.
"Sending pictures to Wilson, as if that fucker deserves them," He rants through gritted teeth, wrapping his hand around your throat. "He couldn't fuck you this good if he tried, baby. But you're daddy's little slut, now, so he'll never get the chance."
"All yours," You promise him, feeling weak as he squeezes your neck. "Use me, daddy, I'm yours."
"Shit," He grunts, bringing his free hand down to rub your clit. "Who knew my little girl could be such a filthy whore, hmm?"
"I want..." You trail off with a squeak as he rubs your clit faster.
"Tell me, baby, what do you want?" He asks you gently. "What does daddy's little girl want, hmm?"
"Want your cum inside me," You manage to get out, feeling weak. Your mind swirls until all you can process is Bucky and the pleasure he's serving you with.
He chuckles darkly at your words, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "You'll get my cum, baby, you'll get all of it," He promises. "Gonna get you fuckin' pregnant."
Your heart skips a beat at his words and your eyes light up. That's the sexiest fucking thing you've ever heard.
"Tell me you don't want it," He orders you darkly. "Tell daddy not to fuck a baby into you."
A whimper leaves your mouth as you cup his face in your hands. "P- please, daddy, I can't get pregnant," You tell him, putting every bit of your remaining energy into the act. "Please don't cum inside me."
"You don't want to carry my child?" He asks you softly, moving his hand up from your throat to your cheek.
You shake your head, feeling your heart race. "No, daddy, I don't want to," You whimper.
"Well, that's too bad," He growls, fucking you harder. "'Cuz I'm gonna fill you up, gonna give you a baby, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Daddy," You whine as your legs shake and your pleasure almost reaches its peak.
"That's right, baby, you're gonna make me a daddy," He tells you arrogantly. "And you're gonna be the prettiest little mommy in the world. Gonna make you my wife, gonna be mine forever."
You let out loud moans at his dark promises, feeling your orgasm arrive.
"Cum for me, mommy," Bucky orders you, slapping your clit repeatedly. "Cum, now."
Obeying him, you let go, feeling the sharp hit of pleasure as you cum all over his cock. Your pussy tightens around him, making him groan.
"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum," He tells you, slamming into you faster. "Tell me to stop. Tell daddy to stop."
"Daddy, please stop," You cry, wanting nothing more than for him to continue. "Please don't cum inside me, daddy, stop."
"Oh, fuck," He growls as he shoots his seed deep into you, moaning loudly with each thrust. "Take it, baby, every last fuckin' drop."
You shudder as you feel his cum inside you, your chest heaving with every breath you take. Bucky falls forward to rest his head in your neck, catching his breath as he strokes your hair.
"Oh, my God," He mumbles weakly. "That was fuckin' incredible."
With a deep breath, you let out a laugh. "Jamie, I.. I didn't know you were into that kind of sex," You admit, still taken aback.
"Ditto, you little freak," He chuckles between breaths, lifting his head up to look at you.
"If I knew, we'd have fucked a long time ago," You tell him honestly.
"Well, then," Bucky begins with a smirk. "I guess we have a lot to make up for."
"I guess we do," You agree with a giggle.
"Also," He begins, raising a brow. "Sam? Seriously?"
"It just happened; I wasn't expecting it either!" You exclaim. "It was like, a week of phone sex and nudes."
He narrows his eyes. "And he didn't ever try to fuck you?"
"Nope," You answer truthfully. "He was too scared of you. Said you'd never forgive him."
Bucky raises a brow at that, nodding. "He was right. Smart man."
"Tony, on the other hand-"
"Don't you dare even go there, sprinkle," He warns you coldly. "I'd rip his head off, and you don't even wanna know what I'd do to you."
"Maybe I do," You whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "What would you do to me, daddy?"
He clenches his jaw, bringing his hand up grab your chin. "I'd chain you to my bed and keep you as my baby-making machine," He tells you lowly.
"That sounds great," You tell him coyly. "I wanna be your housewife."
"Yeah?" He asks, his eyes darkening. "Wanna be my obedient little wife, cooking and cleaning for me?"
"Anything you want," You promise, playing with his hair. "S'long as you fuck me every day."
"Oh, baby," Bucky grins, kissing you deeply before pulling back. "I'm never letting you go."
"Never?" You ask with an expectant look.
"Never, my pretty little sprinkle," He promises with an arrogant smile, stroking your cheek. "I've got separation anxiety, baby."
bucky masterlist
side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates
My skin is very sensitive (especially on my back and thighs), and whenever I get bitten hard, I can't control myself and cry. Depending on how many times I get bitten, I cry a lot. But I don't feel that much pain, my eyes react automatically and overflow like a river... Could you write something obscene with Bucky, related to this? Anyway, I love your writing (sorry for bothering me)°•.♡
Title: Cry for Me, Sweetheart
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You always cry when he bites you. It’s not pain, not really. It’s too much your system overloads and Bucky can’t help himself.
A/N: Thank you for this ask.. he got a little bit mean here but so worth it! Hope you enjoy @venunsgirl
You hadn’t meant to cry.
But the moment his teeth sank into the soft curve of your inner thigh, just above the bruising grip of his metal hand and it happened again. That hot, involuntary prickle behind your eyes. That tremble in your gut. You bit your lip to keep from whimpering, but it was too late—he’d already noticed.
“Aw, doll…” Bucky's voice was low, dark velvet, sticky with something dangerous. He didn’t lift his head right away, just let his teeth drag a second longer, slow and sharp, before he kissed the mark he left behind. “Still this sensitive, huh?”
You nodded, uselessly. Your breath caught, a wet hiccup threatening.
“I barely touched you.” He grinned against your skin against the shaking muscle of your thigh—and then bit again. Harder. Deeper.
You cried out, spine arching. And then the tears came, hot and unstoppable, slipping from your eyes even as your body pulsed with something that wasn’t pain. Not really.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed, sitting back on his heels, jaw tight as he watched you. “It’s like your body just gives up for me. That sweet little system can’t even tell the difference, can it?” He wiped a tear away with his thumb. Smiled, feral. “You gonna cry for every bite, sweetheart?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your chest heaved, lips parted, and when he leaned in again, you flinched but not from fear.
He kissed the swell of your hip, the hollow of your stomach. Then dragged his teeth up.
Slowly, deliberately.
Up to your ribs. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
You didn’t.
So he didn’t.
He bit again just under your breast this time and the choked sob that escaped your mouth made him groan.
“That’s it. That’s my girl” His metal hand held you still as you twisted, caught between burning pleasure and something far too much. “You cry all you want, baby. I’ll make you feel so good you forget why you ever wanted me to be gentle.”
His fingers didn’t rush.
Two thick digits pushed deep, slow and deliberate, stretching you open with a slick, rhythmic curl that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble. Every time he pressed just right, your back arched, hips grinding helplessly into his palm—and he watched. Watched your tears slip down over your cheekbones, your bottom lip wobble with every moan you tried to swallow.
"Good girl… look at you, baby," Bucky murmured, voice hoarse with pride. “Fuckin’ weeping for me, and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”
His flesh hand rubbed gentle circles over your knee, grounding you, while the cold vibranium of his other arm stayed braced along your thigh, fingers buried in your heat.
And then his mouth was back on you biting just above the bone of your hip, sharp and possessive. You cried out, full-throated, tears spilling faster now, and that made him groan.
"Gonna be my perfect fuckin’ girl?" He nipped higher, right where the softness met your ribs. “Your body knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it?”
You nodded, frantic, choking on another sob as his fingers worked deeper, pumping slick and steady. The wet sounds between your legs were one thing but it was the way he kissed the bites after like he owned your pain, your pleasure, all of you that left you trembling.
“You can’t help it, can you?” His metal fingers spread inside you, stretching you open while his flesh thumb slid slow circles over your clit. “Cryin’ for me already and I haven’t even made you come yet.”
You keened, overwhelmed and then he did it again. Bit the underside of your breast, hard, while his fingers pushed deep and slow and relentless. It hurt and it didn’t. It burned and it sang.
Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm broke; messy, full-bodied, your thighs shaking as your hips bucked against his hand. You trembled through it, mouth open, drool on your chin as your climax rolled through you.
“Fuck.” he growled, withdrawing his fingers, wet and shining, only to flip you effortlessly onto your stomach. “Did so good for me… now I want you to feel me everywhere.”
You barely had time to gasp before you felt the heavy heat of his cock dragging between your folds, thick, hard, and already slick with your arousal.
He bent over you, one hand braced beside your face, the other gripping your hip as he lifted you just enough to tilt your hips up for him, aligning his cock with your entrance in a slow, claiming press, the spongy tip pushing just inside of you.
“You gonna cry for me again, baby?” he whispered against your shoulder, before sinking his teeth in- hard.
You wailed.
And he pushed inside, slow, deep, unyielding. Burying himself in one long, devastating thrust.
Your body clenched, tears falling fast as he filled you.
“All fucking mine,” he groaned, rolling his hips in a slow grind that pressed you flat to the bed. “Feel that baby? Ya gonna ache tomorrow - right where I want you to. No one else gets these tears. Just me.”
His lips found the top of your spine, then your shoulder, leaving wet bites and open-mouthed kisses in his wake as he rocked into you, steady and slow. Each movement was a claim. Every thrust, every bite, every whispered ‘good girl’ bwas a brand on your skin.
You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Owned. The weight of him above you, the press of his body keeping you grounded, it was overwhelming, and still, somehow, not enough. Every breath you took felt shallow, caught between sobs and moans, between surrender and hunger.
And he wasn’t even close to finished. You felt it in the deliberate roll of his hips, the thick drag of his cock stroking right up against your sweet spot, in the way he breathed you in like a drug and let his teeth graze every inch of skin he could reach. His mouth found the curve of your neck again, just above the bruise he’d left earlier, and he sucked until you whimpered.
“Not done with you yet,” he growled, voice a dangerous rasp against your ear. “Gonna fuck every tear outta you, baby. Gonna take my time—make sure you feel me dripping out of you for days.”
His hands tightened on your hips, keeping you spread and still, letting him grind slow and deep. Each motion had your eyes rolling, body twitching under him. You could feel that maddening stretch dragging against soaked, sensitive flesh, the tip bumping your cervix with enough pressure to make you cry harder. And he loved it.
“Damn sweetheart,” he hissed. “So fucking wet. You hear that? That’s how bad she wants me. She’s sobbing just like you are—begging me not to stop.”
He bit your shoulder again, rougher this time, tongue flicking over the bite before pulling away, breath warm and ragged. He was pacing himself like he wanted to ruin you slowly. Like he wanted to carve this into your body and memory both. Like if he couldn’t live inside you, he’d settle for wrecking you from the inside out.
You were already close again- your body twitching around him with every slow drag of his cock, your breath breaking into high, shaky gasps. Your muscles were trembling, hypersensitive, every stroke of his body over yours like a new flame licking your nerves. Still writhing under him, still flushed from the last climax, you couldn’t even think. Could barely breathe. Every sound you made turned into something needy and raw, a pleading ache he fed off with every motion.
But Bucky didn’t let up.
Didn’t let you drift.
“Come on, babygirl,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice was thick, rough with restraint. “I feel you… already squeezing me again, aren’t you? So fuckin’ needy for it.”
You whimpered, fists curled in the sheets, nails dragging down the fabric like it might anchor you. His hand slipped beneath your body, warm palm splayed low over your belly—holding you in place, tilting you just enough so he could hit deeper. He rocked his hips again, achingly slow, dragging every thick inch out before pushing back in until his pelvis was flush to your ass.
"There it is," he groaned, voice wrecked. "Right there, baby. Like it there don’t ya?"
You did. God, you did—the deliberate curve of his cock grinding up into every swollen, overstimulated nerve ending inside you. Every thrust lit you up from the inside, pressure building tight and fast, every breath you took punched out with a moan as he rolled his hips with filthy precision.
His cock pulsed inside you, the ridged veins dragging perfectly with each withdrawal, sending sparks ricocheting through your core. It was unbearable in the best way, every nerve-ending lit—and Bucky fucking knew it. Knew exactly how to angle his body, how to push you toward the edge again, how to make you feel every single devastating inch.
"That's it, baby. Take it. So fuckin' full of me, squeezing like you're tryin' to milk every drop outta me already." Bucky crooned, voice tightening as your walls fluttered around him. “You can let go. I know it’s too much, I know, baby—but you can take it. You always take it.”
His metal fingers found your clit again, rubbing gentle, coaxing circles while his cock stayed buried deep. “Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart. You gonna cry for me again, sweetheart?”
You sobbed—helpless, overwhelmed—and your body answered him before your voice could. You shattered. Again.
You clenched around him like a vice, thighs trembling as you screamed into the mattress. Tears spilled freely now, soaking the sheet with quiet whimpers as your climax ripped through you, harder than the first, shaking and raw and electric.
And that was when Bucky snapped.
“Fuck—” he growled, voice low and wrecked as he reared up, dragging nearly all the way out before slamming back in, hard enough to make the bedframe creak.
He grabbed your hips with both hands—one warm, one cold—and began to fuck you in earnest. Brutal. Hungry. Deep.
No more teasing.
Just need.
The sounds were primal—skin on skin, the wet slap of his hips pounding into you, your cries muffled by the sheets. Your body jolted with every thrust, pinned beneath him, caught in the rhythm of his relentless claiming. He was back over you in the next heartbeat, flattening you into the mattress as he pounded into you, growling with every slap of skin against skin.
His mouth found where your shoulder met the curve of your neck and his teeth sank in.
“Mine,” he growled, half-animal, grinding the word against your sweat-damp skin. “Fucking mine.”
You screamed.
Your third orgasm hit like lightning—violent, unbearable, your whole body locking up as you came around him again, shaking now, raw and ruined and glowing.
And still he didn’t stop.
He fucked you through it, losing rhythm as his hips stuttered. His teeth stayed locked onto your skin as he thrust one last time, hard and deep—grinding his cock against your pulsing walls as he came with a ragged, feral growl.
Hot and thick and endless.
You could feel him. Every twitch, every pulse, the way he pushed it deeper with shallow, grinding thrusts as if trying to brand you from the inside out.
When he finally collapsed over you, panting against your bitten skin, you were still weeping a little. Though you'd gone all soft now. Spent.
And Bucky didn’t move, just kissed the wet track of tears on your cheek, his voice tender, low, possessive.
“Shh, it's ok. You're alright," he murmured, pressing another kiss just below your ear. “Took it all like I knew you would. Every fuckin’ inch. Every bite. So good for me… made me lose my damn mind.”
He shifted slowly, careful not to pull out too fast, keeping his body draped over yours while one hand softly brushed your hair back. “You did so good, sweetheart. You feel me? Still here. Still with you.”
You nodded faintly, too wrung out for words. He wrapped an arm around your waist and nuzzled into your neck, soothing the bite marks with gentle kisses. “We’re gonna stay right here for a bit. I got you. Gonna clean you up in a minute, then we’ll get under the blankets, yeah?”
His voice stayed close to a whisper, slow and steady, grounding you while his hands roamed in slow, comforting strokes. “You want water? Or just me?”
Your fingers barely moved as they curled over his wrist. And Bucky smiled against your shoulder, lips ghosting over a bruise he’d left. “Just me,” he echoed, kissing it before wrapping the blanket around you both. “Always gonna be here when you fall apart, sweetheart. I’ll catch you every time.”
The part 2 no one asked for. Did you ask? Not really. And yet here we are.
Warnings: Mommy kink, sub bucky, breeding kink, lactation kink,
Word count: 1.4k
The inspo for this
more here
Ever since you saw Bucky rutting himself against the bed, calling for his mommy, you’d been insatiable. You wanted to take care of your baby boy so badly but you didn’t want to bring it up just yet…you wanted him extra needy. Craving for you. Begging for his mommy.
Title: We Couldn’t Stop
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers
Summary: During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms
A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo
Square: A3- Threesome
Card Number: KB003
The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.
You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.
You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.
"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.
"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."
"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."
That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.
"I’ve almost got- "
The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.
A soft spray hit you all in the face.
It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.
You stumbled back, coughing once.
"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.
Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"
"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."
"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."
"Close it," Steve ordered.
Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."
"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.
The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.
~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~
By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.
You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.
You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.
Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."
Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?
"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.
"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "
"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."
You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.
"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.
"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval.
"Buck.." His tone warning.
"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."
"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."
And just like that, you were cut off again.
Biochemical- engineered arousal.
"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."
That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.
You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.
"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."
"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."
You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.
And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder.
Hours had passed.
You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.
You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.
Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.
Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”
His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.
"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.
Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.
It didn’t.
You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.
Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.
You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.
A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.
And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.
“Don’t- don’t do that.”
You froze. “I- I can’t- ”
Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.
You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.
Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.
"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.
Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"
"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."
"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "
"Fuck this. She needs someone."
"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.
"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.
Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.
Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.
"Please... please someone- "
Someone pulled the curtain back.
Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak.
It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”
Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.
They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.
You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.
"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.
At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.
You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.
Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.
"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.
Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.
"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."
Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.
Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.
Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.
"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.
~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~
They were both on you.
You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.
Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.
Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.
You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.
You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.
Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.
“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”
Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs.
“She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.”
The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.
Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.
The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.
“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”
“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”
His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.
You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.
Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.
Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.
"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.
He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.
“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.”
Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.
Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.
"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"
"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.
"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."
You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.
And then it broke.
You came- hard.
Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.
It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.
You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.
And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.
You were still shaking. Still needy.
Still burning.
You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.
"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"
Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.
Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.
Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.
You wanted him in your mouth.
You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”
You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.
“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”
You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.
Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.
“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.
You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.
He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.
The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.
Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.
It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.
They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.
You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.
They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.
“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”
Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”
You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”
Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.
“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.
"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."
Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.
“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”
You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.
“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”
And then it snapped.
Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.
“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”
He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed.
The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.
“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”
Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.
Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.
His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.
You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.
“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.
You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.
And then one thick finger pressed inward.
You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.
You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.
“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”
Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.
“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.
“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.
Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.
“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.
Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.
As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.
“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”
“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”
You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.
Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.
“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”
The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.
You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.
“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”
You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.
You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.
The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.
“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.
But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.
“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”
You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.
You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.
“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.
You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.
Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.
Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.
“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”
Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”
You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.
Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.
“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”
“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.
“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”
And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.
Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.
“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”
Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.
“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”
Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.
“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.
“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.
But it didn’t stop there.
Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.
“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.
Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”
Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.
“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.
Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”
You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.
“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.
“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”
Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.
“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.
“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”
They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.
“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”
“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”
“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”
Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.
They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.
You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.
“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.
Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”
Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.
And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.
You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked.
You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.
You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.
Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.
Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.
Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.
“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”
You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.
“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”
You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.
Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.
He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.
“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.
“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.
“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again
it's the second night of your trip with your physics professors and you've had a break-through in the research. but to test their hypothesis, you need to help them recreate the exact same conditions as the first night... for science.
content warning: dark!bucky x f!student!reader x dark!steve, mature themes, dark themes, made-up science bullshit, manipulation, naive!reader, smut, dub-con, rough sex, face fucking, no protection, cream pies (yes multiple), bucky and steve are DIABOLICAL MEN.
NIGHT ONE
a/n: the long-awaited sequel to my personal favorite dark fic i've ever written (exactly two years after part one!). i missed the professors <3 also i know absolutely nothing about physics so please don't take the science talk too seriously just go with it and pretend it makes total sense. and i don't like tooting my own horn but i do think this part is hotter than the first.
divider by @strangergraphics
"This is incredible - the cells transferred the energy to the battery overnight," Bucky says with excitement in his eyes. "We've been working on this for years and this is the biggest breakthrough yet."
"That's amazing, Professor Barnes," You say as you shift your weight onto your right leg, still sore from the night before.
Steve was full of guilt this morning when he woke up still inside you, apologizing profusely when he realized what happened. You assured him that it was okay, but that maybe you should take the couch tonight. After all, it wasn't his fault - he was sleepwalking and had no idea what he was doing.
"We need definitive proof that this works," Steve says as he looks through the microscope, before lifting his head up. "We need it to happen again. And to do that... we need to recreate the exact same conditions as we had last night."
Your eyes widen.
"That's right. The cells were in this room when they transferred the energy," Bucky says, taking off his glasses. "So we need to make sure the conditions are as close to last night's as possible."
"Uh... like, the temperature, and stuff?" You ask with a squeak.
"Yes. But also the activity that took place," Bucky says gravely. "See, every one of our actions takes and creates energy, so whatever we did last night made the perfect environment for the experiment to work successfully."
"You're exactly right," Steve agrees with him. "We need to do everything the same, as close as we can."
Nervously, you clear your throat. "Um, do you mean we also have to do what happened... in bed... again?" You ask meekly.
Bucky's face drops. "Oh, God. I didn't even think about that..." He trails off before looking into your eyes. "But, yes. It'll need to happen again."
Your stomach flips.
"I can't do that to her again, Buck," Steve says, shaking his head with a look of shame on his face. "I already have enough guilt from last night. I don't think I'm capable of doing that again."
"Alright. I'll do it," Bucky says bravely. "It's the same kind of energy being exuded, so it shouldn't make too much of a difference which one of us it is."
"But... it's too much to ask of her," Steve says as he looks at you with pity. "You're our student. We shouldn't put you in that position. No matter how important this research is in creating a sustainable power source that could save the world someday."
You think about it before letting out a sigh and nodding. "No. I'll do it," You decide firmly. "It's for science. And the world. I know how much time and effort you've both put into this already and... it would be my honor to help you with the research."
Bucky smiles. "I knew you'd be one of our best students, flower," He says softly before looking at the bed. "Shall we?"
Once you're in your pyjamas, you timidly get into the bed where Bucky's already laying down. Steve stands by the makeshift lab at the other side of the room, keeping an eye on the cells. There's an alarm that he set up to let out a 'ding' whenever a substantial amount of energy is passed through the cells, and he tells you that that's the sound you're looking for.
You lay on your side facing away from Bucky, just how you were last night, your heart racing.
"Alright, whenever you're ready," Steve calls out before dimming the lights.
When you feel Bucky get closer, you suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, flinching as he wraps an arm around you. "Keep breathing, flower," He whispers into your ear. "It's just me. Remember, this is for science."
"For science," You repeat with a nod.
"Good girl," He mumbles before slipping his hand under the hem of your shirt and cupping your bare boob. You gasp as he pulls and twists your nipple, making you squirm against his hardening boner.
"Nothing yet," Steve says. "Keep going."
Bucky lowers his hand and instead slips it under your shorts, rubbing your pussy over your underwear which is already wet through. You bite your lip to hold back your moans when he pushes your panties to the side and rubs circles directly onto your throbbing clit.
"Don't hold back, flower," He utters lowly. "You're doing so well for me."
With that, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you cry out at the intrusion. Once you've broken the barrier, you can't stop moaning, though it comes out in strangled whines as you do your best to keep quiet. It would be far too embarrassing to make it obvious how good this feels. It's purely for scientific research purposes.
"Gonna need a little more," Steve says in a warning tone. "Still no activity."
Taking his fingers out of you, Bucky pulls down your shorts and brings his hard cock to your pussy. He lifts up your leg before slowly inching into you, grunting in your ear as he stretches you out.
"Fuck, so tight," He groans under his breath. "You ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You whimper, grabbing a fistful of the sheets in anticipation.
Keeping your leg lifted, Bucky starts fucking you. He starts off slow and gentle, kissing your neck and rubbing your nipples.
"Can you give me some more?" Steve requests. "Still nothing."
Bucky growls before speeding up and fucking you harder. His cock pummels in and out of you while you cry out, utterly taken over by pleasure.
"More," Steve calls out.
Pulling and twisting on your nipples, Bucky fucks you even faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You can hear how wet your pussy is with each thrust.
Steve lets out a sigh of frustration. "I need more, guys," He says with a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
With that, he grabs you by the arm and forces you onto your hands and knees. Bucky then gets behind you, pushing his cock back into you and getting much deeper at this angle. He pushes your head down onto the bed roughly and even spanks your ass, though you're sure it's all for the sake of the experiment.
"Alright, that's a little better," Steve says. "Could definitely be doing more, though."
More? You let out a squeak at the thought of it.
"Steve, maybe it needs to be you," Bucky suggests, still fucking you steadily as he speaks casually. "I think you should come over here and fuck her."
Your heart skips a beat.
"You really think so?" Steve asks him.
"We have to try," Bucky answers. "For science."
With a determined look on his face, Steve nods. "For science." He walks over to the bed while stripping down, and you watch with wide eyes, still being drilled by Bucky.
Bucky thrusts a few more times before pulling out, making you whimper at the sudden loss. He makes his way to the end of the bed where your head is, while Steve climbs up behind you.
"You're doing so well for us, flower," Bucky whispers as he kisses your cheek. "I know this is hard on you, but it's going to be so worth it when we finish this project. And you'll be getting 100% on all your work this year."
"R-really?" You ask him with wide eyes.
"Of course," Bucky replies with a smile as he moves closer to you. "You're our number-one student. You have more than earnt it, flower." His cock rubs against your cheek accidentally, but he does nothing to move it. He's too busy thinking about science so you completely understand and don't complain when his pre-cum drips out onto your face and down your neck.
"Thank you, Professor Ba- aah," You cry out as Steve plunges into you with no warning.
Steve shudders as his cock sits inside your warm pussy. "Just as tight and wet as last night," He groans, making you falter.
"But weren't you asleep?" You ask him, wondering how he could possibly remember.
Instead of answering you, Steve starts railing you. Your mind is empty as he fucks you into the mattress, his hands tightly gripping your hips and keeping you in place.
"No dings yet," Bucky says with a sigh as he glances over at the lab equipment, before he looks back down at you. "Let me try something..."
He grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head off the bed, before forcing his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen as he fucks your face with no mercy.
Ding, ding.
"It's working!" Steve says, and you can hear the grin on his lips. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. Don't change a thing."
"Aye-aye, captain," Bucky groans as he forces your head further down his cock, making you gag. "I'm sorry, flower, but this is what needs to happen."
"You're being so good for us, taking our cocks like a champ," Steve adds as he slaps your ass. "Our brave girl. You are so important to this research, beautiful, so fucking important, and so smart, and... fuck, so fucking tight."
Your mind lights up with delight at his praise. Ding, ding.
"That's it, keep sucking me, it's working," Bucky says lowly. "You're gonna help us save the world, flower. We're so proud of you."
He sees the look in your eyes and he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.
"Keep making us proud," He utters, stroking your cheek as his cock breaches your throat. "You don't wanna disappoint us, do you?"
You shake your head as best you can, making him grin.
"Good girl," He whispers, before speeding up his thrusts.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Steve warns you. He makes no effort to pull out even though he isn't wearing a condom, but you let it slide. For science.
"Fill her pussy up, Steve," Bucky groans.
Your cunt flutters around Steve, making him shudder before he cums with a loud grunt, thrusting hard as he spurts into you. You moan around Bucky's cock and the sound coincides with three of the loudest 'dings' you've heard all night.
"Shit, that was incredible," Steve groans as he pulls out of you. "And it worked so well. Bucky, I think you need to cum inside her pussy, too."
"You think so?" Bucky asks as he slows down his thrusts, fucking your face a little softer.
"I do," Steve doubles down. "The alarm sounded out the loudest when I was cumming inside her; the energy created from that action must have triggered the cells."
Bucky pulls out of your mouth and cups your chin. "What do you think, flower?" He asks. "Do you think he could be right?"
It does make sense. After all, Steve's right - the alarm was loudest when he was finishing in you. And it does feel good for your professor, renowned quantum physicist, to be asking for your opinion. "I think he's right," You tell him.
"You do?" Bucky pushes, stroking your cheek. "So, you think I should cum inside your pussy, too? Right after Professor Rogers just did?"
"I do," You answer, keeping your eyes locked on his. "I really do, Professor Barnes."
"Alright. Okay, flower, if you think that's best," Bucky says innocently.
Steve moves to the side and Bucky flips you over so you're lying on your back. He then nestles himself between your spread legs and returns his cock to your pussy, which is currently oozing with Steve's cum.
With a shaky breath, Bucky uses the tip of his cock to scoop up as much of Steve's cum as he can and pushes it back into you. He repeats this a couple more times until the excess cum is back in your pussy, and then Bucky plunges his cock into you. There's a constant chorus of dings coming from the lab, proving that this is the right thing to do.
"Go for it, Buck," Steve mutters. "For science."
Bucky nods and repeats, "For science."
They both give you expectant looks and you quickly nod and echo, "For science."
Wasting no time, Bucky starts thrusting, fucking in and out of you. His head falls forward, resting in your neck as he fucks you.
"That's it, you're taking him so well," Steve says as he watches. "Just a little longer, now. You're being so good."
"I'm so close," Bucky groans into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum. Are you ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You cry out, just as Steve brings his fingers to your swollen clit and starts rubbing it. The dings get louder.
With a roar, Bucky erupts, thrusting faster and harder than ever as his cum spills into you. Steve rubs your clit harder, triggering your own orgasm as you shake beneath Bucky, your eyes rolling back. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Bucky continues thrusting weakly, making you convulse and whimper. "Such a good girl for us," He whispers, lifting his head up and looking down at you as he fucks in and out of you, slow and gentle. "We are so proud of you, flower. You have been incredible tonight."
"That's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Steve says, stroking your cheek. "And by the sounds of it, it was a successful experiment, so well done. You helped to make that happen."
You nod with a smile, basking in the glory of their praise. "Thank you, Professors, for giving me this opportunity," You say, expecting Bucky to pull out but not saying anything when he remains inside you. "It's truly such an hon- honor to work with you both. I- this experience has been phenomenal."
"And you've been amazing," Bucky says with his dick sitting inside you, even though he's talking as though nothing untoward is happening at all. "I'm so glad you accepted our invitation. We knew you were going to be a stand-out on your first day. I couldn't be prouder."
"Shit. We should've documented this," Steve says as he shakes his head. "How are we going to remember exactly what we did to make the experiment successful?"
You don't think you'll ever forget.
"Damn it. We fucked up," Bucky groans, rubbing his face.
"Is there any way at all we could... somehow get the full step-by-step of what we did?" Steve wonders out loud.
They both look at you, waiting for you to suggest something.
"Um... well, if we had filmed it, that could've worked," You suggest. "But we didn't, so..."
"So what you're saying is, we're going to have to do this all over again and make sure to film it this time?" Steve asks you, making your eyes widen.
"No, that's not what I-"
"That's our only option," Bucky cuts in, giving you a grave look. "To make sure we can perfectly replicate this, we have to do it again and film it, so we know the exact conditions needed."
"No. Look at her, Bucky, we've put her through enough," Steve says as he wipes at the residue of Bucky's cum on your cheek. "We can't do this to her again."
Bucky sighs. "You're right. We'll just have to... go back to square one and figure out another way to make this work," He says, his tone heavy with dejection. "It might take years, but we have to keep trying."
"No," You cut in, unable to disappoint them after making them so proud. "We can do it again. I can take it."
"Are you sure?" Steve asks you, concern in his eyes.
"100%," You reply instantly. They had enough hope on you to bring you on this trip over all their other students, so you need to prove your worth.
"You're sure you can take it, flower?" Bucky asks softly. "You can handle Professor Rogers and I taking turns fucking you, hard, and fucking your face, and both of us cumming inside you again with no condoms? On camera?"
"Yes," You assure him, determined to be someone they're proud of. "Whatever it takes to help you with this research, I'll do it. I'll do anything for you, Professor. I'll do anything for science."
You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his cock harden inside you again.
"You're too good to us, honey," Steve says, unable to stop the smirk from pulling at his lips. "Together, we're going to do some incredible things."
"Incredible," Bucky repeats with a grin. "And all in the name of science, of course."
"Of course," Steve adds, his thumb rubbing your swollen bottom lip. "All for science."
happy october 🎃 got a few spoooooky fics planned and im gonna try my hardest to get them all out this month <3 it's my bday month and work is crazy rn but i'll do my best x
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Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader; w/one sided Andy Barber feels & a hint of Lloyd Hansen thrown in
Word Count: 2,453
Summary: You had no idea your boss was affiliated with the mob.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Implied violence and torture, but nothing is shown. Mild knife play. Groping and threats of non con. One sided unrequited feelings. Manipulation. Dub con to start. Unprotected sex.
A/N: This is an old and favorite fic from my writing membership days, and I spruced it up so we can froth over it together. Enjoy!
Hoevember 2025 Masterlist
Up until now, you had always liked your job.
Your boss, Andy Barber, had grown into an almost friend over the years. He was a no nonsense accountant with a quiet sense of humor and a soft and protective streak for you that didn’t go unnoticed.
On the stray occasion when he preferred distance between you and a particular client, you had always assumed it had to do with client confidentiality or delicate business dealings.
Never in a million years would you have thought that Andy was in bed with the mob.
It never even crossed your mind that one of Andy’s biggest clients who always went out of his way to engage with you–flirt with you, really–Ransom Drysdale, was apparently a pretty big deal in the mob world.
Ransom had always been kind to you, if not a little arrogant, and he didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he loved relentlessly flirting with you until you were a flustered mess.
But not once had it ever entered the realm of possibility in your mind that he was a notorious mobster.
So when you were unexpectedly working late with Andy one night, and Ransom’s henchman, Lloyd Hansen, showed up for some mob business, you were shocked beyond belief.
You weren’t part of Lloyd’s plan, but fuck if he wasn’t tickled pink that you were there. You were just the sweetest fucking bargaining chip ever, and he knew you’d be the key to get Andy to divulge the intel Ransom was looking for–the mob rival who was prepping to make a move against him.
Lloyd breezed into Andy’s office like he owned the place, a gun held firmly in his grip and pointed at you as he instructed you to zip tie Andy to one of the office chairs. The only reason Andy didn’t fight back or resist was because he was trying to keep things—and Lloyd—calm to protect you.
After only a few minutes of trying to beat the information out of Andy as you huddled in the far corner, silently crying and trying not to fall apart entirely, Lloyd decided to shift tactics and turned his attention to you.
He loomed over you now, painfully gripping your arm in one hand to hold you against him while the other slowly ran the flat of his knife blade all along your body. You were so pretty–and terrified of him–and fucccck all your sweet little whimpers and cries every time his knife touched bare skin were really doing it for him.
You had him so fucking hard.
You choked on a scream as Lloyd used his knife to slice open the front of your dress from hem to collar, whistling as he exposed your pretty lacy underthings.
“Fuck, you certainly pack a punch, don’t you, pumpkin?”
You shrieked as he grabbed you and spun you around, yanking your back to his chest so you both faced Andy now.
“Be honest or I’ll hurt her,” Lloyd purred, dragging the tip of the knife up your trembling belly and along your chest. “You’ve spent many nights fantasizing about fucking all her pretty little holes, haven’t you?”
Your face heated with embarrassment and shame and you were too humiliated to look at Andy, but you could feel his gaze on you as he admitted:
“Yes.”
Lloyd laughed, the sound mean and making your stomach churn.
“Don’t blame you one bit,” he cooed, his free hand cradling your neck, tipping your head back against his shoulder as he continued, “Here’s what’s gonna happen. Since you refuse to sing for me, I’m gonna occupy myself with her instead. I’m gonna have so much fucking fun living out your fantasy.”
Lloyd shoved you down across Andy’s desk so hard it punched all the air from your lungs. His hand harshly gripped the back of your neck, holding you still as he kicked your legs apart and you began to cry in earnest.
You weren’t sure what made you think to say it, perhaps your utter terror and desperation, but as Lloyd’s big hand rounded the curve of your ass, you trembled, “Ransom wouldn’t want you to hurt me. He likes me and he’s always been kind to me and I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight.”
Lloyd went still, the tense silence dragging on for a beat before he curled over your back. His lips and mustache tickled the shell of your ear as he murmured, “What’s that, pumpkin?“
“Ransom would be angry if you hurt me,” you whispered. “And I can only imagine what he’ll do to you then.”
Another beat and then Lloyd snarled, “You think that rich prick gives a fuck about you?! Well then, let’s ask him, shall we?”
Your heart beat wildly in your chest as Lloyd straightened and fished his phone from his back pocket. He called Ransom and put him on speaker, giving him an update on what was going on and telling him about you and your claim.
Ransom chuckled, his smooth voice teasing as he asked, “You over there name dropping me, kitten?”
“Please, Ransom,” your shaky voice was filled with tears as you begged, “Please don’t let him hurt me.”
Ransom sighed, and then his next words were directed at Andy, “You know it wouldn’t be my preferred method to get what I want from you, Barber. I’ve always been fond of your sweet assistant. Why don’t you save all of us a lot of trouble and tell me what I want to know?”
Your eyes were big and pleading—terrified—as they flickered to Andy, and he watched you for a long moment, a tic popping in his jaw before he said, “It’s Everett.”
“See,” Ransom drawled with a pleased purr. “That wasn’t so hard now was it? Hansen, let both of them go, and don’t you touch a fucking hair on her head or I’ll murder you myself.”
Lloyd huffed his displeasure as the line went dead, and then he shoved away from you and stalked toward the door. He paused, leering back at you, eyes glittering and mustache twitching as he watched you straighten and hug yourself to shield your half-naked body from his gaze.
“You may have pulled one over on me, pumpkin, but I promise you, this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. And next time? Ohhh, we are gonna have a lot of fun together, you can bet on that.”
You shuddered as he blew you a kiss before disappearing from sight. Shakily, you made your way to Andy and cut him loose, too tired and shaken to respond to his relentless apologies and asking if you were okay.
You shrugged him off–on autopilot and in shock–as you gathered your dress around yourself and left the office without a glance back.
You called out from work the next day, too exhausted to go in and sick to your stomach at the thought of returning to the scene of your near assault.
You spent the day ignoring the influx of calls and texts from Andy, still mad at him for lying to you for so long.
For putting you in danger each and every day without a second thought.
After hours of half watching mindless TV and eating cold pizza for dinner, you finally dragged yourself to bed. You were on that familiar autopilot as you finished your evening routine then stepped into the darkness of your bedroom, undressing down to your panties and cami.
You were just leaning over your bed to turn down the covers when you were grabbed from behind.
A big hand over your mouth effectively muffled your scream, and your struggles were as laughable as they were ineffective against the tall, firm body pressed flush to your back.
“Shh, shh, shh,” was cooed against your ear before warm lips planted a kiss on the sensitive plane of skin behind it. A soft chuckle sounded as you shivered in response. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart, so be good for me.”
You went absolutely still at the familiar voice, because it wasn’t who you expected.
Not at all.
“I did a big favor for you last night, calling off Hansen,” Ransom murmured against your ear, his free hand slowly wandering up your tummy before he gently palmed your breast.
You could feel him smile against your neck as you whimpered and squirmed at his touch, tears brimming and spilling over as fear–and disbelief–rattled through you.
“Now you’re gonna show me how much you appreciate what I did for you,” Ransom hummed, tossing you across your bed and crawling over you, his lips kissing away each and every one of your sweet, frantic pleas.
“Ransom, please!" you tried to plead between passionate kisses, your hands fruitlessly shoving at his chest.
“You started this," he purred, nipping at your lower lip and smirking as you chirped. "Dropping my name like that. You knew I was attracted to you, hell so did Barber for that matter.”
“Please don’t hurt me," you begged, turning your face away as he dipped low for more kisses.
You could feel Ransom grin against your warm cheek, his lips trailing up along your skin and over until he could whisper in your ear, “Be good for me, and I won’t have to." He nipped your earlobe. "Be good for me and I’ll make you feel fucking incredible. The way you deserve. Unlike Barber, I actually go after what I want.”
At the mention of Andy, your eyes filled with a fresh wave of tears, his betrayal still fresh and making your tender heart ache. “Please don’t talk about him.”
Ransom smirked, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth. “Yeah, you're right, I think we can find a better way to occupy ourselves.”
He moved so fast, you didn’t even realize he ripped off your panties until you saw them flying over the side of the bed and sailing to the floor.
Despite the harsh movement, and the way your skin was still smarting from the material being torn away so roughly, Ransom's fingers were gentle as they began to explore your cunt.
You gasped as he circled your clit, your hips rocking and seeking more without your permission. You went to turn away, to hide–scared and ashamed and strangely excited all at once–but Ransom wouldn’t let you, tutting softly as his palm wrangled your face and aimed your wide eyes at him.
His handsome face had a slight flush to it, a few wayward strands of his otherwise perfect hair hanging over his forehead as he watched you.
And when his fingers dipped down your slit and snuck between your folds, teasing your hole and the pool of arousal gathered there, you couldn’t help but mewl.
Ransom grinned, his eyes twinkling and deliciously dark as he purred, "Oh, kitten, I like that sound. Gimme another."
When you just stared at him like a deer in headlights, startled and dazed, he chuckled, slowly pressing one finger into your cunt and humming his satisfaction when he earned a soft moan for his efforts.
Soon, another finger joined the first, and you were squirming beneath him restlessly, your fingers fisting in his sweater as you gnawed on your lower lip.
When Ransom twisted his wrist, curled his fingers, and rubbed, you swore you saw stars, keening as you threw your head back, squeezed your eyes shut, and let the pleasure take over and chase the lingering fear from your brain.
"Please!" you whispered raggedly, rutting against the wicked ministrations of Ransom's fingers as you whined your need and gifted him another new, pretty sound. "Please, Ransom. Make me cum. Please!"
“Mmm, such a good girl," he murmured against your lips, licking at your pout. "I knew you would be.”
He stole a lingering kiss, and then another for good measure, before swaying back far enough to watch your face as he made you cum with his talented fingers.
Once you were going sweet and pliant beneath him, your eyes glossy and your lips parted as you panted for breath, Ransom grinned.
He pulled his sopping fingers from your cunt before shoving them into your mouth, rubbing your release against your tongue with the pads of his fingers. When you enthusiastically sucked your cum from his fingers, Ransom groaned, pulling his hand away and kissing you so hard you whimpered.
Panting once he pulled away, Ransom was quick to undress, huffing a laugh at your big, startled eyes and gaping mouth at the sight of his naked body and the long, thick jut of his cock against his abs.
"Christ, you're so fucking sweet, I wanna eat you alive," he muttered as he returned his body atop yours, lined himself up, and sank into you nice and slow.
The strangled gasp that fell from your lips at the invasion of his cock was like music to Ransom's ears, and he hissed out a quiet, "Fucccck," before he started going at you.
He fucked you with hard, deep strokes, reveling in every breathy moan and needy whine he pulled from your pretty lips. By the time your orgasm was ebbing away and his own was finally cresting, Ransom framed your face between his hands and moaned his release against your mouth as he kissed you hard.
You didn’t mind it as his weight crushed you into the mattress once he sank against you in satisfaction. In fact, you found your fingers tracing all along the smooth, warm skin of his back as he nuzzled against the curve of your neck.
Soon, you snuggled close to Ransom's side as you laid together beneath the covers, some small part of you distantly trying to wrap your head around all of this, as the majority of you just wanted to enjoy the afterglow and warmth of being held by another for the first time in so, so long.
Your eyes were just starting to dip as you hedged closer to sleep when Ransom's voice startled you back to wakefulness.
“There’s no going back. You’re mine now, do you understand?”
You glanced up at him, and he smirked at your startled gaze, caressing along your cheek with his knuckles.
“No, not quite, huh?" he hummed. "But I’m not leaving here until you do."
Ransom tugged at your bottom lip with his thumb, slipping the digit into your mouth and making your cunt clench.
Grinning, he pinched your cheek before shifting against you, his big hand finding your hip and guiding you how he wanted. "Now roll over onto your belly for me, kitten. I’m ready for round two, and it looks like I've got some work to do before you understand who you belong to."
HNNNNNGH.
—
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Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Thor Odinson x Reader
Summary: Another year, another Purge spent at Bucky's cabin has you questioning your sanity when you think your best friends want to kill you.
Warnings: NON-CON, g*ngbang, The Purge AU
🕸 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🕸
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
ྐ❤︎
You stumbled over a tree root you'd manage to miss in the darkness, but it didn't deter your determination to get as far away as you could. In the back of your mind you knew that there was no realistic way to get out of your predicament, but the desperation and self preservation inside of you wouldn't let you admit defeat.
You had to try.
Sweat coated your skin, evidence of just how much you'd pushed yourself the moment you realized the danger you found yourself in. It was insane to think that only some five hours ago you were relaxed and surrounded by who you thought were friends, feeling comfortable and protected with people you'd known for years. Now, you were running for your life from those same people.
You should have known that something was wrong from the moment you'd stepped inside of the cabin.
“What time is Nat getting here?”
That was one of the first questions out of your mouth as you'd sat your things down. Steve was the one to answer you, and looking back, you should've paid more attention to the slight pause before he gave you a response.
“She's not,” he'd said, turning to you with a sheepish look and a shrug. “Said she was going to wait it out at home this year”.
You recalled the way you'd frowned, finding it odd that Nat wasn't coming. Since the first year it was put into place, all of you always holed up during the Purge together in some fancy backwoods cabin Bucky owned. Your disappointment must have been obvious because Steve had reached out, playfully flicking your chin.
“Hey, you still have us,” he'd told you with a small smirk. “It'll still be fun.”
“Yeah, I know.”
You'd fought to keep your tone even, but you had been disappointed, and it wasn't just because of Nat. The day before Bucky had told you that Wanda wasn't coming either and a few days before that Tony made the sudden decision to stay in one of his many expensive buildings with Pepper. It wasn't like you hated that it was just going to be you and the guys, but naturally you loved being around your girlfriends.
“Cheer up, Lady Y/N,” Thor had said when he got a good look at your face. “I have brought you your favorite movies at your request, and we will watch them as many times as you'd like.”
The blonde's infectious demeanor and determination to make you smile had relaxed you, forcing you to brush off any reservations you'd started to have. Looking back, you wondered if that was planned too—for Thor to be the one to lessen your unease because naturally he would. He was Thor, and you didn't think he had one sadistic bone in his body.
When your shirt got caught on a branch, it took everything in you not to cry out as the sharp piece of wood broke skin. The saltiness of your sweat hit your tongue as you pulled your lip between your teeth, blinking back tears as you renewed your hurried steps. Your vision was starting to sway a bit, and you knew that you were pushing yourself too much but the alternative end to this night wouldn't allow you to stop.
You could both feel your heartbeat in your throat and hear it in your ears. That observation only served to remind you that they no doubt could as well even from far away, and you fought the urge to cry again as the trajectory of this night once again felt inevitable. How were you supposed to keep out of reach of two super soldiers and a literal god in the middle of the Purge? Where would you go? Who would even help you if you happened to stumble upon someone else out here? What would you tell them? That the friends you'd had for years and who you'd holed yourself up in a cabin with were chasing you down to do God knows what?
You didn't even know what they wanted with you.
In fact, for hours you'd been none the wiser to the danger you were in, oblivious as ever as you and Thor attempted to make Wanda's signature dish. You both were very bad at it, laughing at the mess you were making while Bucky and Steve were getting fire wood. Finally admitting defeat, you'd decided to go ahead and hop in the shower, opting to just go and get ready to call it a night.
You could hear Bucky downstairs talking with Thor when you got out, glancing at the clock in the hallway and noting you had about 4 more hours until the Purge commenced. Any other year and you would've been glued to Nat’s hip, but seeing as you found yourself a tad more alone this year, you instead decided to lay down for a bit. The drive up to the cabin was no joke and as much as you'd always been encouraged to every year, you never could relax enough to just sleep through it.
“You're in a house full of a couple of assassins and some of the most dangerous people on the planet,” Nat would say to you. “What would we possibly let happen to you?”
She was right of course, but even still your body would never just let you sleep through it, and this year was even more nerve wracking without her by your side. You found yourself in and out of sleep for what felt like ages but in reality it was only about two hours. Occasionally you'd wake up to the sound of Thor’s voice asking you if you wanted or needed anything but you'd continuously give him a grumbled ‘no’ before going back to sleep.
It was in those throes of sleep that you heard it.
Steve’s voice was so recognizable and clear, but his words were so off putting that you immediately thought you must be dreaming. You were convinced that you were dreaming because your body still felt too heavy to be awake.
“No, she's asleep,” you heard him say, his voice carrying ever so softly from the hallway. “Why would we be? We only have a couple of more hours.”
There were a few beats of silence before his voice carried again.
“Well, you can just never be too safe. Anything done during the Purge is legal,” he softly laughed to himself. “Why chance it?”
His words created a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you weren't able to place why until a few moments later.
“Bucky took care of her starter,” he said, making your heart sink. “She won't be going anywhere.”
His words were so vivid in your mind even when you did eventually wake up, and while you were sure your mind had conjured them up, something deep down in your gut wouldn't let you be convinced. You had sat in your room for a while just playing it over in your head and repeatedly telling yourself it was just a dream no matter how much something said otherwise.
Your jumbled thoughts must have been evident because Bucky asked you if you were alright when you eventually made it downstairs.
“Yeah,” you'd told him after a while, shaking your head. “Just slept weird, I think.”
The dark-haired man had looked at you for what felt like too long before humming to himself.
“You want something to eat? I know you and Thor’s attempt at dinner didn't turn out too well,” he'd chuckled.
His light demeanor made your shoulders relax a bit, and you knew he noticed by the way those blue eyes of his shifted.
“Yeah I might as well,” you'd sighed, moving to sit on the couch. “I won't be able to do much else for a while.”
The brunette only threw you a smile before getting up, and you’d flipped through the DVDs Thor brought. As nice as the cabin was, at the end of the day it was still just a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and while the lack of internet never bothered you before, it was glaringly obvious this year without Nat or Wanda to keep you busy.
Among other reasons.
You’d found your thoughts drifting as you stared at the DVD in your hand, eventually convincing yourself that you were losing it. Of course, it had been a dream. Even if it wasn’t a dream, what could you possibly think it meant? Bucky had broken your car and Steve was talking to someone about their plot to what? Kill you? It was almost laughable, and you’d shaken your head.
You’d finally chosen a movie to put on just as Bucky finished up in the kitchen, the sound of the opening door reaching your ears as Thor and Steve brought in more firewood.
The smell of said firewood still clung to your clothes and hair as your gaze roamed along the dark trees in front of you. You needed to make sure you weren’t just mindlessly running in circles, but you also didn’t have the luxury of stopping and assessing where you were. You held your hand to your bleeding shoulder as leaves crunched beneath your feet. You were out of breath and so tired and so…confused, but most of all you were scared.
The thought that that phone call you heard was real was one that almost paralyzed you with fear. It seemed too insane—too sick—to be true, and yet you found yourself running in the middle of nowhere during the height of the Purge in the hopes that you would last the night. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the short phone call from Nat that managed to get through still made your head spin.
“I’m surprised I even managed to get a signal,” you’d told her hours earlier with a smile, stepping out onto the back patio. “The service out here is almost the same as the lack of wifi.”
“Out where? The cabin?” she’d asked, and her genuine confusion had made you frown.
“Uh, yeah,” you mockingly told her. “You know, the one you decided not to come to this year.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Bucky said he didn’t think they were going up there this year.”
The redhead’s words only made your frown deepen, that sinking feeling returning to your chest.
“The asshole didn’t tell me he’d changed his mind,” and you could almost see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “It’s so boring waiting this out without my partner in crime.”
She was chuckling to herself, but you had fallen quiet. You’d stared at the woods behind the cabin, going over both her words and what Steve had told you. You gently shook your head, telling yourself that there must have been some miscommunication. In fact, you were just about to bring up Steve’s contradicting words when you turned around…and froze.
The man in question was just on the other side of the sliding glass door, an unreadable expression on his face and two mugs in his hands. There was a brief moment where you both just stared at each other, and then suddenly a small smile graced Steve’s lips as he held the mugs up, brows lifting.
“Yeah, I guess he did,” you slowly replied, distracted. “I’ll call you back later once we’re locked in and settled.”
You and Nat said goodbye, and you swallowed as you reached out to open the door.
“What did Nat want?”
The blond didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t hear who was on the phone, and so you knew that he heard exactly what was said.
“Just checking in,” you told him, grabbing a mug of hot chocolate. “She misses me.”
You looked at him as you said that, and Steve only shrugged.
“Well, no one told her to stay home this year,” he said to you, bumping his arm against yours as you walked inside.
You only smiled at him, desperately trying to get your thoughts together.
Was it possible there was just some innocent miscommunication? Maybe Bucky hadn’t relayed it to Nat that he’d decided to come back up here, after all and maybe Steve thought her absence was because she just wanted to stay home this year, not knowing she was under the impression no one was coming to the cabin. It was plausible, and the simplest answers were often the truth, but…
That phone call.
It had to have been a dream because the alternative was too terrifying to think about. Steve was your friend. Bucky was your friend. Thor was your friend. They were friends that you’d known and worked with for years, and the idea that you were alone with them up here for less than genuine reasons was making your stomach twist into knots. You knew that you were scaring yourself, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.
You forced yourself to ask yourself a few questions, wondering what the reason would even be? They weren’t homicidal violent men or anything like that, and you’d never once felt unsafe with them. In fact, it was always the opposite, so what would the reason even be? Why would they orchestrate this whole thing that left you alone up here with them…during the Purge?
You’d told yourself that you were losing it, and after some time you’d offered to take everyone’s empty mugs to the sink. You could hear them having some debate about some game a month back as you did, placing the empty dishes into the sink. Your hands found the counter, and your eyes met your reflection in the kitchen window. You acknowledged that you were making yourself paranoid, but you couldn’t stop.
You were normally such a rational person, and everything about your train of thought was irrational, but yet you could not let it go. It made zero sense because they weren’t even sort of like the kind of guys who would hurt you—or any woman—but something kept nagging at you in the back of your mind. Something inside of you refused to let you relax.
As Thor’s loud laugh reached your ears, your gaze drifted to Steve’s phone on the counter. The blond—still refusing to grasp technology to the fullest degree—never kept a passcode on it, and your hand was moving without a second thought. They were still talking as you looked at Steve’s call history, searching for something that would ease your worries, but you only got the opposite.
Tony was the last person Steve talked to, and while that wasn’t cause for any kind of suspicion, you did notice that the call was taken when you were asleep—or at least in and out of sleep. You placed it back on the counter as if it were on fire, staring at it with wide eyes and telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything.
A coincidence.
You told yourself it was a coincidence, but you didn’t feel convinced.
“Hey, I’m kind of cold,” you loudly said, making your way to the key hook. “I’m grabbing my scarf from the car.”
It wasn’t a lie. You were indeed still a little nippy, and your scarf was still in your car, but your brain wouldn’t let this go. You kept coming up with more scenarios to prove yourself wrong and ease your worries, and you didn’t know why. You were outside before any of them replied, and you did just as you said, unlocking the vehicle and grabbing your scarf.
However, before you could talk yourself out of it, you were sitting in the driver’s seat and your key was in your ignition and you were turning it. You turned it twice. Then a third time, and a fourth time, and each time…it wouldn’t start.
It was quiet outside aside from the odd sound of an owl or two as you just stared at your dashboard. You could see your breath as you exhaled, telling yourself all kinds of excuses for what you were experiencing. It was cold and maybe it just needed a minute, but even after trying it again after a few minutes, there was no such luck. You swallowed, turning the key again, and you felt like you were having an out of body experience as it just wouldn’t start.
“What are you doing, doll?”
The scream you let out scared you more than Bucky’s sudden presence, and you dropped your keys to the floor of the car. You pressed your hand to your chest as you turned to look at him, unsure of how long he’d been standing there. You blinked a few times as you stared at him, heart threatening to beat out of your chest and lips parted.
Bucky was standing in the gap between your door and your car, one hand on the top of the door frame, the other at his side. The cold breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the moonlight glinted off of his blue eyes as he stared at you. It took you too long to remember he’d asked you a question, and you quickly came up with an answer.
“I wanted to see how much gas I have left in my car, but… It won’t start,” you softly said, still fighting to catch your breath. “I thought…I thought maybe the cold had something to do with the engine, but it’s just not starting.”
Bucky didn’t respond right away, and when he hummed, a shiver crawled up your spine.
“I’ll look at it in the morning. Me or Steve one,” he said, offering his hand to you.
Nodding, you quickly grabbed your scarf and your keys, placing your free hand in his flesh one. Bucky closed your car door for you, and you thanked him when he took your scarf and put it around your neck.
“Just trying to keep you warm,” he said to you, rubbing your shoulders. “We don’t want you to freeze to death.”
You forced a chuckle at that, and Bucky joined you as you both stepped inside. Steve was just inside the door when you stepped through, and you watched him look between you two.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, her car won’t start,” Bucky answered for you.
The blond eyed you, a slight frown forming.
“Why were you trying to start your car?”
You told yourself that you were imagining his tone.
“I wanted to see how much gas I have left to get back home tomorrow…”
You shrugged at him, and Steve only nodded.
“Bucky or I will check it out in the morning,” he said, basically repeating Bucky’s words as he guided you back to the living room.
You sat on the couch as another conversation started up around you, and you chimed in here and there, but your mind was miles away.
You told yourself that the car was a coincidence, but how many coincidences were allowed before you started putting pieces together that painted a sick picture?
Steve said that Nat chose not to come this year, but Nat said Bucky told her they weren’t coming up to the cabin for the Purge this year. You were so sure that phone call was a dream, but Steve’s call history showed he’d absolutely been on the phone with someone and that someone was Tony…who also chose to sit at home with Pepper this year. It was that same phone call where Steve said Bucky had messed with your car…
Your car that wouldn’t start.
“Y/N, are you alright?”
Thor’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and when you looked around you saw all three of them looking at you in concern. You only just realized that your heart was going crazy in your chest, and they could no doubt hear it. Their worried expressions were almost enough to have you rethinking this entire night, and you blinked back tears.
Bucky was the first to move.
“Hey, hey,” he gently said to you, placing a hand on your back. “What’s wrong, doll?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, placing a hand on your forehead.
“I think, um, I think…” you struggled to speak. “I don’t feel good. My head is all…”
You flailed your hands around your face.
“I don’t know, I just don’t feel good.”
“You want to take something?” Steve asked you, and you shook your head.
“No, I…” you heavily exhaled. “I just feel like I might be sick.”
Your voice cracked, and Bucky helped you stand.
“I just need some air.”
All of you were standing now, and Thor offered to go with you.
“No, I’ll just be a minute,” you hurried to tell him, placing your fingers to your temple. “I just need some air.”
You were stumbling towards the door before you were finished speaking, and you took deep breaths as soon as you were on the other side of it. The cold fresh air was definitely helping you clear your head, and you leaned back against it with your eyes closed. You thought that this would help you think more rationally, now…but it wasn’t working.
Everything you’d added up was going through your head over and over again.
They wouldn’t. You told yourself that they wouldn’t, but what if they would?
You recalled that one Christmas party that involved some Asgardian meade and a bold move from Thor that resulted in you having to let him down easily. The next morning he claimed to not have remembered a thing, but what if he did? What if something you’d written off as a drunken blunder was actually much more than that?
Like the time you and Bucky were undercover, and you swore he was getting a little too lost in the role but he assured you of otherwise? When you thought about the aggressive way he kissed you even now, it still sent chills down your spine, but he’d convinced you that it was nothing, that he was just trying to be convincing, and you’d believed him.
…and it was only a few months ago that Steve—under no influence of anything and under no false pretenses of a cover for some mission—had asked you out, and you’d told him no. It wasn’t because he wasn't a great guy or because he wasn’t handsome enough, but the two of you had been friends for so long that the thought of ruining that was something you couldn’t bear, and that was what you’d told him.
He seemed to believe you, but sometimes you still thought about that hint of something you swore you saw in his gaze. It had come and gone so quickly, and even now you still didn’t know if you imagined it or not, but it had scared you for a split second…and then it was gone and he was smiling, and you were just happy you hadn’t lost a friend.
Every single incident was at the forefront of your mind, now, and it was too many coincidences to keep you calm. You repeatedly told yourself that they wouldn’t hurt you—especially not over something as trivial as that—but you weren’t able to convince yourself. Every single nerve in your body was telling you something wasn’t right, and your internal conflict was driving you crazy. You told yourself they would never hurt you, and you wanted to be right. You wanted to be right so bad.
…but what if you were wrong?
You were unable to sit with your thoughts, and you didn’t know what part of you to listen to.
So…
You ran.
You hadn’t even been running for long when you heard your name being screamed through the trees, and it only made you run faster. There was some small part of you that told you you were being paranoid. After all, you were terrified and running based off of assumptions you came up with on your own, but a much larger part of you was telling you to run faster. A louder voice was in your head telling you that you were in danger.
Every time you faintly heard your voice traveling through the trees it only scared you more, making more tears fall at the predicament you were in. It didn’t seem real, and you wanted to believe it wasn’t happening, but nothing else made sense. The Purge had already commenced, even out here in the middle of the trees you knew that, and you were terrified of what would happen to you if you failed to make it through the night on your own.
But what if it was all in your head? What if you’d driven yourself crazy and took off in the middle of nowhere over nothing? What would you say to them tomorrow? How would you explain yourself? What if they were chasing after you because you took off like a crazy person and they were worried?
A sob caught in your chest because you didn’t know what to believe, and you genuinely felt like you were losing your mind. Your tears were blurring your vision, and you felt like you couldn’t suck in air fast enough. When your foot caught on a rock, it sent you falling to the ground, and your forehead bounced off of the hard earth. Your already questionable vision was now slanted as you fought to push yourself to your feet, and you looked around, relieved that you were still alone.
You felt like you were on the verge of passing out when you stumbled into familiar arms.
The scream that escaped you echoed throughout the woods, bouncing off of trees and making you flinch. Thor’s hands were firm on your arms as you fought to get away from him, pushing at him and hitting his chest as he tried to calm you down. You were inconsolable as your back met a tree, and you struggled to speak.
“Please, don’t kill me,” you choked out. “Please…”
The blond frowned at you, and you shook your head.
“I don’t… I didn’t…” you couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry.”
Thor only frowned at you as he looked over your face, one of his hands reaching up to gently touch your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly repeated. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings or made you think…”
Your words died in the air again as you struggled to catch your breath, and the gentle touch of Thor’s hand on your face and the way he was looking at you was a lot more calming than you wanted to admit. The blond seemed genuinely confused by your words and your demeanor, pressing his lips together as he ran his eyes over you.
“Is that what you think?” he gently asked you, and you swallowed. “Is that why you ran?”
Your silence was answer enough, and you watched him gently laugh to himself.
“You thought we were going to kill you?”
His question accompanied by his expression made you feel stupid all of a sudden, and you looked away just as Thor laughed again. He was careful in pulling you away from the tree, holding you next to him as he started to walk back in the direction of the cabin. He guided your head to lean against him, and you briefly closed your eyes, taking deep even breaths and feeling…insane.
“Why did you think we were going to kill you?” he softly wondered, and you couldn’t ignore that he was talking to you like some wounded animal.
“It’s…stupid,” you managed to whisper, not even wanting to say it all out loud now that Thor had managed to ease your fears. “I feel like an idiot.”
Thor rubbed your shoulder, and the sound of footsteps other than both of yours reached your ears.
“Is she okay?” you heard Steve ask, the blond closer to you than Bucky, a deep frown on his features.
“I’m fine,” you said the same time Thor told him you were fine. “I got too in my own head and...I don’t know, I just drove myself crazy.”
“She thought we were going to kill her.”
You felt even more embarrassed when Thor said it aloud again to them, and you started to frown at him when you were all too aware of his grip on the hair at the nape of your neck. Your frown deepened, wincing in pain as you reached back just as he leaned over.
“I do not know what gave her that idea,” Thor said seemingly to no one in particular just as he covered your lips with his own.
The kiss took you by surprise, and you pushed at his chest as he stepped closer, forcing you to stumble back. Your back met a tree for the second time that night, and you were unable to speak as Thor moved his mouth against yours. Your brain felt even more jumbled than it did earlier in the night, confusion pouring into you as Thor kept you from pulling away.
Your mind had immediately jumped to murder that you had never even entertained the possibility of…something else.
When you finally managed to get away from Thor’s hold—or when he let you—you stumbled back into someone else’s waiting arms, and you yelped in a mixture of fear and shock. Bucky held both of your elbows to him as his lips found a home in the crook of your neck, tasting your sweaty skin as you struggled in his tight grip.
“Kill you?” Bucky chuckled. “Never.”
“This isn’t funny,” you told them, voice shaking. “If you’re trying to scare me because of something I did or didn’t do…”
Your eyes met Steve’s at that.
“I’m sorry–!”
You cut yourself off with a gasp, crying out at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth in your skin. Your efforts to get away from him doubled the moment Steve started to make his way closer to you. You frantically looked between him and Thor, understanding that if this was for real and they were serious, there was no getting out of this. Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and Steve confirmed that they heard it.
“Listen to how scared she is…”
“Steve, please,” you begged as he got closer and closer, and when he ignored your apologies and pleas entirely, you accepted that this was no joke.
The blond caught your feet as you kicked at him, separating your legs and stepping between them. You were in an uncomfortable position as Bucky still held your elbows behind you. Steve’s fingers dug into your pants, and when his hands started to pull, you moved as much as you possibly could. Thor’s chuckle reached your ears as you found yourself dropped to the ground.
“I do believe she is besting you both.”
The teasing lilt to his voice made your stomach turn, and your attempt to crawl away was thwarted by hands on your ankles pulling you back. Your nails pressed into the dirt and leaves as you were dragged back, no match for the super soldier who flipped you onto your back. Every kick at Steve was futile, and tears blurred your vision again when he sat on your waist. You pushed at his hands as they reached for your sweater, the thick fabric ripping like paper at the mercy of his strength.
It seemed like no matter what you said to Steve, he didn’t hear a word of it, blue eyes locked in on his goal, and if you had any doubts about this being personal, they were gone the moment your gazes met. There was no give there, nothing in his stare even hinting that he could be talked out of this. In fact, you wouldn’t be shocked if the entire thing was his idea.
You screamed when he leaned down to take a hardened bud into his mouth, the cold air giving him exactly what he wanted.
“There’s no one around for miles, doll,” you heard Bucky say, making you cry harder. “...but by all means.”
He gestured to you as you turned to look at him through a tearful gaze.
“Scream as much as you’d like.”
You and Steve fought over your pants, the blond winning with hardly a fight, and you shook from both the cold and the turn the night had taken. To think it was only moments ago that you’d been so sure they were going to kill you. Another possibility hadn’t even been an option in your mind and why would it? What was tomorrow supposed to be like or hadn’t they thought that far ahead?
A silent conversation seemed to pass through Bucky and Steve as they briefly looked at each other, the brunette making his way over to you. Any fight you were able to give Steve was squashed the moment Bucky dropped to his knees and pinned your hands on either side of your head. You tearfully looked up at him, equal parts angry and defeated as Steve’s hand slid between your thighs.
“Uh uh,” Steve tsk’d, harshly slapping your cunt the moment you squeezed your eyes shut, making you shout. “Eyes on him, sweetheart.”
Bucky had no problem at all holding your gaze while Steve slid a finger into you, quickly followed by another. You couldn’t swallow down the gasp that climbed out of your throat, eyes widening as he curled his fingers into you. You twisted your wrists in Bucky’s grip, angrily staring at him as you fought to swallow down every sound that wanted to escape your lips.
Your toes curled as Steve fingered you, a third finger sliding into you with ease as his actions forced you to drip around his hand. Your chest was heaving with every snap of his wrist, and you attempted to turn your head away when Bucky leaned in, but he stole a kiss anyway. The dark-haired man tasted the inside of your mouth as Steve continued to stretch you out around his fingers.
The sensations from both were too much, and you desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. Bucky only let you catch your breath for a second before diving in again, and for a brief moment, you felt empty and the heat between your legs was gone. That reprieve, however, only lasted for a second, and your chest arched at the feeling of thicker fingers slowly pushing their way into you.
You let out a shaky breath, and you felt Bucky smirk into the kiss.
Thor was not as gentle as Steve, roughly fucking you with his fingers and making your hips lift off of the ground. You were dripping around him, you could feel it, and the sound of his thick fingers pushing into you reached your ears, so you could only imagine what they could hear. The humiliation of it all warmed your cold frame, and you blinked back tears when Bucky finally pulled away.
You stared at him, but his blue eyes were focused instead on what Thor was doing to you.
You refused to look, closing your eyes and turning your head away. Evidently, Steve found that funny, chuckling to himself, and the knowledge that they all found this amusing filled you with an indescribable rage. The sound of Thor fucking you with his fingers was loud, a wet squelch reaching your ears every time he pushed his fingers into your walls.
“I want to see her come,” Steve said, and you pulled at Bucky’s grip.
“No,” you cried, but both Thor and Bucky tightened their holds.
You could already feel your stomach tightening from Thor’s hand, his thumb brushing gentle circles over you, a stark contrast to the movements from his other fingers. You were gone completely however when Bucky leaned back down to nip at your chest before tasting the same pebbled bud Steve had, tongue brushing over the sensitive flesh and making you gasp.
It was all too much, and you could feel and hear your breathing getting heavier. Your stomach was tight and your toes were curled and your chest was arched upwards. Your lashes kept fluttering as you tried so hard to fight it, but against your will, you were pushed over the edge and you came around Thor’s fingers with an embarrassing sigh.
You heard Thor curse and then you felt his mouth on your mound barely a moment later. That only prolonged your orgasm, eyes falling close as he tasted you, his tongue lapping up any and everything you had to offer. He hummed against you, the feeling vibrating throughout your entire body, and you were so lost in the feeling that you didn’t even realize Bucky had let you go.
When Thor finally pulled away too, you were a trembling mess, and you could feel tears kissing your eyes. You barely felt the cold now, your skin so hot and your face so warm. You could hear the rustle of fabric, but you weren’t able to put two and two together until a metal hand was turning you over.
“Bucky–!”
His name had barely escaped your lips before a hand was underneath your stomach and forcing you to your knees. The head of his cock was pushing into you barely a moment later, and the noise that left you was one you couldn’t name. His metal hand was in your hair while the other was tight on your waist.
Your fingers dug into the leaves and dirt as he repeatedly thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the otherwise quiet woods. Your head weakly hung as he pulled you back to meet his every thrust, pulling out until only the tip of him remained before sliding his cock into you to the hilt.
Every time you leaned away, the brunette pulled you back, groaning behind you at the feeling of you wrapped around him. For a while, you forgot all about Steve and Thor, but then you heard the crunch of leaves, and when you forced yourself to look up, your eyes met familiar blue ones.
“It didn’t have to be like this, you know,” Steve told you, and you hated that haughty tone in his voice. “It really didn’t.”
His betrayal—all of theirs—made more tears spill over as you glared at him.
“Fuck you,” you spat at the blond, and Steve only gave you a crooked smile.
You cried out when Bucky’s hand curled around your throat, pulling back and forcing your back to his chest. His other arm snaked around your waist, and you dug your nails into the skin of his arm. He pressed his face into where your shoulder and your neck met, and Steve took another step towards you.
“Be patient, and you will.”
Your vision started to tilt and blur as the result of Bucky’s tight hold on your throat, the dark-haired super soldier whispering in your ear.
“You take my cock so well,” he softly told you just before he came inside of you.
Unfortunately, you came with him, wholly embarrassed and upset as he told you to milk his cock, tightly holding you against him until you stopped trembling. He whispered something else in your ear that sounded a lot like ‘good girl’ before pulling out of you, practically handing you to Thor as if you were a glass of water and not a human being.
You learned that Thor liked to look at your face.
He wasted no time in forcing your legs over his arms and pushing your knees next to your head before sliding into you with ease. The new and uncomfortable angle had you clawing at the dirt in desperation, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. His chest brushed against yours with every surge of his hips, and you couldn’t bite back the whimpers that crawled out of your throat even if you tried.
His skin slapped against yours, and your lips were parted the entire time he was inside of you. Occasionally he kissed you, a gentle gesture that was the complete opposite of how he fucked you. The leaves and twigs of the forest floor scratched at your back with every movement, but the pain from that was almost nonexistent in comparison to the way Thor stretched you out around his cock.
The god amongst the three naturally had the most stamina, and sweat coated your skin after being with Bucky and now Thor.
“I should hope you’re not getting tired, little one,” he said to you, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the perversion of the affectionate name he sometimes gave you. “I don’t know about them, but I want to make the best use of these twelve hours.”
When Thor was close, he dropped one of your legs, a large hand coming up to cover your breast and massage the skin. His teeth nipped at your throat, and your nails dug into his arm. His hips started to slow, Thor torturously dragging his cock in and out of you, driving you crazy and making you lift your hips.
“Atta girl,” you heard someone say, and it sounded like Steve.
Thor slowly pumped himself into you, not minding at all that you didn’t come with him as he spilled himself into you. He didn’t stop thrusting until he was spent, satisfied with himself before pulling out of your limp frame.
Your eyes felt so heavy, and more than anything, you wanted to disappear, but all too soon you felt a familiar hand on your leg.
“No,” you mumbled, pushing at Steve.
“Don’t be mean,” Steve whispered to you, kissing you. “Everybody else got their turn.”
The slap was loud and unexpected, even by you, but it was more than deserved. Somehow, you knew that this was Steve’s idea, and tears skipped down your cheeks as he continued to press kisses along your face as if you hadn’t just hit him.
His lips traveled to your jaw and then your neck, and your attempt to sit up and back away from him was halted. Steve pulled you back by your hips, forcing your legs around him before leaning back and taking you with him. You let out a grunt when you settled on top of him, attempting to get away, but he was already forcing you down onto his cock.
You both let out similar noises but for entirely different reasons.
The blond wasted no time, getting a tight grip on your hips and bending his knees as he thrust himself up into you. A choked moan escaped into the air, and Steve tightened his hold on your hips. The palms of your hands were pressed against his chest, and against your will, you picked up a rhythm as he forced you to ride him.
You heard footsteps behind you, and you shouldn’t have been surprised to feel lips on the back of your neck. Bucky kissed along your throat as he forced your head back, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes somewhat open. He nipped at the skin, his lips eventually traveling to your lips for a few moments before pulling away entirely. Steve did not stop you once, forcing you to roll your hips over his and push yourself down onto his cock.
You were dripping around him, and when you managed to look down, you could see him staring at where you two met, his tongue poking at his bottom lip as he watched himself disappear into you. It both disgusted you and made your heart skip a beat, doubly so when Thor grabbed your arms, holding them behind you as it was his turn to press kisses along your neck and shoulders.
You shuddered at the feeling and he chuckled.
“I think she might come again,” Thor said, and the blond god kissed the tears on your cheeks.
When he let you go, Steve forced you down against him, his arms wrapped around your back as he roughly pushed his cock up into you. You gasped into his ear, your moans growing louder with every thrust. Your hands pressed into the dirt to steady yourself, but it was no use as Steve practically kept your chest glued to his.
One of his hands curled around the back of your neck, and his lips pressed kisses along your jaw. You couldn’t catch your breath, and Steve could feel you clenching around him.
“You going to come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”
You couldn’t find a snarky comment to throw at him, simultaneously wanting this to be over and to never end. Steve was repeatedly hitting something inside of you that had you mewling on top of him, and when his hand wrapped around the front of your throat, you clawed at it.
“The sooner you come, the sooner we take you back…”
You shook your head.
“...and get you all cleaned up…”
You pressed your nails into his hand, more tears spilling over.
“...and fed and well rested…”
He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“...and ready to do it all over again.”
When you came around Steve you saw stars, vision going dark and heart skipping a beat as he fucked you through your climax. Even when you had long stopped rolling your hips against his, Steve lazily pushed his cock into you, forcing you to flutter around him as he coated your walls.
You were completely spent and out of breath, barely able to protest as Bucky grabbed you and swung you up into his arms. You were covered in dirt and sweat and God knows what else as the dark-haired man chuckled at the sight of you.
“...and to think…” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You thought we wanted to kill you.”
Summary: Your bodyguard takes care of you in every way.
Word Count: 300
Warnings: Hidden relationship, oral sex (f. receiving), mention of sex, slight feels, Clark Kent (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 14 of the Sexy September Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: You're going to make me come again.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You didn’t want a bodyguard. The idea of someone breathing down your neck all the time and ruining your fun made your blood boil. You understood that it was for your own safety since your dad was a powerful man. People could hurt you to hurt him. It didn’t mean you had to like it.
Until your dad introduced you to Clark Kent.
Tall, broad, and delicious, the dark haired, blue eyed man gave you a smile when he shook your hand, which you didn’t expect at all. You thought your bodyguard would be stoic or uptight, not a charming country boy. “I’m going to take care of you,” he promised.
And he did in every way.
“Clark,” you whined when he licked the length of your pussy. Your hand flew to the headboard when he lifted your hips and slid his tongue into your twitching hole. “You’re going to make me come again.”
He had been at it for hours, fucking you with his fingers and tongue. You were invited to a party, and he refused to take you, saying it wasn’t safe. You argued that you really wanted to go, but he wouldn’t budge. He did look apologetic but had the nerve to smile when he said not to bother sneaking out because he’d know if you tried. The man’s hearing was insane. You couldn’t breathe without him knowing.
“Make it up to me,” you muttered before he took you to bed.
He chuckled and took his tongue out, making you whine. “Good,” he said, kissing your thigh. “Give me one more and I’ll make love to you.”
Not fuck. Not take you. Make love.
“Okay, country boy.”
You dad may kill him if he ever found out, but he won’t give you up. Not now. Not ever.
Uh-oh. What happens if he finds out? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
