𓂃 𓈒𓏸 envy ii
pairing: professor!bucky x reader
prompt: “must be nice to never have to beg for a single scrap of affection.”
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut mentioned, allusions to smut, bucky is a PRICK but its kinda hot, public humiliation, reconciliation (wink), horny!bucky, he does love reader, student/teacher relationship (20s/40s), bucky speaks latin once bc i <3 being self indulgent, petnames (sweet girl, sweetheart) . . .
word count: 907
a/n: guess who found out the prompts can be interpreted and not just used :D i loooove taking things too seriously :")
to be honest, i really just let the wind take me wherever it blew with this prompt and it got me here, im so sorry if this makes no sense with most of these lmfao :""")
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Two hours passed by like pushing a train with your bare hands, slow and fucking torturous. You sat at your regular seat, two rows from the front, just close enough to seem attentive, yet far enough to not seem as eager as you really are.
A chirpiness exuded from you as you entered the building, through the halls with your fists tight on the strap of your bag, carrying an excitement just to see Professor Barnes.
Or James as more close students and faculty would call him, or even Bucky as you would whisper against his skin whenever you both had a chance to be alone together, wether at his place or even in his office after hours.
You sat with a smile on your face, the vivacity of your happiness seemingly from the night before, all tangled in his bed sheets, pried open with an acclamation you only ever saw him provide to his work. Whispering a litany of praise akin to idolatry upon already slick skin, only made wetter with kisses trailed with his tongue, like passages he would assign as class reading, which would turn into your head tucked against his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your spine as he read for you, asking questions with a soft nudge to wake you from your hazy, cotton mind.
You could still feel it as your thighs pressed together under your desk, as you readied yourself for the lecture.
But Bucky, smart, yet cruel, and far too handsome for his own good, had other plans.
Sitting in the leather chair in his office, you slump forward with an elbow on the arm, fist to your cheek, and your eyes stay solemnly down. A fury laved behind your ribs like magma ready to spill from the edges of a volcano, what's worse is that it accumulated and burgeoned low in your stomach, and ached it's way into a different form of hot liquid.
It's a real shame for you that your professor loves how easy it is to pester you, to rile you up. Biting your cheek, you stare sourly through your eyebrows, at his wide smile.
"It's not funny," You murmur, only to make his chest thrum with another bout of laughter. Bucky's teeth latch to his bottom lip to suppress the wheezing, hand coming up to shield his eyes, elbow up on his desk chair to hide behind his palm.
You could cry. With how embarrassed you are, confidently reaching your hand up at every question he asked, only for him to skim right past and call up another person. Two hours of ignorance, only for him to twist the knife further when calling for students who were barely paying attention and never bothered to raise their hand.
Once he calmed with a husky sigh, swivelling in his chair with the last flurries of humour, he speaks.
"Sweetheart—"
"It's really not funny," You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, muttering immaturely under your breath. “At least, I don't know, say something, you were basically ignoring me! I felt like a kid or something, you know? Must be nice to those other people, getting all your attention…” You sigh again, scrunching your face in aggravation. "I mean, one question would've been nice!"
"Oh, mea dulcis puella," he pouts condescendingly, lengthening the words in a degrading pitch. Standing now, he wastes no time in walking towards you, and holding his arms out to pull you up and into a tight embrace. "Was it too mean? I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but, God, your face is so beautiful when you're irritated… you wanted to answer those questions so bad."
Despite your disinclination to move, he wraps his arms around you anyway. His chin resting on the top of your head with a prolonged sigh, leaving your cheek to press up on his chest.
"Bucky—"
"I really didn't mean to piss you off so bad," he starts, voice low easing upon your body, mixed with the heat and strong hold he has you in, he has you cornered in a comfort only he could bring. "Thought it would be funny. Y'know how when you get so frustrated you get turned on?"
"Oh, Bucky!" You whine.
The wobble in his chest comes back with a hum to your scalp, pressing his lips there. "What, you told me that a while ago one night. When you were studying, couldn't focus… pissed you off so bad you had to call me to see if I was free..."
You hide deeper into his chest, arms still encircled around your own, and he pulls you in with ease.
"Didn't need to make it a humiliation ritual." You sigh against his shirt.
"Hm, I'll do better next time."
"You better."
"I promise," silence encapsulates the room for a moment, letting the two of you sink into each other, before Bucky's hands find themselves comfortable on the globes of your ass, and he pipes up. "Wanna get up on my desk and let me make it up to you?"
The lift of your cheek, a smile he can feel, presses through his shirt. Humming humorously, matching the condescension he delivered. "Christ, for an old man you sure know how to keep up."
"That is why I humiliate you. That smart ass mouth of yours," he pats your ass twice with a dopey tilt of his lips. "Up you get princess, just lemme redeem myself."
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader x Bucky Barnes [Second Person Narrator]
Word Count: 11K
Summary: You needed the getaway to get away from your ex-fiancé. And while you’re at it, why not try something a little different? Even if it’s just for a little while.
A/N: Wrote this for Essie’s (@bigtreefest) Summer Lovin’ Celebration! Congrats on the 300 Followers! 💜 And with a celebration title like that, this fic was inspired by Grease because of course (as well as The Holiday). Here’s the prompts I got my greedy little fingers on: reading and someone gets the book wet(sorta), bonfire, “here, you can share with [us]”, daddy kink, vacation fling cut short by having to go home, beach, pool, resort/hotel.
Title from “Summer Nights” by John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog/comment if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or repost my work elsewhere, ever. I cross-post to my own AO3 account.
I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.
This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Water droplets patter onto your legs and towel. Someone splashing in the resort pool. You glance up with a cocked eyebrow, but return to your book with a sip of your fruity cocktail.
Still drying under the shade of your umbrella, you figure you’ll stay another chapter before returning to your room. A couple’s massage scheduled for the early evening.
You scoff to yourself. Couple, right. Anger boils in your gut. Threatening to spill over and scorch the earth around you. Your ex-fiancé too enamored by your ex-best friend’s cunt to marry you. You huff an irritated breath and return to your book.
Only to be blinded by the sun glinting off the pages. You glance around to find your umbrella moving away, dragged by a couple of young guys. Two girls wave them over to their unshaded pool chairs.
“Are you kidding me?” you mumble under your breath. Too flabbergasted to confront them outright. Like you could say anything to combat their cocky confidence.
“What the fuck was that?” a voice asks in disbelief.
You pay the comment little mind, unsure whether the speaker addresses you directly. But you glance over your shoulder.
At the next pool lounger stands a man, a grumpy furrow to his brow. Brown hair brushing his shoulders, skin tanned from enjoying the resort longer than you. You don’t want to, but your gaze roves over his smooth skin and defined muscles. His left shoulder encased in a black metallic prosthetic sleeve, the prosthetic itself already sitting on the chair.
“No manners,” the man beside him agrees with a nod. Just as handsome. Blond with the same gorgeous muscles and a beard sculpted over his jaw.
You know you’re gawking, but can’t help it. They’re just so perfect—like something that might be splashed across the cover of some bodice ripping romance novel. But then they turn their eyes on you and you nearly squeak.
“Were you leaving?” the blond asks.
Too surprised to speak at the inquisition, your finger raises to point toward yourself. Tummy flip flopping at the attention. When he nods, you reply, “not for a little while.”
The two men exchange a look. A brow quirks, shoulders lift. The brunet nods and turns toward you.
“What jackasses.”
You snort. Head bobbing in agreement. “Unfortunately, I’m getting used to dealing with them.”
“Here,” the brunet says with a gesture toward his chair, flinging his towel on the other lounger and picking up his arm, “you can share with us.” He raises his prosthetic hand to gesture toward the umbrella over their two chairs.
Your lips part on a polite refusal, but the blond beats you to the punch.
“We’ll be in the pool for a bit,” he says. He smiles and you’re stunned. The expression brilliant and sincere—megawatt if you’ve ever seen one. “I’m Steve, this is Bucky. You relax and enjoy, alright?”
Before you can formulate a way to say, ‘thank you, you’re so kind,’ they’re off and you’re left grabbing your towel, book, and drink before slipping onto Bucky’s lounger.
Just the end of this chapter then, you think. Not wanting to infringe on their space once they finish with their swim. You sink back in the shade, thumbing through the pages and taking a sip of your drink to sate your parched throat. And another for good measure.
The heroine wields her sword and fights her mighty foe. Her loss against their superior power, and the dashing of her confidence, pulls at your heartstrings. You turn the page to see what happens, and find the next chapter.
Debating whether you might take the chance and continue, you look to the pool. The shining water glints in the sun, crowded with bodies, but you spot Steve and Bucky immediately, embracing in the water. Smiles stretch their faces, lost in their own world. Yet they glance in your direction and Steve waves. Your cheeks heat and your eyes snap toward the page. An uncomfortable yearning starting to simmer deep in your gut.
Shifting on the lounger, you try to read the next word. But your brain refuses to work. Concentration all but lost. The book lowers just enough for you to peek over and catch another glimpse of the gorgeous men in the pool. The way they tease and splash. Swimming laps around each other. Sharing tender touches and loving pecks of their lips. Their happiness contagious and brightening your day just looking at them.
You snap yourself away with another sip of your drink and return to your book, less invested as each paragraph ends with a quick glance away from the pages.
While you engage with the heroine’s redemption, a few drops of water fleck the page. You peek up, Bucky standing over you and clicking his prosthetic in place.
“What’s it about?” His eyes sparkle with interest. His arm whirs and his fingers twitch, recalibrating to function properly. Black and gold, a perfect complement to his skin.
“Uh.” Struggling to come up with a response when you’re blinded by his beauty. “Women kick ass?”
He crouches low, his hair flicking droplets on your skin. Whether you shiver from his proximity or the cold, you’ll never tell. He wipes his fingers on a towel and carefully turns the cover to take a peek.
“Love this author,” he comments, turning to you with a boyish grin and entrancing you in his spell once again. “You read anything else?”
“First one,” you admit, closing the book around your bookmark and examining the cover art, “after my fiancé left me, I found it on a list of recommended titles.” Your shoulders lift in a shrug. “It was one of the only books that wasn’t a self-help guide.”
Bucky blinks—you’ve stunned him. Guess there really are first times for everything. He glances toward your hand. Lips parting on a thought he doesn’t articulate.
A wry chuckle slips past your lips, bare finger wiggling on your lap. Still feeling the indent of the ring, naked without it. “Yeah, I’m here on my honeymoon.” Your eyes roll. The thought of being here with Eddie now sends your gut churning. The pathetic bewilderment on his face when you threw the ring at it makes your skin crawl. A thought pops unbidden into your head. “Hey,” you start, tapping his bicep, “do you and Steve want a couple’s massage?”
“What?” Bucky asks, casting a glance over his shoulder to Steve’s approaching figure.
“I scheduled one for the trip with my ex, but the thought of showing up alone makes me…uncomfortable,” you explain. “It’s no big sacrifice and it’s already paid for.”
“What are we talking about?” Steve asks, his hand falling to Bucky’s shoulder. He sighs out an exerted breath and glances over at the lounger for his towel. Rubbing it across the hair on his chest, glittering with water, and through his hair.
“I want to gift you guys a couple’s massage, if you’ll take it.”
“Sweetheart, we can’t take that from you,” Steve insists immediately. Not taking a moment to hear you out. Your lips purse in a pout. But he’s grinning that sunny smile and you can’t be mad.
Though, you can plead your case. “I won’t be using it myself,” you explain, “and if no one uses it, it’ll just be a waste of money.”
Bucky glances up at Steve and back to you. Your best impression of a puppy dog might not be great, but Steve softens, if only minutely.
“Truly, you’d be doing me a favor and I’d get to thank you for your kindness.”
The two men lock eyes—silent communication passing between them once again. Steve blows a swift breath from his lips. They quirk in amusement.
“Alright,” he says, gesturing toward Bucky.
“Thank you, doll,” Bucky says turning back to you. He clasps your hand and squeezes gently. The metal digits cold against your skin. You shiver, entranced by the veins of gold unfurling from your grip.
“As long as we get to treat you, too,” Steve amends, with a smirk.
“Well—I mean, I don’t want to intrude on your vacation,” you insist, hands held before you in placation.
“We won’t have it any other way,” Steve persists, a stubborn streak rearing its head. His arms cross over his chest and a furrow carves between his brow.
Your throat bobs on a gulp, tempted to lower your eyes, but refusing any show of weakness. You, instead, avert your gaze to Bucky for support, but find a placid agreement. Such a sneak. Buttering you up only for Steve to go in for the kill. How can you say no to them? Their generosity and charm? You don’t have the strength. And what harm would come of it?
“Fine,” you sigh and nod.
“The resort advertised a Bonfire on the Beach event this evening. My partner and I would love to escort you tonight at 9.” The easy smile returns to the blond’s features and he relaxes, letting his arms drop. Muscles flexing and sending droplets racing toward the waistband of his swimsuit.
“I should get going,” you admit before the two men can catch you gawping. “I’ll take care of everything at the spa, the reservation’s for 4 o’clock.”
“Wait!” Bucky reaches for your arm. Reaching but not touching, the air crackling with electricity between your skin. You turn back to hear him out, towel, bag, and book bundled in your arms. “We gotta be able to pick you up, doll.” He runs his hand through his hair. Shining and slick from the pool. “What’s your room number?”
“And I’d like to know your name,” Steve adds as an afterthought.
“513,” you reply, dipping your head as you give your first name. Cheeks flaming with heat.
They each repeat it back under their breaths, small grins tickling the corners of their lips. A brief wave and farewell and you’re able to step away, one last glance cast over your shoulder to see them gazing back at you.
It’s a short stop by the spa to sort things out and then the stretch of late afternoon into early evening. Most of it spent worrying over your plans. Wondering what these two strangers expect of you and avoiding thoughts of your home life. What happens after your return.
Packing and unpacking and waffling over outfits, you finally decide on a dress. Laying it across your bed. Puffed sleeves and a flirty skirt, cute yet still comfortable. It was supposed to be your going away dress after your wedding. Fingers trace over the pattern of it before you turn toward your bathroom. Preparing yourself for your night. Wanting to be ready with plenty of time to spare.
You shower, thoughts flooding the drain as you let them wash away. Of the person you’ve always been. Doing what’s expected. Doing what’s good for everyone else. And where has it led you? A broken engagement to a selfish, immature man. A wounded heart. You shove your face under the shower spray before turning it off and stepping out to dry off.
Sitting in front of your mirror, makeup brush poised by your cheek, you take a good, long look. The same face you’ve always seen stares back at you. Tired. Sad. Scared. That’s not the woman you want to be.
The door knocks, snapping you from your reverie. Once decent, room service carries in a tray with your dinner. A few samples as not to upset your excitable stomach, but enough to fill you. Pausing in your pursuit of getting ready, you chew over the possibilities set before you.
At the conclusion of your meal, you strip off the resort’s plush robe. Standing in the mirror, hands smoothing over your skin and the underwear you’ve chosen for the night. The dress falls easy over your figure. A delicate necklace clasps around your throat, the rest of your jewelry slipped into place. Your left ring finger not feeling quite as naked with five other rings adorning your digits. Shoes and a wristlet complete your outfit with just enough time to second guess every decision.
But before your clock manages to turn to 8:56, a knock sounds at your door. You pull yourself away from the mirror. Steps measured, cautious. Pulse thumping in your ears. But then you open the door.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Steve breathes. A long look cast from your face to your shoes and back up again. Bucky stands speechless beside him, but nods in agreement.
It’s quite the greeting—stroking your ego and sending you giddy. You cross your threshold and close the door behind you, letting them trail after. Scurrying to catch up and crowd you from both sides.
The bass of the music pounds through you before you even see the beach. Lights dancing across the sand from the DJ’s stage. A leveled dance floor occupied by bodies. Small braziers blazing around the perimeter.
Steve whistles low. Bucky shrugs and grabs your hands, dragging you both toward the crowded dance floor without a word. More a beach party than bonfire, the music surrounds you. Catchy and upbeat. You follow Bucky easily, losing yourself in the rhythm. Hips moving together, a flutter in your belly each time his hands brush across you and draw you near. The fire flickering in the night not quite as heated as your cheeks with Bucky as your partner.
Steve stalks off. Though even then, the weight of his gaze lingers, dipping along your curves. Sending goosebumps prickling along your skin.
The thrill of the moment enlivens you more than the past three years. Want boiling your blood more than rage. These two men awakening long-dormant desires. You lose yourself to it.
The music continues to pound through you. No room for conversation. Only movement. Bucky wrapping a hand around your ribs and guiding you. You twirl and swirl under his guidance, dizzy and delighted. His smile just as brilliant as the rainbow of lights. His joy mirrored on your own lips. Split wide until your cheeks hurt.
Steve reappears, a smooth movement inserting himself with you both. Drinks exchanged between hands. Quiet thank yous drowned out by indecipherable lyrics.
The men exchange a look and sandwich you between them. Hands wandering to find the perfect position. Drinks kept upright and close. The cocktail strong and burning down your throat. Though, it does not quench your thirst. Your whole body parched for them. Each time they caress, a spark ignites and sizzles down your spine. Their own cheeks flushed and eyes dark. Leaning closer and closer toward you. Their breath mingling with your own. Sweat clinging to your temples and trickling in mesmerizing lines down their throats.
Steve finishes his drink with a hearty gulp. A bead of it dripping from the corner of his mouth to his beard. How you ache to angle your head and lick it away, lick into his mouth for a taste. All while Bucky watches, his grip on your hips. His own kiss ready to consume you.
The song changes.
You breathe deep and blink away the impulse. The fire and the exertion fills your head. Threatening to overwhelm. A mumbled excuse leaves your lips as you beg off to find less energetic air and straighten out your thoughts. Just for a moment before the plunge.
Steve and Bucky watch you walk away, a glance exchanged between them. Their hips continuing to roll together. Comfortable in the music and each other’s arms. You observe only a moment from the edge of the floor before straying closer to the crashing waves.
In the darkness illuminated by distant party lights, you find a place on the sand to watch the water lap at the shore. Tempted to dip your feet. Instead, you lower yourself to the sand and pull your legs to your chest, casting your gaze out and then up. Looking for stars along the ocean’s horizon.
Nothing shatters your peace for a blissful moment. Just you, the moon, and the ocean. Chest expanding with air. Skin cooling. Head clearing.
“So this is where you got off to,” Steve calls.
You turn over your shoulder to watch his advance across the sand. A wry smile curving your lips.
“Thought I’d give you two a chance to enjoy yourselves alone.”
He groans while lowering himself beside you. “We appreciate that, sweetheart.” He meets your eye and grins. “But are you alright?”
“Me?”
He gazes out at the ocean, head tilted in contemplation. “Bucky told me about your fiancé.”
A sound of understanding hums past your lips. “Yeah, quite a few years wasted.” You puff out a heavy sigh. “It’s for the best. Maybe now I’ll find someone who actually loves me the way I deserve.”
“I’m sure you will,” Steve agrees, hand reaching out to wrap behind you.
In the dark, it’s harder to make out his features, but you can still discern the contours in the low light. You trace them with your eyes and ask, “how long have you and Bucky been together?”
“Since the dawn of time?” he jokes, a chuckle in his words. He sighs. “We’ve been friends since we were little. Then as we grew up, we had to acknowledge the inexplicable draw between us. Like magnets.” His hand hovers over yours before descending and plucking it from your knees.
You let him entwine your fingers. Curiosity piqued.
“And, now, the two of you,” you trail off, unsure of how to complete the thought. Instead, you ask, “what do you want with me?”
“To be honest,” Steve admits, meeting your eyes with a sparkle of mischief, “we wanted to be friendly, especially when those assholes stole your umbrella at the pool. But.” He leans closer, sitting up to free up his hand to brush his fingertips across your cheek. “We’ve seen the way you look at us. Can’t seem to help yourself.” He smirks.
You stutter a moment, unsure how to excuse yourself or apologize enough.
Steve hushes you. Thumb tracing your lower lip. “Sweetheart, trust me, we’re quite flattered by the attention.” His tongue peeks out to swipe across his lip, voice dropping to a deep rumble. “We’re happy to keep it friendly, but we’d love to show you things your fiancé never could.”
You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. Steeling yourself. Desire—no, desperation—burning back to life. The enticement too inviting.
“I should warn you,” you confess in a whisper, gluing your eyes to your entwined hands, “I’m not very good.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he husks, leaning to brush his lips against your cheek. “Whoever told you that was an idiot.”
You snort and nod. Fighting for your life to keep your cool. “I’ll tell him you said that, if I ever talk to him again.”
“Come join us back on the dance floor.” His forehead rests against your temple, breath blowing softly against your skin.
You’re powerless to refuse. You bob your head in agreement and let him help you to your feet and brush away the sand from your dress.
The music gets louder. Once more pumping through your veins. Bucky awaits your arrival at the edge of the dance floor. Stood beside a table with three drinks and checking his phone with a concerned set of his brow.
Steve sidles up beside him and wraps an arm about his waist, whispering something in his partner’s ear. Bucky blinks and beams over at you before approaching and embracing you.
“Doll, we’re gonna have so much fun.” He turns you toward the table and slides your drink closer.
You sip and hum, delicious. “Just fun,” you clarify. Meeting their eager—hungry—eyes.
“Just a good time between adults, no strings,” Steve agrees, tapping his plastic glass to yours.
You breathe deep, relieved. Finishing your drink with one more swig and smiling. Their hands beginning to wander. And then drag you back to the dance floor. Your head fuzzy and thoughts moving in slow motion. Inhibitions fluttering away as your bodies slide and sway together. A round of shots. And some water. Then more dancing until you pause to rehydrate again.
No one would call you a coordinated dancer. Not even when stone cold sober. But it doesn’t matter with Steve and Bucky. Their touch guiding you into graceful, sensual movements. That simmering desperation low in your belly. Each sweet gesture keeping you captivated. Until you’re dripping, voice a breathy plea in their ear to take you back to their room.
They oblige—gentlemen that they are—and commence your ruination.
Bodies meld together in symphony. Your voice crying your pleasure. Kisses smearing across flesh. Stretching your body to its limit. Both of them filling you full and leaving you moaning for more.
Your head never comes down from its high. Carried along waves of sensation. Hands gripping Bucky’s hip and Steve’s hair. Weaving yourselves together.
You wake up the next morning, aching and oh-so-satisfied. Glimpses of the previous night playing through your mind’s eye. Impressions streaked across the back of your eyelids and pulling your lips into a smile.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Bucky greets with a kiss to your shoulder.
“Buck,” Steve hushes from across the room.
A chest shakes below you with a low chuckle. “Not you, punk,” Bucky says on the end of a laugh, “our girl’s awake.”
Steve hums. And the bed sinks beside you. Finally opening your eyes to the new day, you look first to Bucky and then Steve. Disbelief rolling through you—they had chosen you and, in doing so, changed everything. One night and you’d never be the same again. And it was good.
A coo trills in the back of your throat. Limbs stretching. Deliciously strained from the previous night’s exertions.
“What are you up to today?” Steve asks, delicate finger brushing over your forehead.
You hum and smile wider. “Well, I think a walk of shame is in order so I can get clean.”
Another chuckle rumbles through you. Steve smirks and meets Bucky’s eye with a cheeky wink.
“Then I thought I’d spend some time exploring the town around the resort.”
Bucky growls, nuzzling against your throat. “Let us come with you.”
You sigh and lean into the embrace. Your lips press together. Do you really want to prolong this tryst? It takes no time at all to come to your conclusion—hell yes.
“I’ll still need to shower and change in my room.”
“We can join you,” Steve suggests—far too eager.
You laugh. “I need to actually get clean.”
“Well, we can still go with you,” he replies, “pick you out something pretty to wear.”
Your brow quirks and a smirk tilts your lips, reading something in his suggestion you absolutely must test. Stomach full of butterflies at the possible implication. You rise in a languid motion, still completely naked, and press a gentle peck to Steve’s cheek. Walking over to the dresser, you find your wristlet and pluck out your extra room key—in for a penny and all.
“How about this,” you suggest in turn, “you boys get ready and then come find me.” The card presses against Steve’s chest. “And if I’m not already dressed by the time you get there, you can pick out whatever you want me to wear.” Steve’s eyes sparkle at the proposal, and you bend down to whisper in his ear, “how’s that sound, daddy?”
He swallows and his lips part. He breathes heavy, eyes darkening with delicious promise. And you clench. Feeling the thrill bolt through you, straight to your core. Gods, yes. You’d read him right—and wasn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic for you.
“Sounds perfect, babydoll,” Bucky agrees, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his hips.
It starts as a hum on your lips. Filling the silence as your hands foam up your body wash and clean the planes of your flesh. But it soon becomes a serenade under the shower head. Of course, a standard from the past several weeks since your broken engagement—Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood. All of your vitriol and hurt circling the drain as you transition abruptly to a new song, one you haven’t sung in quite a while. You stumble over the lyrics, repeating sections more than once on accident, but your voice stays strong. Until you’re clean and refreshed, moisturized and no longer reeking of sex and alcohol. Wrapping a towel around your chest, you sing the final words of ABBA’s Waterloo. Joy fluttering like butterfly wings in your chest.
The door to your room opens with a cloud of steam. And there sit Bucky and Steve, smiles bright and hands clapping their applause.
You stop, rolling your eyes and scoff. “If I’d have known there was an audience, I’d have shut up, you goobers. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
“For exactly that reason, doll,” Bucky replies with a shrug. “We wanted to listen.”
You trail over to your suitcase, ready to select an outfit and dress in the bathroom. Steve tuts and stays your hand as his wraps about your wrist. “You promised I could choose for you, sweetheart, so I got something laid out for you right here.” He gestures to the bed and you follow with your eyes.
Stepping over, you look at the outfit. Cute, simple. You hum in approval and move to gather up the pieces. But once again, Steve halts your progress. You sigh and meet his eye, stunned by the intent way he watches you. Every breath measured by his notice.
His hand slips beneath your grip on the towel and eases it away from your body. You swallow hard, but convince yourself not to fidget. They’d seen it all last night anyway. No matter how this new attention leaves you far more vulnerable.
Steve’s hands skim up your sides. A long exhale puffing past his lips. He turns to the bed and grabs your underwear first, not your sexiest lingerie, but he makes no comment, bending to his knees and offering up the leg hole for you.
You hesitate. A glance over your shoulder toward Bucky. He meets your apprehension with an easy grin and stands slowly. Careful in his approach, as if you were a horse he wished not to spook.
“It’s alright,” he reassures in your ear, positioning himself at your back and wrapping his hands around your ribs for support, “we’ve got you.”
You lean against him and lift first one foot, then the other. Letting Steve pull the fabric up your legs and place it just so. Unrolling the waistband and laying it flat. In a swift motion, he places a tender kiss against the fabric, right above the cut of you. Your breath hitches and he rises.
Next, he takes the bra, looping the straps over your arms and handing off the band to Bucky. Silent as they continue to dress you with the utmost care.
You glance between them. “You guys do this a lot?” you ask, a verge of incredulity to your voice. “Whisk a woman off her feet, rock her world, and treat her like precious cargo?”
Steve’s lips tilt before he meets your gaze. “Not as often as you might think, and only when we meet someone special.”
Your brows raise.
“We’ve been together a long time, doll,” Bucky continues, smoothing out the fabric of your shirt. “And we’ve found that sometimes, things just click. Like they’re supposed to.”
He presses a kiss to the skin of your exposed shoulder while Steve guides a shoe onto your right foot. He ties it, glancing up to ensure your comfort before doubling the knot and setting about the other.
“Sometimes things can be fun,” Steve says, standing up and tucking a finger beneath your chin, “sometimes they can be more.”
You get lost in his eyes. Blue like the ocean, but so safe. The tenderness in his gaze more than you ever saw with Eddie. And Bucky, a steady presence at your back. Warmth and certainty. If you stumbled back, he’d catch you.
A delicate chain wraps around your throat. The pendant falling right at the hollow. Bucky’s deft fingers clasp it before he lets them cup your jaw and guide you to turn fully. His lips capture yours. Immediately, you swoon into him, hands planted on his firm chest. You rock onto your tiptoes and giggle against his lips, nipping playfully until he groans and retreats.
“Such a little brat,” he coos, affection lacing each word.
“I am not,” you insist, leaning back in to peck at his lips, fingers trailing to play with his silky hair.
“Tell that to daddy,” Bucky retorts with fingers tickling your sides. Head nodding toward his partner. “What do you think?”
You squirm away and pout. Turning to Steve, teeth sinking into your lower lip.
“She just likes to tease, Buck,” he says, affection dripping from his pronouncement. You yipe as he wraps you in his arms and crushes you to his front. He laughs at the sound and lets his hand wander to squeeze your rear. “You just gotta pay her back in kind.”
There’s a mischievous glint in his eye. You don’t like it, not one bit. But Bucky’s already humming in thought, stepping up behind you and running his hand along your belly toward the apex of your thighs. You tense, waiting for him to caress you. For the filthy rapture to begin again—hang your previous plans. But the bastard only gives a sneaky swipe, just enough to give a frustrating flick to your clit before withdrawing completely. Opening the door a mere second later and announcing your departure for the town.
The words out of your mouth are not the most ladylike. Though, they do seem to tickle your companions into quite the fit of laughter. And the fondness that blooms in your chest stuns you, but doesn’t surprise. There’s definitely the possibility that they’ll worm their way completely into your heart before the week ends. Before you return home. Before you leave them behind.
“Right,” Althea prods, a curious gleam in her eyes, “so after a night of mind-blowing sex, they take you out to the town and you look around the market.”
You hum in acknowledgment and rifle around your bag. “And I brought you back this.” You smile and proudly present your gift, but your friend’s too focused on the rest of your ‘honeymoon’. With a sigh, you continue. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” you shrug, “they were…”
“Panty-melting, wet dream-inducing, drool-worthy,” Althea lists, scooting closer and closer over your desk.
You laugh and roll your eyes. “They were perfect.” You lower your gaze to the mat under your keyboard, picking at the peeling vinyl. “Sometimes I wonder if I made them up.”
“You can’t just leave me with that,” your friend exclaims. A few eyes peeking up from their screens at her outburst. She raises a hand in apology and leans closer, voice dropping low. “Tell me more.”
Your finger taps on the mat, wondering how much more of your exploits will satisfy her, while still keeping the precious moments for yourself. Bucky’s arms around you—all the time because he just liked you pressed against him. Steve’s protective, caring presence—never too far away or too put out by any request. The way you caught their eyes on you. The pulsing hole in your chest full of regret for what happened. How you wish you would have made any other choice.
You clear your throat and snap back to the present moment. “So, you know how I said that in gratitude for their chivalry by the pool, I gave them that couple’s massage?”
“Yes,” she replies, one of the squishies decorating your desk between her hands and protruding in comical contortion from her fierce grip. A fire burning in her eyes. Locked on your every word and soaking up every detail.
“Well,” you admit, a small reminiscent smile tugging at your lips, “after spending a few days together, they decided they wanted me to have the full experience.”
“You said you had a surprise for me,” you press, reaching out blind with the fabric covering your eyes. “I don’t know if I like this. What are you planning?”
Fingers weave through your own. Three days together and you can already identify Bucky’s hands. So often they enjoy exploring you. He tugs you forward and you follow, sure that he won’t let anything happen to you.
“Just one more minute, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing over your cheek beneath the blindfold. “Steve’s lighting the candles.”
You hum and sniff. A faint scent reaches your nose, floral but not overwhelming. “You gonna drip wax on me or something?”
Bucky laughs, how you love that sound. “Not exactly.” His fingers squeeze yours. “But you’ll enjoy it, I think.” A timbre of doubt tinged his voice. “At least, I’m hoping you will—”
“I’m sure I will,” you interject, giving him a reassuring squeeze in return.
A brush of Bucky’s breath blows across your cheek. Your fingers wiggle in his grip, eager to see their plans unfold. Mind racing with possibilities.
“Ready,” Steve says, closer than you anticipate.
You jump, but he’s right there to soothe you, stroking across your abdomen until your heartbeat calms from the surprise. Soft sounds catch your notice, filling the room with a subtle background noise. Tinkling like rain, with a steady thrumming bass—relaxing.
The blindfold falls from your eyes. You blink to clear your vision and let your gaze wander around their room. The only light from a lamp or two and an abundance of candles placed atop dressers and tables. Their bed stripped of the top sheet and duvet. A pillow placed at the foot. A pump bottle beside it. And a platter overflowing with fresh fruits.
“What?” You turn to them, curious about their set up. Unsure of what puzzle the pieces before you form.
“Since you were so generous to give us your massage when we first met,” Steve explains, “Bucky thought you might enjoy the same kind of treatment. Head to toe.” His hand drifts up to cup your breast in his hand. “Our way.”
A shiver slinks down your spine. Head bobbing in a nod. “Yup, yeah,” you babble, “I’m all for this. Good job, Bucky.”
You turn to find him, hand lifting to find his face and crash your lips together, but he dodges. Skirting away to the end of the bed. Plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. He gestures toward the pillow.
“No kiss?” you ask, pout prominent.
Bucky steels himself, eyes closing for a breath before meeting yours again. “I wanna touch you, doll, pamper you like you deserve.”
A soft smile pulls at your lips. Heart tugging toward his, though you quiet it. “I’d like that,” you say in gratitude.
Steve strips you. Each layer falling around your feet until you’re bare. Not a moment’s hesitation before them. No reason for shame with them—ever.
Bucky holds out his hand, an offering. You accept. Letting him guide you onto the bed and situate you as he needs.
“You ready, princess?” Steve asks, positioning a chair near the foot of the bed.
You hum, a spark of arousal flickering between your thighs. “Yes, daddy.”
A steady stream of air blows past his lips at that, a breath of his restraint. He leans forward, lips pressing to your ear. “Be good for Bucky.”
You nod, but don’t vocalize your response, wanting Bucky to have his full experience. Too wary of testing Steve further and inadvertently ruining their plans.
“If anything gets too sensitive or overwhelming, you tell me,” Bucky instructs.
The heat of his palms hover over your skin. Waiting for your assent. An easy one to give with a simple, “okay”.
He starts with the expanse of your spine, warming your skin with his oil-slicked touch. Despite knowing it so well, the new intensity of it—the focus and dedication—surprises you. Fingers knead your shoulders. Working through tension and knots you didn’t realize you had. Treating each muscle to a focused care as he moves down your arms and then down your back. Hands working magic.
Sighs spill past your lips. Moans at tender places he soothes. The scent of lavender and vanilla swirling in the air.
“Such a good girl,” Steve praises, sitting by your head. His hands occupied by another task, breaking open a pomegranate and harvesting its seeds. Red stained fingers pet over your lips. Parted on a gasp as Bucky massages your lower back. Hips threatening to lift into his touch, you grasp at the pillow beneath your head. “Keep still for Bucky.”
You nod and whimper. Steve plucking a seed from his bounty and placing it on your tongue. The juice bursts, the seed popping beneath the pressure of your teeth. Chewing until you swallow, only for Steve to offer another. The sweet tang of the fruit coating your mouth. Juices dribbling from your chin just as they gather between your thighs with Bucky’s careful, seductive touches.
From just above your hips, his hands travel to your feet. Your legs kicking up at the initial tickle. He hushes you without words, pressing his knuckle into your instep. You groan and bury your head in the pillow.
“Are you alright?” Bucky asks.
“Yes.” Your head lifted only enough for the response to reach him.
He affirms your response with a delicate kiss to your ankle. Your muscles flex in his grasp, but you let him manipulate your limb however he needs. Letting your mind focus on the sensations surrounding you. Warmth, much more than physical pleasure, spreading across your synapses and rushing through your body.
Steve’s hand smooths over your head, eyes bright in observation. Drawing you back to the moment, keeping you tethered. Another seed passes your lips. Deft fingers wiping away a stray drip.
“Should I keep feeding you?” he asks, a quirk to his lips you might almost mistake for nerves.
“Yes, please,” you reply, opening your mouth to accept another.
He presses it to your tongue, letting you lick over his thumb and forefinger before withdrawing. “Then maybe, like Persephone, you can stay with us.”
You chuckle, sighing at the end. “Yeah, I wish.” The bitter words sweetened by the way Steve meets your eye and smiles—the joke between you. No thought given to the pang in your heart. The ache. Wishing it to be so much more than an off-handed comment made in a moment of levity. How you wish you could stay with them. The end drawing closer. Glimpsed in your periphery.
But those thoughts fly away, Bucky’s hands working up your thighs. Your flesh alight with his touch. Your excitement glistening and slick at your lower lips.
“Do you want me to stop here?” he asks, thumb framing the flesh of your ass, kneading the skin just below where you want him. Teasing that crease, slipping closer and closer toward your inner thigh.
“No,” you mewl, desperate for more, looking over your shoulder at him, “please keep going.”
“Are you sure?” His hands kneading your cheeks. Pulling them apart and gazing down at your slick and needy pussy. “God, you’re so wet.” He licks his lips but lifts his gaze to meet yours. “But I’m not done yet. Can you handle me touching you without that?”
“Think carefully,” Steve girds, a hand cupping your cheek to redirect your focus to him. “Remember, there’s no whining.”
You swallow and dip your chin. Nodding and muttering, “yes, yes, please.”
And isn’t it the most delicious torture. Bucky working the muscles of your glutes, swiping his fingers toward your inner thighs. Pressing into flesh but keeping his attentions away from the place you need him most. The place weeping for him.
Your teeth sink into your lower lip, stifling a whimper and swallowing it down. Steve soothes you. A straw held to your lips for a sip of water. A few more seeds. Letting you enjoy Bucky’s touch and the relaxation left in its wake without teetering too close to the edge.
A sweet kiss pecks to your hip. Bucky’s hands continuing to knead your ass only a moment longer before stilling. You breathe deep and turn once again over your shoulder to look.
“Are we done?” you ask, voice trilling in excitement.
Bucky shakes his head, crawling over you and cradling your cheek. “Time to turn over,” he says. A kiss brushed across the apple of your cheek and your lips before he begins again.
Smooth strokes to you face followed by gentle attention to your throat and down your arms. The new position more exposed, but with the benefit of seeing the passion of his work—his worship.
Down your arm until he gets to your hand. He stretches you palm, your fingers, presses into the ligaments, rolls your wrist.
“Fuck,” you gasp, unable to contain your enjoyment. The attention satisfying beyond words.
Bucky’s lips lift in a smirk, though he does not let his focus wander. “Do you work a lot with your hands?” With a final stretch, he moves to your opposite shoulder, working down your arm for your other hand.
You don’t respond until his finger twine with yours, stretching and rolling. “Mostly typing. Lots of typing,” you reply, breathy and wanton.
He hums. “Me, too.” He kisses one palm and then the other before arranging each arm at your side.
You can guess what’s coming next, the glint in his eye as they find your breasts. He looks to you a moment. For the first time in the evening, your head shakes.
“Not yet,” you request, glancing up to Steve and back to your masseuse, “please. They’re very sensitive. I don’t know if I can take it.”
Steve’s lips brush against your cheek, his beard leaving a burning tickle as he sits back up. “You heard her, Buck. Can you wait?”
“Until the end,” he confirms, letting his hands drift down to your belly. Moulding the flesh in his grip until you can’t help but giggle. But lavishing it with kisses.
“Remember to hold still, sweetheart,” Steve reminds, his own hands smoothing over your shoulders and digging into the muscles.
You hum your assent and continue to watch Bucky on his path, once again venturing to your feet and up. Despite his every effort to relax your muscles, they tense the closer he massages up your thighs. Your legs quivering, anticipation building—a knot tightening in your core.
He stops before swiping through your arousal with his thumbs, your hips framed by his hands. His chest shudders with a breath before he returns to your chest.
You squeak as he cups you in his palms. Finger flicking your nipples. Your breath hitches and a moan bursts past your lips.
Hot breaths fan across your cheek, Steve still at your head. Though his attempts to distract you only reel you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re such a good girl for us. And isn’t Bucky treating you so good?”
The man in question continues to play with your breasts, sparks of sensation adding to the ache between your thighs. Taut and ready for any attention. Poised to catapult you into euphoria at the slightest provocation.
Fingers dig into your cheeks, not painful but firm, turning your head to meet Steve’s eye.
“Answer me,” he bids, a gentle command.
“Bucky is amazing, daddy,” you purr, arching off the bed to press you chest firmer into his skilled hands. “He’s magic.”
From his position, Bucky moans, tweaking your nipples. Your hips bounce from the bed. Unable to stand the emptiness anymore.
“Remember, no whining,” Steve reminds.
You cry, discontent rising within you. Wishing to coax Bucky down between your legs. Your foot stomps on the bed, a desperate attempt to reign in the desire threatening to take hold. Hands buried in the sheets at your sides, itching to bury between your thighs and wring countless orgasms from your wanting sex.
Steve’s tongue clicks and Bucky’s hands smooth again over your belly toward the apex of your thighs to a chorus of your, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
With the first swipe of his fingers through your arousal, your eyes close. To be sated at last. Bucky’s fingers continuing their treatment, from your slick inner thighs, pressing them wide and slotting himself in the place between. All of you on show for his eyes. He prods and grasps at your flesh. Opening your lower lips with two fingers.
Bucky plays with you, every so often looking to catch the reactions spurred by his touch. Each dig and stroke more than you can bear. The merest graze of your clit and you cum. The rush dragging you in its wake. Limbs quivering with it.
“God, you’re so pretty when you cum, princess,” Steve praises. “Why would anyone leave you?”
Bucky meets his eye for a moment. Yours flicking between the two of them. Still awed by their ability to share their thoughts in silence. Yet still unable to decipher it.
“You gonna keep being good for us?” Steve asks, smoothing over your hair and grasping at your pillow.
“Yes, daddy,” you reply without hesitation. Head filled with the most luscious fog.
He busses a kiss to the tip of your nose, grin spreading as you giggle. The pillow shifts from beneath your head, dragged lower to support your neck. You chin tilting back with help from Steve’s fingers.
You sink into his guidance, a sparkle of fulfillment bursting to life. His pride shining in his eyes. He leans to press one more kiss to your lips and parts them with his fingers. Hands falling to the waistband of his boxer briefs, he strips them away. His cock bobbing hard and ready.
“There’s our girl,” Steve says, angling his cock to trace over your lips and tease inside.
You whine, body arching up. Craving more. Tongue flicking out to taste all you can—all he’ll allow. Bucky’s hands hold your hip, keeping you in place. Gripping his wrists, you swallow and lick your lips.
Finally, Steve lets his cock fill your mouth. He takes it slow. Plunging into you with care. Patient. Composed. Even as you hum happily around him, he keeps you still. Hands cupping your face with gentle pressure. Body locked in unending restraint.
He takes himself to your limit and no further. Pulling back to his tip and starting again. He groans low, rumbling in his chest as he bobs in and out.
“You tap my thigh if you need me to stop,” he instructs with another steady thrust of his hips. “Do you understand?”
When he withdraws, you pucker your lips and kiss his tip, licking at the saliva and precum there. “Yes, daddy,” you moan, opening wide for him once more, releasing Bucky to reach and grasp onto Steve’s hips. The muscles pumping under your hands as he continues his soft plundering of your mouth.
Though, if you thought his partner’s fun would stay Bucky’s hands from their own pleasures, you are sorely mistaken. He waits until you are occupied fully by Steve’s cock before resuming. His thumb finding your clit and swirling in mesmerizing circles. His other fingers mimicking Steve’s devastating attack and pressing slowly into you.
Your walls welcome him, fluttering and clenching around the intrusion. Knowing what awaits you. And yet, when his fingers venture, wet with your arousal, to the rosebud of your ass, you whimper. Not in protest, no. The anticipation of where such teasing touches might lead filling your veins with bubbling need. You shake with it, slurping at Steve’s cock and tilting your hips for Bucky.
The man at your hips chuckles. “I think she wants more, Stevie.”
“I’ll say,” he agrees.
Too soon, the stimulation between your thighs and your cheeks cease. A hum of frustration buzzing around Steve’s cock. But you keep trying to please him. Even at his steady pace, unwavering despite your attempts to spur him otherwise. The smell of him in your nose and the grip of his hands intoxicating. Your thoughts filled with repeated wishes for more more more.
“You ready for me, babydoll?” Bucky asks, and though he doesn’t expect an answer with your mouth full, you garble a chant of elated “uh huh” against Steve’s velvety flesh.
Bucky’s breach of your cunt resembles Steve’s use of your mouth in no way. His thrusts hard and deep. Knocking a place inside that sends stars sparkling behind your eyelids. You nearly choke, despite Steve’s concerted effort to prevent that. His hips still. Bucky’s do not.
Your mind cannot comprehend where to keep focus. The heavy weight in your mouth, coated in saliva and Steve’s excitement until it seeps from your lips. Or the ferocious and desperate clap of hips against yours, chasing pleasure without relent.
One devastating thrust of Bucky’s hips sees your hand darting to Steve’s ass, keeping him still and struggling against the instinct to bite. With one last dip of his hips, and hands leaving your face to entwine fingers, Steve extracts himself from your mouth. You whimper, craning to keep lavishing him with attention and affection. His hard cock unsatisfied and your heart clenching with disappointment.
“Don’t worry, sweetness,” Steve coos, his cock straining toward his abs. “I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”
He steps back from the bed, stretching one arm to keep your digits interlinked while he opens a drawer and produces a small bottle. One with which you’ve become familiar over the past few days.
But the connection of your hands breaks. Bucky sinking back against the headboard and drawing you with him. Hips thrusting up into you, breath panting against your skin. He gathers you in his lap, grabbing your face to capture your lips. You moan in surprise but meet him kiss for kiss. Already sensitive and swollen from the stretch of Steve’s cock, you mewl at the brutally delicious clash.
“Now,” Steve interrupts, voice husky and gaze a searing heat at your back. “Do you think you can handle both of us, princess? Let me into your perfect peach?”
“Daddy,” you gasp, glancing toward him. Bucky stalls beneath you, no longer thrusting, though he grinds deep, slowly undulating against you to stoke the heady heat of your lust. Your lips open and close like a fish. Unsure how to respond. The suggestion something you’d discussed with them—of course you had over the last few days, the three of you. Discussed, but never dared.
“Will you let us share you?” Bucky asks, redirecting your gaze to him and kissing you—a brief peck that send your heart swelling with love and affection.
“Do you think I’m ready?” you ask, a hitch of fear lingering in the back of your mind. Wondering if it will be too much. If it will break you apart. If you’ll be able to leave them after.
“We can stop at any time,” Steve assures, his fingers stroking soothing lines down your spine.
You swallow. Trust steeling your nerves. “Alright,” you agree before you can foolishly change your mind.
“Don’t worry,” Steve whispers in your ear, his muscles pinning you between him and Bucky, “daddy will take care of you.”
The cap of the lube bottle clicks. Squirting onto his fingers and his cock. He plays with your ass, probing and stretching you with his digits while Bucky continues the restrained roll of his hips. They gaze at each other over your shoulder. A hand snaking down your body to play with your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves.
Steve’s cock pops into your ass and burrows steady. Breath hitches and muscles tense at the intrusion. Your body unconsciously locked against him. But he keeps going until he reaches his limit.
“Relax,” Steve bids in a whisper, soothing you with gentle pets and tender kisses.
You try. Breathing as deep as you can and sinking back against his chest. Letting your attention centralize elsewhere. The sparks of pleasure from your clit or the hands groping your chest. Easing you into the overwhelming strain.
They fill you to your limit, both holes clamping tight. They breathe just as deep in their prudent care and defilement of your body—chests filling, expanding against you. And at the first, experimental roll of your hips, they begin. Fucking you, slow pistons of their hips that stimulate every nerve. A shiver of delight ricocheting up your spine.
Bucky’s cock digs at that delicious place inside you. You gasp, hand latching onto his shoulder and scratching against black metal. In return he grunts, hips bucking deeper while your pussy flutters over him.
“Slow, Bucky,” Steve cautions, teeth clenched and grip tight and almost painful around your ribs.
But even then, the three of you can’t help yourselves. That one jolt magnificent. The fullness building inside you. An ache so agonizing and sublime, you wish for it never to end. Hands slip over slick skin. Sweat trailing across chests and arousal coating your thighs. The scent of it all swirls around you, eclipsing the floral candles and lavender massage oil. The pleasure and the pain throbbing like a heartbeat as you chase the pinnacle. Climbing higher and higher. Awash with fervor. The room filled with cries and moans not quite smothered by lips and tongues.
Tears fill your eyes. Your heart ravenous with longing. Your hips grinding into every thrust, hands clinging for dear life to the men ravishing you. Caring for you as no one has before. Overwhelming your senses. Searing passion through your body. And still you burn for moremoremore.
It binds you up, coiling around you like a snake. Tighter and tighter. Until you burst and shatter. Bucky crying out beneath you and spilling into your cunt. Steve following only moments later. His cum streaking across the small of your back. And still you’re rocketing in rapture. Keening toward the ceiling and shaking from its power.
Even as it washes through you and dissipates to languorous radiance spreading through your veins, you cannot quell the sounds that spill past your lips. Incoherent murmurs and whimpering tones which hitch around Bucky and Steve removing their softening cocks. Their hands continuing to smooth over your skin. Keeping constant contact.
Steve takes you to their bathroom, whispering in your ear. Though you cannot decipher what he says. Only his tired grin giving you any sense of praise while he wets a cloth to clean you up and waits for you to relieve yourself.
Bucky greets you both back on the bed. Candles extinguished and water bottle in hand. He helps you sip, cradling you on his lap and pressing sweet kisses against your temple.
Steve joins you both, fluffing the duvet back over the mattress to cocoon you all together. You collapse into their bed and their arms. Plush pillows returned to their positions, you cannot fight the exhaustion a moment longer before it drags you under.
“Fuck me,” Althea murmurs, “I think I just came.”
You snort and hide it in your palm. Your friend always knowing how to react with the best quips. Brightening your day with her brazen commentary.
Your phone chirps from the corner of your desk. Holding up a finger for your friend, you pick up the receiver. You greet them with your name. “How can I help you?” One request later and you’re hanging up while gathering up your iPad, its keyboard, and stylus.
“Who was that?” Althea’s brow cocks in curiosity, standing and following you away from your desk.
“Wilson wants me in with his author and book designer,” you reply. “I don’t know what it’s about, but can’t really say no. Maybe they want another edit through before locking in the layout for the printers?”
Althea hums and wraps her arm through yours. She cozies up as you walk and croons, “Which means you can keep telling me about your vacation.”
“There’s not much else to tell,” you sigh. Pain pricking with the words. “It was just a brief moment, a fantasy. Not real.”
“Huh,” Althea intones, casting her gaze your way, “are you telling me or trying to convince yourself?”
You gape, lips parted around an excuse. Interrupted by the ding of the elevator. Althea follows you in and presses the button for the higher floor. She leaves you to think a moment. But not for long.
“You caught feelings, didn’t you?”
“It was a fling,” you insist, avoiding the question. Unable to voice the truth. Of course you did. The time you spent with Bucky and Steve the happiest of your life. Never had you felt so seen and treasured—not with Eddie or anyone before. But how would that work in the real world? “I don’t even know their last names or where they live.”
“Fine,” your friend huffs. “Then at least tell me how they sent you off. Your last tango?”
Tears threaten. “Uh,” you stumble, looking to your armful of supplies. Summoning a smile and a romantic lie. “They took me out to dinner at our favorite restaurant at the resort…”
You open your eyes. The early morning still dark. Not even the sun bearing witness to your machinations. Snug between Steve and Bucky, you hold your breath. Taking one last moment to enjoy their embrace.
Three hours til your flight departs.
With every careful movement planned, you extract yourself. Turning back to gaze at them upon the bed. Tangling together without you. Unaware of your departure.
You hadn’t told them.
On a piece of the resort stationary, your scrawled message stares back at you in the low light. A farewell written yesterday in preparation for this moment. Your gratitude overflowing into sentiments far more dear. That you’ll never forget them, that you’ll never be the same, that you wish you had more time, that you’re sorry for leaving like this. But you don’t leave them your number. The light of day and reality sure to burst the perfect bubble of your time together. A mirage of paradise. You simply sign your first name at the bottom of the slip of paper under a valediction of love.
You dress yourself in the previous night’s outfit and flit out the door. One last glance back at their peaceful figures. To tide you over for the rest of your life. Just a fling. An entanglement from which you must unweave yourself. A fond memory.
The door to their hotel room clicks shut behind you. Barely audible. Sure not to wake them. Your heart leaping to your throat. A lump forming there alongside it. You move swiftly through the hallways, cleaning yourself up and grabbing your packed bags for a very early checkout.
It’s only a few hours later, when you’re secured in your small airplane seat that you let yourself go. Let the tears flow down your cheeks in rivers. An ache throbbing in your chest. And thoughts flurrying with second guesses.
Too late, the regret settles deep into your belly. Leaving you to live with the voracious gnaw of it deep inside.
“They really knew how to treat a girl,” Althea says, snapping you back to the present.
You sniff and blink away the dew along your waterline. Shoulders lifting in a shrug. “They really did.”
“And you have no other way of finding them?” she prods, nudging you with her elbow.
You lean away and shake your head. “No last names, no phone numbers. Just a—”
“If you say fling one more time, I’m gonna smack you.”
Your lips clamp shut, a repentant look cast her way as well as a mumbled apology.
Althea puffs through her lips and leans against the handrail of the elevator. “You really had something, didn’t you?”
You glance up to the number on the elevator, closer to the right floor. “Yeah,” you admit. “Already falling in love with them and everything.”
“At least you can admit it.” Althea cocks her head in a gesture of acknowledgment just as the elevator stops and the bell dings. “Still a shame it ended so soon.”
“Realistic, more like,” you interject.
“Since when have you been realistic?” she scoffs.
“Since I realized the white wedding and fairytale endings weren’t in my cards. It’s very probable that they’ve forgotten me already.”
You step off and turn to wave at your friend. She wiggles her fingers back and rides down—the sympathy in her eyes a punch to the gut. You breathe deep and turn to the conference room—number 6, if you remember correctly.
You scoot around the mail cart and nearly fumble your iPad. Waving to coworkers and greeting those higher up the chain. This whole situation unsettling. You’re not usually called for author meetings.
Double checking your armload of supplies, the conference room door looms closer. At least the sight of the man who called you to this floor helps your nerves. He stands just outside the door, fiddling with his phone. A small smile on his lips. You take a moment to thank the gods for his consideration on looping you in before you meet the others.
“Afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” you greet with a bob of your head.
He glances up, his smile brightening. “Hey there. We’ve worked together how long? You know you can call me Sam, right?” His phone slips into his pocket. You greet him again, more casually and stop in front of him. “Thanks so much for coming up here to help me with this.”
“Of course.”
“You see,” he pokes a thumb at the door behind him, “I got this author in here. Great writer. Very popular. Has given this company a slew of best sellers.” You listen along, ever more confused by your purpose here. “And the designer works great with him, seeing as they’re together.”
“Oh,” you supply at his pause and quirked brow. You click your teeth and confess, “I’m sorry, Sam. I still don’t understand why I’m needed here.”
“Well, we were just discussing some things and I thought you should meet them,” he says without any further elaboration as to why.
Your lips purse together and you puff a confused breath but don’t question him. With a gesture of your hand toward the room and a mumbled, “sure,” Sam opens the door.
It’s a carbon copy of every other conference room in the building. You even expect the two people sitting with their backs to you. One man sits in a hoodie, brown hair slicked back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. The other wears a crisp collared shirt, his fingers tapping on the table top and other hand occupied by a pen scribbling something into a sketchbook. Your heart gives a jolt but you compose yourself. There’s no way they’d be here. Impossible—improbable.
Sam guides you forward with a hand on your back. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers. After our discussion of your vacation, I thought there was someone you should meet.”
“Sam, what the fuck,” the brunet pipes up. Your heart leaps to your throat. You know that voice. He turns in his chair and addresses the man beside you. “When did we become mister—”
Your eyes meet Bucky’s and your jaw drops. He’s here. Right in front of you. You first think to pinch yourself, sure that this is some hallucination on your part. A man with a passing resemblance becoming him in your eyes.
But then he slaps his hand against the man sitting beside him, not looking away for a moment. “Steve,” he warbles, “please tell me I’m not seeing things.”
Steve turns around slowly. Unbothered by the urgency in his partner’s tone. But one glimpse of you sends the pen clattering to the tabletop and him jumping up from his chair. Stunned and shocked faces stare in silence. You freeze in place, uncertain as to whether you should approach. You glance over to Sam.
A beaming, triumphant smile stretches the limits of his cheeks. A swagger to his step as he says, “thought you sounded familiar from their description. Plus, knowing you just got back from your vacation. It was pretty easy for the pieces to fall into place.” He shrugs, hands shoved in his pockets. “We’ll continue business later. I think I should leave ya’ll alone to catch up.”
You look between him and the men at the table, the only noise out of your lips a squeak. Sam chuckles to himself, dips his head, walks out of the room whistling a jaunty tune.
You swallow, palms sweating, and turn back to Bucky and Steve. Unsure of how to apologize, you waffle over an explanation. Shifting on your feet, ready to bolt if they don’t forgive you.
“I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye,” you burst, clinging to your supplies. “Did you get my note?” Without waiting for them to answer, you continue, “I just thought that with all that we didn’t know about each other and the setting and the timing, I wasn’t sure it was anything more than just a,” you swallow hard around the word, choking on it, “fling.” Your eyes close and you shake your head. “I didn’t want there to be any pressure on you to make it anything more than—”
“Sweetheart,” Steve interrupts—because of course it’s him, ready to steady the reigns—a soft look exchanged between him and Bucky. They clasp hands between them. Black metal wrapping around flesh, delicate but still strong. You feel the rambling rising within your throat like bile, ready to burst forth in a torrent but then Steve says, “we love you.”
The wind knocks out of your lungs, but you manage a breathy, “really?”
“Really,” Bucky confirms with every ounce of sincerity in his body.
The shattered pieces of your heart click back into place and fill with incandescent joy. Without a thought to propriety, you rush forward, their arms opening wide to embrace you and slot you right back where you belong.
Priest!Bucky makes another appearance here . It is short and probably not what you're expecting, but I promise he'll come back soon in something longer 🙏
⭑Prompt.ᐟ "Even on my knees, I am still looking down at you."
For @theoracleofsin's Summer of Sin event ꨄ︎
⭑Summary.ᐟ Your nervousness provides Father Barnes with a whole new way to provide your absolution.
⭑Warnings.ᐟ Slight religious corruption maybe?, desecration of a confessional booth, allusions to smut
⭑Word Count.ᐟ 506
⭑Phoenix Chirps.ᐟ What better way to celebrate a summer of sin than with a priest? I will say time and time again that if priests would just look hot maybe the Catholic church wouldn't have dwindling congregation issues. This could TECHNICALLY be seen as part of my Confessionals series, but I didn't have them in mind when I wrote it. You could view it as a prequel if you like.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned…" you trailed off, fidgeting with the laced edge of your dress. "It's been quite some time since my last confession."
Shifting uneasily in the small booth, you weren't even sure why you had decided to come into the church. After not stepping foot in one for close to a decade, you had expected to burst into flames considering the transgressions that brought you here in the first place.
"That's alright." A deep velvet baritone sounded behind the lattice to your left, obscuring whoever was meant to absolve the sins you had committed. "Just tell me what you'd like to confess."
Clearing your throat, you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Nerves clashing with the onslaught of things you needed to confess, yet not knowing if there was such a thing as oversharing with a priest.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," was your meek response, not sure why when the booth made it feel like you were indeed talking to a higher entity.
"Would it help if we could see each other?"
The offer was surprising. Every rendition of this you'd seen in movies or experienced while growing up, there was always a veil of privacy. Those were the rules. Yet you were certain that a man of God would know the limitations.
Your curiosity piqued. "I think so."
There was no fanfare, just a swish of robes, the creak of old door hinges, and your side of the booth opening. Father James Barnes was by no means a small man. His wide frame took up nearly the entirety of the free space, until he folded himself onto his knees directly in front of you. Large hands braced on either side of your hips, his belly a soft plush covering muscle pressing into your knees.
"Is…is this allowed? Why are you on your knees?" you asked, eyes darting around his handsome face, willing yourself to focus on the rise and fall of his chest instead of the sacrilegious scandal currently taking shape at the forefront of your mind.
Warm thumbs brushed the hem of your dress , rough pads catching on the lace and dragging it up imperceptibly. Possibly a mistake, or by intention you didn't have an answer.
"On my knees I realize I'm much closer to the holy spirit than I am when I stand." A simple response, punctuated with another pass of his thumbs too deliberate to be accidental. "Especially when the thing I look down on now, seems to be the closest I'll get to heaven on this mortal plane."
Pupils wide in the dim light were trained at the apex of your thighs, hands drifting up and up in a teasing test of a resolve you didn't have.
"Is that so?" you asked, all thoughts of atonement billowing from your mind as your legs parted in invitation instead.
Father Barnes nodded, leaning closer, fingers now finding damp fabric as he grew bolder. "If you grant my ascension, I'll deliver your absolution."
𓂃 𓈒𓏸 envy i
pairing: tj hammond x reader
prompt: “why does he/she get your smile when I’m the one who deserves it more?”
warnings: angst, drug use/mention, relapse, bestfriend!tj, cuddling, hair stroking, unrequited-ish feelings, i defo missed a bit lol . . .
word count: 958
a/n: so like... i didn't wanna write angst per se.......... but *runs*
event masterlist || navigation
The night swept away from you like water between fingers. A vague memory of going out with some guy, your friend having set you up with her partner's coworker. You settled at some bar in the city that was far too expensive for you, yet you indulged anyway seeing as he was respectable enough to pay, and especially as conversation settled into silence that would've felt fuller and easier if said man in front of you was someone else.
You didn't want to think about it, about your best friend as you smiled and laughed at all the right times with the correct amount of charm. And you especially willed your mouth not to chew in the same number of syllables of his name.
But the night faded into strained niceties, polite kisses to the cheek, and a hand hovering over your waist as if to seal the 'not interested' deal. And now — barefaced and barefoot, your sleep shirt unfortunately smelling a bit too like skin with how many uses — you believe the counting the beats of his name manifested him to your apartment, with a long rap of his fist to your door.
TJ looked tired himself, it lands on his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, but the lids themselves look pried open. You already know, before you've fully woken up and wiped the scratch of sleep from the corners of your eyes, that he's relapsed. Hard.
And through the incessant murmuring of rants, his boots heavily thudding back and forth the second your latch unlocked with a metallic click, you almost, almost, worry about the noise complaint that will surely come in the morning, he finds himself finally facing you, a sneer on his lips, pointing accusingly.
“I-I mean, really, come on! Why does he get your smile when I’m the one who deserves it more?” With colour darkening his cheeks, he calms after the question leaves him, as if his body forced it out like an exorcism, and he softens into himself.
"Jesus, Teej," you sigh under your breath, a pebble lodges in your throat. "Please, you're fucked up—"
"I know!" He exclaims. "Fuck! I know, I know, I just… Fuck!"
His fingers trembled as they covered his puffy eyes and raked through his hair.
"Listen, you can stay here, okay?" A sigh caves your chest in. "Just… I need to call someone, your mom—"
"You are not calling my mom."
"Doug then," swiping your hand down your face, you will yourself to suppress the tears that sting your waterline, but the waver and slight whine to your voice makes it all too noticeable. "TJ, I need to call someone just to let them know you're okay and in good hands. Your family trusts me, right?"
You hate to think it but he looks too pretty when he cries. The pool of blue that halos his abnormally large pupils in contrast to the red and pinks surrounding his eyes and nose, the pout of his rosy lips, spit lick and bitten.
He gives you a small nod, keeping his eyes down.
"Yeah… Yeah, they do… they love you," he sniffles, exhaling a wobbly laugh that uncovers his snaggletooth, and his face almost lights up with the lightest tilt of a smile. "I love you."
It's meant to settle deep and stay within you like a cat curled atop a blanket, kneading its paws and purring a sweet, melodic vibration. And it does. It always has with TJ. But its on these nights where he's pumped up full of god knows what, pupils swallowing the colour you grew to adore, restlessly fidgeting, pacing, heart sputtering a mile a minute as he stresses and cries in your arms looking for solace and safety — It all melts away like salt on ice.
With your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, you squeeze for his attention, pulling him back into the room and not the thoughts flickering upon the screen that was his head.
"I love you too," and you mean it, and you smile sweetly because it's earnest. Your eyes find the ceiling mildly interesting as you sigh and the tears unhelpfully fall. Fat streaks that you realise have been shoved back for years, they're almost a mix of relief and pain. "But you can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not fair on you, or your family, or me."
And the night repeats itself, as it does usually. A tight embrace, TJ's stubble scratching at your neck, breath hot and shaky, and he smells like leather and sweat, it's so sickeningly familiar you have to fight off the need to nose at his temple. His hands ball into tight fists on the back of your shirt, before one holds you to by the back of the head, keeping you close, and he promises to stop. He asks for five more minutes.
"Just… I never let myself have this anymore. I miss it."
It breaks your heart, just how the routine goes on and on, how you can't ever say no to him. Especially how your fingers feel so right dug into the forest of his damp hair, and how correct his arms feel wrapped around your middle.
You can't trust yourself at two in the morning. So you let the heavy weight of your best friend settle as his breathing eases, and you let your phone light up with notifications from the coffee table because you dare move TJ from the reprieve that was unconsciousness, until your own eyelids start to drop, and your cheek lulls on his head, nosing closer into him as your brain conjures up the worst; that you'll likely only get this close when the warmth still courses through his veins.
notes: hii. not proofread and i think its shit. lmk if its otherwise tho! reqs open and im trying to write more!
pairing: avengers!bucky barnes x avengers!reader
genre: smut, enemies to lovers??? (kinda), porn w/ plot
summary: You make it a goal to bicker and argue with Bucky Barnes as much as you can. One night changes everything between the two of you. Suddenly, he doesn’t sound so bad.
You and Bucky have never gotten along, but god that man is gorgeous.
You bicker and fight and argue like you hate each other. But deep down, fighting with Bucky turns you on. Infuriatingly so.
You never looked at Barnes like he was a monster, you looked at him like he was annoying. And Bucky didn't stop looking.
It all started when Steve introduced him to the team. A few looked at him with fear and irritation, you looked at him with nonchalance.
“This is Bucky, everyone. He’s still very… new, to all this. So please, try to help him out.” Steve smiled brightly. Bucky stood slightly behind Steve’s back like a kid behind their mother.
Tony scoffed, clearly against this whole thing. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, and simply walked off. You have never seen Tony speechless of a sarcastic comment. Suddenly, you sat up in your chair as all the other avengers began to walk out without a second glance to the pair.
You hummed, standing up and extending your arm. “Nice t’finally meet you, James.” You greeted. Bucky grunted, not accepting your hand. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t like you or if it was because he was scared to touch people yet. Either way, your jaw ticked in annoyance.
“M’names Bucky.” He murmured. You let your arm fall and squinted at him. Bucky didn’t back down, as if you were sizing the eachother up.
A beat passes as you two simply stare at each other, waiting for one to give in first.
“I don’t bite, James. Only when Steve asks me to.” You hummed playfully, noting Steve’s ear flush pink as he darted his gaze respectfully.
“I doubt it.” Bucky replied, not missing a beat. Your eyes widened in intrigue before your knuckled tightened at your sides.
You chew on the inside if your cheek, determining how much more of yourself you want to give up. With a breath, you admit defeat.
“Welcome to the team.” You huff, walking away from the two of them and resorting back to your room.
After that, tensions only began to rise. You pushed Bucky’s buttons, waiting for when his icy composure cracked.
It was early in the morning as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You had always prided yourself on being the first up in a house of superhumans and assassins, but all that changed when Barnes arrived.
He walked into the kitchen, grunting as he noticed you occupying the machine. He leaned against the countertop as he waited.
“Starin’ problem, Barnes?” You clipped, noticing him staring at your hands as you poured the coffee. His eyes didn’t dart as if he had been caught.
“Jus’ waitin’ my turn.” He grumbled. You hummed. You let your own eyes scan over his body. After you’re done pouring, you didn’t move from the machine, blocking him from the pot.
It was only his first week. Dark bags under his eyes, hair long and recently washed for the first time, long sleeve red henley clinging to his form, sweatpants, and a glove on his left hand.
“Why do you wear the glove? Everyone knows about the arm. S’not a secret.” You blurted, looking at him pointedly.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bucky asked, as if the answer was obvious. You rolled your eyes.
You sigh, turning to fully face Bucky.
”Vision has red skin with a gem on his forehead, Banner turns angry and green, Tony plays dress up in an iron suit, Sam flies a robot, Thor’s a fuckin’ god, and Wanda can play with your mind.” You ramble, giving him a pointed look.
“Nobodies judgin’ you for your arm.” You add. Bucky steps forward an inch. His jaw tightens in restraint.
A beat passes where you two share an intense glare. Neither of you bothering to say anything. The ball is in his court, even as his concealed metal arm grips the counter like a lifeline.
“What about you, agent? Whats wrong with you?” His voice drops right in your ear. Something sinful pools in your belly as your eyes dart back to the coffee pot.
“Wouldn’t be fun if I spoiled it f’you.” You murmured before slipping away from the pot, grabbing your cup, and heading back to your room.
Bucky threw his glove away when you were out of earshot.
A month passed and suddenly everyone was warming up to Bucky. Everyone except you. Bucky had begun to loosen up as well. No more long sleeves, no more gloves, and a haircut that had you drooling.
You were lounging on the couch, reading mission reports and news articles when Bucky passed through the living room.
He’s sweaty, his shorter hair glistening in the light as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. Your breath hitches on instinct.
Bucky had just came back from a mission. He had clearly disregarded his tactical vest, leaving him in just the tight fitted black shirt he wore underneath. His black tactical pants were still on, hugging his thighs criminally as he made his way to the kitchen.
He takes out a glass, pouring himself whiskey and tentatively taking a sip. You realized you had been staring at him, mouth agape this whole time. You cleared your throat, suddenly speaking up.
“It’s 9 in the morning, James.” You remind. Bucky nodded from the counter, topping pfd his glass once again. “Why are you drinking?”
He doesn’t turn to look at you, just grunts in acknowledgment of your presence.
“Cute pajamas.” He murmurs, trying to distract you. It works as your cheeks flush and your eyes dart down, seeing your cartoon pajama pants staring back at you.
You huff, angrily looking back at him as if he made you wear the childish pants when he walked in looking like a greek god.
“Doesn’t answer my question.” You clipped. Bucky grunted once more—clearly a prominent reaction for him—but this one was lower, like sin. It made your thighs tighten and your mouth water as he finally turned to look at you.
“I can’t feel it. Just the burn in my throat.” He admits, voice low and rough like gravel. You chew on your bottom lip as his biceps wink at you.
Bucky finishes his whiskey, placing the glass in the sink before he walks away to his room, no doubt looking to change out of his clothes.
Your panties are unmistakably wet. You sit in silence for a moment before retiring to your own room as well.
Your hands glide down into your pants as you begin to play with yourself. A small whine slips out as you tease yourself, imaging its him teasing you.
“All wet n’ warm f’me. Thought y’hated me?” He’d rasp in your ear as his metal fingers prep your cunt. He would slowly slip one digit in, swirling it and curling it as you begged for more.
You moan softly, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound.
His dog tags would tangle above you. Cold metal tickling your breasts as he had another finger. He would begin to pick up the pace, grinning down at you as you struggle to take it.
“B-buck.” You slur, your head lolling back as your own fingers begin to curl into you. No Bucky, no dog tags, no deliciously cool metal arm working you open.
You keen, your back arching as your moans turn breathless, your mouth agape but no noises slipping out.
You sighed as you came down from your high. You looked down, groaning in annoyance at the mess you’ve made.
The next time it happens is when you fuck up a mission. Bucky’s grown out his hair slightly, just enough to where you’d be able to run your fingers through it.
It was a duo operation between you and Bucky, one of the worst possible teams they could've sent for the mission.
It was supposed to be simple. Clean. To steal a hard drive and take it back to the compound to upload it, a simple in and out.
Unfortunately, you fucked up the mission. Bucky couldn’t have that. He’s never had an unsuccessful mission before.
Bucky takes three gunshots and a few hits for you.
You make it back to the jet and he's panting, his metal arm cradling the fabric where he was shot. Unfortunately, nobody thought to send any doctors with the two of you because it was supposed to be an in-and-out.
You pace around the room, murmuring to yourself.
“Calm down, sweetheart.” Bucky comforts, his voice a little hoarse as he breaths. He’s calming you down as he’s bleeding out.
“This is not fucking okay, James! You’re bleeding out and I-I can’t—I dunno how.” You hyperventilate. Bucky grunts from beside you.
“Sit down.”
“I’m a fucking agent. I don’t know how to help you—“
“Come here.”
Bucky’s voice cuts through the panic, your eyes snap towards him as you stop pacing. You realize his shirt is already off. Countless of scars and three new bullet holes trace his body.
His chest rises and falls as he pants. You nod, coming to sit down beside him as your mouth suddenly waters at the wrong time.
”M’gonna need you to stitch me up.” He reminds. You nod slowly before standing up and rummaging through supplies for the medical kit.
You sit back down, biting your inner cheek as he rips the bullets from his body.
“Don’t you just… regenerate? Or something?” You murmur, your lips quivering as your eyes steal glances of his muscles uncovered.
Bucky grunts.
“Something like that. But this’ll take me a few days. Need you before I fucking bleed out.” He reiterates. Your heart freezes on one phrase. Need you.
Suddenly you’re at Bucky Barnes’ beck and call. Whatever he needs from you, he will receive.
You begin to clean his wound, rubbing alcohol stinging his all-too familiar body. He doesn’t wince. He furrows his brows and hums.
You take your time, cleaning up Bucky. The various gunshot wounds are all on different parts of his body.
One is on his flesh arm, right under his broad shoulder blade. The other is close by, between his collarbone and his chest. The third one is on his stomach, against his faint abs.
You remember when Bucky was first introduced to the team. Beefy, muscular, a little bit of a dad bod. He’s slimmed down a little, but his arms and shoulders have barely changed.
You handle him with immense care. Partially because you don’t want Bucky Barnes to kill you. Also because you want to make this moment last.
The silence becomes suffocating, and there is a clear shift in the room as you realize you’re practically draped over his chest.
You clear your throat. “Okay, what’s next?” You murmur, refusing to meet his eyes as your gaze darts to the floor.
Bucky seems to be having the same dilemma, he stares at the wall in front of him, finally releasing a breath.
“Stitches. Grab the needle.” He instructs. Your shaky hands reach for the needle, beginning to thread it through as you hesitantly look back at the gun wounds.
“Great. Y’know what a running stitch is?” He asks, his voice pure gravel as his breathing has finally calmed.
“No, James. They don’t teach sewing classes anymore.” You clip sarcastically. Bucky grins for the first time tonight, a sense of pride swelling within you.
“All you need to do is weave the needle through the wound.” He hums, grabbing the needle to show you the ministrations.
You start, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you start to stitch him up.
The first one is rough. Bucky has to physically hold himself to his seat as you struggle to properly stitch him, poking him every few seconds.
After you finally finish, you feel rather accomplished. Bucky hums and doesn't spare it another word. The silence in the room is enough to choke on as Bucky puts his shirt back on and you move to a further seat.
Neither of you speak for the rest of the night. As the jet lands, you both silently retreat to your rooms, already preparing yourself to forget about everything thats happened.
After that, Bucky Barnes is gone.
He’s still in the tower. He’s still at team movie nights. He’s still at briefings. He’s still on missions. But he’s gone, for you.
He doesn’t stare like he used to. You no longer look up to find icy blues piercing through you. You no longer feel his gaze when you’re both in the gym. He doesn’t look in your general direction anymore.
His touch has vanished. Bucky has always been reserved, but it’s different now. He wont sit close to you, he wont hand you your suit or bags or guns, and he wont share a coffee pot with you.
Along with his touch goes with his presence. He’s completely changed his schedule to avoid you at all costs. He’s up before you can make breakfast. He’s changed his frequently used hallways. He goes to the gym at a different time. And he’s out of a room before you can even enter it.
He has completely vanished from you. And you don’t know why.
Bucky has to ignore you. Not only because he was vulnerable around you, because your touch was so soft, because you focused on him like he mattered.
But also because he was filthy. He could smell your arousal. He could hear your heartbeat quicken around him. And he could see the way your whole body reacted when he said something.
He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you in that way. So he settled for bickering with you. But after you patched him up, he was a goner. So he had to flee.
He had to get sway from you before he bent you over the nearest surface and whispered sweetly to you while fucking you raw.
It took a week of this treatment from Bucky before you went insane.
Everyone had to attend the weekly debriefings. Bucky made sure to sit as far away from you as possible. You endured an hour and a half lecture of Tony talking about pr training.
The whole time, you planned out how to corner Bucky. He practically bolted after meetings or anything that required the full team.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, anxiously awaiting the words “You are dismissed” to slip from Tony.
When the words finally were announced, you followed Bucky. He took a turn down an abandoned hallway that no one uses. And you followed.
Finally, you called out.
“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” You state clearly, your voice echoing off the walls of the hallway. He grunts in response.
“Busy.” He murmurs as he finally stops.
“No, you’re just avoiding me.” You replied. Bucky sighs, turning to finally face you. You’re closer than he thought, he takes a half step backwards and you furrow your brows.
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at you with such burn you realize you’ve missed this.
“Did I do something?” You ask, your stern tone starting to vanish as anxiety creeps in. You clear your throat. “Because you’re being an ass to me. All I did was try to help you and this is what I get?” You demand, passion beginning to seep through you like waves.
Bucky doesn’t respond. He steps closer, and closer, until suddenly your back hits the wall and he’s caging you in.
“You don’t know when to quit, doll.” He grumbles, voice low and rough. You realize his icy blues are a new shade of dark. This is all suddenly new. Hot white pleasure sizzles to your abdomen like a curse.
”Yeah? Im sure you could teach me.” You quip back, frustration boiling over again as you remember your mad at him. Bucky huffs low.
“Stand down, Agent.” Bucky reminds, although there is absolutely no professionalism in the way he has you pinned against the wall.
“Agent? We’re back to that? Be real, James.” You remark, pushing against his chest. He doesn't budge, his strength towering over yours as he simply crowds you further.
”Shut up.” Bucky grunts, all clever retorts and dry humor no where near him as he tries to regain his composure. You can’t seem to stop talking.
“Thats not fair. You can’t just tell me to shut up after you ignored me for an entire fucking—“
Your cut off by Bucky’s lips crashing into yours. You startle but don't back away. His tongue slips into yours mouth as you battle for dominance.
Eventually, Bucky wins and you whine, moaning softly into his mouth as his knee slots between your legs against the wall.
You yelp when you feel the connection of your clothed pussy against his pants. Your mouth breaks from his as you pant desperately.
“B-Bucky… fuck.” You moan as he grabs your hips, moving you back and forth against his leg.
“What happened to James?” He hums against your neck with a grin. You huff in frustration at his remark, your hips beginning to grind against his leg as you whine in pleasure.
He peppers opened mouth kisses against your neck and suddenly the two of you fall apart.
You’re taking your pleasure from him, grinding helplessly as he loses himself in you and your scent. He’s kissing you, marking you, licking you like this a wet dream.
“Y’gonna let me get you off, doll? Gonna let me fuck you all nice later? I’ll be good honey, promise.” He practically winces against you, his head peeling back to watch as you practically hump him.
“Mhm. ‘Course, James. Need it.” You pant breathlessly. It all becomes too much as your head falls forward.
His eyes are more black than blue as he watches you. A sudden spurt of possession washes over him. His eyes dart across the hallway.
“Not here. Need you in my bed.” He grunts before you’re suddenly being ripped from his thigh and into his arms.
He wastes no time to get you in his room, shutting the door and locking it before pinning you against it once more.
His mouth finds yours again. His tongue explores you as his hand cradles the back of your head.
“Don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He admits breathlessly. You nod in agreement, kissing his cheek, jawline, anything.
“Please, doll. Can I? Want these off. Wanna taste you s’bad.” He begs, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants. You nod eagerly.
“Yes, James. Want it.” You agree. He hastily pulls off your clothes, his fingers work in expertise that you’ll surely interrogate him about later as he has you undressed in seconds.
He hoists you upwards. You yelp as he suspends you in the air, forcing your legs to wrap around his head on instinct.
He groans as he’s finally face-to-face with your sopping pussy. A whole new wave of arousal courses through you at his strength. It’s effortless for him. He effortlessly is holding you up to his height and to his mouth.
“Gotta taste. Can smell how fuckin’ sweet you are.” His tongue begins to lavish you, working open your cunt as your slick coats his mouth. He feasts on you eagerly, his tongue licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit.
“B-buck… James, don’t stop.” You moan breathlessly, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he groans in approval.
His eyes shoot upwards at you, dark and hungry as his mouth doesn't stop sucking on your clit. He studies your reactions with ease, finding out just what you like and doing it over and over and over again.
“Put me in a headlock. Suffocate me.” He pulls off enough to say, your eyes widened. You look back down and hesitate. Suddenly, his tongue swirls inside of you and you realize you have comply quickly.
Your thighs tighten around his head. He groans, his eyebrows fluttering shut in pleasure as his hips buck helplessly.
He can feel you getting close, can practically hear the shift in your body as a coil in your stomach prepared to snap.
His metal arm solely supports you as his other hand moves up to your breasts. His hand gropes and squeezes, twisting your nipple slightly.
Bucky’s nose bumps your clit repeatedly as you cry out in pleasure. Your eyes roll back slightly as you cum on Bucky’s mouth. He hums against you, lapping you up as if he was cleaning his plate.
He finally pulls back, moving you to his bed as you come down from your high. He puts you down with shocking care and gentleness, placing kisses along your body.
“Knew you’d get all soft f’me. Where’d all that bite go, sweetheart?” He teases, pulling away as he shrugs off his pants. You want to bite at his comment, but you’re too distracted watching him get undressed.
He pulls off his shirt, revealing all of that muscle you saw not too long ago. His gun wounds are already fully healed, like he said they would be.
“My sweet girl, aren’t you? Say it.” He murmurs lowly. You chew on the inside of your mouth. He wants you to fight. He wants your attitude.
You take the bait, per usual.
“Not your sweet girl.” You clip, feeling yourself getting worked up again as you notice the tent in his boxers.
“No? You sure sounded real sweet, doll.” He reinforces, biting hickeys into your neck snd the skin above your breasts.
He lavishes your body in kisses. Merciful. As if he was the quiet before the storm.
“Startin’ to get cold, James.” You sigh impatiently. Bucky leans back, shrugging off his boxers.
His cock bounces at full attention. Thick, long, and leaking for you. You swallow at the sight of it, and you realize it might not fit.
Bucky notices the look in your eyes immediately.
“Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna make it fit.” He grins cockily, you roll yours eyes with a huff. He snakes his way back up your body, tapping his tip against your cunt.
One. Two. Thre—
“Bucky…” You whine. He hums, his eyes meeting yours again in a haze.
”Say it.” He reminds. He drags his cock up and down your folds, using you to slick himself up. You groan as you realize your options. Edging for hours, or getting fucked now.
“I’m your sweet girl, James. Now fuck me.” You exasperate. He grins and slides easily through you. You moan, mouth agape as you feel his tip brush your cervix.
He’s waiting for you to adjust. He plants kisses along your stomach and his previously marked hickeys.
Slowly, he begins to move, finding the pace for both of you. He quickens, his hips beginning to snap against yours.
His dog tags dangle in your face as he thrusts into you. You whimper, feeling his cock effortlessly slide in and out of you.
Somethings off, you both know it.
“Faster, Buck.” You plead, eyes glossy as you look up at him. He grunts.
Suddenly, he grabs your legs, pulling them up and bending them till your knees touch your chest.
Your eyes instantly roll back as he hits deeper. You moan, his eyes widening as he finds your spot.
“There she is. So pretty f’me. Taking me so well. Just needed it deeper? Nobody found her before?” He rambles as he bullies that gooey spot in you.
Your head lolls backwards into the pillow as your cunt tightens around him eagerly.
Your orgasm comes in a blur, all you know is he doesn't stop even as you squirt around him. He grins with a feral look in his eye as his head drops lower.
“S’all yours, doll. Just gotta take it.” He rasps, his movement hypnotic as you smiled into the air, high off your own peak as he chases his.
He’s close, his movement growing clumsy as he tried to bring you to the edge again. It works.
“My good girl. My pretty girl. Doin’ so well f’me. Come with me.” He demands. His hands drifts to your clit, rubbing circles onto you as your back arches and you mewl pathetically.
He works you up quickly, already training you for him.
“Give it to me again. Means I did my job right. Made you feel good. C’mon.” He pleads with you. You nod into his pillow.
One more deep thrust is all it takes before you come together. He pants, ropes of his cum still going as he finally pulls out.
Your legs shakily fall down onto the bed. He falls beside you. The two of you bask in silence together, reminiscing happily. You dont think of the repercussions yet. Of how your supposed to hate him.
You just happily drift off as you feel a warm cloth clean you up.
“Mine now, honey. Only took a week for you to realize it.”
——————————————————————
thanks for reading!! reqs are open and i am fighting this writers block rn.
♪ Prompt | The Dark End of the Street - James Carr | “That's where we always meet”
♪ Summary | Max has a very...interesting way of making sure you remember the script of his next scam.
♪ Warnings + Tags | MDNI !! Smut, edging, a smidge of bondage, Max is a tease
♪ Phoenix Chirps | 'Thank you Aly' we all say in unison because I took the prompt this way instead of how it was originally supposed to go... incredibly angsty with 40s Bucky. Only three more to go!
♪ Word Count | 300
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"The corner of 47th and Thompson," you gasped, another surge of vibrations were delivered to the left of where you needed it most. "That's where we always meet." You groaned when the buzzing ceased, muscles trembling as you felt the edge get teased, but never, ever getting close enough to tip over.
The worst part was that you couldn't even shift properly to get relief to the ache between your thighs. Satin ties had been wrapped around each of your wrists and ankles, leaving you spread on the dark sheets.
Max Burnett held a remote control for the vibrator, giving you a slight respite whenever you got an answer correct about the new identity you would have to assume for some…scam. He hadn't really told you what you were meant to steal, just the basic logistics.
"Mhm," Max hummed from somewhere above your head, staying out of your line of sight. "And on what day of the week?"
Your mouth opened to answer, but before you could, another wave of vibrations buzzed against your slick skin, and a strangled sigh came out instead. "Uhm - Wed - no…" your thoughts scrambled as you mumbled to yourself.
You heard the click of the remote, feeling the intensity kick up another notch. Your wrists strained against the fabric, back bowing off the bed as you tried to get the stupid device in just the right spot.
Max's face moved into your view, hovering just an inch above yours. "Please," you begged, feeling the pulse steadily rise once more. He gave a crooked smile, using a thumb to wipe away a tear that had been threatening to fall.
"When you complete your assignment, you'll get to cum," he kissed the tip of your nose, turning off the device completely. "Don't take too long."
♪ Prompt | I Believe In A Thing Called Love - The Darkness | "Just listen to the rhythm of my heart"
♪ Summary | An incredibly important audition has Guy up at all hours of the night. Good thing he has you to keep him company.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Fluff
♪ Phoenix Chirps | Sebastian Stan should've won an Oscar for A Different Man and I will forever be pissy how the decision was made to push The Apprentice instead. I will be hearing no arguments.
♪ Word Count | 297
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The mumbling is what first caused you to stir. Stretching under the cozy duvet, your hand automatically patted the opposite end of the bed in search of your boyfriend.
Yet, you only found the cool sting of ruffled sheets. Eyes barely opening, you saw him pacing the length of the room, going over dialogue in a hushed tone, illuminated by the amber glow of a small lamp.
"You're going to run a hole in the rug, baby," you grumbled, clearing your throat of sleep and sitting up a bit straighter against the plush pillows.
Guy jumped, clearly not expecting your voice. "Sorry," he whispered, like he was still afraid of waking you up. "Just…can't get this scene right."
Gaze softening, you patted the bed beside you. "You need your rest for the audition, come here," you voiced your reasoning when you saw him hesitate.
He relented without further argument, putting the script on the desk behind him, and turning the lamp off - bathing the room in darkness once again. Settling at your side, his head moved automatically to your chest, arms pulling you in close. "It's just that it's my dream role."
"I know it is," you whispered, laying back against the pillows to hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. "You're gonna get it, I just know it. You've been rehearsing for ages, and it's perfect for you. You can't do anything more to prepare, except get a good night's rest."
"Too nervous, won't be able to sleep, though," Guy mumbled against the swell of your breasts, even though you could feel his head getting heavier and his arm wrapping tighter around your waist.
Your fingers carded through his soft hair as you hummed. "Just listen to the rhythm of my heart, and relax."
♪ Prompt | Day 22 Bonus Cry Me A River - Julie London | “Now you say you love me”
♪ Summary | Tasked with providing aid for the 107th Army division, what happens when the man you love doesn't return from a mission?
♪ Warnings + Tags | Slightly angsty, brief mentions of wounds, a little fluffy
♪ Phoenix Chirps | This was inspired by my dear friend @buckytakethewheel's fic - It's Been a Long, Long Time, please, please, please give it a read, this concept is so much better when not constrained to a word count lmao
♪ Word Count | 300
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You never really dreamed of becoming a nurse. Let alone one in fucking war zone. Yet it hadn't sat right with you to watch the men around you risk their lives while you sat on your hands. So off to England you went, plopped in with the 107th Army regiment and tasked with keeping them alive.
Which is where you met Sergeant James Barnes. 6 feet tall, dangerously charming, and completely enamored with you and you alone. The type of man your father had warned you about before you left home.
And yet, you found yourself completely enamored by him, and his insistence that you were the only nurse allowed to treat him.
So when James didn't come in after a mission, you tried not to ponder too hard on it. Surely he would be by as soon as he could, even if all the medical assistance he needed was a band-aid on a simple cut.
You wouldn't allow yourself to imagine any sort of alternative.
Panic only set in when your name was frantically called just as you were about to retire to bed. Pushing through the curtains, you saw him being held up by two other soldiers. Bucky's skin was a pale color, his breathing labored, but he still found the strength to give you a small smile.
"Now what have you gotten yourself into?" you asked while trying to keep your tone even. "Can't believe the man I love went and got himself a nasty infection."
You swore you said that last bit in your head.
"Oh, now you say you love me," he chuckled.
In the end, you were able to save his arm from any damage, the injury severe enough to grant him an honorable discharge, and you immediately followed him back to Brooklyn.
♪ Prompt | Wonderwall - Oasis | "Today is gonna be the day"
♪ Summary | There have been many, MANY days in Bucky's life. But none really as important as this one.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Fluff city
♪ Phoenix Chirps | When will it be my turn to have a meet cute with Bucky Barnes in Central Park?
♪ Word Count | 298
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By all calculations, Bucky Barnes should be dead by now. Not even because of missions with the New Avengers or because of the whole brain washed assassin thing. Because anyone who's birth year was in the 1910s had already lived their life, and moved onto a new plane of existence. And ever since he had reclaimed his life, he had been trying to figure out how to go from simply existing, to actually living.
It turns out, he never really understood the purpose of living in a modern world, until he met you. Who came crashing, quite literally, into his life on a random summer morning in Central Park.
Bucky, out for his daily run, choosing to take a different path today.
You, innocently getting an iced coffee at a cart just off said path.
The red string of fate that had been connecting your souls pulled taut when you turned, eyes trained down to avoid the glare of the sun, and didn't see Bucky. Your shoulder collided with his chest, causing your balance to vanish, but he was quicker. Stopping on a dime as his arm wrapped around your waist, saving you from collapsing onto the dirt path.
"Hi." you breathed, eyes blinking in shock.
"Hi," Bucky echoed, slowly bringing you up to standing again.
With your coffee becoming a casualty, now seeping into the ground, Bucky offered to get you a new one. And then, his usual morning run became a walk as you got to know each other, ending in him asking you on a date.
And after a year of dating, Bucky stopped at an antique jewelry store with only one thing in mind. That today is gonna be the day he asks you to spend the rest of your life with him.
♪ Prompt | Day 21 Bonus Season of the Witch - Donovan | “When I look out my window”
♪ Summary | While on a mission on the International Space Station, your boyfriend Chris makes time for a video call.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Fluff, likely inaccuracies regarding space travel as author has never been to space, angel used as a pet name
♪ Phoenix Chirps | I KNOW that Chris was never on the International Space Station, but this is fanfiction, please have an open mind lmao
♪ Word Count | 297
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"Hey angel," Chris's face finally filled the screen, a little pixilated, but still just as handsome as you remembered him to be. "How's my girl?"
Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes before you could stop them. It had been almost a year since you last felt the caress of his touch, and it was becoming unbearable that there were still months ahead of you until he would be safely back on Earth. "I'm okay," you finally managed with a shaky sigh.
A crease formed between Chris's eyebrows, his mind already calculating a way he could help. "When I look out my window, do you know what I see?"
The question gave you pause, enough that the flow of tears stopped. "Of the international space station? Isn't it just the vast nothingness of space and occasional glimpses of the Earth?"
He chuckled at that. "Well, yes, but with such a vast view of the planet, I see so many places I can't wait to take you. I'm making a list in fact." And to his credit, he did indeed hold up a notepad with several coordinates scrawled on it.
"Well, you'd better hurry and get back so we can get started on it."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
After Chris ends the call, the screen froze for a moment on your smile, still a little sad, but still just as beautiful as the day he left.
He pulled a velvet box out of his pocket, holding up the ring he had chosen for you days before liftoff. Floating over to a set of windows, he snapped a picture of the view of Earth perfectly circled within the ring with his phone, adding to the collection he already had for the surprise proposal he was planning the second he returned.
germansingergirl
stormborns
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
2087
prguitarman
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
