[18+] Beyond the Wall - NO MINORS! This boundary is in place to protect both readers and authors. Always READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS thoroughly before proceeding.
Please note: This isn’t a complete archive of everything I’ve enjoyed! Any fics I’ve reblogged but haven’t added here can be found under #doves recs
Last Updated: 28/03/26
• it's all for you - @mwahforbucky
Your sweet neighbour harbours a crush on you and painfully watches you stay in a toxic relationship, he wishes he could be yours. He would treat you so well.
• Exposure - @singulartoast
When you send some inspiring photos to your super soldier boyfriend while he’s away on a mission, you don’t expect such an enthusiastic response.
• scared i'll never sleep again - @w1nter-fairy
On tour, Bucky Barnes has everything: sold-out shows, screaming fans, the adrenaline of being untouchable… and you, the one who made a cramped tour bus feel like home. He was clear from the start—no relationships. No labels. But somewhere between city lights and hotel nights, those lines begin to blur. You become more than convenient, more than temporary. And he becomes too much of a coward to admit what you are to him.
• sweet relief - @mcrdvcks
You are the kindhearted third grade teacher who brings baked goods to the local fire station every Saturday. Bucky, the retired vet only eats the things he makes. Until one day he eats one of your pastries.
• Blurred Lines - @tw1sters
You've been dancing around this thing with your dad's best friend for far too long — glances that last more than a heartbeat, flirty remarks that toe the line of propriety. It was only ever a matter of time before it snapped.
• cry baby - @lunexiax
It doesn't matter that you're obsessed with your brother's best friend - the one you have had a very complicated relationship with since childhood. It doesn't matter that you fantasise about him, nor does it matter that you keep a diary of all your dirty thoughts because he will never, ever know.
• just don't look - @superbassbuck
Bucky is a good boyfriend—clingy, loving, and perfectly respectful. There’s just one problem: after months of blissful dating, you still haven’t had sex. He’s been holding back, convinced that if he gives in, he won’t be able to control himself, and that you won’t be able to handle him. But you’re determined to put a crack in that “good boy” shell of his. Now, standing before him in the flimsy night slip he bought you, his only defense is simple. All he has to do is not look at you.
• father figure - @/lunexiax
You make Bucky regret ever suggesting that your arrangement is 'just sex' by flirting with other men. He makes you regret ever flirting with other men by giving you a bit of well-earned discipline.
• breathe you in - @beewritesthingssometimes
The super soldier serum heightened all of Bucky's senses. Vision, hearing, smell. Little do you know every time you get turned on by your hot older neighbour- he knows.
• behind the wheel - @nicks-fowler
in the aftermath of a crash, your last hope is a small garage set aside from the main city. there you leave your precious car left in the hands of a grease covered man with a charming smile.
• his and his only... for 24 hours - @salem-s
The last person you would ever consider dating — much less touching with a ten foot pole — is Bucky Barnes. Yet somehow here you are: packing a bag to spend the night of the Fourth of July as his fake girlfriend, all to get his pestering family off his case. But admittedly you can’t help but lean into the bit. Just a tad. Especially when his ex-girlfriend makes it very clear she wants him back.
• i'll look after you - @barnes-babydoll
You were convinced that you and your partner loathed each other. The bickering and constant arguments were proof of that. But when Bucky takes a bullet for you, your perspective shifts, and you wonder if it was a ruse all along.
• sweet love, all night long - @danysdaughter
it becomes your responsibility to help the winter soldier heal—not just his body, but the fractured remnants of his mind. what begins as stern guidance slowly grows into something deeper, as you teach him how to be a man again, not a weapon.
• first good thing - @buckytakethewheel
After seven decades of being deprived of human touch, Bucky Barnes just doesn't know what to do with a good kiss.
• bookmarked - @starling-in-the-sky
Take two roommates who drive each other up the wall, add one smutty book with a compelling premise, and watch them nearly kill each other. Or kiss. Or both, and then some.
• already yours - @/tw1sters
Getting cheated on mere weeks away from the holidays has you fleeing to your parents' holiday house upstate. What you don't expect is to find and fall for the groundskeeper there who seems to know more about you than you might think.
• two tickets to iron maiden - @/superbassbuck
You're the picture-perfect popular pretty girl—all style, smiles, and social status. Bucky is the typical campus dirtbag—loud music, attitude, and bad decisions. You can't stand him, and he fucking hates your guts. That is, until one house party changes everything. When Bucky catches you headbanging to classic rock instead of pop, instead of hating your guts, he ended up being inside your guts. You’re desperate to keep your arrangement quiet for the sake of your reputation, but Bucky is growing tired of being your dirty little secret.
• my heart went oops! - @myladybelle
you think you’re friends who occasionally kiss, but bucky thinks the two of you have been exclusively dating for a while now. it only takes one post-mission debrief for the whole team to realise someone’s missed a memo.
• substance F52.8 - @blowningbarnes
How many times has Steve told you not to touch weird shit in old labs?
• this is (not) okay - @artficilly
personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.
• sun-kissed skin - @brownininini
It’s been months since they’ve had a break due to group or solo missions, but the moment a little time opens up for both of them, Bucky doesn’t hesitate to escape with you to a beach.
• he hears you - @imtaashu
To the world, Bucky Barnes is steel and shadow. To you, he’s soft, clingy, and impossibly protective, always listening, always knowing the second your voice slips into danger.
• beneath the surface: after the bell - @navybrat817
The school janitor stops by your classroom after the final bell of the day and you are smitten.
• cool - @godmadeaterribleerror
Bucky’s seen it. How you stare at his metal hand. How whenever he grabs something with it your eyes flick down, how when he grazes you with it—even only in brief passing—your body seizes up. At first he thinks it’s aversion, but then he spots the way your breath catches. Sees how you start to lean into the touch. Like you can’t enough of it. Of him.
• you're lost and i'm insane - @/mcrdvcks
You work at a mental institution filled with some of the most dangerous and deranged people. Your patient Bucky becomes dangerously fixated on you.
• canyons and valleys - @wkemeup
Bucky’s violent history is written upon his body like a map; scars he cannot bear to look at in fear of the monster in his reflection. When Bucky is forced to put his scars on display, he’s certain you’ll take one look at him and run.
• goddamn, manchild - @/godmadeaterribleerror
you and Bucky have been at odds since you first met. he can't stand you. you pretend you can't stand him. and if Bucky ever knew how you really felt, you think you might die. not when there's no chance he'd ever feel the same way. right?
• newcomer - @delaber
He barely talks, swears too much, and is somehow already under your skin.
• aesthesia haze - @/w1nter-fairy
After waking up from surgery still under anesthesia, you meet a ridiculously pretty stranger who claims to be your boyfriend. Convinced he's too perfect to be real, you spend the next hour flirting with him.
• handful - @/tw1sters
Your infatuation with one firefighter brings you to the station every day. That is, until you hear him call you a handful.
• a simple favour - @metal-armed-muse
Bucky Barnes is your senior. That’s how simple it should’ve been. But when feelings come into the mix, nothing is ever simple right?
• can't do casual with you - @knowledgeableknitter
You've loved him quietly, patiently, and faithfully. But when he makes you an offer you cannot accept, you need to distance yourself to protect your heart. Will he figure out his feelings in time or be too late?
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers, bantering, lowk grumpy and man-hater reader, sam playing matchmaker, arguments, bucky has nightmares, semi-public sex, spanking, brat-taming, degradation and praise.
wordcount: 14.9k
main masterlist
a/n: i've never been to louisiana, so i tried my best to do research to keep it as accurate as possible. i apologize for any mistakes.
synopsis:
Sam has been trying to get you and Bucky to get along—or at least tolerate each other—for the longest time. And what better way to do that than by inviting you both back home for a weekend in Louisiana?
It was always hard to decline the Wilsons every time they invited you over to visit them in Delacroix.
They always made sure to show you a fun time, whether it was something as simple as a boat ride on Paul & Darlene’s — God bless them — shooting water guns with the kids, going fishing, or just grabbing some folding chairs to watch the sun set past the lake line with cold Heinekens in hand.
It was AJ’s—Sarah’s son—birthday this weekend, and Sam had invited you to stay over for a full weekend of nonstop partying and celebration.
How could you possibly resist when you have your very best friends waiting for you across the states with good music and food ready at their doorstep?
You showed up at the top of the steps with a heavy weekender bag slung over your shoulder. When you pushed through the front door, which had been left unlocked, the last person you expected to see was standing right in the middle of the room.
Bucky.
He looked like he had just arrived, too. A simple dark backpack sat squared and centered on the couch—as if he were already claiming his spot.
Bucky slowly turned toward you, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t expected you to arrive either.
“What are you doing—”
“What are you doing—”
You both spoke and stopped at the same time, eyes glaring at one another. Bucky’s shoulders were tense, his discomfort obvious, while your own brows were furrowed and lips scrunched in disdain.
Your first impression of Bucky hadn’t been great—and it still wasn’t.
When you first met him, you walked in on him talking to Sam about his flirting with Sarah. Sam had warned Bucky to back off—that typical overprotective brother routine—but Bucky insisted he was “merely joking around” and “wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
The two of them might have found it funny, but Sarah was your best friend, and you were extremely protective over the people you cared about.
While Sam was busy in New York, you had stuck by her side like glue. You were there for her through the divorce, you were there to watch the kids when Sam wasn’t around, and you were there for every single one of her and the boys’ milestones.
Sarah was a woman who deserved to be taken care of, just as she took care of everyone else.
To Bucky, pursuing her and tossing out flirtatious comments was just a joke.
You knew Sarah was strong, and that maybe she wouldn’t let things get too far with Bucky, but the way she’d chuckle and giggle at his words filled you with doubt.
Bucky wasn’t a man who would take care of her or her kids. He was just like Sam—he’d always be away, too occupied with other things across the country to actually show up for her and her needs. You didn’t want her to get hurt and left in the dust again.
Bucky let out a patient exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Sam invited me to stay the weekend for AJ’s birthday.”
You crossed your arms. “That’s funny. Sam invited me over to stay, too.” You glanced at the couch. “They don’t have a spare bedroom—so that couch is going to have to be mine.”
He huffed an incredulous laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching into a disbelieving smile.
The gentleman in him told him to give up the couch and let you have it, even if he had arrived first. But the petty part of him didn’t want to give in that easily—not with how cold you have been towards him.
“What?” Bucky motioned to the sofa. “You don’t think the couch is big enough for the both of us?”
You didn’t laugh, and he let out a frustrated sigh.
“Look, I—”
“Mom! Uncle Bucky and Auntie are here!” Cass’s voice rang from around the corner. His happy brown eyes, so much like Sarah’s, peered between the two of you. “AJ, come here!”
Bucky’s shoulders eased slightly, his expression softening at the sight of Sam’s nephew.
Cass ran to Bucky first since he was closer, throwing his arms around his waist as he knelt to meet the kid halfway.
“Good to see you again, kid,” Bucky murmured.
Then Cass lunged at you for a hug next, nearly sending you stumbling backward from the impact. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing tight. “Hey there, Cass!”
AJ rounded the corner next, his footsteps thudding against the floorboards before he collided head first into Bucky, catching him in a bear hug.
Jealousy started to boil in your blood. It was infuriating how much Bucky had these two kids wrapped around his stupid vibranium finger after knowing them for such a short time. Meanwhile, you have been around forever. You might as well have been their biological aunt, for fuck’s sake.
“Uncle Bucky!” AJ beamed.
Bucky laughed, giving his head a playful ruffle. “Well, if it isn’t the birthday boy. Hey, I got you something—”
“Aren’t you going to say hi to your aunt, AJ?” you cut in, catching the boy’s attention.
AJ’s excitement for whatever gift Bucky had for him faded slightly as he turned his attention to you. He smiled, walking—not running—to greet you with a hug. The polite gesture did nothing to soothe your jealousy or your emotional attachment to these kids.
“It’s nice to see you, Auntie,” AJ said politely.
You forced a smile anyway. “Happy early birthday, AJ. Are you excited for the weekend?”
AJ grinned and nodded, but before he could answer, the sound of Sam’s footsteps approached from down the hall.
“Well, well, well,” Sam said, a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face. “If it isn’t my two favorite people in the world—standing in the same room.”
The little boys glanced at each other, already starting their own silent game of tag before they pushed through the front door and disappeared into the yard.
“Sam,” you greeted, finally dropping your heavy duffel bag on the floor. “There isn’t enough space for Bucky and me to stay.”
Bucky was already reaching for his backpack. “I’ll just let her take the couch. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“What?” Sam huffed, shaking his head. “No, no, no. None of that. I bought an air mattress that we can set up right here.” He motioned to the floor in front of the sofa. “We’ll just move the coffee table. It’s big enough to fit the both of you. No one is sleeping on the floor.”
Big enough to fit the both of you?
“We are not sharing a bed,” you interjected sternly, trying to hide the embarassment on your face.
Bucky glanced at Sam casually. “I’ll just take the couch, then. She’ll take the bed.”
The tension in the room was thicker than the Louisiana humidity. Sam and Bucky traded a knowing look—one that typically meant they were thinking the same thing but didn’t want to say it out loud.
“Where’s Sarah?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. There was too much testosterone in this room.
Sam pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s out back.”
You nodded and walked past the two men, heading for the backyard. Sam and Bucky watched you retreat, waiting until the sound of the screen door clicked shut before Bucky finally let out the breath he had been holding.
“She doesn’t like me much, Sam,” Bucky muttered.
“You think?” Sam mused sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest. “Look, man, it’s my nephew’s birthday. Sarah and I want both of you here this weekend, and I’m going to make sure it stays a good weekend.”
Bucky pressed his lips together, his right hand coming up to tug at the stubble on his chin as if he were trying to calculate a solution.
“Alright, well...” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll just make sure to stay on the opposite side of the room—”
“No,” Sam interrupted, stepping closer. “That’s not how we’re doing things. It’s a celebration, man. I’m not having you two avoid each other like the plague the entire time. My nephews and everyone else around us will catch on.”
Bucky made a face. He knew Sam well enough to know he was already plotting something. “What do you propose we do, then?”
“There are plenty of things to do down at the bayou,” Sam explained. “Not even just the bayou—all over the damn state. Activities you two can do together.”
Bucky was terrible at hiding his expressions. He grimaced immediately at the thought—enduring constant nagging, side-eyes, and petty one liners from you while he just had to sit there and take it for Sam’s sake.
This wasn’t a fun vacation at all.
“I don’t know about this, Sam—”
“We’re supposed to be a family, Buck,” Sam cut him off, raising a hand to silence the protest. “You’re going to spend time with her, and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.”
You were down at the docks, the sun beaming down as sweat began to trickle from your temples. The humidity in Louisiana was suffocating, but the occasional lake breeze, the cold beers, and the company were enough to keep the heat at bay.
Paul & Darlene’s was swaying gently against the waves, looking as rusty as ever.
“Is she ready for a ride?” you asked Sarah, who was currently engrossed in a clipboard. “Are you seriously still working on your son’s birthday weekend?”
Sarah didn’t reply, mumbling to herself as her eyes traced the words on the paper. You sighed, your fingers gently nudging the clipboard down.
“Sarah, enough,” you said gently. You glanced over at AJ and Cass, who were sitting on the benches playing with action figures. “Take the weekend off like the rest of us and spend time with the kids. Take them out on the boat.”
Sarah looked at the boys, her brown eyes filling with guilt. “You know I would, but the boat’s still broken—”
“Stop with the sulking,” Sam’s voice shouted from the end of the dock.
He squinted against the sun as he approached, carrying two boat paddles, while Bucky trailed behind him with a third.
“We still have three perfectly good rowboats we can take the kids on,” Sam grinned, handing you one of the paddles. “Ever rowed a boat before?”
“Of course I have,” you said, taking it. “That sounds like fun.” You smiled, turning toward the boys. “Which one of you lucky boys wants to ride with your super cool aunt?”
Bucky lifted his paddle up to Sarah with a small, stupidly charming smile. “Want to ride with me, Sarah?”
You felt your eyebrow twitch.
“AJ, you’re with me,” Sam called out, cutting Bucky off. “Cass, you’re with your mom.”
“What? No fair!” Cass made a face, throwing his hands up. “I want to ride with someone cool!”
“You better watch your mouth, boy,” Sarah warned, completely ignoring Bucky as she snatched a paddle from Sam’s hand, already heading toward the end of the dock where the boats were tied.
Sam didn’t bother hiding his grin. It was wide, unabashed, and entirely too fucking satisfied as he ushered the boys toward the edge of the dock.
“Alright, move it or lose it! First one to the sandbar gets the first slice of cake on Saturday!” Sam shouted. AJ and Cass scrambled past you, their sneakers slapping loudly against the wooden planks as they raced toward the smaller rowboats, leaving giggles in their wake.
You and Bucky stood frozen, paddles in hand like two statues, blinking as the Wilsons walked off without you.
“Wait, what?” you finally managed to choke out, your head whipping between Sam’s retreating back and the boats. “Sam, hold on. There are only three boats.” You stumbled after them, desperately trying to create space between you and Bucky.
“Yep!” Sam called over his shoulder, not slowing down at all. “One for Sarah and Cass, one for me and the birthday boy…”
He paused to hop into a boat, the wood creaking under him. He looked back at you and Bucky, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
“And one for the two of you. Try not to tip it.”
You turned slowly to look at Bucky. He looked just as dumbfounded as you felt, his vibranium hand gripped tight around the handle of his paddle.
“He’s kidding,” you muttered. “He’s definitely kidding.”
Bucky didn’t say anything, mostly because he knew Sam wasn’t kidding at all. He looked at the third rowboat—a small, weathered piece of wood that bobbed innocently at the end of the line.
It looked incredibly small.
It looked too intimate.
It looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
“Sam!” you yelled, taking a step forward. “This is ridiculous! I can just stay back and help Sarah with the—the decorations! Or the food!”
“Decorations are done! Food isn’t being prepped ‘til tomorrow!” Sarah shouted from her own boat, already pushing off from the dock with Cass sitting across from her.
You couldn’t believe it. You were stranded.
You were stranded with Bucky fucking Barnes.
Bucky let out a long, slow breath through his nose. He glanced at you, taking the way your jaw had hung open as you watched Sam and Sarah float away. A fly could’ve flown in at any moment.
Without a word, Bucky started walking toward the last boat, his heavy boots thumping against the dock. He stepped one foot into the boat to steady it and extended a hand toward you.
“Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll help you down.”
You blinked, snapped out of your disbelief as you looked down at Bucky—propped up like a knight in shining armor helping a fair maiden onto his trusty steed.
“I can help myself just fine, thanks,” you scoffed.
You stepped down into the boat, and it tipped slightly under your weight. The both of you quickly got settled, undid the rope, and assembled the paddles at the sides. Without a single word being exchanged, you both reached for the handles at the same time.
Except Bucky’s hands landed first—and your hands landed right on top of his. You both stared at each other, gazes hard and unwavering.
“Let go,” you said.
Bucky didn’t budge at all. “I grabbed them first.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know how to row a boat, do you?” you immediately countered.
He paused. The only sounds were the cicadas buzzing in your ears and the gentle thrashing of water as the rowboat swayed.
“I do know how to row a boat,” Bucky argued back pridefully.
He didn’t.
He probably had during his Winter Soldier days—and maybe the muscle memory would have come back—but definitely not for a teeny, tiny little rowboat like this.
You grinned, a little taunting chuckle escaping your lips as you silently called his bluff. “Oh, yeah?”
You knew that stung his pride. He mumbled incoherent, grumpy words under his breath as he started to paddle away from the docks and toward the center of the lake, trying to follow Sam and Sarah’s lead.
The two of you sat in an awkward, tense silence as he worked the paddles. The sun was beaming in your face, and you lifted your hand to provide shade—but it was also a discreet method to help shield the way you were staring intently at Bucky’s muscles as he pushed the paddles.
Bucky would grunt occasionally as the blades lapped through the water, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his muscles bulged and flexed through a shirt that looked ridiculously tight on a big guy like him.
His henley was pulled up to his forearms, the vibranium shimmering against the reflections of the lake and the veins in his right arm catching your eyes with every pushing motion of the paddle.
“You, uh… you come to Louisiana often?” Bucky tried for a conversation.
You huffed a laugh that didn’t sound humorous at all. “Way more than you have, that’s for sure.”
Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something smart. He had to suck it up for Sam’s sake.
“The weather’s nice, isn’t it?”
You couldn’t believe Bucky was trying to talk to you about the weather.
“It’s always hot and swampy in Delacroix,” you said flatly.
You looked around, noticing how the boat was drifting further away from Sam and Sarah. You watched as Cass and AJ shouted to each other from across their boats—how Sarah and Sam were tossing their heads back in laughter.
A frown settled on your lips as you began to feel left out.
“We’re drifting, Bucky,” you said, pointing toward them. “Steer in that direction.”
Bucky adjusted his grip on the paddles and huffed. “Fine.”
He started to dig the right paddle deep into the water while the left one barely grazed the surface. But instead of cutting toward Sam and Sarah, the boat’s nose jerked sharply to the right.
“What are you doing?” you snapped, your patience thinning as the distance between you and the Wilsons grew wider. “We’re not going toward them, Bucky. We’re going…” You frowned. “…nowhere.”
“I’m adjusting,” Bucky said shortly, his vibranium fingers tightening on the paddle. He tried to over-correct, pulling back hard with his left arm, but the only result was the boat beginning to pivot on its axis.
You weren’t moving anywhere. You were spinning.
The same cluster of cypress trees passed by for the third time. Sam and Sarah were becoming distant specks on the horizon, their laughter echoing faintly across the water.
An impatient sigh escaped you as you leaned forward, motioning to the paddles. “Here, move over. Let me take over—”
“I got it,” Bucky insisted, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense in that way that made him look particularly stubborn. “Just give me a second, alright?”
“Bucky, we’ve barely moved from the dock and now you’ve got us—” you motioned to the boat, “—spinning in circles. I’m getting dizzy. Just hand me the damn paddles.”
Your hands found an open space on the handles and you jerked them toward your side of the boat, causing the wood to thrash against the water. Bucky—taken aback by your unexpected strength—was pulled forward. He let out a hiss, immediately yanking the oars back toward him and making you jerk forward instead.
You both glared at each other stubbornly, muttering curses as you continued this back and forth struggle for the paddles.
But unfortunately for you, Bucky was significantly stronger, and every jerk he made sent you nearly flying out of your seat and in his direction.
“Goddammit, Bucky! Just let go!” you hissed, trying to find your balance as the boat thrashed around, water splashing everywhere.
Bucky had told himself he would try to suck up your attitude for Sam—but fuck, you were treading on his nerves every second.
“Christ, woman!” Bucky barked, his fingers tightening on the handles. “Just let me take care of it—alright? I know what I’m doing!”
“Well, clearly you don’t! Because we’re still just spinning in circles!”
The boat rocked violently, tipping precariously every time the two of you fought for the oars. The wood creaked and groaned under the movement, and water began slopping over the gunwales, soaking your sandals.
“Will you stop being such a prideful man and let a woman take over the damn oars already?” you shouted over the splashing water, throwing your entire weight into a massive yank.
The paddles lurched toward you.
“I can’t believe you offered to take Sarah for a ride when you can’t even steer the damn thing!”
Bucky’s brow twitched. He hated feeling incompetent, and every word you hurled was a direct jab to his pride. He had tried so hard to be on his best behavior for you, but his patience had finally worn thin.
“I would’ve done just fine if you hadn’t gotten in the way,” Bucky snapped back in a low growl.
His fingers clamped down so hard on the wood it was a wonder it didn’t snap. Out of sheer, petty spite, he jerked the oars back toward himself.
“Now give me these damn paddles—”
But the force of his movement caught you completely off guard. You let out a sharp yelp as you were catapulted forward, your hands losing their grip on the wood. You had zero time to brace yourself before you collided hard with his chest—it felt like hitting a brick wall wrapped in damp cotton.
With all the weight suddenly slammed onto one side, the boat lurched backward, the stern dipping dangerously low.
Pressed against his chest, you scrambled to get up in a panic. “Jesus, Bucky! Look at what you—”
“Stop squirming! Just… just stay still!”
Bucky’s grip on the oars was long forgotten as his hands found your waist in a desperate attempt to steady you, but it was too late.
With a loud, undignified splash that caught the attention of everyone on the docks, the rowboat flipped.
One moment, the sun was burning your skin, and the next, you were greeted by cold water enveloping you. Everything from above was muffled as you were completely submerged. Keeping your eyes squeezed shut against the murky water, you tried to swim upward, but panic started to flare as your head kept bumping into the underside of the wooden boat.
Suddenly, a strong, vibranium arm wrapped roughly around your waist. He pulled your body tight against his, dragging you toward the surface and back to the shore.
You gasped for air the moment you broke the surface, your skin warming as the sunlight hit your soaked face. People on the docks were smiling and laughing at your predicament, but Bucky paid them no mind. He dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the water.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Sam’s laughter, joined by the kids’ giggles, filled your ears as their boats drew closer.
“Oh no, what happened to you two?” Sam grinned, spinning his boat around to get a better look at you. “Let me guess—was it the wind?” He motioned to the upside down boat.
Rolling your eyes, you pushed through the water until you reached the edge of the docks, with Bucky swimming close behind. You tried to paddle faster to create some distance, but there was no point—he caught up to you in no time.
When you reached the dock, you tried to hoist yourself up, but Bucky’s hands found your waist again, easily hauling you up and over the wooden floorboards.
You sneered at him the second your feet were steady. “I didn’t need your help.”
Bucky ignored you as he hauled himself up onto the dock, his muscles rippling beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. Water clung to his skin, dripping from the tips of his short, shaggy hair and trailing down the tanned column of his throat.
You were furious—absolutely livid—but as you watched the way his broad shoulders tensed just underneath the thin fabric, you found yourself swallowing hard.
You hated that, even in the middle of a fucking swamp, he still managed to look like that.
Bucky didn’t notice you staring at him. He stood up, shaking his head like a dog to get the water out of his ears.
“I was doing a fine job,” he bit out roughly, “until you had to butt your head in and try to take over. If you had just sat still, we wouldn’t be soaked right now—”
As Bucky finally lifted his head to glare at you, the breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, his gaze dropping from your drenched head to your chest—and then freezing there.
You were wearing a sheer white blouse—light and airy for the Louisiana heat, of course—but now that it was drenched through, it had turned completely translucent. It clung tight to your skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination and revealing the lace of your bra underneath.
Bucky’s jaw went tight, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He knew he should look away, but he couldn’t—not even as you continued to yell and point a finger at him.
“What? Are you insinuating that it’s my fault?” you scoffed in disbelief.
Bucky couldn’t concentrate. It felt like his brain had short circuited as he stared shamelessly at the damp lace and the soft curve of your skin.
“And another thing!” you shouted, stepping closer and poking a finger square into the center of his chest. “If you hadn’t been so stubborn about the oars, we would’ve caught up to Sam and Sarah and been having a good time with them!”
Bucky winced, not because of the poke, but because you moving closer only made the view more prominent. He glanced toward the docks, noticing a few of the guys from the neighborhood whistling and laughing at the both of you.
Without thinking, Bucky stepped closer, his large frame shielding you from the view of the men. He reached out, his hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders as he tried to pull you against him to hide your vulnerable state.
“Hey—? What the hell are you doing?” you snapped, trying to shove him back. “Why are you hugging me? Get off!”
“I’m not hugging you,” Bucky mumbled grumpily as he forced you to stay put, caging you between his big arms.
“It feels a lot like hugging, Barnes! Let go!” You squirmed, but his grip on you was tight. His face flushed as he felt your chest rub up against his.
“Stop moving,” he hissed, his face turning a deep, frustrated red as he looked anywhere but at your chest. He leaned down, his mouth inches away from your ear so only you could hear. “Your damn shirt.”
“My shirt?” You blinked up at him in confusion. “What about my—?”
You looked down, and the realization hit you. Your face got hot with embarrassment once you noticed how the white fabric of your shirt was basically invisible, clinging to every inch of your bra and skin.
Sam and Sarah pulled their boat alongside the dock, the hull bumping gently against the wood. Sam hopped out first, looping the rope around the cleat. He looked up, taking in the sight of the two of you standing so close together.
“Well, would you look at that,” Sam said, a massive grin spreading across his face. “One little dip in the lake and you two finally made up?”
Bucky felt your body tense. Sensing how uncomfortable this was for you, he was just about to step back—until you crossed your arms over your chest and huddled deeper into his shadow.
“You okay?” Bucky murmured quietly, tilting his head down toward you.
After Sarah helped Cass off the boat, she stepped onto the dock and walked straight to you, moving between you and the men. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gently pried you away from Bucky, taking over his job of hiding you.
“Come on,” Sarah said softly, her voice full of understanding as she began to lead you away. “Let’s get you fixed up and into some dry clothes.”
You didn’t dare look back at Bucky as you let her lead you away, though you could feel his gaze on your back until you and Sarah rounded the corner, leaving the men out of sight.
Back on the dock, the laughter died down. Bucky stood there dripping wet, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“I take it the boat ride didn’t go well?” Sam taunted, his eyes still fixed on the corner where you and his sister had disappeared.
Bucky stayed quiet, glaring at Sam as water droplets fell from his hair onto the floorboards of the dock.
“This isn’t going to work, Sam,” Bucky muttered, wringing the hem of his shirt. “She hates me.”
“Don’t be like that, Buck.” Sam patted him on the shoulder. “She doesn’t hate anyone. Besides, we’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us, alright?”
Sam likely said that in hopes of lifting Bucky’s spirits—but it only did the exact opposite.
The sky was dark as you sat on the air mattress, applying lotion to your skin. The thought of sharing a space with Bucky felt daunting.
The rest of the day had been awkward and tense after the disaster on the lake. It didn’t help that Bucky did exactly what Sam told him not to do—which was hovering at the far end of the room, making sure to stand wherever you weren’t.
Bucky was taking his sweet time in the bathroom. As you finished with the lotion, you quickly snuggled into the air mattress, trying to fall asleep before he came back out.
Only a few minutes passed before the light from the bathroom hit your eyes as he pulled the door open. You winced at the sudden brightness but kept your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.
A small sigh—almost a breath of relief—escaped his lips when he noticed you were out, or at least appeared to be.
You heard his heavy footsteps thud toward the couch. He crouched with his back to you, digging through his backpack for something.
Curiosity got the best of you. You peeked one eye open, and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.
Bucky was shirtless.
You watched as he balanced on the balls of his feet, rummaging through the bag. The moonlight piercing through the window shadowed the deep lines and muscles of his back. His vibranium arm looked just as beautiful under the moon as it had in the sun.
His hair, no longer damp and scruffy like it was at the docks, was still slightly wet and brushed back neatly.
You could smell him all the way from the air mattress. He smelled soft and clean, with the underlying masculine scent of his deodorant. You knew you should have been asleep by now, but your heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Was he really going to sleep shirtless even though you were here?
Despite your heart thumping loudly in your chest, you kept your back turned to him and tried your best to fall asleep.
Hours later, you eventually drifted off, only to be jolted awake by the sound of shuffling, groaning, and mumbled curses coming from across the room.
Lifting your head, you tiredly rubbed your eyes as you glanced in Bucky’s direction.
“Bucky… can you keep it down?”
But as you focused, you realized that whatever he was doing wasn’t intentional.
Bucky’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face scrunched into a grimace as he panted heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covered the column of his neck and chest, and his fingers were digging deep into the cushions of the couch. He kept mumbling incoherent, unfinished sentences that made your heart sink with worry.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped.
“Bucky? Are you okay?” you asked, your voice rising.
“Don’t do this, please—don’t… mph… don't do this...”
“Bucky, listen to me!”
“Stop, stop!” he choked out, his body jerking against the couch.
You scrambled off the air mattress, tossing the blanket aside as you rushed to Bucky’s side at the couch.
“Bucky!” you whispered urgently, reaching out to grab his shoulders. You shook him, your palms warming from the heat radiating off his damp skin. “Bucky, wake up. You’re having a nightmare!”
When he didn’t wake, you shook him harder until he gasped awake so violently he nearly knocked you backward. His eyes snapped open—wide, unfocused, and… terrified.
He sat up abruptly, his chest heaving as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. His vibranium hand clamped onto the edge of the couch so hard the wood underneath groaned.
“I’m—I…” he stammered, his voice heavy with panic.
“Hey... hey, look at me,” you said softly, your hands finding his wet cheeks and forcing his focus onto you. “I’m here. You’re in Louisiana. You’re at Sarah’s.”
You started saying the first things that came to mind. Surely, reminding someone where they were would help in a situation like this, right?
Bucky’s head whipped toward you, his gaze darting around the dark room until it finally landed on your face again. He was still shaking, the tremors racking his broad shoulders as he tried to calm himself in your touch.
You didn’t say anything else—you didn’t really know what to say in a situation like this. But being there, holding him and simply staying in his space, seemed to be enough for now.
Slowly and quietly, he began to catch his breath, and that’s when you noticed he was trying to match his breathing to yours.
In and out. In and out, slowly, until he finally started to calm down.
“Did…” He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to your lap—noticing how your oversized shirt hung loosely over your legs. “Did I wake you?”
You nodded gently, deciding to be truthful. “You did.”
Guilt immediately clouded his features. “I’m sorry.”
A solemn frown tugged at your lips as you leaned in closer to get a better look at him. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, pulling away from your touch so suddenly it made your hands feel cold.
He tried to get comfortable on the couch again, but the tension in his shoulders and the stiff way he moved made it clear that settling back into sleep would be impossible.
Your heart ached for him. You felt terrible.
“You can take the air mattress, Bucky,” you said, already rising to your feet. “Here, I’ll move my things—”
As you stepped away, Bucky’s hand immediately clamped around your wrist. “No, stop. Just—just keep the mattress, okay? I’ll be fine,” he insisted, though the wobble in his voice betrayed how he really felt.
Your frown deepened. Even in this vulnerable state, he held onto that same stubborn pride that had clashed with yours earlier at the docks. Except this time, his attitude didn’t piss you off. Standing before him while he looked so broken and tired only made you feel completely useless.
“Is there anything I can do?” you asked quietly, searching his face. “Anything to help?”
Bucky managed a small smile—a forced, tired expression that didn’t reach his eyes. He let go of your wrist, his hand falling back to the couch.
“Let’s just get some rest. We’ve got a big birthday party tomorrow. I’m sorry for waking you.”
You stood there for a second, looking at the cramped, uncomfortable couch and then back at the oversized air mattress that looked far too big for just one person.
“You’re really pulling at my heartstrings here, old man.” You reached out, grabbing the hem of his blanket. “Come on. There’s plenty of room. Let’s just share the mattress.”
Bucky froze, his eyes widening as he looked from you to the bed. “S-share…?”
You were already getting settled on your side, your back facing him, hoping the distance would help his flustered state.
“You need sleep, and I’m not going to be able to close my eyes knowing you’re over there miserable on a cramped couch,” you huffed. “Now get over here.”
Bucky knew there was no point in arguing with you further. If he had learned anything from the disaster at the docks, it was that once you set your mind on something, he was better off just letting you have your way.
With a reluctant, heavy sigh, he finally stood up and moved toward the air mattress. The mattress dipped significantly under his body as he shuffled around to get comfortable on his side. He kept a respectable amount of space between the both of you, lying stiffly on the very edge.
You both remained back to back, with only the sound of crickets outside filling the silence.
“Do you get nightmares often?” you suddenly asked.
Bucky hesitated. “Not as much as I used to,” he answered in a gravelly rasp. “But they still come and go.”
There was another pause.
This time, Bucky broke it.
“Do you care if I sleep without a shirt on?”
You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. “Don’t worry,” you chuckled. “I’m not looking.”
The sound of your laughter in this awkward, tense space made his shoulders ease slightly and his heart beat a little slower. You two continued to lay quietly like that for a long moment—side by side, back to back.
There were a million thoughts running through Bucky’s head, and he felt particularly restless.
Finally, he decided to ask the very thing that had been occupying his mind since you two first met.
“Why do you dislike me so much?”
Bucky braced himself for the answer, but it didn’t come.
He waited, wondering if you were pretending not to hear him. He called your name softly and turned over his shoulder to look at you, but he stopped short.
You had already fallen asleep.
The morning light pierced through the front windows, hitting you right in the face. The quiet peace of the night before had been replaced by the chaotic, joyful energy of a house in full celebration mode.
From the kitchen, the clattering of pots and pans and the high pitched laughter of AJ and Cass bounced off the walls, forcing you awake.
You blinked, rubbing the grogginess from your eyes as you realized the air mattress felt much, much lighter. Bucky was already gone. His side of the bed was nearly smoothed over, and his blanket was folded neatly back on the couch—as if he hadn’t slept next to you at all.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” Sarah called out from the kitchen. “I’m so sorry for all this ruckus. We were tryin’ our best to stay quiet, but everyone is just so excited since it’s AJ’s big day today.”
A sleepy, lopsided smile pulled at your lips at the sight of Sarah and the kids gathered in the living room.
“It’s okay,” you said groggily, pulling yourself off the air mattress. “Happy Birthday, AJ.”
You started walking toward Sarah, meeting her in the kitchen. You took note of the trays and various types of produce lying around. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Sarah didn’t glance up from the onions she was laying out on the cutting board.
“Oh no, no,” she clicked her tongue. “It’s a warzone in here that only I can handle. You’d only get in my way, and I don’t need two people trippin’ over each other in this kitchen—I can leave that to my kids.”
You frowned, leaning against the wall. “Are you sure? I feel bad just sitting around while you’re doing all this—”
“I’m positive,” Sarah cut you off, pointing her knife at you and then toward the clock on the wall. “The party doesn’t start ‘til five. So you can get outta here and enjoy New Orleans or somethin’ until everything’s ready.”
“But Sarah, that’s an hour drive—”
“Out!” she laughed, shooing you toward the front door with a wave of her knife. “Go breathe some fresh air. Enjoy yourself and the town. I know you miss it.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, just as the sound of Bucky approaching from the backyard—already dressed for the day—met you and Sarah in the kitchen.
“Morning,” he nodded to you curtly, as if last night hadn’t happened at all.
Then he glanced at Sarah with a smile—that stupidly charming smile. He nodded toward the counter. “Let me help—”
Before he could take a step closer, Sarah pointed the knife at him, too. She looked back at you. “And take hunky robot here with you while you’re at it.”
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the way she brushed Bucky aside.
Bucky blinked, confused. “Take me where?”
“Sarah, if I’m going out to enjoy the town, I’m doing it by myself—”
You were cut off by the sound of the screen door hitting the wall as Sam hauled a heavy box of supplies into the room. He dropped it onto the floor with a loud thud and wiped the sweat from his forehead, grinning when he saw the three of you standing there.
“Oh, perfect,” Sam panted. “You goin’ to town? Take Bucky with you. Show him around. He’s been following me around like some fly buzzin’ in my ear.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms defensively. “A fly?”
Sam ignored him as he began to unbox. “Seriously, take him. He needs the fresh air, and I need the floor space. Go on, get out of here.”
You were about to protest—to insist on staying and offer your assistance—but Sam and Sarah were already bickering in the kitchen, talking about how Sam had to pick up AJ’s friends and run to the store for last minute groceries.
When you told them that you could be an extra set of hands, they both looked at you and, at the same time, shouted, “Get out!”
Now, you found yourself behind the wheel of Sarah’s run-down but reliable Chevy with Bucky sitting in the passenger seat.
He had offered to drive, but you didn’t allow him to—which, after the incident with the boat, was a smart move on his part.
The radio didn’t work, so you two sat in awkward silence with the windows rolled down, letting the humid breeze pass through as you drove toward New Orleans. Bucky had one arm out the window, his eyes focused on the trees passing by.
“So, where are you taking me?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“New Orleans,” you answered flatly.
The short burst of warmth that the two of you had shared in the middle of the night seemed to have disappeared completely. Bucky had his body turned slightly away from you, and maybe that was how he wanted it. Perhaps the vulnerability he had shared last night was something he wanted to keep under wraps.
“I know that,” he scoffed. “But what are we going to do there?”
“I’m taking you to my favorite spot,” you said, keeping your eyes on the road. “Monty’s.”
Bucky hummed. “That like a breakfast joint or something?”
“It’s a classic diner. They have the best crawfish and cheesesteaks you’ll ever put in your mouth,” you said, your stomach growling just thinking about it. “But the best part are the beignets. They have the best stuffed beignets I’ve ever had.”
Bucky finally glanced at you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve never had a beignet.”
Your eyes went wide, and you looked at him in disbelief. “What? You stay with the Wilsons and you’ve never had a beignet?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?”
He shook his head again. “I’ve only ever stayed in Delacroix with Sam.”
The idea of introducing the city of New Orleans—a place you adored—to someone who had never been filled you with a sudden burst of excitement, even if it was for Bucky.
“Well, we’ve got a lot of time to spare. So we’ll park somewhere and walk to Monty’s, and since the restaurant is near Jackson Square, I’ll show you around.”
While you kept your eyes on the road, Bucky could only stare at you as you went on and on about the beauty of New Orleans.
You explained breathlessly how gorgeous the square was—about how the greenery around the cathedral was breathtaking. You mentioned the French Market a couple of blocks away and went on about the street musicians and talented jazz players on every corner. You told him about the vendors posted all around and how you could even take a trolley around the area.
For the first time since he met you, he had never heard you speak this much in one breath.
For once, you weren’t throwing petty remarks at him. You talked and talked about the things you loved about the city, and Bucky felt like his heart was swelling too large for his chest.
Before long, the two of you made it into the vibrant heart of New Orleans.
The restaurant was already loud—the clinking of silverware, loud laughter, and a jazz band playing down the street hummed in your ears.
Despite the heat, Bucky had kept his jacket on for as long as possible, but eventually, the Louisiana humidity won.
Now, with his sleeves rolled up, the vibranium of his arm caught the light poking through the window with every movement. You saw the way the couple at the table next to you whispered to each other, and how a group of tourists leaned in, pointing in his direction.
Bucky felt it, too. His jaw was clenched, and he kept his left hand tucked partially under the table. He looked like he wanted to disappear. It was no wonder he preferred staying at Sam’s.
Then, the server arrived with a tray that smelled like heaven.
“Here you go,” you said, pushing the plate of powdered goodness toward him. “The legendary stuffed beignets,” you added with a bright smile, hoping to ease his mood.
The pastries were massive, perfectly golden brown and buried under a mountain of powdered sugar. Bucky lifted one and took a careful bite, the crunch of the dough giving way to a rich and creamy center. His eyes widened, and he let out a small, muffled “mm” as he chewed.
“It’s good, right?” you grinned, already halfway through your own beignet.
Bucky nodded, taking an even bigger bite. “Good,” he confirmed mid-chew. “Very fucking good.”
As he pulled the beignet away from his mouth, he was oblivious to the thick coat of white powder smeared across his upper lip like a mustache, with a stray patch sitting right on the tip of his nose. Bucky still had that natural, broody look on his face as he chewed. He reached for his water, and as much as you tried to keep a straight face, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.
“Bucky,” you snickered, shielding your mouth with your hand.
He stopped, glass halfway to his mouth, frowning in confusion. “What?”
“You’ve got…” You pointed to your own face, doubling over as another giggle escaped. “Powder all over your face, old man.”
Bucky reached up with his right hand, wiping his lip only to smear the powder further across his cheek. He realized then how ridiculous he must have looked.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes down as his face flushed with embarrassment. But with the way you were giggling across the table, he couldn’t help but smile, too.
“Here, let me help you.”
To save him from further embarrassment, you reached across the small, wobbly table.
Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, sweeping away the stubborn white powder. Any petty remark Bucky had been about to throw at you died in his throat the second your thumb made contact with his skin.
With the sunlight peering through the window and casting a soft glow on you, you looked… soft.
You looked exactly as you had last night, with the moonlight over your face while you comforted him after his nightmare.
Bucky swallowed hard. “I—”
Suddenly, a waiter rushing by with a loaded tray clipped the corner of your table. The wood jolted, the water glasses sloshing dangerously.
“Sorry, folks! Pardon me,” the man mumbled, already halfway to the next table.
You pulled your hand back quickly, clearing your throat. Bucky sat back, his hand dropping to his lap as he looked toward the door.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a little lower than usual.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Let’s go.”
The two of you left the restaurant. Stepping out into the warm air, Jackson Square was already vibrant and bustling with a good mix of tourists and locals.
Couples drifted past, fingers intertwined or arms slung over shoulders, soaking in the romance of the city. You and Bucky, however, kept a careful, “friendly” distance, though every time your shoulders brushed in the crowd, you both tensed up.
As you rounded the corner toward the cathedral, the soulful, brass of a trumpet pulled you toward a crowd gathered on the sidewalk.
A jazz quartet was set up near the iron gates. The music was loud and swinging. People were swaying, and some older couples were even dancing in the middle of the pavement, lost in the beat as an elderly man sang, his smooth, gravelly voice beaming through the microphone.
You stopped at the edge of the circle, smiling as you watched a young couple spin each other around.
The music was infectious, and you found yourself tapping your foot against the cobblestones. Bucky stood beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, but his eyes weren’t on the musicians. He was watching the people dancing with a look of quiet, distant longing that made your heart ache just a little.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly, grabbing his attention.
Bucky—as if snapped out of his own thoughts—jumped slightly at your question. He looked down at you, a sheepish smile on his lips.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
You motioned to the other dancers. “Do you want to dance?”
He blinked as your question processed in his mind. You were inviting him to dance?
Were you trying to pull his leg?
Bucky sucked in a deep breath, his face flushing and his eyes going wide. “… Dance?”
Before Bucky could deny your offer, the saxophone player stepped forward and got lost in a wild, trilling solo that made the crowd cheer even louder. The man on the microphone let out a joyful laugh, clapping his hands in time with the beat.
“That’s it! That’s it!” he called out. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ pretty, now! Everyone grab a partner and start dancin’ if you haven’t already—life’s way too short to be standin’ still.”
More people spilled into the center of the circle, bumping into you and Bucky. Total strangers were spinning each other around, and it was as if the old cobblestones started to shake with everyone’s footsteps dancing over them.
You looked up at Bucky—his body was tense with the clear desire to bolt in the opposite direction.
“Do you want to leave—”
“C’mon now, you two!” the singer bellowed over the music, drawing the eyes of everyone in the circle as he pointed directly at the two of you with a big grin on his face. “I see you shy young lovebirds over there. Don’t be shy, big man—take the lady’s hand and show us what you got!”
Bucky looked like he wanted to die.
His face was as red as a tomato, and his body was as stiff as a rock. You wanted to laugh at him being called a ‘young lovebird big man,’ but you knew that would only wound his pride even more.
You grabbed his hand, and his body jolted, not expecting the sudden contact.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Come on,” you said, nodding your head toward the middle of the circle. “We’re going to dance.”
“What? Hey—wait—!”
Bucky let himself be dragged to the center of the circle, his feet dragging against the cobblestones.
He couldn’t believe this was happening.
Just twelve hours ago, he had been waking up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, and now he was standing in the middle of Jackson Square with a hundred sets of eyes on him.
This was worse than any nightmare he ever had, probably.
“I can’t,” he hissed, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at the couples spinning around them. “I haven’t danced since... since…”
The Forties.
“Just don’t think about it,” you said, stepping closer into his arms so he was forced to look at you instead of the crowd.
You took his right hand in yours and placed your other hand on his shoulder. His hand found your waist—respectfully. “Just follow my lead.”
You started moving your body to the swing of the rhythm, pulling him into a simple two step move.
At first, Bucky was like a statue—immovable and completely terrified—but then you caught the beat and spun yourself out. Your hand remained intertwined with his before you stepped back into his arms with a little chuckle.
Everyone around you beamed with glee. As the saxophone solo reached its peak, the notes spiraling higher and higher into the humid Louisiana air, Bucky finally started to follow along. His long legs found the rhythm, and he began moving with you.
The man on the microphone threw his head back, laughing in pure delight as Bucky finally found his feet. He pointed at Bucky with a wink before pulling the mic back to his lips.
“There he is! White boy’s got rhythm!” he cheered—and the crowd joined in—before he sung back into a smooth, jazzy verse.
As Bucky spun you around to the music, everything else became a complete blur.
In this moment, it was just you, Bucky, and the beautiful music of New Orleans.
He would occasionally step on your feet, and you would occasionally step on his. You bumped into other dancing couples now and then, but it didn’t matter. You were both laughing, getting lost in the moment and in each other.
It was the first time either of you had seen the other smile like that—completely genuine and unburdened.
After everything that had happened today, it felt like things between you would be different from here on out. There was a soft, gentle side to Bucky that you were slowly starting to notice—a side that made you realize it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he were to… pursue Sarah.
As the song came to an end, Bucky dipped you, holding you up with the strength of his arms alone. The two of you looked at each other breathlessly, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you—just like the other couples were doing, exchanging sweet, quick pecks as the music faded.
But he swallowed hard, hauling you back up and abruptly pulling his hands away from the closeness of your body.
“We should go… so we can make it back in time for the party,” he said, his voice a little strained.
For some reason, the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch hurt you more than you’d like to admit.
“I… sure,” you nodded, straightening your clothes and avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. It’s a long drive. We should go.”
This time, Bucky insisted on driving back to Sarah’s, his excuse being, “You showed me New Orleans, the least I can do is drive us home.”
With how great the day had been and the good mood you were in because of it, you had no problem letting him take the wheel.
“New Orleans is beautiful,” Bucky said, glancing at you with a small smile. “It’s busy and the crowds are loud, but I had a lot of fun—surprisingly so.”
You chuckled, letting the breeze sweep over your face as you looked out the window. “There’s so much more I have to show you. Like the steamboats—oh! And if we’d gone further downtown French Quarter, I could’ve introduced you to my favorite spot for Cajun gumbo—”
Bucky snickered. Here you were again—rambling on about your favorite things. But to Bucky, listening to you talk was, oddly enough, music to his ears.
“That all sounds great,” he said. “Just no swamp boat tours, please. I’ve had enough of those.”
You threw your head back with a hearty laugh. “Fair enough.”
The truck slowly began to lose its momentum, the engine sputtering and making strange sounds—sounds that indicated it wouldn’t survive the over hour long drive back home.
“Uh… Bucky?” you asked, sitting up straighter as you watched the speedometer needle start to dip. “What’s going on?”
Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I… I don’t know.”
“Well, stop slowing down! We’re in the middle of the road!” Panic started to flare as you glanced at the rearview mirror.
“I’m not slowing down,” Bucky snapped back, his voice rising in panic equal to yours. He pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal, but Sarah’s Chevy only groaned in response. “The truck is doing it on its own.”
“Well, fix it!” you shrieked. “Like… shift gears or something!”
“Fix it?” Bucky scoffed at your expectations.
He groaned, steering the truck toward the grassy shoulder. He peered through the windshield, his expression grim as the truck gave one final lurch before going completely dead. He sighed, reaching for the keys.
“Cut the engine and try again,” you urged.
He gave you a snappy look—mostly because that was exactly what he was about to do.
“No shit,” he mumbled, twisting the key to try the ignition again. He grunted, muttering curses as he tried over and over, but the truck wouldn’t budge.
“Great,” Bucky muttered, leaning his head back against the headrest with a thud. “Just great.”
“Oh my god,” you breathed in disbelief.
You had over an hour’s drive ahead of you, and with it already being four o’clock, you were definitely going to be late for AJ’s birthday party.
“You broke Sarah’s truck.”
Bucky’s eyes flew wide as he turned to you, appalled by your audacity. “I broke Sarah’s truck?”
You crossed your arms and stubbornly glared out the window, refusing to look at him. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t Bucky’s fault—the thing was a relic—but with the panic of missing the party bubbling up, you couldn’t help yourself.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, just stay in the truck, alright? I’ll fix this.”
He pushed the door open and hopped out, but despite his instructions, you were right on his heels.
Bucky popped open the hood, and a fresh cloud of gray smoke billowed out, forcing him to cough and wave his hand to clear the air. He leaned over the engine bay, his vibranium hand resting on the frame as he squinted at the mess of hoses and wires.
“See anything?” you pestered over his shoulder.
“I see a lot of things that shouldn’t be smoking,” he mumbled grumpily.
He reached in, his fingers grazing a radiator hose that looked suspiciously frayed. He tried to tighten a loose bolt, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, but as soon as he touched a connector near the battery, a stray spark flew up.
“It’s the alternator,” he suggested, pulling his hand back and wiping grease onto his jeans. “Or the fuel pump. Or maybe it’s just tired of living.”
“Can you fix it?” you asked, your brows furrowed.
He looked at the smoking engine, then back at the empty road, and finally at you. He let out a long, defeated breath and shook his head.
“There are no tools for me to work with.” He explained, shutting the hood.
“Oh my god,” you repeated, your heart racing. “Oh my god—wait, so what do we do? Do we call someone?”
Bucky already had his phone out—a damned flip phone—and was already dialing Sam’s number.
“What are you doing?” you pestered him, buzzing around him like a fly.
“I’m calling Sam to pick us up,” he answered shortly.
“Oh—okay… good… that’s… good.”
You crossed your arms, your thumb nail caught between your teeth as you started to pace back and forth.
You felt terrible about Sam having to go out of his way to bail you out of this mess on his nephew’s birthday—and you felt even worse about adding a broken truck to the long list of things Sarah already had to take care of.
“Sam, can you hear me? Hello?” Bucky started, raising his voice to be heard over the static. “We’re stranded on—” He looked at you. “Where are we?”
“300 East,” you answered quickly.
“300 East. Sarah’s truck broke down and we need a—hello? Sam, can you hear me?”
Bucky tried again, but the line went dead. He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed, snapping it shut.
“Wait, what happened? Did he pick up?”
“Line went dead,” Bucky said, staring at the useless piece of plastic in his hand.
“But is he coming?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Does he know where we are? Did he hear you?”
“I don’t know.”
Your patience, already worn thin from the humidity and the stress of the entire situation, finally snapped.
“What do you mean you don’t know?!” You threw your hands up in the air, your frustration taking over. “God, maybe if I had driven, we wouldn’t have gotten into this mess—”
Bucky’s head snapped toward you, a scoff leaving his lips as he glared at you. “Excuse me? Why do you always blame things on me?”
“Because you insisted on driving! And you weren’t just driving—you were speeding! You were pushing the truck to its limits and now look at us!” Your voice rose as you stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Look at the mess you got us into!”
Bucky’s face twisted into a sneer so ugly, it nearly made you flinch. He stepped even closer, letting your finger dig into his chest as he loomed over you, as if reminding you of your place.
“You know, I’m starting to get sick and tired of the way you’re treating me,” he growled. “We had a great day—we were finally getting along—and you went and ruined it.”
Your eyes went wide. “I ruined it?”
“Oh, you ruined it the second you opened your mouth!” Bucky barked.
He didn’t even give you a chance to argue back, stepping forward until you were backed up against the hood of the truck.
“I’ve tried my best to be patient with you—goddamnit!” he continued angrily. “I’ve tried to suck up every petty thing you’ve said about me, the way you look at me like I’m nothing but trouble, the way you’ve treated me like a burden on Sarah’s and Sam’s doorstep.”
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a smile touching his lips—though it wasn’t a smile that held any happiness at all.
“Hell, I thought today I finally got through to that stubborn little head of yours. I thought maybe we actually enjoyed each other’s company for five minutes. But I guess not, because the second something goes wrong, you go right back to the same old script.”
You felt your bottom lip wobble. You kept your eyes down, refusing to look him in the eye.
You knew he was right—he had no idea how he was actually perceived by you, and your treatment of him was starting to feel completely one-sided and unfair.
Unable to take his yelling any longer, you shoved Bucky out of your way. He stumbled back, surprised by the force of your hand. You started walking away from him toward the truck doors without a word, but his voice followed you, sounding exhausted and completely defeated.
“Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?”
The sound of his boots scraping against the gravel caught up to you. Before you could pull away, he put a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm as he urged you to turn around.
“Look at me—”
You wrenched your shoulder out of his grasp, spinning around to face him.
“You want to know why?” you hissed. “It’s because of what you said the first day I met you. I overheard you talking to Sam—laughing about how you were ‘merely joking around’ with Sarah, and how you weren’t looking for anything serious.”
Bucky flinched, his hands dropping to his sides as the anger that clouded his eyes was replaced by a look of sheer confusion.
“Sarah is my best friend. I was the one who sat with her through the divorce. I’m the one who stays when Sam has to leave for months at a time. I’ve seen her work herself to the bone for those boys and this family, and she deserves someone who actually values her. She deserves a real man who means what he says—not someone who uses her as a punchline for a joke with his buddy.”
You stepped even closer, and Bucky looked more and more blindsided.
“You’re ‘just having fun,’ but people like you don’t realize that when you play around with someone like Sarah, you leave a mess behind for people like me to clean up. So yeah, I’ve been hard on you. Because I’m not going to let you come into her life, charm her every time you’re over, and then leave her wondering what she did wrong when men like you get bored.”
Bucky just stood there, taking in every word as they echoed in his mind.
Was this what you had thought of him all this time?
That he was some playboy with nothing but bad intentions for Sam’s—his best friend’s—sister?
“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky finally breathed out.
You crossed your arms, tilting your chin with that same stubborn scrunch of your face you did every time you were sure you were right.
“Of course you don’t,” you bit out.
Bucky huffed a dry laugh, running his tongue over his front teeth as he looked down at you. Despite everything, there it was again—that familiar, infuriating spark of yours.
Here you were, being a brat again, and as much as you got under his skin, he couldn’t ever look away.
“I’m sorry,” he admitted, his voice sincere and gentle. “I didn’t... I didn’t think it would affect her like that. Or you, especially. If I had known it was getting under your skin, I wouldn’t have kept it up.”
“If you knew you weren’t looking for a relationship, Bucky, then you should’ve known to stop. It’s that simple,” you snapped back, refusing to let the sudden softness in his voice throw you off.
“I get it. I’m sorry, alright?” Bucky said, his voice straining between genuine regret and a growing irritation.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You dismissively rolled your eyes and turned on your heel. Right now, you just needed to get away from him, so you reached for the truck door, intending to climb back into the cab and wait in silence until Sam eventually found you.
But before your hand could even wrap around the handle, Bucky’s vibranium arm shot out, slamming the door shut hard enough to make the Chevy shake.
He didn’t move his hand, pinning you between his body and the truck.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, leaning down so his face was inches from your ear. “I’m apologizing, and you’re still being a stubborn brat.”
“And you’re being annoying!” you shot back, refusing to shrink away even though you were trapped. Your back pressed against his chest with every shallow breath you took.
“Oh? So not only am I a player, but I’m also annoying?” His eyes darkened as they searched yours, catching your gaze as you tilted your head back to look at him. “I can never win with you, can I?”
Your heart raced as you looked him dead in the eye, trying to ignore the way he loomed over you. “And what exactly are you trying to win out of me, Barnes?” you challenged.
Bucky’s gaze dropped to your mouth, tracing the curve of it before snapping back up. He shifted his stance, his thigh brushing firmly against yours and closing the last bit of air between you.
“Your approval,” he murmured. His voice vibrated so low in his chest that you could feel it against your own body. “I just want you to like me.”
“I… do like you,” you admitted, though your voice came out shaky. “You’re a friend of Sam’s—I respect you enough for that.”
“That’s the problem,” Bucky said, the complaint sounding like a painful corak. “You don’t like me. You tolerate me.”
With his vibranium hand still propped up against the truck near your head, his right hand trailed up to play with the ends of your hair. He twirled the strands between his fingers with a careful, almost yearning touch, his fingertips gentle against the locks.
He kept his head down, but even without looking, you could feel the burn of his gaze on the back of your head.
“I want more.”
A short, sharp breath escaped your lungs at his admission. More?
“Bucky,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “What more could you possibly want from me? If I can tolerate you—isn’t that already enough?”
“No, it’s not,” he groaned. He lowered his head, nuzzling his nose against your hair and breathing you in. “I want the girl who was there for me when I was having a nightmare. I want the girl I was eating beignets with and dancing with in the middle of Jackson Square.”
Your heart was beating so fast you felt like you were running out of air.
He pressed closer, and a small gasp escaped you as you felt his thigh wedge firmly against yours. When your hand scrambled for the side of the truck for support, you gasped as as you felt a twitch coming from between his legs.
“But instead, I’m getting nothing but a real fucking brat,” he hissed into your ear.
He rocked his hips forward, letting you feel his hard erection against your bottom, forcing you to press even deeper against the truck.
You couldn’t believe it—the man you swore you hated was hovering over you, rocking his hips against yours like an animal. You were pinned hard against the truck, helpless to do anything but take it.
The worst part was that even if you tried to protest, you knew he’d see right through you. You were actually enjoying this. You craved the feeling of him, the way Bucky was grinding against you from behind right here on the side of the road, where anyone could drive by and see exactly what he was doing to you.
Despite being caught in such a vulnerable position, you couldn’t help but let that stubborn streak flare up one more time—mostly because you were dying to see how much more you could get out of him.
You tilted your head back until it rested against his shoulder, looking up at him and batting your lashes.
“Is this it then, Barnes?” you teased, rubbing your bottom against his straining, painful bulge. “You think pinning me against a broken truck and acting like a caveman is going to make me like you? You’re even more desperate than I thought.”
A broken, ragged shudder escaped his lips as he watched the curve of you settle perfectly against his cock.
It had been a long time since he had been in contact with a woman like this—much less the one woman who had been driving him absolutely crazy since the moment he stepped foot back in Louisiana.
Bucky’s hands moved from the truck to your waist, giving you a possessive squeeze.
He held you still as he continued to grind into you. A low groan escaped him as the friction of his clothes against his sensitive skin hit just right.
He felt like he was on the verge of losing it. He could have come right there from the dry humping alone.
But he wasn’t about to give in that easily.
“Desperate...” he muttered, breathless, as he continued to hump you like an animal. “Yes—I’m desperate. I’ve been desperate for you this entire fucking time, and you didn’t even know it.”
His fingers tangled into your hair, giving it a sharp tug that forced a gasp from your lips and exposed the long line of your neck to him.
“Every time I come back to Louisiana, I’m always hoping you’d be there—even if your very existence aggravates me.”
He was always looking for you?
Bucky nuzzled his nose against the sensitive skin there, his lips grazing your throat as he continued to talk filth.
“Need to kiss you,” he mumbled against your skin, peppering your neck with sloppy, wet kisses. “Need to stick my tongue down your throat—bet that’ll shut you up for good, won’t it?”
His rough hands roamed relentlessly over your body, bunching the fabric of your top and squeezing your breasts through the thin material. He was possessive, his touch leaving no doubt about who you belonged to in this moment.
You let out a breath as his fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, cupping your tits in his palms.
“A lot of talking, but not a lot of action,” you taunted, trying to bite back a moan as he gripped you harder. “Seems very on brand for you, doesn’t it?”
With a snarl, his grip on your hips tightened. He spun you around, nearly slamming your back against the truck. Your yelp of surprise was cut short the second his lips found yours.
The kiss was desperate, almost inexperienced in its hunger, but he moved like a man who had been starving for this very moment with you.
You couldn’t help but lean into him, your hands tangling into his hair with a tug. You moaned into his mouth, and Bucky groaned back, his tongue pushing past your lips to delve deep into the wet warmth of your mouth.
He kept you pinned firmly against the truck, his thigh between yours. You were growing wetter by the second, and you took it upon yourself to start rubbing against him, grinding your dampened cunt against his thick thigh.
Bucky pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting for air. He watched, eyes dark and blown out, as you practically fucked yourself against his leg.
A taunting, low laugh left his lips at the filthy sight of it.
“Look at you,” he groaned. “You’re fucking asking for it now.”
Reaching behind you, he yanked the door handle and threw it open.
“Get in the damn truck,” Bucky demanded roughly.
You scrambled inside with a defiant grin, your lips puffy and swollen. You didn’t hesitate to discard your bottoms, leaving yourself in just your panties as you sprawled across the bench seat.
From your spot on the upholstery, you watched with uneven breaths as Bucky began to fumble with his belt.
“Turn around,” Bucky instructed, palming his cock through his jeans as he finally rid himself of the thick fabric. “Face down, ass up.”
Before you could even get into position, Bucky crawled into the truck right after you.
The truck dipped with all the weight shifting to one side, and he slammed the door shut behind him. He didn’t even give you time to adjust before his hands found your hips, spinning you around until you were bent over, ass presented to him with your hands planted firmly on the worn leather of the Chevy’s seats.
“God—eager, are you?” you teased.
“Shut up,” Bucky hissed as his flesh hand found the back of your hair, pinning you down so your cheek squished up against the leather.
His fingers hooked the waistband of your cotton panties, giving them a harsh tug and nearly ripping them.
With your face pressed into the seats, you couldn’t make out what he was doing from behind you—only the sounds coming out of his mouth.
“Fuck—look at you,” Bucky groaned, accompanied by the sounds of his jeans and belt being pushed down. “Dripping and completely bare—all just for me.”
Then, you heard the sounds of skin rubbing against skin.
The truck started to shake as deep, breathy little moans escaped Bucky’s mouth. Craning your head to peek at him, your eyes widened at what you saw.
Bucky was admiring the view from behind, his eyes completely glued to the curve of your ass and your wet, puffy cunt—clenching and begging for him. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as his cool, vibranium hand spread your ass wide to get a better view, while the other was stroking his cock hard and fast.
Pre-cum already bubbled at the tip as breathy groans kept leaving his mouth. He was so big—so fucking big—and you weren’t sure he was even going to fit.
Trying to tilt your head to get a better look, Bucky’s hand immediately left his cock and went straight back to your head, pinning you in place against the seat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
You winced. “What? I can’t even look at you now?”
“You don’t get to make demands of me anymore,” he murmured roughly. He guided his cock up and down against your slit, coating himself and spreading his pre-cum everywhere. “Not when you’re bent over like this. Bent over like a dirty little slut.”
Your pussy immediately pulsed and twitched against Bucky’s tip. He probed and teased the entrance, pushing against the tight heat of your cunt to make you moan, but never quite slipping inside.
It was enough to drive you insane.
Despite everything, you wanted him to fill you right here—right in the truck in the middle of the road, where anyone could see you getting fucked by him.
You started to wiggle your hips, your entrance catching his tip and forcing a broken groan from his throat.
“Still all this talk and no action,” you taunted, wiggling your ass against him. “You just keep proving me more right every day. You’re all talk—”
A yelp broke from your lips as his palm connected with the bare curve of your ass. Your body arched, a sting blooming across your skin and making your toes curl.
“You just don’t know how to keep that mouth shut, do you?” Bucky growled, leaning over you until his breath was hot against your ear.
Without waiting for an answer, he brought his hand down again, forcing another yelp from you as the slap echoed in the small truck.
Your bottom—bare and vulnerable—began to throb with a pulsing heat. Bucky’s right hand smoothed over the warm skin, and he mockingly clicked his tongue when you bucked your hips back for more, seeking friction from his cock despite the pain.
“Christ,” Bucky groaned, his fingers swiping your sensitive slit. “Did you just get wetter?”
“Bucky…” you whined against the leather seat. “... p-please.”
Bucky froze behind you, his eyes widening slightly as the word hung in the air. Then, a devilish little grin tugged at his lips.
Please?
Did you just say ‘please’?
He continued to soothe your burning skin with his palm, his touch gentle and taunting. “Sorry, sweetheart. What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
You groaned, burying your face out of embarrassment. “You know what? Forget it—”
Another gasp escaped you as his hand came down hard against your bottom again, making your body jolt. Before you could pull away, both of his hands clamped down on your hips, dragging you back until you were pushed against him.
You could feel the ridge of his warm, throbbing cock resting right against the curve of your ass.
“Come on, baby. I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘please.’ Say it again. I know you’ve got a voice.”
When you continued to remain stubbornly silent, he guided his cock toward your entrance, sinking just the tip in.
You arched your back, a needy sound catching in your throat. Bucky groaned, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of your tight hole. He wanted to grab your hips and slam you down on his cock—but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to make you beg for it.
“Fuck—come on, sweets. Just say please like a good girl,” he coaxed, his own voice breaking. “Come on, I want to hear you say it. Just one more time for me, baby. Say please once and I’ll give it to you good—I promise.”
Just once.
All he needed from you was a simple, breathy little ‘please’— a broken whimper he could hold onto.
He knew he couldn’t make you beg for much longer, mostly because he was just as greedy as you were. He was starving, and he wanted to fuck you right here, right now, until instead of begging him with a ‘please’ you’d be begging with a ‘stop’.
“P-please…”
The word finally broke from your lips—breathless and broken. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.
With his tip buried in your tight entrance, and you pulsing and wet around him, he needed to feel more. That breathy little ‘please’ was the perfect invitation.
“Good girl,” Bucky praised, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to sink into you—slowly, making sure you felt every agonizing inch. “Good fucking girl.”
Your mouth hung wide open, drool surely spilling out and onto the seats as Bucky stretched you wide until you felt completely filled. Your breath hitched, coming in short, panicked bursts.
“God, you’re so small,” Bucky groaned, leaning over you—his chest pressing hard against your back. “Tight enough to break me.”
Even with your lungs feeling squeezed and your head light from the stretch, you couldn’t help the small, muffled huff that left you. You turned your face to glance back at him with a dazed and defiant look.
“Maybe you’re just… hah… out of practice,” you managed to choke out, a weak smirk tugging at your lips. “Forgotten what a real woman feels like?”
Bucky’s eyes went dark, his brow twitching at your words. He didn’t give you the satisfaction of a laugh. His fingers dug into the leather on either side of your head and he began to pull out, agonizingly slow, only to slam back into you completely—filling you in one hard and ruthless thrust. A thrust hard enough to make the truck shake.
“Out of practice?” he hissed. He did it again, a short, hard thrust that knocked the wind out of you. “Since you’ve got such a big mouth, I’ll make sure to fuck that one next.”
Bucky grabbed your hips, his fingers pushing into your flesh and making you gasp as he began to rock his hips back and forth. He withdrew nearly all the way, leaving you cold and aching for a split second, before fucking all the way back into you.
The truck began to rock and creak, the worn leather squeaking beneath your sweaty palms as he fucked you into it.
He made sure you felt every ridge and throb of him, his tip aiming at your softest spots until your vision swam and blurred.
“Still.. got something.. to say?” he grunted between words, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt as he fucked you.
You couldn’t even form a syllable. Your eyes—rolled back—were disoriented as he used your body for his pleasure.
All the noises that filled the small space of the truck were filthy. The wet squelching of your pussy as Bucky’s cock pumped in and out of you. The breathy grunts and groans leaving Bucky’s lips. Your gasps and mewls whimpering in the air.
“I… hah—mph—B-bucky, I—”
“Look at you,” he huffed a deep, condescending laugh. “Can’t even talk now, can you? Just laying there and taking it. God—I’ve dreamed of this so many times, you know? You, pinned underneath me, finally putting this bratty pussy to work. When I fill you up, we’re not nearly done. I’m going to use your mouth next, I’ll make sure of it.”
Every filthy word that left Bucky’s lips only made you clench tighter around him, bringing you closer and closer.
“But fuck, your pussy is so tight—feel like I could be buried here all day,” Bucky groaned.
He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing with a pressure that sent sparks through your vision. He felt you flutter around him, tightening around his cock almost painfully so.
“Fuck—you gonna cum?” he asked roughly.
“M-mph—mhm—!” you moaned against the leather, nodding your head frantically. “M’gonna cum, Bucky!”
A deep, sexy vibration of a laugh rumbled in Bucky’s chest—and you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Your body shook against the leather as your walls clamped down on him with heavy pulses. A broken, high pitched keen left your throat as you felt yourself come undone all over him, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashing over you while he savored your tightness.
Bucky clenched his teeth, hissing as your pussy—already tight as it was—became restrictive and completely unbearable for him.
But despite the tightness, he didn’t stop—not even for a second.
It was too good not to.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum, baby—” Bucky gasped, his hips moving uncoordinated as his cock pulsed and throbbed. “Fuck, fuck, gonna cum… inside… gonna fill you up—!”
Bucky pushed his hips into yours, bottoming out until there wasn’t a breath of space left between you.
You felt his cock pulse inside you—and then you started to feel even fuller than you already were. His cum began to seep into your tight pussy, pumping into you until you overflowed, the excess dripping out and onto the seats.
He dropped his forehead against the back of your neck, his hot breath tickling your damp skin as he felt himself start to calm down, catching his breath.
His hands roamed over your hips, giving you a gentle rub before he pulled himself out of your abused pussy with a wet squelch. He sat back on the seat, chest heaving as he motioned for you to come closer.
“Come here, baby,” he cooed.
Bucky gently guided you toward his lap, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your sweaty forehead. Then, his vibranium hand found the back of your head, slowly—gently—guiding you down toward his cock, which was still half hard and coated in juices.
“I said I was going to use your mouth next, didn’t I?”
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered with a shaky laugh.
You were exhausted, your body still trembling from the way he had completely ruined you, yet here he was—demanding more. Bucky didn’t look bothered at all. He just flashed a lopsided, lazy grin.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, his vibranium fingers curling gently into your hair, guiding you back toward his lap.
You rolled your eyes even as you sank down, your tongue slowly dragging up his spent cock. Your tongue danced around the tip—then beneath the head—making him shudder and groan.
He was sensitive, yet he still wanted more. You stretched your mouth open, taking him in as best as you could. He was already thickening back to fullness, responding instantly to the warmth of your throat.
As you bobbed your head lazily on his cock, Bucky tossed his head back against the leather seats with a moan, rutting his hips up gently—just barely—seeking more.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “God—that fucking mouth—”
But the sound of his phone ringing cut through the truck, silencing him instantly. Bucky stiffened, his breath hitching as he felt around the tangled leather seats. He grabbed his phone, glancing at the flip-phone screen with a low curse.
It was Sam.
He answered, pressing the phone to his ear while his other hand stayed tangled in your hair, his thumb stroking your cheek as you continued to work his cock.
“Hey man! I'm halfway there,” Sam’s voice crackled through. “Just hold on for about twenty more minutes, alright?”
Bucky’s head fell back against the headrest, his eyes squeezing shut as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips gave a small, involuntary twitch, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out.
“Alright,” Bucky managed to grit out, his voice a strained, gravelly mess. “We’re here… waiting— fuck.”
He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you took him deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair as a warning. There was a moment of silence on the other line.
He was sure the connection had died or Sam might’ve hung up.
“Yo, Buck? You sound hurt,” Sam said, his voice rising with concern. “Y’all good? You two aren’t fighting, are you?”
Fighting was one way to put it.
“We’re perfectly fine,” Bucky huffed, growing impatient. “You said twenty minutes, right? Okay. We’ll wait for you. Bye.”
He flipped the phone shut and tossed it somewhere behind him, his attention snapping back to you. You fluttered your eyes to look up at him, your mouth still stuffed with his cock.
“You heard that, baby? You’ve got twenty minutes to make me cum again,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. “Think that’s enough time for you?”
You popped his cock out of your mouth, wiping at the saliva that spilled onto your chin with a smug, little grin.
“Bet I can do it in two.”
“Oh, here you go again.”
i actually had a lot of fun writing this. now i want to book a trip to new orleans.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.
PAIRING: (ex)boyfriend’s dad!bucky barnes x female!reader
SUMMARY: you catch your boyfriend cheating on you with another girl at your neighbour’s halloween party. bucky barnes, his hot and thoughtful dad, is ready to take care of your broken heart.
WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; mentions of reader's family; reader wears a skirt and makeup; original characters; (ex)boyfriend’s dad!bucky; age gap (reader’s in her mid 20s; bucky's 40+); cheating; light angst; emotional hurt/comfort; lots of praises and pet names; smut; size difference; soft dom!bucky; slight jealousy; slightly possessive!bucky; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); dirty talk; nipple play; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); mention of reader being on the pill; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; riding; caught in the act (the ex boyfriend overhears them 🤪).
WORD COUNT: 14.4k
A/N: I was too excited to wait until tomorrow, this was my first dilf!bucky story after all 😭 hope you'll enjoy!
The retail store is too bright and colorful compared to the stormy sky outside.
You and your friends have been coming here ever since middle school. Back then, Yelena’s older sister was the only one with a driver’s license, piling all of you into her car to take you wherever you wanted to go. Halloween has always been your favorite excuse to spend time together, with Kate opening her doors for your annual sleepover: a night of mildly scary movies, gossip about the cutest guys in town, and enough junk food to leave all of you clutching your stomachs by midnight.
By the time you started high school, your older neighbor’s extravagant Halloween party had become the talk of the town. Hosted in her massive mansion, it was the kind of event people counted down to months in advance. You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but it was the perfect excuse to dress up and show off the elaborate costumes you and your friends spent weeks planning.
When college began, the four of you ended up scattered across different universities around the state. Nearly a year passed without shared laughter in the canteen and a morning dose of tight hugs to begin your days, until you finally agreed to reunite this October. It would probably be the last chance for you four to meet for a long time. With everyone caught up in their own schedules and studies, moments like this had become rare, that’s why you were determined to make the most of these three days together.
The store looks exactly the same as it did ten years ago: fake cobwebs dangling from the white ceiling, evil-looking pumpkins staring down at customers from the shelves, racks of masks and toys that once felt endless. Now, you swear everything seems smaller than it used to be.
The air still smells of dust and cheap plastic. Strangely, it’s that sharp, chemical tang coming from the latex masks lining the walls that makes the place feel so familiar.
The first room is completely devoted to rows and rows of children’s toys, while the second—normally a storage space—is crammed with costumes and accessories messily thrown together. From the ceiling, a dozen paper bats sluggishly sway in the cold draft slipping through the old windows, while somewhere on the counter, a motion-sensor witch clutches a plastic pumpkin-shaped bowl of sweets, cackling like a banshee every time someone reaches for a piece. The sagging orange letters spelling HAPPY HALLOWEEN are stuck to the front of the counter, crooked and peeling at the edges, and you’re pretty sure the owner has left them there all year round since you can remember.
The store definitely looked scarier and quieter when you were younger, the fact that it’s located in an isolated area of the town near the woods didn’t really help. Now, it’s just the kind of place that tries too hard to be spooky, only to end up looking a little tacky.
Wanda has been wearing a perpetual scowl since she started browsing through racks of angel wings and synthetic, overly lavish princess gowns, searching for something less glittery and darker. A few rows over, Yelena tries to give you a heart attack by silently hovering behind you, switching between different clown masks each time you turn around. Kate, on the other hand, is determined to find a Wednesday Addams costume—she’s been completely obsessed with the show lately.
You already have your outfit at home: a short skirt and a lace top paired with sparkling boots, the colors an homage to your favorite Barbie doll. You’re still bitter about missing Rachel’s Halloween party because of the chickenpox you caught from Kate in senior year. You had everything ready down to the smallest detail, that Barbie costume was flawless. Instead, you spent the night in fleece pajamas, curled under the covers as you peeked from behind your pillow at Art the Clown mauling people on screen, while the muffled music from the neighboring mansion made your walls vibrate.
Still, you decided to tag along for old times’ sake.
“Black or maroon?” Wanda holds up two identical dresses.
Kate hums, absently twirling a wig between her fingers as she studies the fabric. “Black.”
“Maroon,” you say without looking up, inspecting a bloodstained lab coat before placing it back on the rack with a grimace. “It suits your hair.”
“Lena?” Wanda turns to the blonde, who’s currently trying to stab her own palm with a fake knife to test how real it feels.
“Is that even a question?” She lifts her eyebrows, gaze landing on her dark red coat.
“I know, but it looks cute in both colors.” Wanda hesitates, eyes flicking between the dresses before finally putting the black one back with a sigh. “Alright, I’m done. Have you found anything interesting?”
“I can’t believe they don’t have a Wednesday costume,” Kate frowns, rifling through plastic bags for the third time. “It’s like, one of the most popular shows ever.”
“You know online shopping exists, right?” Yelena shoots back, tossing the knife into a display bin. “Just buy a black dress with a white collar.”
“But I wanted the school uniform, not some generic dress.”
The blonde rolls her eyes, already fiddling with a pair of popping-eye glasses.
“Hey, is Nathan coming to the party?”
You flinch, almost dropping the fake vampire teeth in your hand, not expecting Wanda standing so close beside you.
“Yeah. He has some things to take care of at his apartment first, so he’ll meet us at Rachel’s house.”
A disgusted ugh echoes behind you, and that makes your lips curl into a small smile despite the clear vitriol on the blonde’s features.
It’s no secret that Yelena can’t stand your boyfriend, Nathan. They’ve only met once, but that was enough for him to immediately pick up on her dislike. He often tried to get an explanation out of you, but you always brushed it off, claiming that your friend is just like that.
In truth, you know exactly why every word coming out of his mouth sounds like a fork scraping against a plate to her ears.
During the first months of your blooming relationship, Nathan had a habit of disappearing, ignoring your messages for days—sometimes for an entire week—only to come back with grand gestures as if nothing had happened. It left you confused and anxious, and Yelena more than anyone spent entire nights on the phone trying to calm you down, warning you about how unreliable he was. After a while, you convinced yourself he was just the type to get bored easily, the kind of guy who discards the “old toy” the moment a new, shinier one comes along.
Then, just before Christmas, he stood at your dorm room door with the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever received, and an apology on his lips. He explained—almost shamefully—that his behavior stemmed from his parents’ toxic relationship. He didn’t go into details, only that their divorce had been messy, something that left him with a warped sense of commitment. Still, he insisted he liked you, that he was finally ready for something real.
Yelena had been furious. Not only did you let him off far too easily, but there had been little to no groveling—nowhere near enough to make up for the emotional whiplash he’d put you through. She was certain, deep down, that he would hurt you again someday. And your best friend didn’t want to see you that miserable ever again, especially for an asshole like Nathan.
You can’t really blame her for feeling so strongly. She was the one who comforted you during those sleepless nights, listening as you tried to make sense of his sudden distance when everything had seemed to be going so well.
It’s not like she brings it up all the time, but whenever his name comes up, she can’t help slipping in a sarcastic remark or two—ones that, despite yourself, make you laugh.
“Oh, so Casper finally decided to show up.”
That’s another thing: she refuses to call him by his name. Back when you used to cry over him, she’d come up with ridiculous nicknames just to lighten the mood. Casper is the latest, because of how little you see him these days. Always busy, always somewhere else. Fleeting like a ghost.
“His professors are giving him hell, cut him some slack, Lena. He’s practically living in the library nowadays.” Wanda glances at you with quiet sympathy, nodding along as you speak. “I always tell him to text me when he gets home, but some days he’s so exhausted he forgets. And the few times he does remember, it’s like three in the morning.”
Yelena’s eyebrows lift at your explanation. For once, though, she doesn’t argue. She just shakes her head with a resigned half-smile.
You met Nathan at the beginning of your first academic year. He and his dad had just moved to your hometown; apparently, his father had grown tired of the chaos of the city and decided to start working from home. Home, in this case, meant his mother’s hometown—the place where Mr. Barnes’ parents met years ago, during a summer visit to their relatives. After marrying, they moved to New York and never really came back.
When the divorce happened, Nathan stayed with his father and eventually enrolled in the nearest university to remain close. Once your relationship grew more serious, the two of you started traveling back and forth together, mostly because he had a shiny, fully functioning car, unlike you. And that’s when he finally introduced you to his dad, James Buchanan Barnes.
Now, Nathan is undeniably handsome and after meeting Mr. Barnes, you can clearly see where he gets his looks from. The difference is... his father is on another level. It’s not just that he’s handsome. The man is hot. Yes, there are streaks of white in his beard, and crow’s feet appear whenever his smile softens his features—but those details don’t take away from his looks. If anything, they only make him more attractive.
He’s big, too: broad-shouldered, towering over you with an ease that’s both intimidating and… not unwelcome. And he’s a real gentleman. Every time you stayed over for lunch or dinner, he served you first, firmly refusing to let you lift a finger, insisting his son is more than capable of cleaning up after himself.
The first time he pulled out a chair for you, your heart dropped straight to your stomach.
Since February, your boyfriend has been buried in projects and assignments, and you’ve often gone back home alone. Because of that, you stopped visiting Mr. Barnes—it didn’t feel right showing up when Nathan wasn’t there.
That is, until you ran into the older man at the local supermarket one day, and after his usual gentle hug, he looked at you with his kind, blue eyes, his voice as warm as a cup of hot, creamy chocolate, “You know you’re welcome to visit anytime, right? It doesn’t matter if Nathan’s home or not.”
Despite your initial hesitation, you went. And then you went again. More times than you’d like to admit.
Conversations with him drift so effortlessly from ridiculous stuff he sees on the internet yet doesn’t quite understand, to more serious topics. At some point, you even started confiding in him. No matter the problem, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to soothe your worries. More than anything, he treats you like an equal, an adult. He doesn’t tiptoe around your age, or reduce your personality to his son’s girlfriend. With him, you’re just… you.
It’s almost unsettling, when you think about it—how often he’s been there for you compared to your boyfriend. Nathan replies late, often too late. There’s always an excuse: a project he still has to finish, a study session that ran too late, outings at the bar with friends he supposedly never sees. The times you try to ask about his day, he brushes it aside, steering the conversation back to you after a two-word response, until eventually he disappears again for hours.
At first, you had your doubts, and you hate yourself a little for it now.
You never told anyone—not even your closest friends—but once, you went to his faculty library. Not to spy, you told yourself. Just to... check, to make sure he was actually there.
And he was. Completely absorbed in his books.
You left with shame burning hot on your cheeks. That night, when he texted you to let you know he was home, you couldn’t even bring yourself to reply. The guilt only got worse when you realized how often your thoughts drifted to Mr. Barnes throughout your days. Over something small, like seeing a cat minding its own business in the streets—because he once told you he used to feed the strays when he was a kid, but his chance to adopt one of his own is now long gone since Nathan is allergic—or when you need advice on an assignment. He’s always there. Even when he’s busy, Mr. Barnes still takes the time to send a quick message, apologizing for delayed replies. You told him he didn’t have to do that, you understood he had work, responsibilities... Yet he just smiled and kept putting you first anyway.
During one of your weekly video calls, Kate asked about Nathan, mentioning she hadn’t seen him in the background for a while. You brushed it off pretty quickly, explaining how busy he’s been with his studies, and the conversation ended there.
Later, while talking about food, you casually mentioned a restaurant Mr. Barnes had recommended. He’d made a habit of suggesting places he’d tried with his colleagues, knowing how much you and your friends enjoy exploring new cuisines together.
The silence that followed was mortifying.
Your gaze slowly lifted from the blanket you were knitting to find your friends staring at you, half amused, half shocked. Promptly waving off their nosy questions, you insisted you just saw each other from time to time. That he’s kind, funny, easy to talk to. Still, they teased you about having a tiny crush on your boyfriend’s dad.
The joke got out of hand the following week, when you accidentally admitted the blanket you were working on was for him—Mr. Barnes had discovered your hobby and casually mentioned that he’d love to have something made by you some day.
Yelena nearly lost her mind. At one point, she actually dropped to her knees in front of her phone, dramatically begging you to leave Nathan and just sleep with his dad.
You awkwardly laughed it off, your face burning as you resisted the urge to hang up and disappear under your covers.
In the end, Wanda stepped in, declaring there was nothing wrong with being friends with your very attractive almost-father-in-law. That helped… a little. Because you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just two adults who get along, who often text each other for hours between a good morning and a good night. Who share an occasional cup of tea when you’re back in town that promptly turns into you staying for dinner because he is a great cook and always has a new recipe he found on Pinterest that made him think of you.
It just so happens he’s your boyfriend’s father.
You do like Nathan—a lot. And he wants you just as much. You’ve been together for two years now, for fuck’s sake! Life just… gets in the way sometimes. Things will settle down once he graduates in winter and you both understand where you want to go from there.
Every relationship has its ups and downs.
This is just a rough patch.
This year, your neighbor truly outdid herself. Rachel was the ultimate popular girl: indulgent parents, cheer captain of the only high school in town, and glossy dark waves that every girl tried so desperately to imitate. Everyone wanted to be her, but few had the privilege of sitting at her table. She wasn’t the stereotypical mean girl—just ambitious and filthy rich. Her pretty features had sharpened since the last time you saw her. After enrolling in one of the most prestigious law schools in the country, many thought her days of excessive drinking and wild nights were behind her.
Apparently not.
The rumors of her Halloween parties had spread far beyond your town. Everyone counted on her keeping the tradition alive, and now she returns each year, bringing more and more people with her, to host the biggest party in the county.
One look at the claustrophobic living room, now a dance floor, makes your lungs constrict, the strobe lights not helping at all as they blind you while flashing across the sticky floors. Costumes blur together: you saw at least a dozen demons, three cowboys, and Rachel and her two best friends as the iconic Plastics. Though every time you think you see the flash of Nathan’s leather jacket, it turns out to be a stranger. He had texted an hour ago that he’d just parked, having thrown together a leather biker jacket and black trousers to pass as Danny Zuko from Grease, but so far, no sign of him.
Laughter ripples through Rihanna’s Disturbia from a group leaning against the kitchen counter, the walls of the lavish mansion rattling along the pulsing bass. Someone spills a drink in front of you, narrowly missing your top. Your temples pulse with an excruciating headache when a group of guys holler like animals after completing a keg stand: they each wear a plastic bag with a condom sign attached to their chest, hugging each other in victory. Yet you can’t help but imagine how Nathan would’ve laughed at the scene.
Right. Nathan. Where the fuck is he?
“Hey!” Your shoulders jump at the shout over the beginning of Thriller. Yelena and Wanda appear at your sides, pulling you toward the open patio windows overlooking the huge backyard without much ceremony.
“Have you seen Nathan?” You ask while scanning the crowd by the punch bowls.
“Nope.” Yelena mutters something else under her breath, but you decide to ignore it. It must be another one of her tailored nicknames for your boyfriend.
The cold air sharply hits your face as they lead you outside, goosebumps prickling your skin.
“Why are we here? It’s freezing and I still need to find Nathan. He got here an hour ago and—”
“I’m starving!” Wanda cuts in, practically skipping across the grass. “C’mon, they’re grilling sausages! Hot dogs! Want one?”
You squint at her, confused. Her rambling is classic Wanda, nervous energy spilling out at a mile a minute.
“Wanda, stop, for fuck’s sake.” Yelena snaps, planting her feet on the ground firmly.
“What’s going on?” You glance back and forth between the two of them, but they are too busy staring each other down to acknowledge you, a silent conversation you can’t follow unfolding in frowns too subtle to catch.
Wanda shakes her head, addressing you with a polite, closed-lip smile. “It’s nothing. Let’s just eat.” She reaches for your hand, but you step back, glancing at the other.
“What’s going on, Lena?” Her jaw clenches.
“There’s no need to make a scene right now.” Wanda hisses.
“There’s no need—” The blonde sputters outraged. “This is fucking insane, what is your problem?”
You step between them, grabbing their wrists. “Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, guys, but I need you to calm down and tell me what’s up.” You bark. “Kinda feeling left out here.” Your attempt to lighten the mood is entirely overlooked as Wanda tilts her head, silently begging the blonde to be patient.
“She deserves to know.” Yelena grits out.
“Not now! It’ll just make things worse for her.”
“You think it’s better if we wait?”
The argument draws a few stares from the patio. Kate, watching from the door, clumsily invents a story about a lost lipstick to defuse tension, quickly making her way to you as most people shrug and return to their drinks.
The air suddenly feels heavier, tension crawling up your spine and settling in your shoulders.
“Someone tell me what the fuck is happening. Right now.” Your voice shakes despite your effort to stay calm. “Is Kate okay? Did Nathan do something?”
Yelena simply exhales a long breath, pushing her tongue into her cheek in annoyance. Wanda takes your hand at once, her eyes pleading.
“It’s not about Kate. She’s fine. We’ll explain later, okay?”
“No,” you snap, wrenching your wrist free. “Explain now.”
Yelena huffs. “You’re just making it worse.”
Wanda’s auburn hair swings as she faces her, her voice turning serious. “Me? We know you hate his guts, Lena. You’ve been waiting for him to fuck up since the moment they started dating. But could you please put your fucking ego aside for once and think about her wellbeing? We’re in the middle of a party and you’re ruining her night.”
“Oh! I am ruining her night? You have been kissing his ass since the very beginning. And you talk about my fucking ego? You’re such a bi—”
“I saw Nathan upstairs making out with a girl!” The words pierce through the booming music like thunder.
Yelena and Wanda go abruptly still, all their annoyance vanishing at once as they slowly turn to face you with wide eyes. Kate is standing behind you, half-squirming as she watches you with something akin to desperation.
The ominous pit of nervousness you’ve been carrying in your stomach for the last hour suddenly doesn’t feel so irrational.
“I’m so sorry.” Kate whispers after a heavy pause, fingers fidgeting.
“Upstairs… where?” The words taste bitter on your tongue.
“In one of the bedrooms. The one closest to the bathroom.” She looks mortified, unable to meet your gaze.
You shove past her before you can even fully digest what’s going on, barreling through drunk students and ignoring their startled stares.
The strobe lights fracture the room into flashes of color—violet, red, sickly white—laughter spiking through the air in uneven bursts. The sharp tang of beer clings to everything, mixing with the artificial sweetness of fake fog that curls low around your ankles. It should feel alive, electric. Instead, it dulls to a distant, muffled hum as Kate’s words settle heavy and cruel deep in your chest.
Step after step, heavier than the last, your chest tightens, each breath catching halfway in, sharp and fast. For a moment, it feels like the world simply... pauses. It’s just you and the growing ache in your throat, threatening to spill over.
You hear Yelena screaming your name as you burst into the bedroom on the left. It’s empty, dark, and the bed is intact. Heart hammering painfully against your ribs, you storm into the next room, scaring a couple of people lingering nearby for a moment of intimate quiet. The door slams against the wall with a splintering bang, and in that moment you swear your heart stutters—one missed beat, maybe two—before it kicks back in, pounding wildly like it’s trying to break free. The sound rushes up into your ears, a violent, dizzying thrum that makes your head spin.
You stand there, frozen in the doorway, not knowing whether to scream, to run, or to crumple right there and let the floor open up and swallow you whole.
Maybe throwing up seems the best option as you take in the disgusting scene before you.
Nathan turns, confused by the sudden commotion. A girl is straddling him, but the light is too dim to recognize her, though you can clearly see how her skirt is bunched at her hips, exposing her lower half. The moment his eyes meet yours, he roughly shoves her away, causing her to squeal as she falls on the other side of the bed. Nathan’s weak voice calls out your name, but you are already turning away.
The scene is quite pathetic, Yelena thinks, as Nathan clumsily tries to run after you, but he keeps stumbling into the pants creased around his ankles.
“Wait—fuck, baby wait! It’s not what it looks like!” He shouts as he runs in the living room, fingers clumsily trying to zip up his pants.
“Shut up, Barnes.” Yelena’s voice cuts sharp from the stairs, Wanda and Kate close behind her. The music fades further, letting nearby partygoers witness the drama.
With a sharp inhale, you stop right in the entryway, fingers curling into fists at your sides to steady the chaos inside you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction to see you cry.
In the spur of the moment, you decide to turn around, lips parted to tell him to go to hell, but a shriek erupting from the top of the stairwell stops you.
“You’re an asshole!” The girl stands there, mascara smeared and skirt hastily pulled down.
“Jesus Christ.” Wanda tiredly rubs the bridge of her nose.
The girl’s face seems familiar, but you can’t place her. Maybe she used to go to high school with you? One of the many forgettable faces of your past.
“You’re a fucking liar, Nathan Barnes. You promised you’d tell her about us. You promised me you’d leave her.”
Someone in the crowd gasps, but it barely registers.
“What the fuck, Nathan?” You grimace, repulsion tightening your chest.
“I—I didn’t…” His voice falters, head turning back and forth between the two of you, a mix of shame and panic flashing across his features.
“I’ll tell you what he did, since he’s too much of a coward.” The girl interrupts, slowly stepping down the stairs. “We’ve been dating since March and he kept promising me he’d break up with you. He told me he did it as soon as he got here... But apparently it was just another lie.” She throws him a look of disdain, arms crossed to her chest.
Since March.
He’s been dating another girl for eight months. No. He’s been cheating on you with another girl for eight months.
The floor crumbles under your feet.
The constant busyness, the unanswered texts, the lack of intimacy, all the weekends you decided to come back here and he never once seemed to care about tagging along, not even texting you to make sure you had safely arrived, knowing your car is literally a jalopy.
The image of her straddling him flashes behind your eyes over and over again, cold sweat rushing down your back as you realize how many times they have acted like that undisturbed, how Nathan was about to have sex with her while his girlfriend was in the same house, waiting for him downstairs.
You refuse to meet some stranger’s pitiful eyes, or worse… their small smirk, the amusement dancing in their eyes. Somewhere nearby, people keep laughing, dancing, kissing, while you stand there, in front of the person you wasted two years of your life on, feeling like the butt of a scornful joke.
Guilt has been eating you alive since you doubted his words that day, yet he has been betraying your trust all along. Something shatters inside you at the realization that maybe everything you shared at first—the whispered plans for traveling the world together, the way his hands always found yours under the table, the warmth of him wrapped around you late at night—was never real at all.
You feel exposed, far beyond anything physical. The rawest parts of you burn under all these curious eyes, laid bare in a way you can’t hide from. You need to cover yourself, to disappear behind something—anything—a blanket, a jacket, a closed door.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you force out one last question.
“All the assignments, the projects—were they real at all? Or were they just a cover to fuck another girl behind my back?”
Nathan opens his mouth but doesn’t answer. His pleading brown eyes only stoke the fire in your veins, looking at you like he deserves your sympathy.
Shaking your head, you sprint toward the door, ignoring your friends’ desperate calls of your name. They try to reach you, but there’s too many people gathered there to watch the scene like a movie. By the time Yelena, Wanda, and Kate get to the front yard, you’ve long vanished into the dark.
Yelena curses out loud in Russian, stomping back inside to give that asshole a piece of her mind, and Wanda and Kate can only hurry after her, trying to stop the blonde from sending Nathan to the hospital.
Walking in the biting October cold clears your mind a little, even as the tears keep flowing. You hadn’t even noticed them until you had to slow down, your feet hurting in those damn boots. Sniffling, you keep your head down; despite being alone in the dark, that mix of humiliation and disbelief still makes your skin burn in shame. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet thoughts of how stupid you’ve been cloud your mind.
How could you have been so blind? All the signs were there, and you chose to ignore them.
That girl… she went to your university, which is why she felt so familiar. She’s pretty, you can’t deny it. And yet, was that enough for you to deserve that? Was she funnier than you? More caring? Better in bed? What were you lacking? You’ve always considered yourself average-looking—decent, sure, but not someone guys have ever fought over. You flirted, went on a few dates, but it never went beyond that. Maybe someone had a crush on you at some point, but you never knew.
It hurt your confidence, of course, but then Nathan happened, and that was your first mistake, probably—tying your self-worth to the way he treated you.
And now you can’t even go home and cry yourself to sleep. Kate was the only one with a purse, so you left all your belongings with her, except for your phone since you were waiting for Nathan to text you.
Going back is not an option, it feels like walking into a cage full of starving lions, especially since Nathan will probably be there still—either with her, or already laughing the whole thing off. She didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by his betrayal. If you were in her place, you’d be questioning him, wondering if you’d be on the other side as well someday.
You’ve seen it before. Your aunt was miserable after forgiving her cheating husband. He begged, cried, swore it was a moment of weakness. She was too busy with her job and he needed her, that’s how he justified himself.
So he fell into another woman’s vagina.
Your mom refused to speak to her for a while after her decision to not divorce him. Your dad then eventually convinced her to change her mind: that good-for-nothing was likely to do it again, and she couldn’t risk leaving her sister alone and vulnerable. Four months later, your aunt came home early from a work trip to surprise him—but she was the one whose heart fell to her feet.
He was in their bed with one of her closest friends.
After witnessing and experiencing that kind of pain first-hand, you can’t bring yourself to wish the same hurt on her. Even if she knew Nathan was already taken, even if she willingly started a relationship with him. But why would a single girl like her worry about your relationship when your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—didn’t seem to care in the first place?
You sigh, thinking of your parents. They’re out of town for your dad’s birthday. You can’t call them at one in the morning to tell them what happened. It wouldn’t be fair; you know they’d drop everything to come home if they knew and you can’t ruin the rare time they decide to treat themselves. After working so hard, this trip is the only moment of peace they are willing to indulge in once a year.
The back of your hand brushes over your raw cheeks in a useless attempt to clean yourself a little, tears still clouding your vision as you stare down at your phone screen, your finger hovering over that one contact that could save you, but shame pins you in place.
How can you face Mr. Barnes? Calling him now doesn’t just mean worrying him, but also possibly interrupting his night with… well, a woman. He’s a single, attractive man with a big house all to himself. Nathan was supposed to stay over, so who knows what the older man had planned for tonight?
It also means telling him about what happened.
The possibility of him defending his son makes a lonely tear slide down your cheek. No, Mr. Barnes would never justify a cheater. He’s too smart, too emotionally intelligent for that, even if the cheater in question is his own child.
Taking a deep breath, your mind races, torn between desperation and hesitation. The thought of disturbing him like a little kid makes you want to crawl into a hole and never get out, but it’s freezing outside and you are starting to not feel your toes. Your finger trembles with indecision above the screen, until reflex takes over. It presses the call icon.
You gasp, quickly bringing the phone to your ear when it immediately comes alive with his muffled voice.
“Sweetheart? Are you okay? Do you need something?” His deep, serene voice eases the wild thumping in your chest at once.
Right, another thing about Mr. Barnes. He calls you sweetheart, and seldom, other cute pet names slip by that make your traitorous heart flutter and your cheeks burn.
When you sniffle, he calls your name urgently.
“Are you busy?” You swallow, biting your trembling bottom lip.
“No. Never for you. What happened? Do you need me to come get you?”
You nod, then let out a frustrated huff when you remember he can’t see you. The faint clink of keys reaches your ears, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. You haven’t even replied and he’s already getting ready to come for you.
“Please… if you’re not busy.” You mumble.
“I told you I’m not. Don’t worry.” You hear a door close. Moments later, his voice returns. “Are you alright? Are you safe?”
You glance around, telling him you’re sitting on a bench in front of Ms. Garcia’s house. From his silence, you can gather his shock—you’re almost thirty minutes away from Rachel’s place.
“Why are you there, sweetheart? Is Nathan with you?” His words are slightly distorted by the rumble of the car engine.
“No, I’m alone. He’s still at the party.” You shiver as the cold metal of the bench presses against your bare thighs. “And I’m alright. Just tired.”
He doesn’t need all the details right now. The least you can do is explain in person.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” he murmurs under his breath. “You’ve been crying.”
You simply hum at his statement, expecting him to hang up, but instead he waits, respecting your silence, keeping the line open rather than leaving you alone in the dark.
When the familiar black SUV pulls up in front of you only a few minutes later, your body reacts instinctively. You hang up and watch as Mr. Barnes steps out. Before you can even find the right words to thank him, he’s around you, holding you close against his broad chest. Your lips part to whine out a pathetic apology, but the sound dies in your throat. Tears fall again, soaking his shirt.
“I’m so sorry… I didn’t know who to call,” you sniffle, swallowing an embarrassing sob. “My parents are out of town and Kate has my keys, but I didn’t want to go back there—”
“Hey, hey.” He gently pries your head away with a hand on your cheek, enough to examine your devastated eyes. “I’ve always told you I’m here if you ever need something. Anything. So don’t you dare apologize. I’m so proud you remembered that and called me, sweetheart.”
Your gaze drops at once on a random spot on his neck, unsure what to say next.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” His other hand cradles your left cheek now, thumbs brushing away the lingering tears at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head lightly, jaw tightening at the thought.
“Alright, alright. We’ll go at your pace.” He frowns. “Do you want to come home? It’s freezing and you’re—”
The next words die in his throat as his blue eyes sweep over your body like they are acknowledging the rest of you for the first time that night. Now you feel so foolish for not bringing a jacket. Despite the cold, you’d known Rachel’s house would feel like a furnace, packed with sweaty dancers and drinkers. A dramatic escape in the middle of the night was not in your plans and yet here you are.
Even in the middle of your internal scolding, you can easily notice how Mr. Barnes blinks, seemingly snapping out of whatever thought had caught his entire attention, only to quickly glance back up at your face. Being under the lamppost, it’s easy to spot the blush creeping across his cheeks.
You’re his son’s girlfriend, of course he would feel awkward with you so close and barely covered.
“I guess you didn’t want to hide your pretty outfit.” He comments instead, amusement lacing his tone. Your eyes widen. “You’re always beautiful, by the way. A jacket wouldn’t have ruined it.” He winks as his hand comes to rest on your back, guiding you toward his car. You’re still processing his tone and its meaning as he opens the passenger door to help you inside.
He’s never explicitly called you beautiful before, compliments used to stop at your outfits or your makeup.
Once inside, the engine hums to life, but before he takes care of anything else, he makes sure to turn on the heat. You shiver, muscles slowly loosening as the warmth seeps through your chilled body.
“Better?” He glances at you, receiving a simple, grateful nod as answer.
“Fuck, should have thought about bringing you one of my jackets.” He was probably talking to himself but you catch it anyway, pressing your palms lightly to your thighs. It’s just a jacket—nothing grand—but the thought behind it makes you breathe slightly more easily.
Bucky maneuvers the vehicle on the roadway, unhurriedly driving back the way you came from. A sense of dread abruptly washes over you at the realization that you are about to pass by your neighborhood, right in front of Rachel’s house. You try to be as subtle as possible when you slide down the seat, at least to not be completely recognizable from the outside, your head turning toward the window as if that could be enough to disappear completely. Bucky notices anyway, keeping a careful eye on you as you drive by the mansion looming chaotic in the dark.
“I saw Nathan with another girl.” You blurt out once Rachel’s house is at a safe distance. The car swerves slightly, your stomach twisting with a hint of fear as your hand instinctively reaches to grab the edge of the seat. Your worried eyes fly to Bucky, meeting his shocked gaze.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” He clears his throat. “How…”
You take a deep breath, eyes back on the road, feeling too ashamed to face him.
“Kate caught him in one of the bedrooms upstairs. When I opened the door… a girl was straddling him. They were kissing, and… probably about to do other things.” Another lump swells in your throat. “Apparently all those assignments and projects were just an excuse.” You scoff out a humorless laugh, the back of your hand already brushing a lonely tear away.
“They’ve been together since March, and he promised her he’d break up with me soon.”
Each word feels like biting broken glass.
From your peripheral vision, you see his body stiffen, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Apologies form on your tongue as a reflex, but why? For calling him to pick you up? For having to be the one to reveal such a horrible thing about his son? You don’t even know, yet his crushed expression is enough to make you feel terribly guilty.
Then, something happens that completely catches you off guard.
His hand reaches across the console, covering yours, fingers intertwining.
Mr. Barnes is good with words, yet that simple gesture is worth more than any speech right now. Tears come back with such a violent speed that shocks even you, but you try your best to bite them back, mortified about the whole situation.
Confused, you watch the car steer, eventually coming to a stop at the roadside. Bucky exhales heavily once the engine is turned off, plunging you both into darkness. His body then turns toward you as best he can in the cramped space.
“Can you look at me, sweetheart? Please?” His voice is barely a murmur, fingers squeezing yours gently. Reluctantly, you lift your chin, catching him in your peripheral vision. “Thank you.”
“I know you’re hurting right now, and words might feel meaningless in the face of this betrayal, but please… listen to me carefully.” His blue eyes burn fiercely. “Sometimes people don’t know how to treat something good the way it deserves, but that says nothing about its worth. I’m deeply disappointed in Nathan. I didn’t raise him to behave like this, and believe me, I will have words with him. Very strong ones.” You squeeze his hand back, the corners of your lips lightly lifting despite pain stabbing your chest.
“Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Barnes. Your words are never meaningless to me,” you murmur, frowning at your knees. “He is an adult, responsible for his own actions, and still chose to do this. He could’ve ended things with me before starting something with her, but instead took the easy way out without remorse.”
Bucky slumps back against the seat with a slow sigh, staring absent-minded at the dashboard. Eventually, a humorless laugh falls from his lips. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Your eyebrows jump up at the bitterness in his tone, and he allows a rueful smile. “My ex-wife cheated on me. That’s why we divorced.”
Your jaw drops.
“Nathan was thirteen and he still had to witness how much his mother’s choices affected me. It wasn’t easy for him. I never spoke badly of her, never kept him from seeing her... but he still chose to stay with me.” He sighs tiredly, head softly falling back against the headrest. “They only went back on speaking terms a couple years ago. Nathan felt like she betrayed him as well… refused to even text her at Christmas.” His neck turns just enough to look at you. “Has he ever told you that?”
You shake your head, swallowing.
“I’m—I’m so sorry, Mr. Barnes. I didn’t know… Nathan never talks about his mom, much less about your divorce.” Your words are not louder than a whisper.
His hand squeezes yours. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. The scars are there, but they don’t hurt anymore.”
Mr. Barnes straightens up after that, looking more resolute. “My point is, I’ve been through that kind of betrayal. For a long time, I was miserable, frustrated with her for ruining what we had, and with myself for missing the signs. And Nathan… he was the only good thing to come out of that marriage.” His gaze is fixed on yours with newfound strength, his voice tender. “Some days you’ll be angry at the world. You’ll stay in bed and cry your heart out, you’ll even miss the happy moments with him. But it won’t last forever.”
You clear your throat at that, staring down at the glove box for what feels like minutes. “Is it wrong,” you start quietly. “That I’m more upset about him betraying my trust than actually losing him?”
“What do you mean?” He tilts his head slightly, the simple gesture letting you know he’s here for you, ready to listen.
“He was always busy, and deep down I knew something was off. I guess… unconsciously, I’ve been trying to distance myself emotionally so I wouldn’t get hurt.” Your eyes widen at once, quickly trying to correct yourself as you realize you are still talking to his dad. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I liked Nathan and I’m shaken by what he did. He built a whole, new relationship behind my back. But…” You sigh, shoulders falling in dejection.
“I’m not actually sad about losing him.” You whisper. Saying that out loud only makes you feel more uncomfortable, causing you to shift your weight in your seat in a last attempt to ground yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m making any sense right now.”
“You’re angry because he made you doubt your self-worth.” He says softly.
“Yes!” You exclaim, facing him with surprise.
Bucky nods pensively. “And you’re upset because he betrayed your trust.”
“Exactly.” The dam breaks. “I’ve been feeling guilty since that day I followed him to the library to see if he was actually there to study. I felt awful for a whole month! I was doubting all the work his professors piled on him while he was breaking his back on those damn books. But in reality he was just fucking someone else the whole time.” Your hand flies to your mouth as you hear him chuckle, eyes wide at your own honesty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so crude.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. I feel so bad whenever I curse around you.”
You share a soft, meaningful laugh, before the car falls into a comforting silence.
“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You murmur, taking a deep breath. He returns your smile, squeezing your fingers once more before starting the engine.
“You know I’m here for you. Always.”
He claps his hands lightly, and somehow it feels like that dark cloud pressing on your head has finally lifted. “C’mon, let’s get you home so you can get more comfortable and rest. You had a long night.”
“Are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to crash your free night—”
“Are you kidding? I love your company. And you didn’t interrupt anything, I was just watching a movie and eating some leftover candy, waiting for a text that you got home safely.”
Once the car is parked in its usual spot, Mr. Barnes is quick to get out and jog to your side to open your door. You whisper a shy thank you, still not used to all these caring gestures.
“Alright, here we are.” He breathes out, shoulders relaxing as if the familiar smell of his home alone is enough to soothe any worries. He leaves his sneakers in the shoe rack by the entrance and you follow suit, placing your boots neatly in the space he vacated for your shoes long ago, back when Nathan had started bringing you over more frequently.
“Are you hungry? Wanna shower first?”
You press your palm to your temple, eyes closing briefly. “A shower would be perfect. I feel sweaty from the party and I’m pretty sure my clothes still smell of weed.”
He doesn’t ask if you drank—he knows you despise the taste of alcohol, but also any type of substance that could make you lose control. He simply leaves a glass of water and some Advil on the kitchen counter, then jogs upstairs to grab some clean clothes for you. You take your time finishing the glass, savoring the simple act of rehydrating after walking and crying for so long in the cold.
Once you are alone in the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror makes you flinch. Your makeup is completely ruined: lipstick smudged at the corners, eyeshadow streaked under your eyes, mascara melted. The thought of Mr. Barnes seeing you like this has you shuddering in shame, but you push the embarrassment aside for now. You’re too drained.
A sealed bottle of micellar water and a package of cotton pads on the counter catch your eye immediately. With a relieved sigh, you remove the ruined makeup, silently making a mental note to thank him for his thoughtfulness.
The warm water cascading over your skin and the floral scent of the products tidily lined up on the shower caddy are enough to ease the strain in your muscles. Once dry, you pull on the black shirt he left on the small stool and a pair of boxers, adjusting them according to your comfort. You are actually so relieved he provided you with his own clothes, instead of Nathan’s. Making sure you’re presentable enough before heading downstairs, you glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before you have to take a second look. Because on the far left of the counter sit unopened some products you recognize too well: a moisturizer for your skin type, a gentle cleanser, some neutral-smelling deodorant, and a purple toothbrush. All pristine and unopened.
Did he buy all this for you? Even after nearly a year since the last time you slept here?
Your chest tightens at the thought of someone caring enough to remember such simple, forgettable things about you, taking a deep breath before diving into your skincare routine.
When you enter the kitchen, the breathtaking sight of Mr. Barnes’ broad back makes you pause momentarily. The domesticity of it all—him cooking for you, the quiet familiarity of being surrounded by his smell in his home—fills you with a strange fuzzy feeling that leaves your skin pleasantly warm and tingly. You’ve never been here at this time of the day, alone with him, clad in his clothes.
Turning around, he places the plate he was previously arranging on the table, before he glances up at you. Smiling, his lips part as if he wants to say something, but the words die on his tongue when his blue eyes fall on your naked legs. Clearing his throat, the man abruptly turns back around to swipe the counter.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thank you for the clothes.” You sit, eyeing the plate with interest. “And the sandwich.” You add with a smile. Your stomach aches a little from all the sugary soft drinks, so a proper meal will only do you good.
“They look good on you.” He mumbles, glancing down. Then, with a playful smirk. “Still, I miss the Barbie outfit.” You giggle, unsure whether he’s teasing or truly means it.
“Oh, and the hygiene products—thank you for those as well. When did you get them?” You quip, devouring half of the bread as if you haven’t eaten in ages.
“I’ve been stocking them since you started staying over, just in case you forgot something.” He shrugs with another effortless smile.
Bucky knew you were going to spend multiple nights here and wished for you to be comfortable and safe in his home. Simple as that.
You had to pack an overnight bag with all your things whenever you went over to Nathan’s apartment. It never occurred that you could just leave something behind, because it was so sporadic for you to spend the night there. Plus, he lives with three other people, so you didn’t want to intrude. Yet, now that you’re realizing how much Mr. Barnes has been going out of his way to take care of you, you can’t help but think about how many things Nathan took for granted.
Your own boyfriend.
Only when you finally settle on the sofa do you realize how much your body has been hurting from all the dancing and the walking. It instantly becomes one with the cushions.
Your phone lights up once on the coffee table, half of Wanda’s message visible from here. You texted the group chat to let them know you’re safe with a friend. Yelena will understand immediately, you are certain of that. Your eyes mindlessly catch a really sorry, but you don’t have the energy to deal with the situation right now. They know you’re alright and sheltered from the cold, and that’s enough for tonight.
The TV drones on in the background; a mediocre horror movie is playing on cable, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on it—or anything else, for that matter. Not when Mr. Barnes is sitting comfortably beside you, the warmth of his body tempting you to move closer. For a moment, it feels like he’s glancing at you as intently as you’ve been watching him.
The moment you properly look up and he doesn’t shy away, the air between you hums with an unspoken, charged tension. You must be imagining things, half delirious from exhaustion, because he keeps glancing back and forth between your eyes and your lips, something akin to desire burning hot in his eyes.
You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly the space separating you disappears. The first touch is tentative, a timid brush of hands, and then, as soon as the tips of your noses touch, he is pressing against you like he’s been craving your lips for ages. One of his hands cups the back of your head, guiding you closer until your fingers tangle in his shirt.
It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel this right. It shouldn’t...
It shouldn’t happen.
“Wait—” You gasp, abruptly pulling back. Your eyes snap open, staring at him with horror dawning on your features. “W—What… what are we doing?”
“Shit,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, chest heaving as he tries to regain a crumb of control on his raging heartbeat. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”
“Oh my God, I’m a terrible person!” You slump forward, hiding your face in your hands as hot tears threaten to spill again.
“Hey, c’mon now sweetheart.” His shaky palm smoothes over your back. “Why would you be a terrible person? You did nothing wrong.”
Your head snaps towards him, regarding him with red and glassy eyes.
“I just kissed my ex-boyfriend’s dad!”
“If anything, I kissed you.”
“We both leaned in!”
Bucky moves closer, taking your other hand in his. “Okay, okay. Let’s take a deep breath now—”
“Oh God, if Nathan finds out—”
A firm call of your name has your shoulders fall down in defeat. Bucky’s hand travels to the back of your neck, gently turning your face until you are forced to look at him.
“You know you don’t owe him anything, right?” His voice is grounding, calm, but it’s not enough to quell the storm in your head.
“Why are you so calm? You’re his dad! I shouldn’t feel—” You pause abruptly, swallowing thickly. The way his eyes are wide with hope makes you want to sob in his arms.
“Feel what?” He urges, squeezing your hand.
“I…”
“Feel what, sweetheart?” Shame keeps your throat closed, physically unable to utter any sound. So Bucky takes the matter into his own hands, cradling your cheeks with both rough palms.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you ran in here, smiling about your A on that paper about online language evolution you spent weeks stressing over.” Bucky admits softly. Your breath hitches.
“You looked at me with stars in your eyes,” he continues with a proud smile. “And I felt so lucky to be part of such a happy moment for you. And then you hugged me and believe me, I tried to ignore it, but I just felt… complete.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “I felt like a dirty pervert whenever my eyes fell on the curve of your waist. Whenever I imagined the adorable sighs you’d make against my lips. Whenever you strutted here in my house with those damn revealing shirts, jealous that the whole neighborhood got the chance to admire your beautiful cleavage.” Sighing, his eyelids flutter shut for a second, as if trying to focus.
“You were Nathan’s girlfriend and here I was, resenting my own son for getting to have you like this. For being the one to call you his.”
He lets his words hang, heavy with honesty. “I promised myself I’d keep my distance. But no one ever compared to your pretty eyes, your passion, your energy.” He swallows, kind eyes flicking once between your eyes and your parted lips.
“Nathan had his chance and failed to take care of you, to love you like you deserve. He was so cruel, baby, and I can’t allow myself to stand by and watch you suffer when I’m right here, begging you to let me show you how much I am enamored of you. Let me be the man you deserve by your side. Someone who knows what you need just by looking into your eyes.”
“And what do I need now, James?” His breath hitches, not expecting his first name to sound so right on your tongue.
Bucky, James, Jamie… He doesn’t care. He just needs you to demolish that already fractured wall of propriety that has kept you apart all along.
“My lips on yours.” His blue eyes shine, smitten, and that is enough to give you that confidence boost you’ve been looking for a while. Your fingers graze his jaw for a fleeting moment, before they grab his shirt to pull him forward.
You meet him in an urgent kiss, your other hand tangling in his hair, pulling just enough that the guttural sound clawing out of his throat has your thighs squeezing close. His tongue roams freely in your mouth, until oxygen leaves you entirely. You kiss for what feels like a lifetime, your lips fitting together like the final two lost pieces of a puzzle.
His palms fondle the curve of your waist until he finds the courage to guide you on his laps with a hand on your thigh. A moan is muffled against your mouth when your covered core comes into contact with his crotch, his bulge the proof that you’re not the only one affected. One hand sneakily trails up your torso, resting ultimately on the side of your breast, a gentle squeeze of your flesh eliciting a gasp out of you, so you take the chance to grind down on Bucky, the teasing movement leaving him moaning under you.
When you separate, he regards you with blown pupils, his chest raising and lowering with ragged breaths.
Your fingers finally allow themselves to do what they’ve secretly wished for since the moment you sat on this couch: starting from the gentle creases on his forehead, they tenderly trace down his dark brows, until they reach the sharp profile of his nose, his blushing cheekbones, the trim stubble on his jawline. His mouth parts just a fraction when your thumb strokes his bottom lip, his next breath shaky, frightened to interrupt this sublime, quiet connection.
“You’re stunning, James.” You utter softly with a faint smile. His eyes flutter shut with a sigh when your fingers move then on to his collarbone. Shivering, the older man wraps one muscular arm around your back, bringing you close, until he can comfortably lean in to return the favor, lavishing the column of your throat with wet kisses. Your head falls back, brokenly gasping each time his teeth gently graze your skin.
“You’re driving me crazy with all these cute, sinful sounds.” He growls, a grin blooming on your mouth at his poorly concealed desperation. The hand firmly resting on your ribs slowly travels down to your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind; then over your half-bare thighs, until it lands on your covered ass. Your gasp gets promptly swallowed by his mouth when he hungrily squeezes the flesh, encouraging the circular movements of your hips against his erection. The sound of his low groan makes your pussy throb, suddenly shifting your focus on the embarrassing dampness of the boxers you’re wearing.
When was the last time someone touched you as if you were their most precious treasure?
This time your kiss is more animalistic, all teeth and tongue, than the ones you previously shared, a testament of your growing arousal.
“Baby,” he breathes out, cradling your cheek to assure you’re making eye contact. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that, right?”
“Mmh?” Your movements are a little more lethargic after the way his hands have gently played with your curves, your fingers weakly curling into the fabric covering his broad shoulders. The ghost of his palms on your chest and thighs still tingles on your skin, and you slightly tilt your head when he starts talking again, regarding him with half-lidded eyes.
“We can do whatever you want. You wanna watch a movie? I’m already opening Netflix. You wanna sleep by yourself? I’ll make the bed in the guest room right away. We can cuddle all night if you’d let me—”
“What if I want you to fuck me?” The words feel like cotton candy in your mouth, yet you don’t miss the way his eyes widen.
There is a brief, meaningful pause.
“Are you sure?” His voice shakes a little as his hands squeeze your hips.
“Please.” Your sigh almost has him maneuvering you on your back to see what other sweet sounds he can coax out of you. Just for him.
“Yeah? You’ve been thinking about it, sweetheart?” You simply hum, slowly nodding. “About all the ways I could make you come on my tongue?” He whispers, towering over you as his firm fingers keep your chin raised, preventing you from hiding.
Squirming in his lap, you are forced to look him in the eye as your slick steadily soils his boxers, cheeks scorching hot with a hint of mortification.
“Did you think about me when you were fingers deep into your sweet pussy? Imagining it was my cock making you scream?” He continues calmly. “Did you come like a good girl with my name on your lips, mmh?”
You whimper, nodding jerkily. “I was... so lonely.”
“Well,” he chuckles smugly. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore, pretty girl.”
A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky lifts you without much of a fuss. You keep your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, your arms circling his neck with newfound strength. Moaning, he has to stop multiple times on the stairs as you can’t resist leaving small pecks all over his jaw, teeth softly biting the most sensitive spots.
It’s the first time you cross the threshold of his bedroom, yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as it should.
You completely ignore the big walk-in closet and his en-suite bathroom as soon as you are placed in the center of the large bed, his six-foot frame covering yours without actually resting his full weight on you. Your lips meet again and this time, his palm travels under the shirt you are wearing, finding your bare chest.
“James, wait—” You moan, hips twitching up as his fingers graze your already erect nipple. You’re now fully lying on your back with his hard body straddling you, but a weak push against his chest is enough for Bucky to immediately lift his torso up.
“Are you oka—”
“More than okay, I feel so good. I just—I need to make something clear.” This time it’s you who cradles his jaw, swallowing thickly. “I like you, James. I think I have for a while, actually. It wasn’t just... pure admiration, or friendship. And this,” your finger wriggles between the two of you, pointing at your chests. “It’s not a one-night stand for me. I don’t want you to think you’re... some sort of revenge; much less a rebound.”
“This is a dream come true.” He mumbles against your lips, caressing the back of your head in awe.
“I’m gonna make this right, okay sweetheart?” Bucky kisses your forehead, then focuses on both cheeks. “I’m gonna take care of you.” His mouth trails south, on your neck. “Play with your sweet pussy until you are nice and ready to take me.” Your eyes roll back, shuddering at his low voice whispering right in your ear.
“Worship your body until you are left shaking and gasping in my arms, orgasm after orgasm.” The fingers trailing up your thigh finally reach the inner part, his thumb stroking the wet fabric right where you need him the most.
“Then I’m gonna fill you up,” your hips buckle up, causing him to huff out a chuckle. “Yeah? You like the sound of it, angel? Like the idea of me stuffing you full with my cum until you can’t take a step without it sliding down your thighs?”
“Bucky, please.” You breathe out, trembling fingers squeezing his forearm.
His shaky exhale gives his excitement away, despite his confident and collected behavior. He makes sure to look in your eyes for his next words.
“Gonna take you on a date tomorrow, alright?” You simply nod, swallowing as his other palm traces your bare stomach, lifting the shirt up and up, until your ribs are exposed to the warm air of his bedroom. “Give you everything you deserve and more.”
His smirk grows when you whine at his hands moving away to take off your top. A low groan falls from his lips when your naked chest is finally exposed. His large hands cup your tits without much thought, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples, eliciting another whimper out of you. You finally look up at his face, biting your bottom lip when you notice the way his eyes have turned darker, just like the ocean abyss, as they marvel at your breasts, perfectly fitting inside his palms.
“Such gorgeous tits, sweetheart.” Your cheeks instantly heat up at the praise; overwhelmed by the sudden attention on your naked torso, you try to turn your chin away, but Bucky is faster. Cradling your cheeks, he turns your head until you are forced to stare right at him.
“None of that hiding shit.” He mutters against your breasts between kisses, your back arching the moment his tongue starts lavishing your nipples, until they are both raw and turgid.
“You’re going to lie back and watch me as I ravish you, darling.”
The boxers are suddenly discarded on the floor. It’s electrifying, being so open for Bucky to freely admire you. You’re quivering under his devoted gaze and tender smile, your breath hitching each time his fingers stroke a patch of burning skin as he takes his time in appreciating every single curve, every aspect that you might consider a flaw. To him, they’re new features to cherish. A way to learn you in the most intimate of ways.
You don’t even notice your eyelids fluttering shut. The rustling sound of fabric is what drives you to open them, just in time to catch Bucky throwing his shirt somewhere on the carpet.
He truly is handsome, with his strong physique and his muscles still defined, even with the small layer of fat covering most of it.
With a lewd twist of his lips, his hands guide your legs up until your feet are firmly planted on the mattress and your knees bent. You are certain your heart is going to come out of your chest if Bucky doesn’t hurry up, rather focusing on pressing sweet, delicate kisses from your ankle to your thigh, just stopping short of where the skin turns wet with your arousal. His smirk is devilish when your breath hitches in frustration, taking his time in giving the same reverent treatment to your other leg.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
By the time he finally lies between your spread thighs, you are a shaky, sensitive mess, palms instantly covering your face when his nose almost touches your clit as his thumbs delicately part your folds.
Bucky lightly gasps. “Look how pretty you are. Already so wet for me, pretty girl?”
To be fair, you think this is the most aroused you’ve been in your whole life.
It’s mortifying how quickly your first orgasm approaches, it only takes Bucky a few languid circling movements on your clit and you’re already clenching, shivering against the beige bedsheets.
Breathy moans and whimpers fall from your parted lips as his fingers toy with your nub some more. “You’re so responsive, darling.” He marvels, licking his lips. “But not yet.”
Your pathetic whine once he focuses on your hole only fuels his teases.
“I know, sweetheart.” He soothes, a thick finger gently tracing up and down the seam of your entrance. “Just a little more. I promise it’s going to feel so good later.”
And just like that, one of his digits is inside you. Your limbs go rigid, before his other arm comes up to rest on your belly, his thumb finding a leisure yet firm rhythm as it rubs your clit, grinning when your body melts at once against the cool sheets.
You sigh at the heavenly sensation, and Bucky feels the exact moment it starts feeling good, your hole slowly making room for another finger.
“There we go, pretty girl. Is that the right spot? You are gripping me so tight, darling, bet it feels so good, right?”
Your eyes squeeze shut as you can only manage a nod, your own hand shooting down to anchor itself to one of his shoulders as the tip of his tongue replaces the finger taunting your nub. The first swipe makes your head fall back.
“Bucky!” A loud moan resounds through the dimly lit room, making his cock twitch.
“Jesus Christ.” His growl vibrates pleasantly against your tender core. “Has anyone ever tasted you, baby?”
“No!” You sob at his fingers pushing against your sweet spot.
“Fucking fools.” He snarls. “I’ll take care of you from now on, sweet girl. You won’t have to worry about anything.” He rasps out, feral with the thought of you making a mess on his face now that he has been blessed with your taste. “Just need to sit back and be good for me.”
You sniffle, the muscle of your stomach clenching to keep your orgasm at bay. You’re completely enraptured by his gentle yet solemn voice, not so different from the way his fingers play with your body. You subtly rock back on them, drawing him deeper and deeper.
“Oh I know, I know baby. I can feel you want to come.” Your hips twitch up, but the arm blanketing your belly keeps you nice and still as he enjoys his meal. His stubble leaves crude marks on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the rough friction causing your back to arch as high as his heavy arm allows.
“You know, sweetheart felt like the safest option.” He pants, coming up for air, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Now I can finally call you whatever I want.”
“Baby,” he leaves a kiss on your mound, half-lidded eyes fixed on your crumpled features. You couldn’t be more grateful for Nathan to have his mom’s eyes. “Darling,” his lips move on your clit next, sucking harshly. “Pretty girl—oh.”
You hoped he wouldn’t notice the way you clenched at that, but of course the smug bastard does.
“You like when I call you pretty girl?” You toss your head back as his thumb goes back to flick your nub. He can only coax out an embarrassed squeak that vaguely resembles a yes, but it’s enough to make Bucky smirk with pride.
“Yes, my pretty girl?” He relishes in the way you clench again, knowing you’re at your limit now.
“Give it to me, angel. C’mon,” he growls, ravaging your clit with steady suckles. “I’ve been too well-behaved and patient.”
Your head falls back against his pillow as your eyes fall shut, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and leaving you whimpering and dizzy under his palms. Your body tightens as wave after wave of pleasure seeps deep into your bones. Bucky groans at the sight of your pussy practically swallowing his damp fingers. You have never felt so good you could cry, the added sensation of his coarse beard against your sensitive core making your thighs tremble precariously around his head.
“Gorgeous.” Your nails cling onto his shoulder as you ride it out, humping his face with abandon under his soft grunts of encouragement. Bucky’s hips have been twitching against the mattress for a while now, unable to stay stoic in front of a goddess like you unraveling so sweetly before him. With a final teasing kiss to your clit, his thick fingers finally pull away.
You’re still breathless when Bucky lifts himself up, enough to pull you into another hungry kiss. Tasting yourself on someone’s tongue is definitely new, but not unpleasant. Not when a pathetic sound—half moan, half whine—claws out of your throat at your tongues dancing.
“Wish I could stay between your thighs all night.” He mumbles against your lips. Kissing Bucky… It’s just so lovely. Particularly like this, when he is towering over you, so close that the trimmed hair on his chest softly brushes your nipples as it heaves against yours. Your body lurches at the light stimulation on your raw nubs, completely missing the way one of his hands abandons your hip to swiftly discard his boxers.
It’s only when Bucky gets into an upright position that you can finally catch a proper glimpse of his body. Even his cock is beautiful, for fuck’s sake, all flushed and thick, proudly curving up toward his belly. You gulp thickly at the sight of how majestic he looks, naked and kneeling for you, before you promptly shy away at the amusement twinkling in his eyes. His strong arms wrap around your thighs without a word, dragging you closer to him until his length lightly nudges your core. His tongue is inside your mouth before you can even let a full gasp out. Whining, your fingers slip into his hair as he teases the seam of your entrance with the tip.
“So impatient.” He chuckles at your eager hips, before extending his arm towards the night stand.
“No!” Your fingers shoot forward and wrap around his bicep, causing Bucky to freeze entirely.
“I’m clean, got tested last month, and I’m on the pill.” You wheeze out, suddenly fearing your implicit request will be rejected.
Bucky scrutinizes you with open surprise, before a long, pensive exhale slowly leaves his nostrils.
He places a sweet peck on your forehead. “I’m clean too. But are you sure, sweetheart?” His brows furrow in worry.
“I’ve never let anyone else do it without.” You swallow nervously, taking his hand in yours to guide it to your cheek, unconsciously leaning into his palm.
“Want you to be the first.” You whisper.
“Fucking hell.” He grits out, letting his forehead fall on your shoulder. It’s your turn to smirk now, until you feel the bulbous head of his cock insistent against your hole.
“Oh.” You squeak out once he slides in halfway without much resistance on your part. The sight of your glassy eyes rolling back has him groaning.
“Feeling alright, doll?”
“Fuck—yes, fuck, it’s just—big!” You gasp, stiffening at the burning stretch. “More... More, I need more please.”
Despite your begging, Bucky feeds you his cock gradually, fearing he could hurt you and possibly scare you away forever. Once he bottoms out, his jaw clenches at the mere realization of finally being inside his girl. Attempting to calm the both of you down is difficult, yet he finds the strength to still, his lips finding yours at once. His self-control weakens precariously the more your body grows pliant under his, your walls hugging his cock so tightly he can feel every little, eager movement. The lewd, wet sounds of your mouth moving against each other only spur him on as his hips involuntarily jerk forward.
“Bucky.”
“Yes, yes, I know sweetheart.” He coos at your ragged breaths. “Gonna make the ache go away, mmh?”
Dragging his hips back slightly, Bucky carefully studies your expression, and only when he finds no sign of discomfort he lets himself slip right back in, harder.
“Oh, sweet girl.” He grins at you clinging onto his shoulders. “That feels good, right? Hear how she sings for me?” Leaning in to plant his lips right over your damp brow, he allows his hips to slowly move back, biting back a loud groan at the squelching sound.
“Need to see you fall apart on my cock.” He grunts.
“Please, need—harder.” You cry out, eyes rolling back as the tip nudges your sweet spot. Your moans grow higher and louder once he starts pounding you earnestly, your slack body trapped under his broad one, sliding up and down the mattress with each brutal thrust.
Bucky loses himself a little the moment he buries his nose in the damp skin of your neck, licking and kissing away the salty tang of your sweat, finally fucking you properly. The slapping noise of your skins meeting shamelessly fills the bedroom, mixing with your labored breaths and desperate moans.
“Shit, doll.” His growl vibrates against your pulse. “Need this all the time, need to hear your sweet squeals as I carve a place for my cock inside your cute little pussy.”
The way he kisses your mouth like a starving man, and how his cock fits so perfectly inside you, stirs a warm feeling inside your chest, far too tender compared to the throbbing ache in your belly.
“Such a good girl for me, taking all of me so well.” He gushes deliriously, smiling at your connected lower half. “My girl. My pretty, sweet girl.”
“Come with me?” You whimper, your nails digging into his soft skin as pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.
“Want to give you another one.” He pants, slowing down just enough to properly look you in the eye. “I’m not so young anymore, sweet thing.” The back of his hand brushes your cheek with such tenderness you almost forget the hard length plunged deep inside your pussy, before Bucky resumes his punishing pace, coaxing moan after moan out of you.
Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your body tensing as your back arches, finally letting yourself go.
“That’s it!” He draws the words out, keeping his eyes firmly on your face. Your legs feel like they are falling to pieces, sore but still squeezing helplessly his waist.
“So tight, so good for me. You look like an angel, sweetheart. A pretty, fucked-out angel. Wish you could see how beautiful you look with a big cock giving you exactly what you need.” He can hardly fend off the devastating orgasm threatening to make him fall apart; yet he keeps going, wanting to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. It’s only when your whimper borders on painful and your palms shoot down to push at his chest, that his hips gradually come to a stop.
“Holy fuck.”
Your lower half is pleasantly aching by the time you are coming down from your earth-shattering climax. Bucky is still trying to dominate his instincts, jaw clenched and nose lightly tracing the soft skin of your collarbone, breathing in your scent. The primal urge to make you his violently rattles at the cage of care and protection that Bucky scrupulously crafted day by day, just to keep it contained. He’s at his limit, yet he always makes sure to take such good care of you first... your stunning, kind Mr. Barnes.
But now it’s your turn to have your fun with him.
“Get up.” You mutter, pressing on his pecs. Panic briefly crosses his features as he clumsily lifts up on shaky muscles. You don’t let him go too far though, gently pushing him until he’s laying on his back. When you land directly on his crotch, cock still snuggled inside you, his eyes widen in astonishment.
Everything feels more sensitive like this.
You don’t care about your aching joints, nor about your sensitive and sore body still going through the aftershock, immediately setting a fast pace. You bounce up and down, biting your bottom lip as you stare at his parted lips. Your combined ragged breaths make you clench around his length, loving the way you sound together. Bucky is too busy pawing at your hips with one hand and groping your breast with the other to rationally think about something clever that would surely turn this debauched doll in his laps into the timid sweetheart he likes teasing.
You’re not sure how long it has been, but what makes you still is definitely not the sudden uncomfortable stiffness in your lower back, but rather a loud, muffled noise.
Like something falling, or... a door slamming shut.
You stop at once, your wide eyes meeting Bucky’s astonished gaze. His shock, though, has short life, as his hands land on both of your thighs with a resounding smack, encouraging you to go on.
“Bucky!” You reprimand him, gasping at the abrupt stimulation against your sweet spot. The older man under you slowly lifts his torso up, encircling your waist as he gently guides you down with him, until your forehead rests against his.
“We have already established that we like each other and that this,” he points between you two just like you did before. “Is not a one time thing.” You nod quickly, still panting and alarmingly aware of all the noises coming from downstairs: bare feet thumping against the tiles, a cabinet closing, a small sigh of relief after drinking some water.
“Don’t you want to give him a taste of his own medicine?” You can’t believe the shadow of malice falling over his eyes.
“He’s your son!” You whisper-shout, partial to his proposal but still too timid to go along with it.
“And you are my girl.” He growls with the same heat, his fingers digging into your skin bruisingly. “The same girl he cheated on for eight months.”
Something shatters inside your chest. You don’t know if it’s the reality finally catching up to you, or the humiliation gradually mutating into a fiercer, hotter thirst for vengeance. Or maybe it’s the way this absolutely lovely man just defined you his girl so easily. No shame, no reservations.
Your palms press against his shoulders, urging him to fully lie back down. The slow smirk forming on his lips matches your playful smile.
“Fuck.” Your hips resume their pace with a newfound strength.
“You’re doing so well, angel. Look at you, taking all my cock in your tight little pussy. My pretty girl, all mine.” His dirty words only spur you on, taking his hands to guide them back on your curves. In the meantime, the stairs creak under careful yet not-so-silent steps, as Nathan warily makes his way up.
“Oh my God. Mr. Barnes, ’s so big.” You gasp, completely forgetting about your ex probably standing just outside the door. You don’t miss the way Bucky’s breath hitches at the name you used to softly utter with so much admiration and respect, now sounding so beautifully obscene as you cry for his cock. Faintly grinning down at him, you squeeze the hand fondling your breast, Bucky immediately looking up from your core engulfing his length so well.
“Yeah? And whose pussy is this, mmh?” His fingers settle on your clit with determination, careful to put the right pressure, and you respond at once, riding him faster.
“Yours! Fuck, always been yours!”
"Good girl.” He groans, using every bit of self-restraint to not succumb to the heavenly feeling of you desperately gripping his leaking cock.
“That’s it.” His jaw locks. “Come for me, my beautiful girl.” Your third climax of the night is the most intense. You shatter with a breathy shriek, collapsing against Bucky’s chest as he promptly catches you. The urgent noise of footsteps climbing down the stairs and the final bang of the front door slamming shut are completely disregarded as you fall apart in the most delicious of ways.
“Fuck, you just tightened so fucking hard, baby girl. Feel so fucking good coming all over my cock, you were made for me.” His head falls back, exposing the refined line on his throat. “Taking it so well.” You cling to his large frame, shaking and whimpering as his hips ruthlessly chase his own pleasure.
“’M gonna ruin you for anyone else, angel.” The crack in his voice tells you he’s close, his hands keeping you nice and still as you try to relax, letting him use you.
“Bet you’ve never looked this lovely with him,” he hisses, his thrusts frantic and sloppy. “Never came this hard—shit, you’re gonna be leaking my cum from now on.”
With one last effort, your chin lifts enough for you to whisper right into his ear, “’M yours, Mr. Barnes. Always have been.”
His grip around your thighs borders on painful, but you don’t care as long as his filthy groans turn louder and needier. His hips thrust up once, twice, and then he is holding you down as rope after rope of his cum reaches the deepest part of you. Your content sigh at the surreal sensation of finally being filled soothes Bucky a little, his body finally falling back against the mattress as his cock keeps twitching inside you.
“Shit,” his next exhale is harsh, tired eyes staring dumbfounded at the ceiling. “I’ve never come this hard in my life, sweet girl.” His palms trace a slow path up and down your back, and you silently thank him for staying inside you. You are not sure you’d react well if Bucky were to part from you at once after what you just did.
Your weak body settles on his little by little, until you are completely pliant in his arms.
“C’mere and give me a kiss, I miss my pretty girl.” His mouth moves against your temple, before his thumb and index finger tenderly hold your chin to coax you out of your hiding place.
You lazily yield, meeting him in a languid kiss that is more tongue than lips.
“The best.” Kiss. “Prettiest.” Kiss. “Girl.” Kiss. “You’re so good to me, took it all inside and didn’t waste a single drop.” He playfully growls against your jaw, eliciting a tired giggle out of you.
“Bucky, it tickles.” You squirm slightly, wrinkling your nose when he leaves a gentle peck right on the tip. He couldn’t be more proud of how serene you look, safe and thoroughly fucked as you lie drowsily on his chest.
“So,” he sighs after a while, arms squeezing your waist as he beams up at the ceiling. “About that date…”
END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 💕
I mentioned it before but the inspiration for the title comes from this spectacular meme, of course lmaooo
Pairing:Racer!Bucky x Ex!Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Summary: James Bucky “Bullet” Barnes hasn’t taken a proper break from his professional racing career in years. Feeling homesick and a little lost in life, he decides to take an extended break and return to his hometown. What he doesn’t expect to learn when he gets back, is that you and his sister Becca are no longer best friends. Not only that, but no one’s heard from you in years. And Bucky fears his biggest regret, a mistake he made in his sophomore year of college, is the cause of that.
WC: 13.3k
Contains: 18+ mdni / fluff / angst / smut / female reader / childhood friends to enemies to …? / ex!best friend’s brother / miscommunication / misunderstandings / reunion & revenge / street racing (I did some research, but I took some liberties for plot purposes) / bucky is clueless and down bad / illegal activities tied to street racing / not everything is as it seems / lots of back and forth between these two idiots in love / backseat car protected p in v / dream sequence that takes bucky down memory lane / fun cameos / buckys pov so the truth of it all isn't revealed until the end
a/n hi barbies! 💗 this fic is for @stantastic-association's barbie collab! thank you to our darling @miraclediviner for putting this gorgeous collab together 💗 And thank you to the prettiest barbie of them all, my bestie @thelomlbuckybarnes who listened to me yap endlessly about this fic until it was ready for everyone to read. 💞 Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist
This was it.
Bucky was home.
Nostalgia should be hitting him the hardest right now. The longing pull to be back in his childhood home with his Ma's cooking, his Pa's laughter, stupid arguments he can only get into with his sister that always end with Bucky giving her the reason. Sleeping in until his body feels like waking up, getting to pick what he wants to do in the day instead of sticking to a tight schedule—being able to just exist instead of only living for the sake of his career. He should be looking forward to all of that and more right now.
And he is, to some extent.
Underneath the nostalgia, there's an persistent thrum beneath his ribcage. Poking at a part of his heart that's been deeply tucked away within him for years. It made itself known the moment he decided to take a break from racing and come home. It followed him through press conferences and meetings, to his apartment while he was packing his bags and preparing to head to the airport. The thrumming only got louder, harder to ignore, the second he landed in his home town.
And it has your name written all over it.
"Hey! James! Over here!" Rebecca’s voice can be heard from somewhere in the distance, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. The airport was bustling with activity, people rushing to catch their flights or make it home. Bucky maneuvers through the crowd, his suitcase in tow, scanning faces at the arrivals bay until he finally spots his sister. Only half a year has gone by since he's last seen her, and yet she looks different, more grown up if that's even possible. It makes his chest squeeze slightly with the uncomfortable reality of this being one of many things he misses while he's gone.
"Hey Becs," his greeting comes in the form of a smothering hug, the kind only big brother's know how to give. She whines dramatically about him ruining the sign she made for him, pushing at his chest. He looks down at the piece of poster paper squished between them and chuckles. It's a small cheesy welcome home sign, clearly written in haste as most of the letters are wonky and the glitter thrown at it looks half-assed. He pulls away, grabbing it from her hands and smoothening it out before giving it back, "See, all better." She rolls her eyes, slapping at his arm and grumbling under her breath, "You big buffoon, learn to be more careful." Bucky barks out a laugh in response that only serves to annoy his sister more. Oh, how he's missed this.
He ignores her protests as he slings an arm around her shoulders, pushing them past the crowd of people in the direction of the elevators. "Folks didn't come?" He asks her as they get in and she shakes her head, pressing the button labeled L2, "Ma wanted to stay home and cook you up something nice for tonight. She's driving us all crazy making sure everything's perfect for you." Bucky frowns, and Becca looks at him like she's said too much, "Everything?"
The elevator doors open and they step out. "Yeah, you know how Ma gets about her cooking," Rebecca replies, waving her hand in the air like it's no big deal. He decides it's best not to press the issue, it's just dinner after all.
The conversation changes as they make their way to her car. Rebecca catches his up on her life post graduation. She talks about her new job in the city over, the apartment she's renting with a couple roommates, the coworker she doesn't get along with, how she still visits their parents on the weekends and oh, how can she forget to mention how ridiculously in love her roommates are with his teammate and friend, Steve Rogers.
"You have to get me tickets when you go back. I don't think they'll forgive me if I don't give them a chance to meet him," she mentions, and he hums in response, not fully paying attention as he places his suitcase in the backseat. But it's not like she has anything to worry about, her little sister privileges always win over Bucky in the end.
"Let me drive," he offers, closing the backseat door. Rebecca looks at him like he just asked her something atrocious. "Absolutely not. My car, I drive. Now get in," she orders, not hearing him out at all and getting into the driver's seat. Bucky is too tired to argue, so he heads over to the passenger seat and reluctantly buckles in. But as she's pulling out of the parking lot he realizes, there's something, no, someone she hasn't mentioned at all.
Bucky says your name out loud, pretty as always, but foreign on his tongue as he hasn't heard it anywhere, but in his head for years. Rebecca's body goes rigid, and he doesn't notice at first as he asks, "How's she doing?" He knows he has no right to ask. He knows he has no right to pry into your life or know anything about you now, but he can't help it. He needs to know. Maybe if he knows that insistent thrum beneath his ribcage will finally go away.
Rebecca stares straight ahead at the traffic on the road like it's the most interesting thing she's seen in a long time, exhaling apprehensively, "I don't know."
Well that's shocking.
"You don't know?" Bucky echoes, face pulling in a frown of disbelief. Rebecca's hold on the steering tightens ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation being you. "Yeah, I don't know. We haven't been friends for years. Why would I keep up with her?" At that revelation, Bucky can practically feel the way his eyes bulge out of their sockets, a dreadful feeling creeping in to his system.
"Wait—hold on. You haven't been friends with her for years? When did that happen?" He's trying his best to wrap his head around it all. His brain picking out every memory from the last few years, holidays and birthdays he attended and not once did anyone mention you and his sister no longer being friends. Well, no one mentioned you at all, and your absence was felt, but he thought your absence had to do with what happened between you and him, not what apparently happened between you and Becca.
"Years ago," she replies simply.
"Becca."
"What? You asked, I answered."
Bucky stays silent, staring at his sister expectantly. She glances at him briefly, biting the inside of her lip knowing her brother is too stubborn to not keep pushing for more answers. "We stopped being friends after our first year of college. Things were already rocky when we started, but… I don't know we drifted apart—things happened." Her response was vague, like it took effort to reach into the past and look for a proper explanation.
"Things?" He couldn't help, but keep pushing.
Rebecca sighs, "Yeah, things. New friends, boyfriends, different schedules—look, it was a lot of things, but mainly she changed. A lot."
"What do you mean she changed?"
She rolls her eyes, Bucky evidently having pushed her too much, "God, what's with all the questions? Why do you even care?"
The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but he's too much of a coward to let it out. "I don't know, maybe because the three of us were best friends from the moment you two were put in the same kindergarten class. Because we were basically like family to each other."
"Yeah, well, that's in the past now."
The sadness in her voice tugs at Bucky's heart, watching her slump in her seat. It's obvious she wants the conversation to end, retreating into herself the way that she is. Whatever happened between you still weighs heavy on her heart. Whatever Bucky hoped to learn about you upon his return will have to wait. He thought his sister would be the one to give him answers, but all she managed to do was raise more questions.
Bucky turns to face the window, deciding it's best to not bring you up anymore. Rebecca's shoulders relax at that, reaching over to turn on the radio so the music can fill the tense silence. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the music, but nothing can stop his thoughts from drifting to things he's been avoiding.
When he first decided to take a longer break than he usually gives himself, it was to give himself a chance to figure out what comes next. Racing professionally had always been his dream, but once he achieved it, he felt lost on the after. His racing career took off when he was young, too young to understand when something takes off so fast and bigger than himself, some people get left behind in the dust.
For years, his racing career was overwhelming in the best way. Making a name for himself, proving he was good enough, was all he strived for. His parents and sister had always been supportive, even when certain family members gave their unwanted opinions on how he'd never make it, certain he'd fail. And even though they only got to see him during the holidays or when he flew them out to one of his competitions, his parents and Rebecca cheered him on every step of the way. Promotions, sponsorships, media events, touring—it took up all his time for over half a decade.
But when he finally has made a name for himself, when he finally has the fame, the recognition, when he always wins… what's the next big thing he has to look forward to?
That question brought him back here, back home. Feeling lost on his purpose and fulfillment in life made him come back to where it all started. But being back here brings him back to you. And back to the biggest regret of his entire life.
Beyond the window of the car, the streets stretch out into something more familiar. They pass his old high school, the local bakery his mother used to send him to get fresh bread every week, the street that leads to his father's office, the corner store where your first boyfriend used to work, a sleazy guy he remembers punching the hell out of in that very corner for breaking your heart. They pass a park that's been here for ages, the rusty almost rundown playground evidence of its lack of maintenance, but all the years of usage. He remembers taking you and Becca there all the time when you were kids. Chasing you two with his friends around the playground, or pushing you on the wings just a little harder every time to hear you laugh harder. Every inch of this town were where his roots were founded on and surely it must have the answers to what he's looking for.
It takes another fifteen minutes before Becca pulls into the driveway of their childhood home, a cozy light blue two story building with his mother's meticulously cared for flower beds with blue and pink hydrangeas proudly displayed in the front. There's more cars on the street than he last remembered, but he guesses the number neighbors must have grown since the last time he's been here. It wouldn't be the only thing that's changed since then.
Bucky steps out of the car, wondering if maybe he has a chance to take a nap before dinner. He vaguely listens to his sister ramble on about their mother's plans for tonight as he opens the backseat door to get his suitcase. Becca is whining about how they'll probably have to play Yahtzee for the millionth time, when he gathers his things and follows behind her.
His sister walks to the side of the house, confusing Bucky until she explains. "Gotta use the side door, the front's stuck again." Right. At least that's another thing that stayed consistent. No matter how many times his father or Bucky put in the effort to fix the door, it somehow always managed to get stuck. And his father was always too stubborn to replace it no matter how many time his mother asked him to. Stubbornness seems to run in the family.
They step into the backyard, and Bucky was halfway through making an amused comment about his father not fixing that damn door when a loud cacophony of the word surprise startles him. When Becca had mentioned the word everything earlier, when it came to what their parents had prepared for him, what she meant was a welcome party. Various family members and friends of the family were all gathered to welcome him home at least forty people. Tables were set up in neat rows decorated with blue race car table covers to match the balloons tied to each ends. Blue pennant banners were strewn from tree to tree, and whatever his parents were cooking at the grill had his stomach growling like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
So much for hoping to take a nap.
Bucky is touched by the effort his family put in to welcome him home. Although, from the moment he stepped into the backyard he isn't left alone. His mother comes over to engulf him in a hug that is larger than life itself. His father gives him a welcoming hug too before insisting he needs to sit down and eat. Bucky lost count on how many cousins, uncles, aunts, family friends, and others came up to him to welcome him home, hugging him, patting him on the back, and passing him around from greeting to greeting. Once he finally gets a moment to sit down his parents pile up enough cheeseburgers on his plate to stuff him full for a whole week.
The celebrations are enough to keep his mind off of other things for awhile. Between savoring some home cooked food, sharing stories and catching up his cousins on his adventures, and being pulled into a game of dodgeball, he barely has time to think of anything else. And yet, every so often, his eyes drift to different sections of the party as if they were searching for something. He could lie to himself about not what, but who he was searching for. Someone he foolishly hoped would be hear despite what he was told.
By the time the sun starts to set in the sky, Bucky can feel his energy deplete to a point where he can no longer hide it. It's an exhaustion that goes beyond having to evade dodgeballs to the face. Things have started to settle and everyone's migrated to their own corner of the yard depending on whether they wanted to keep playing games, relax by the bonfire, or eat leftovers. He spots his mother at the grill heating up leftovers and he makes his way over to her.
"Need some help, Ma?" He asks, grabbing one of the tongs not waiting for her answer. His mother shakes her head, "I got it, hun. You go back to having fun." She tries to get him back to the party, but at that Bucky shakes his head, scrunching his face up with a clear I don't want to look. His mother laughs at his expression and then instructs him to help out with the burger patties. She starts asking him about his travel here and how he's been liking his party, little things and start conversation. Bucky's giving her simple answers when he looks out at the guests one more time, biting on his bottom lip absentmindedly. His mother can tell he's distracted, and more than that. It seems like she knows exactly what's going on in his head.
"She wasn't invited," she starts, causing Bucky to whip his head in her direction, eyes wide like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing as she continues, "It's not like your dad and I didn't want to, but your sister was against it."
"What?" Bucky sounds and looks dumbfounded, and his mother can only respond with a short exhale. She says your name, and Bucky's heart races and breaks all in one. "How did you—?"
"You can't hide things from your mother, James," his mother interjects as if it were obvious. He gaze locks with his mother's for a moment, and there's something close to pity in them. She's right. He was never one to lie to his mother, much less be able to.
A defeated sigh slips past his lips, "Is it stupid I thought she'd be here?" His mother prepares another leftover plate as she responds, "No, not at all," she hands the plate to one of his younger cousins who scurries off with it. "She wouldn't have come if she had been invited anyway."
Bucky clears his throat, suddenly feeling like there's something stuck in it. "Why not?" His mother gives him a look, like she has something to say, but no explanation for it. "I talk to her mom every so often, maybe once a month. She's told me they barely have any contact with her. No one really knows where she is."
"What? And no one's gone looking for her?" Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. His question has no short of worry in it, and he doesn't bother to hide it. The thought of you being out there somewhere and no one knowing—no one even bothering to look—it didn't sit right with him. It settles within him as well as poison would.
His mother's lips draw into a thin line, a somber look in her eyes. "I'm sure they've tried. I know her parents have, but it's not easy when your kids shut you out. Especially when they're in trouble." Bucky's heart sinks, "Trouble? What trouble?" His mother starts preparing another plate, like she needs something to do, "I'm not sure, hun. Her parents don't know and even your sister hasn't been forthcoming with the way things ended between them. All I know is she got mixed in with the wrong crowd and ended up dropping out of college. The last time I saw her was when Becca found out and they had a screaming match over it. I don't think I've ever seen your sister so angry…"
Out of all the thing Bucky could have been preparing himself to hear about you from his mother, none of this would have ever come close. There's something sickly brewing in his stomach and he thinks if he hears another word of your apparent disappearance, he'll spill his dinner all over the grill.
His mother can tell something is off, so she promptly sends him to bed. He wants to protest until he realizes he burned the burger patty he had been reheating and agrees some rest would be for the best. His mother gives him a goodnight hug and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Everyone at the gathering is still preoccupied with their own things, so Bucky forgoes any farewells and instead slips inside the house without anyone noticing. Every step up the stairs and toward his childhood bedroom feels heavier than the last.
When he enters his room, there's an appreciative smile that appears on his face when he realizes not much has changed in here either. He can tell his mother has changed the sheets and installed one of those little air freshener devices in preparation for his coming home. And besides his suitcase in the corner, which he still has to thank his father for bringing it up for him, everything else is exactly the same. Which isn't saying much since he's always kept his room simple the older he got. A few racing posters on his walls, shelves decorated with knickknacks, a bookcase filled with books he has yet to revisit, there's not much besides that.
He strips out of his clothes lazily just wanting to get into bed already, when his eyes stray to his desk. He knows why they did. He knows what he'll find when he looks. And yet, he walks over to it anyway, feeling the lump in his throat grow when he sees it's been left untouched. Above his desk on the wall there's a bulletin board frozen in time to the last time he ever used it. He has pictures pinned all across it, happy memories from his childhood with you with him in almost all of them. Every birthday card and letter you ever wrote him is pinned on the board too. Anything you ever gave him he saved and treasured down to the smallest thing. Even to the four leaf clover you once found, gently tucking it between tape for safe keeping. Giving it to him as a good luck charm, promising him it would help him win every race he ever dreamed up as long as he kept it close.
He keeps it in his wallet to this day.
Bucky blinks away the tears he can feel forming in the corner of his eyes. He finds himself more than upset now, maybe even bordering on an anxious frustration as he wills himself to look away. He hastily strips out of his clothes and climbs into his bed, hoping that his mind can quiet once he's bundled up in it. But of course that's not the case. All he can think about now is you. Why would you disappear? Why would you leave and tell no one? Why does no one know where you are? Why did you and Becca get into a big fight and stop being friends?
And why does he feel like it's all his fault?
As he drifts off into a restless slumber, there's a final image that haunts him. It's you. Holding back tears as you look at him with the kind of ire he deserved, but never excepted he would ever have caused you.
That image takes him back to where it all ended.
It happened at his parent's lake house, the summer after his sophomore year of college concluded. The summer you and Becca graduated high school, and had to adjust transitioning into adulthood and newfound independence. Your families had thrown a big graduation party for the two of you, but it was a little too family friendly for Bucky's liking. So without telling his parents, a couple weeks later, he threw a massive party at his parent's lake house in celebration of you two.
You had always held a special place in Bucky's heart, there was no denying that. Whether you or Bucky acknowledged it was another thing entirely. Your friendship with Bucky was just as deeply bonded as yours and Rebecca's, but it was different in its own way. Somehow you found yourself being more vulnerable with Bucky about your fears of the future, about school and life. There were times you wanted to appear strong or dependable to Becca when she was going through a rough patch, and yet Bucky was always able to crumble down your walls almost as if those walls didn't exist when it came to him. From patching up a cut on your knee you'd gotten when you were six while playing hopscotch, to holding you close and soothing you when you cried over your first boyfriend breaking your heart—Bucky had always been there for you. The trust between you ran deep, deep in a way that felt rooted in something tied to your souls.
Perhaps that's what always frightened him about acting on his feelings. If he ever told you how he truly felt, that he loved you in ways that went far beyond just friends, and you didn't feel the same or it didn't work out—he'd lose you for good. And the thought of that, he couldn't even imagine it. Not having you in his life. He honestly thought he'd never survive that.
Nothing was supposed to happen that night. He kept his drinks to a minimum, not wanting to get drunk so he could watch over the party guests. He threw it without his parents knowledge or permission, the last thing he needed was to have an accident happen that he couldn't explain away. You hadn't been drinking much, if at all, either. Mingling throughout the party a little lost since Becca had been hanging out with her boyfriend at the time. Bucky shouldn't have gone over to you when you were standing in the corner by yourself, but he did. He shouldn't have invited you to dance, but he wanted to so badly, so he did.
But he should've known things would end in more than a dance. Having you so close, your body pressed against his, touching him, all over him—it drove him crazy. Careful touches at your hips and waist turned into greedy handfuls that couldn't be satisfied despite the lack of distance. It lead to you two kissing for the first time, desperate and inevitable. And that one kiss led to two then three, until the two of you stumbled up the stairs, not being able to keep your hands or lips off of each other as you made your way to Bucky's bedroom. It led to Bucky caging you underneath him on his bed, kissing you senselessly until the heat between you became too much and you slept together for the first time.
The next morning, you were tucked into his side with his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his chest like it would hurt him to let you go. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, beautiful as the morning sunlight blanketed your form. Bucky didn't want to get up, but he knew he had to survey whatever potential damage was leftover from the party and possibly kick out anyone who overstayed their welcome. He kissed your forehead, whispering a promise of not taking too long before slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He groaned inwardly as he made his way downstairs, hoping the damage wasn't too bad. But a quick survey of the house settled his worry. Every room was trashed, but at least nothing seemed broken or irreparably stained. When Bucky made his way back to the living room he noticed Sam, his closest friend, stirring awake on the crouch.
"You crashed on the couch?" Bucky eyed his friend weirdly, he hated sleeping on couches. Sam yawned, stretching dramatically, "Yeah, figured you'd need help cleaning up."
"Aw, aren't you sweet."
"Shut up."
Sam threw a pillow at Bucky's head, which he dodged at the last second. Sam sat up on the couch, scratching the back of his head like he was still trying to come to, "Saw you two go up to your room last night. Congrats on finally getting the guts to make a move—thought you'd never do it. I can hear the bells already," Sam teased, humming out the tune for 'here comes the bride' while wiggling his brows at Bucky suggestively. Bucky can't remember why, can't understand why, but he panicked in that moment. The image of you in a wedding dress and saying I do freaked him out so badly because for the first time it dawned on him that's something that he wanted. But you were both still so young, with so much life and experiences to love ahead of you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know if you liked him like he loved you.
Fuck, he's in love with you.
Bucky tried to play it cool. Tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed uncomfortably with the truth. He shook his head, playing it down, "Nah, it… it was just an itch I had to scratch. Nothing more. Just something I needed to get out of my system…" Sam was not amused by his lies, painfully seeing through them, "Bullshit. You and I both know you're hopelessly in love with that girl." Bucky's mouth opened to deny it, but another hard look from Sam had him crumbling.
"I know I know. And I think I messed everything up." Bucky slumped on the couch next to Sam, a devastated look on his face. Sam definitely was judging him. "You did not mess anything up, Buck."
"No I did. I wanted to do this the right way, ask her out on a date. Treat her right, like she deserves to be. Show her what she means to me—" A couch pillow hit Bucky square in the face, stopping him mid sentence. "Buck, you're spiraling, stop it. You didn't mess anything up. Trust me, just go up there and tell her how you feel."
Bucky rubbed at his face, soothing it from the hit, "But what if she doesn't feel the same?" Sam looked like he was two seconds from throwing another pillow, "I'm starting to think those engine fumes have caused you to go stupid or blind. Buck, that girl is so in love with you."
For a brief moment, Bucky dared to hope that Sam was right. That you do feel the same. That you'd want it to work out between you as much as he does. But then the image of you in a wedding dress flashed across his mind again, and that unrelenting voice in his head made him doubt everything once more. A voice that strangely sounded like his uncles. His father's brothers who constantly let him know how his racing career would never work out. How he'll never make good enough money and he'll just disappoint his parents. How he should just play it safe, smart. Become an accountant like his father and get rid of those silly childhood dreams because his parents didn't give up everything for him just to go "play racer." Scolding him like a child to stop being so ungrateful with his parents and get a proper job so he can take care of them like they took care of him. Voices of people who were supposed to love and encourage him and instead reminded him everyday that he wasn't good enough to ever achieve his dreams.
And if he wasn't good enough for his dreams, then he certainly wasn't good enough for you.
"Even if she is," Bucky swallowed hard, the words feeling bitter on his tongue, "even if we are, she deserves so much more than what I can give her right now."
"Buck."
"No, I mean it. Her life's just starting Sam. She's going to her dream college, finally getting away from this town like she's always wanted to," Bucky shook his head, like admitting his fears cost him something, "I'm pursuing something I don't even know will work out. And if it doesn't… I don't want to drag her into that. I don't want to drag her into my failures."
Sam sighed, feeling for his friend, "You're not going to fail, Buck. And even if you do—loves so much more than the good times. It's being there despite what happens, despite the obstacles." Bucky mulls over his friend's words knowing there's some truth to them. But, unfortunately, the voice in the back of his mind refused to let him go.
"Yeah, but loves also about walking away when the timing isn't right."
"Not when, if. You don't know which one it is yet."
With those last words, Bucky managed to find the courage to go back up those steps and back to you. With his heart on his sleeve, his hopes in the palm of your hands, and his blood pumping a mile a minute. But when he opened the door to his room, you were already making your way out of it. Eyes wide and teary when they narrowed on him.
"Hey, baby, hey," he reached out to cup your face, "What's wrong?" You flinched back from his hold like his hands were made of ice, his heart stopped. "Nothing. I'm fine," you bite out, clearly holding back. He stood his ground, "You know you've never been able to lie to me, come on tell me what's wrong." He pleaded, feeling distressed at your change in attitude.
"Nothing is wrong, just let me through already," you tried pushing past him, but his arm shot out between you and the doorway. "No. Not until we talk. Not until you tells me what's going on." He tried to get you to look at him, but your eyes were on everything but him.
"Bucky—" He cut you off by saying your name in a way that sounded somewhere between utter devotion and utter devastation. You sighed, broken and like you had something caught in your throat. "There's nothing we have to talk about, nothing important anyway."
Now that stung. Bucky would have preferred you slapping him across the face instead.
"What? So did last night mean nothing to you?" Bucky didn't stop the anger that was seeping through his hurt. You looked like you didn't know what to say or did and just didn't want to, "That's not what I said. And it doesn't matter what I think of it anyway. You got what you wanted." Bucky stared at you, scoffing in offense, "I got what I wanted? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what I mean," you said with a finality that caused him to panic. You tried evading his arm by ducking below it. But he was faster than you and stopped you from getting past him. He was frustrated by your vagueness and confused on what you tried telling him without really telling him anything. This was a complete switch up from last night and he didn't know how to handle it.
"Look, I don't know where this is coming from, but just listen to me, sweetheart. I know I can't… I know I'm not," He ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated that he couldn't put his vulnerabilities into words, "My career's just starting. There's big opportunities ahead of me and I know I'm not guaranteed success. I'm not thinking of…I don't want to make any mistakes—" That last word, he should've never used that word. Because you didn't even let him finish when something between a cynical laugh and broken sob came out of you. "I get it. I was a mistake."
Bucky was quick in his attempt to shut that accusation down, "No! No! Absolutely not, that is not what I said," you tried to squeeze past him again, but this time he held onto your arm, "Would you please just listen to me?" You pushed at his chest, hard enough to hurt, the ire in your eyes and tone made his blood run cold. "Don't touch me." There was something close to hatred in your voice and that had him stunned, frozen in place. He was so stunned he could only watch you walk away to the guest bedroom. By the time he came to on what happened, he ran to chase after you only to have you slam the door right in his face. And no matter how hard he knocked, how long he waited, how much he pleaded into the wooden oak for you to talk to him, you never responded.
He was heartbroken beyond what you could every imagine. He couldn't understand where everything went wrong and why you were so upset. He wanted to talk to you, but he also knew he needed to give you space to cool down. He figured at some point in the day he'd be able to get you aside for a private conversation and clear things up.
He was wrong.
That small glimpse of you before the door slammed in his face was the last time he saw you for the next six whole years.
Reliving that moment in his dream was so vivid it startles him awake. Chest heaving, and face covered in sweat as the memory of that regretful morning resurfaces. Thinking back to the way you looked at him, to the way you spoke to him—it's enough to rip his heart to pieces all over again.
Even after all these years he still doesn't understand what happened back then, what had you so upset. At first he thought it was over his slip up and using that damn word, mistake. But thinking back on that moment throughout the years, he realized you had been upset before that. Something happened between falling asleep that night and him going up those stairs the next morning to confess to you that had set you off. And to this day he hasn't figured out what it was. The absence of you in his life, the hollow cavity losing you left in his chest—that's all he's really come to understand.
Bucky is surrounded by the darkness of his room, the crescent moon in the sky not providing much light to filter in through the window. His room suddenly feels stuffy, and the ache in his chest seems like it's going nowhere any time soon, so he gets up and decides to take a hot shower. Hoping maybe that can help him relax. He's in and out before he knows it, careful to not make too much noise in the hallway as to not wake his parents or his sister in case she stayed for the night. Thankfully, the bathroom's right across the hall from him, so there's not much noise he can make anyway.
By the time Bucky's back in his room he catches the screen on his phone light up. He reaches for it where it lies on his nightstand, seeing he's gotten a couple recent messages. He frowns when he looks at the time, it's just past midnight. Who could be texting him at this hour?
Mini Falcon: Heard you're back in town! You do not want to miss this.
Mini Falcon: [Attachment: 1 movie]
Bucky has an idea of what he's going to find when he opens the video from his old street racing friend. When he clicks on the video, sure enough it's Joaquin showing off a car meet he's at. There's a crowd of people already forming, showing off their cars and probably figuring out who's going to race tonight. He plays the video a few times, reminiscing on his street racing days, and a little envious at how nice some of the cars have gotten. God, there's no amount of money he wouldn't have bet to get a chance to race against some of those machines.
On one of his rewinds, he spots someone in the background that catches his eye. No, not someone, not just anyone.
It's you.
Bucky's jaw drop comically, pausing the video and hating how pixelated it looks when he zooms in, but even through the blurriness he swears that's you. An older you for sure, but it's still you nonetheless. He's recognize you anywhere. You're laughing with a brunette and a blonde, he thinks maybe they're you're friends.
But what the hell are you doing there? Since when are you involved in the street racing scene?
Bucky's mind is working a mile a minute, but if that is you—which he sure it is—he can't miss this opportunity to see you. Especially not after finding out no one knows where you are. If he's found you, then he's taking the chance to bring you home.
Bucky texts Joaquin back asking for the location of the car meet. He's scrambling to look decent, throwing open his suitcase and putting on the first outfit he finds, a matching pair of black sweatpants and hoodie, topping it off with a jean jacket and cap for good measure.
When he looks at his phone again Joaquin's sent him the location of the car meet, and when he puts it in his phone's maps it shows it's being held at an abandoned industrial complex in the next town, over thirty minutes away. With his skills he knows he can get there in half the time, so he wastes no more in getting ready and heading out the door. Extremely grateful that his father kept up with the maintence of his first car, a modified Honda Civic, and he has something of his own to get him there.
Just as he thought, he's able to get to the meet in half the expected time. He vaguely remembers racing here once or twice, which means he also remembers how it's one of the easier spots to get caught at because of the parameters of the race. He decides to park his car a few blocks away, hidden and tucked into a parking lot, a large patch of overgrown foliage and trees obstructing the view of it to anyone passing by. He makes his way over to the car meet on foot, locating it by the booming music echoing throughout the abandoned walls of the complex.
And yet, despite the music and all the engine revving getting louder as he approaches, he can still hear Joaquin's laugh above all that.
When Joaquin spots Bucky, he excitedly waves him over to where he's resting on the hood of what Bucky assumes is his car. "Bucky, man you made it!" They greet each other with one of those hand clasping, one armed embraces that guys do. "Yeah, after seeing the video you sent I knew I couldn't miss it." Bucky responds, making Joaquin grin, "Told you," he points to the guy next to him, "This is my friend Bob. Bob this is Bucky thee legendary Bullet." The man standing next to Joaquin turns to Bucky impressed, his doe eyes wide in awe as they greet each other. Bucky shakes his head, side eyeing Joaquin as if saying 'he's exaggerating'.
"He used to win all the races back in the day, he set all the records," Joaquin adds.
Bucky was going to say something when Bob beat him to it, "All the records Blitz beat?"
"Blitz?" Bucky inquires, not remembering that name in the roster of racers he knew back when he was racing here. Joaquin nods to the car positioned in the middle of the lineup race, a gorgeous blue Nissan GT-R Bucky's sure has been tuned up like hell. "That's what they call her. She's part of Rumlow's crew."
That catches Bucky's attention, "Rumlow's got a crew now?"
Joaquin hums in confirmation, "A few years back he got into a nasty car wreck. Car went up in flames and fucked up his body. He can't race now, so he got a crew to do that and his dirty work for him."
"Dirty work?"
Joaquin shrugs, "Don't know much about it. I just know he imports illegal parts from overseas to modify his cars, but I stay out of whatever they got going on."Bucky makes a clicking noise with his tongue, feeling sorry for any unlucky bastard that got stuck working for Rumlow.
"His crew hard to beat?" Bucky can't help but ask, reminiscing on all the times he beat Rumlow in a race. If his crews anything like him, then they're probably not that good. Bob is the one who answers his question, "Nope. Blitz is the best racer he's got. When he wants a certified win he has her race." Bucky takes that information in. If at any point he wanted to relive his street racing days, then it seems Blitz is the one to beat.
The three of them chat for another while. Bucky learns that Bob races too—for a team called the Thunderbolts—although he's still pretty new at it, so there's much he has to learn. Bucky offers to teach Bob a few things while he's in town and Bob seems more than eager to learn from him. Joaquin and Bob try to catch Bucky up on all the new faces in the racing scene, but it's too many names at once for him to really take anything in. Once the race starts, Bucky excuses himself from them, pretending like he saw someone he wanted to go catch up with so he could step away.
In reality, he's going back to concentrate on what he really came for. To find you.
He weaves through the crowds of people gathered, being careful not to bump into any of the showcase vehicles. As much as his eyes want to stray to admire them, he keeps his mind focused on you. He pays close attention to every single face he passes, hope blooming and then dying in his chest when he walks past someone that looks like you. When he circles back to where he started he's distraught at the realization that he might've missed you.
He goes back to Joaquin feeling dejected and like he has to start all over again with something he never really started. Bob is no longer standing with Joaquin, and Bucky barely catches the finish of the race. As expected by what he was told, Blitz comes in first with Yelena, one of Bob's teammates he pointed out to Bucky earlier, coming in a close second. He can't remember the names of the other races and quite frankly he doesn't care. They're not why he came here.
Although, even though Bucky only got a glimpse of how the race finished and a bit of the start, he's seen enough to know that whoever is racing for Rumlow is good—really good. Blitz drives like the car she's in is an extension of her body and she knows how to get it to do exactly what she wants it to. She's got the kind of control he's only seen with a handful of drivers. Him being one of them.
He finds it impressive.
Blitz's car door opens, and there's a small part of him that's anticipating putting a face to the name. And when Blitz steps out of the car, he finds himself receiving the shock of a lifetime for the second time that night.
You are the one to step out of the car.
You are Blitz.
That means, you're the one who's part of Rumlow's crew.
Shit.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
Bucky is convinced this has to be a dream, he's rubbing the hell out of his eyes in hopes that it is. But it's not. You're standing by your car with a self-satisfied smile on your face as you're handed the winnings of the race. Yelena steps out of her car and heads toward you with a giant grin, congratulating you on your win. It's clear you two are friends. You look every part of belonging here and he doesn't know what to do with that.
Bucky clears his throat, bumping Joaquin's shoulder, "Hey, is that..?" He can't even finish the sentence, but Joaquin doesn't need him to as he follows the direction Bucky is looking in. "Blitz? Yeah, that's her." Joaquin's confirmation only makes the pit in Bucky's stomach grow. "And you said she's part of Rumlow's crew?"
Joaquin nods, not understanding the weight of what Bucky is asking. "Yeah, I don't know much about what else she does for him, but she's his main racer. Any time he wants a guaranteed win he sends her." Bucky's scared to know, but he has to ask, "And when you mention that Rumlow's got some shady business going on, how shady are we talking?"
"Class B felonies dude," Joaquin says it like it's gossip and not the worst news he could've possibly given Bucky. At his silence, Joaquin gives Bucky a look over. "Are you good? Bro, you look like you're about to spill your guts—literally." Joaquin steps back a bit just in case Bucky does.
"I know her."
"Who?"
"Blitz." He says your real name after. The name he knows you by, the name he knew you by.
"Oh shit." Joaquin doesn't know what to say. Not with Bucky looking like he's seen a ghost. "Look, dude, she's friends with Yelena and Kate, they're good friends of mine and I know they're always looking out for her. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe Rumlow's only got her racing, not in his other shit." Joaquin attempts to comfort Bucky, but it doesn't seem like what he said did at all.
"Yeah, maybe…"
"Are you gonna go talk to her or just stare at her with your mouth open?" Joaquin teases, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky shuts his mouth and glares at Joaquin causing him to laugh. Bucky roles his eyes at him, Joaquin might've grown up, but he's still like that annoying little brother he remembers. He won't tell him, but Bucky is a grateful to have that unchanged connection to his old friend.
Joaquin's words might've not done much to comfort Bucky, but his teasing was enough to give Bucky the push to walk away from him and toward you. Joaquin whistles to cheer Bucky on, throwing some words his way that resemble good luck. Bucky shakes his head, wondering how crazy you're going to think he is for finding you here.
Every step closer Bucky is to you throws his nerves into high gear. You've already gotten your car and yourself away from the concrete race track. Somewhere over by the corner where a cluster of smaller buildings and a smaller group of people were in. He really doesn't know what to expect once he finally reaches you, or what he'll say, but he knows he can't leave without trying.
The moment you spot him approaching time seems to freeze, your eyes widening and your lips parting like you can't believe what your eyes are seeing. But just as fast as the shock hits your face, you mask it with indifference, but the iciness in your gaze is something he feels penetrate down to his bones.
He sees the door slamming in his face again. The look you gave him the last time he saw you, staring at him through the closing door like he had reached into your chest and snatched your heart right out of its cavity. And now? Now, you were glowering at him like you would put a bullet through his head and not bat an eye. Eyes looking at him with such a disdain it makes him feel physically ill.
When he finally reaches you, Bucky can only come up with one word, "Hey." He says lamely, quietly like there's an obstruction in his throat. You blink at him, crossing your arms as your friends at your side give him wary glances.
"You." Is all you say back, the word coming out almost like an accusation. Bucky grimaces, but he knows he deserves that so he tries to stay calm. He doesn't say anything else, but he glances at Yelena and who he guesses is Kate next to you, before his eyes find yours again, feeling a bit awkward at involving anyone else in your conversation.
You sigh, taking the hint, turning to your friends to ask them for a bit of space. The girls don't look happy about it, but they listen to you. Kate doesn't spare him another glance while Yelena makes sure to give him one hard glare, acting like she'd break his arm if you asked her to.
He really hopes you don't.
"Please, don't look at me like that," he finds himself saying, to which you barely react to. There's clearly a wall you've built between you, one he doesn't know how to lower for the first time in his life.
"Like what."
"Like I'm the last person you'd wanna see here."
"Well," you shrug like that's enough of an answer. Bucky takes a tentative step closer to you, making you tense up. Your reaction makes something break inside him. He steps back, feeling too many emotions all at once. A frustration at you running away, fear at you working for Rumlow, disheartened at the way you're acting like he's a stranger—confusion over everything that has and hasn't happened in the last six years. It all accumulates the second he has you this close again.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" He didn't mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did. "Excuse me? What the hell are you doing here?" You throw the question back at him with bit of venom in your tone. He elects to ignore it.
"Looking for you," he replies honestly. And that catches you off guard, he can see it written all over your face. "A friend invited me to come watch the race, sent me a video and everything. I saw you in the background of it and I thought I was seeing things. But I had to come see for myself only to find out that not only are you a racer, but you're racing for fucking Rumlow of all people. What the hell is that about?"
You wave him off, "It's none of your concern." He says your name like you're testing his patience. "It's not," you reiterate, rolling your eyes and leaning on the hood of your car, “It’s not even that big of a deal.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky growls out with something deeper than frustration, debating on whether or not he should just drag your ass back home instead of trying to reason with you. You stare at him like you could bite his head off. "I haven't seen you in years and all of a sudden you want to show up here and act like you're looking out for me? Fuck off, Bucky," you raise your voice at him, your own anger increasing by the minute. Bucky's arms shoot out in exasperation, tired of you twisting his actions and words into something negative, "I am looking out for you! I did all my life and that care doesn't just go away because I left for some time."
"Six years," you correct him, the heaviness of all the time apart settling between you like a wound that hasn't healed. He swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath, "Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I thought about you all the damn time during those years. I cared about you then, and I care about you now."
You don't believe him, scoffing, "I'm sure you do." He doesn't know how to get through to you. Feeling as though his efforts are going nowhere. "I'm serious. I've been thinking about you all damn day since I got here—its been driving me crazy. Especially after Becca told me you two stopped being friends. What happened there?"
"It's none of your business," you're quick to say—too quick.
He says your name again, but this time in a plea, but you're done talking. "I'm serious, Bucky, fuck off. None of this is of your concern, none of this is your business. Leave me alone."
"No."
Before you can even start ripping him a new one, the music is cut off. Someone's voice can be heard yelling, warning everyone to get the hell out as the cops are on their way. Bucky doesn't hesitate, having through this same scenario many times before. You don't even see it coming, how fast he swipes the keys from your hand, rushing over to the driver's side of your car.
"Get in the car," he urges, and you're smart enough not to argue with him over this. He can tell you're biting your tongue as you get in the passenger's side of the car, not at all happy with him being the driver. Bucky turns on the ignition and speeds out of the industrial complex while others still scramble to get into their cars and do the same. He doesn't drive in the same direction as everyone else. Making a swift u-turn in the opposite direction everyone else is going. He ignores your protests directing him on which way to go and drives the car in the direction he left his. You don't know what he's doing until he ends up back in the secluded parking lot, parking right next to his car. There's no doubt you recognize it, having been in it more times than he can count. He shuts off the engine, making everything go quiet. There's only one streetlight working, the light flickering every so often making it even harder to see the cars past the foliage. If anyone were to drive by at this time of night, there's absolutely no chance you'd be seen.
The tension in the car is palpable, thick with everything left there is to say between you. Bucky's holding his breath like even his breathing could set you off at any moment.
"You can get out now," you say after a painfully long silence. "Not until we talk," Bucky sees the way the word spark that anger in you again. "I don't want to talk." Bucky shrugs, leaning back in the seat like he's got at all night to go back and forth, "That's too damn bad, 'cause I'm not leaving until we do." He pockets your keys in the chest pocket of his jacket, not giving you a chance to take them back.
"You're fucking unbelievable," you growl out, getting out of the car and slamming the door closed. You practically stomp your way to the other side, yanking the driver door open. "Get out," you grind out through gritted teeth.
"Don't want to."
"James."
You used his first name, clearly he's pushing you past your limits, and truthfully he doesn't want that. He just wants you to talk to him, that's all he wants. He wants to get to the bottom of whats going on with you in hopes he can help you in some way. So he gets out of the car, slower than you'd like him to, stepping to the side to give you enough room to look inside and notice your keys are missing.
"Barnes, give me my keys."
"Not until we talk."
"Are you serious?
"Deadly."
You let the door shut, before holding out your hand expectantly, ignoring his request. "Bucky give me back the keys, the car isn't mine. I have to take it back to Rumlow." Bucky's worry only grows at your words, "Why are you working for him? How did you get involved with him?"
"It's a long story."
"I got time."
"Well I don't."
You're at a stand still, neither of you willing to budge. But in the interest of moving things along, you're the first to break. "My ex got me into this mess alright? Now I gotta get myself out of it. It's that simple," you explain, but Bucky isn't satisfied with just that. "What mess?"
You take a deep breath before confessing, eyes lowering to the ground, "I dated Rumlow's cousin for about a year. I didn't know they were cousins back then, and I didn't know about the family business. He swiped some money from Rumlow and then disappeared. Since I was the girlfriend, Rumlow made me responsible for paying off the money my ex stole." At the revelation of your predicament, of you being taken advantage of, Bucky has to take a deep breath and reign in his anger before he takes his car over to Rumlow's and finishes off what the car wreck didn't.
"How much?" He's apprehensive to ask, but he needs to know. You shrug, "I don't know the exact amount. I just know it's in the six figures." Bucky's heart drops, blood running cold with dread, "Fuck, sweetheart," a beat passes as his head wraps around the amount of debt Rumlow's put you in, "How much do you have left to pay off?" You shrug again, "I don't know, Rumlow adds interest every time I race with one of his cars or some other bullshit reason. I don't think he's gonna let me go any time soon." His jaw clenches so tight, you'd think he's about to break a tooth.
"Let me go with you, let me talk to him," he says it not like he's asking you, but like he's letting you know in advance you're not doing this alone. You shake your head, refusing, "No, absolutely not."
"He knows me. I used to race against him all the time. Stop being so goddamn stubborn and let me help you." They weren't friends by any means, but there had always been a mutual respect between them.
"I don't want your help. I don't need your help." You deny, but Bucky isn't having any of that. "Yes you do. Look at you. You run away from home, you drop out of college, no one knows where you are, and Rumlow's got you racing and doing his dirty work." You bristle at being reminded of your situation. Like if it were the first time anyone's said it out loud and addressed it head on with you.
"And why do you give a fuck? I'm not your responsibility, Bucky," you spit out, making Bucky feel like he's back to square one with you. But this time, you've ran through the last of his patience. "Fuck, this isn't about that! I give a fuck because I care! I give a fuck because despite all these years you still mean everything to me! Because the thought of anything happening to you would actually kill me." His admission causes you to lock eyes with him and within yours he can see something is cracking, he's getting through to you.
"Shut up, and go," you whisper out the words weakly, but he shakes his head, "No. I'm not leaving you. Not again," he cups your face, brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, "I don't fully understand why you ran, although I can take a pretty good guess its got to do with that piece of shit…," a horrifying thought strikes him, "Is he threatening you?"
You tense in his hold, "Bucky drop it."
"He is, isn't he?"
Your silence is the only confirmation he needs.
A few things finally start connecting for him, "That's why your parents don't know where you are, why you barley contact them. Is he also why you and Becca stopped being friends?" The mention of Becca has you stepping out of grasp, his hands falling reluctantly to his sides, "Becca and I stopped being friends before that. So you don't have to worry about her being mixed up in this mess."
"So why did you? Is it because of us? Because of what happened between us?" He doesn't think he's ready for the answer. But he should know better by now that answers from you don't come easily.
"Nothing happened between us."
"No, don't brush it off like it meant nothing."
"Well I wouldn't be the first to do that."
There you go again being vague and cryptic—and sounding accusatory toward him when he doesn't even know what he did. "Are you saying that because of the whole mistake thing? You don't even know what I was actually going to say. You didn't even let me finish what I wanted to say back then. Not before you stormed out of my room and slammed that door in my face. Before you blocked me on everything and I couldn't even reach out to talk to you."
His grievances don't seem to move you, "Seems like you still haven't gotten the hint." Bucky doesn't know how many more of your dismissals he can take, so he decides to leave it all out in the open once and for all. "No I haven't, and I won't because I was so hopelessly in love with you and you left my room like what happened between us meant nothing to you. You left and took my heart with you. And now that I have it back I have some things I want to say to you."
His confession throws you off balance, stumbling over your own footing as you take a step back. But he's not letting you get away this time, he's saying his peace like it's the last time you two might ever speak. "That night scared the absolute shit out of me. Because it was the first time in my life I felt as alive as I do when I'm behind the wheel. The thought of you feeling the same way I did brought that out in me and I didn't know how to handle it, and that's on me."
"Bucky, please stop."
He doesn't.
"That morning, I was trying to tell you that deep down I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I was still getting my shit together, still trying to prove myself to people who didn't give a damn about me. But on the off chance that you felt the same way, I would've dropped everything for you. I would've pursued something that would've had me better off, something close to home, close to you. I would've done what I could to help you pursue your dreams and—" this time you don't cut him off with words, but with your lips crashing against his, hard and with purpose. Knocking the cap right off his head. He's taken by surprise, but when your lips press harder, insistent on not being ignored, he kiss you back. His hands landing at your waist to keep him grounded to you.
You pull away slightly out of breath, "I just wanted you to shut up," you tease, and Bucky takes in a shaky breath staring down at your lips like he wants another taste, "You wanna shut me up again?" You don't hesitate to take the invitation, kissing him again with a passion bordering on hunger. You're stumbling backwards, pulling him in as he's crashing full force into you, lips parting to let him fully in. You're making out, your back pressed against his car, as you pull sounds out from each other that echo in the night air. He takes a moment to tell you this conversation isn't over, but you quickly shush him with another kiss. The heat between you is growing quickly, and it's no surprise when you find yourselves stumbling into the backseat of his car to take things further.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click, his body hovering over yours. One of his knees slots between your legs, deliberately pressing on your core causing you to whine. You can feel the way you've soaked through your panties and tights already. He helps you take off your leather jacket and matching shorts, and he can't help himself as he tears away at your tights, making you gasp. "Bucky, what the—" He kisses you, mumbling into your lips, "I'll buy you as many new pairs as you want, sweetheart." His answer seems to quell your annoyance for now.
His hand reaches down to rub you through your panties, finding out just how soaked you are for him. He grins wolfishly into the kiss, "Fuck, baby. Didn't know fighting with me would turn you on so much." His tease is met with a slap to his bicep, which only makes him press harder along your slit making you cry out. He kisses your lips one last time, trailing featherlight kisses to cheek and jaw, all the way down to your neck where he nips at the skin. His fingers brush upwards toward your sensitive bundle of nerves to continue his ministrations there.
You only let him have his way for a few more seconds before you're pushing impatiently at his chest. He's already dazed by just a few kisses from you, so when you tell him to sit back he listens without putting up a fight. He sits back in the seat, watching you with something close to devotion as you go to straddle his lap, bracketing his thick thighs with your legs. You strip him of his jean jacket and hoodie, throwing it on the car floor somewhere, raking your nails down his chest with just enough pressure to make him bite down on his lip, looking like he's moments away from coming undone.
You start to grind on him, making a mess of his sweatpants, but he doesn't care, it feels too good to care. His cock twitches beneath you and with the way you smirk at him he knows you felt it. You're making him go crazy, drunk on you, and you're living for every second of it.
One hand snakes it's way beneath your white tee to palm at your breasts, while the other grips your hip to press you down on him harder. A deep groan leaves his chest, and it mingles with your own as you crash your lips to his again, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him whine. Your hips continue their grinding motion, leaving you both breathing heavily enough to start fogging up the windows of the car. One of your hands finds the back of his head and tugs at his hair, pulling his attention long enough to slip your other hands into his sweats, giving him a teasing squeeze that his seems stars with how hard he's holding back from coming undone so embarrassingly soon.
"Oh, fuck," a deep groan rumbles with his chest when you squeeze him again, "Wait, baby, I can't. I don't got a condom on me," he grabs your wrist to stop you, "Just let me make you feel good okay? Let tonight be all about you." He tries to coax you, his hand leaving your wrist to bring the attention back to your cunt when you swat his hand away. He pouts, confused as he watches you pull your white tee off and reach into your bra to grab a condom out it.
His eyes narrow at you, "Why the hell do you have that there?"
You huff, the jealousy in his tone not getting past you, "Don't ask what you don't wanna know, Barnes."
Whether or not he wants to pry into that detail, you don't let him. Making his breath catch in his throat as you tear the condom wrapper with your teeth—an action he found incredibly hot.
He takes himself out of his sweats, squeezing the base of his cock to get himself under control. He's already leaking as you hastily roll the condom down his length. You're getting yourself into position when he stops you. Your gazes meet, a questioning look in your eyes. "You sure about this? We can stop if you're not. It's okay." He assures you, needing you to confirm you really want this. When you realize what he's asking, you smile at him. Taking his lips in a softer kiss, one that conveys how sure you are of this happening. "I'm sure, Bucky. I want this."
That's all Bucky needed to hear.
He rubs your folds through your panties a few more times before his fingers hook into the fabric of your panties and push them to the side. He helps guide himself inside you as you lower yourself down on him, inch by inch. "Baby, you're squeezing the hell outta me—fuck," he curses under his breath, urging you to take it slow. He hasn't told you, but it's been a long time since it's been anything other than his hand and him. And he feels every bit of that longing as your walls squeeze him tighter the more of him you take.
"Sweetheart, you gotta give me a minute. I can't. I don't want this to end so soon," he's pleading with you, breathing heavily as the need to thrust up into you gets harder to restrain. You cup his face, making sure he's staring right into your eyes as you lower yourself completely. His breath his hot against your mouth as he gasps, the sound turn into a moan the second you start riding him. Not giving him any time to adjust as if this were your way of getting payback for the way he pushed your buttons all night.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, guiding your hips with his hands to move you in ways that have you both moaning out for each other. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for a makeout that's all tongue and teeth—messy and passionate all in one. Breathing each other in like the only source of air you need can be found within each other. And that's when Bucky feels it again, his heart soaring with how right this feels, just like the first time you slept together.
"I missed you, I—" he mumbles into your lips, but when you pick up your pace, he forgets what he was going to say. You've got him pussy drunk and wrapped around your finger—right where he wants to be.
He can tell he won't last much longer at this pace, and he needs you to come before he does. His hand goes to where you're connected, pressing circles onto your clit in the way he knows you like, making you mewl. "That's it baby, you're doing so good for me, pretty girl." His other hand grips you tighter, keeping you steady as he starts fucking up into you, meeting your hips. You whine at how deep he's going, one of your hands shooting out to the fogged up glass like that'll help anchor you. He can feel how close you are, so he doubles down, fucking up into you harder and increasing the pressure on your clit. "Come on, baby, give it to me. Let go, sweetheart, I got you," he whispers affectionately and wrecked, bringing you in for another kiss that undoes you. You come hard, crying out his name, and he follows suit, coming harder than he has in years. You got him seeing stars with the way your cunt squeezes him for all he's got.
You're both panting in the aftermath, his head resting against the backseat as he tries to catch his breath. Your head drops onto his shoulder, his hand gently rubbing at your back to help you with the aftershocks of your coupling. He kisses your temple reverently, whispering soft praises and sweet nothings as you both come down from your highs. For a few minutes, the car is quiet with a tranquility Bucky wasn't sure you two would ever get to again.
Your head rises from his shoulder, moments later, a dopey smile on your face. He laughs fondly, his hand rising to stroke your cheek affectionately, "You're so beautiful." He doesn't know if it's what he says or the way he said it, but your smile no longer reaches your eyes. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest uncomfortably.
"Everything okay?" He's looking you over to make sure you're okay, fearing he might've been a little rough with you. You clear your throat, wincing, "Yeah, it's just—I'm feeling a bit sure already." His eyes widen at that and he apologizes right away, helping you gently off of him as you both wince, sensitive at the disconnection.
You start redressing yourself, confusing him, but he didn't question you. He had hoped you two could stay together a little longer in the backseat, talk a few things out and just enjoy this pocket of happiness you had granted each other. But whatever spell you two were under seemed to be broken. And faster than Bucky could process it, you were already dressed and getting out of his car. He scrambled to clean himself up with what he had at his disposal, tucking himself back in his sweats and hastily slipping on his hoodie just as he heard the engine to your car turn on.
He gets out of his car, rushing over to you and knocking on the window for you to lower it. You do, staring at him in a way that he can't read, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.
"You're leaving already?" Bucky can't hide the disappointment in his tone. You sigh, picking at a nonexistent thread on your jacket to keep your eyes somewhere that isn't on him. "I told you I have to return the car to Rumlow, it's not mine. He's got trackers on all his cars, so I have to return it before he comes looking for it."
"I can go with—"
"No, you'd only make things worse for me, okay? It's best if you just stay out of this."
He can't accept that, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Especially after being the only one who knows exactly how much trouble you're in. "I dont know how to help you, but I want to. Maybe I can't help, but maybe I can find someone who can."
"No, Bucky, just drop it," your tone made it clear you weren't budging from this. And maybe he couldn't make you budge on this now, but later, later he could fully convince you to let him help. "Fine, I will—for now. But, there's still some stuff I want to talk about," you give him a look and he's quick to dispel your apprehension, "Not now, I know you have to go. But later I'd like to have a proper talk. About us."
Something about you changes in this moment. Bucky can almost see it in the way you straighten up in the driver's seat, in the way your eyes glaze over with something deeply broken crawling it's way to the surface. Something meant to hurt him just as badly as he once hurt you.
"Us? Bucky, there is no us. Tonight… you were just an itch I had to scratch. Something I had to get out of my system, so thanks for that," your voice doesn't sound like your own when you say that. It sounds distant and cold, like you're trying your best to keep yourself together. However, the way in which you said certain things rings alarms bells inside his head. He's barley able to stutter out a reply when you pull back and drive off, leaving him in the dust of the engine fumes.
Those words. He's heard them before, but not from you, no, from his own mouth. He's replayed those words time and time again in his mind for the last six years. The things he once said to Sam way back then when he stupidly was trying to deny how he felt about you. You used those exact words against him tonight. It dawns on him, horrifically, that you heard him say that back then. Your anger and frustration—the heartbreak of that morning. It came from you thinking you weren't anything, but a one night stand for him.
And now youd done the same thing to him, as if trying to make things even. Maybe you had.
Bucky slumps against his car, sliding down it until he hits the floor. Pieces of a puzzle he could never solve slowly start clicking together until he gets a better picture of what happened. He had messed everything up like he feared he would. And it wasn't something he had done, it was something he had said. He wanted to kick himself for ever saying those things. If you were still angry at him all these years later, then you must have not heard the rest of the conversation. You only heard the part that broke your heart and made you hate him all this time.
Was there ever a possibility you would forgive him?
Could you forgive him?
Bucky doesn't know the answers to those questions, but what he does know is that he won't find out unless he tries to earn it.
a/n Well my darling barbies, you now have a choice to make. If you decide to not forgive Bucky, then your story ends here. If you decide to give him a second chance, then you're in luck! A part two is already in the works. Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! ♡♡♡
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist | purple divider by @/cursed-carmine ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆
pairing | Massage Therapist!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
summary | While on vacation, your best friend books a spa day for you to loosen up. A luxury spa, the hottest masseuse you've ever laid eyes on, and the slip of a sound lead to a very not normal massage. But in your defense...he had very good hands and a flexible definition of tension relief.
warnings | MDNI 18+ Barbies only, please | female reader, no use of y/n, vacation fling, porn with a sprinkle of plot, open ended, inappropriate use of towels + massage oils (literally don't...don't do this at home), fingering, dry humping, unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, exactly one (1) clit smack, soft dom Bucky if you squint, slight Romanogers if you squint even further and hold the phone at the right angle, reader is briefly described as being smaller than Bucky (if I missed anything please let me know)
word count | 5.6k
phoenix chirps | Hi Barbies! It's time for my first installment for the Barbie collab put on by the @stantastic-association. It's been so fun watching this come together that I can almost hardly believe it's my turn to post. I don't have much to say about this one, except that I feel the need to remind you that this is fiction. Please don't engage with massage therapists in this manner out in the real world. Even if they do suspiciously look like Bucky Barnes.
dt | Literally everyone who had to listen to me bitch about needing to lock in since...January? Y'all know who you are, and I'm giving you all a big forehead kiss through the screen. I hope you can feel it. Though a very special dt to @miraclediviner who made sure the collab ran as smooth as butter and didn't let me slack off. You're a real one Mecca ❤️
"We should do a girls trip!"
A dreaded six word sentence among friend groups. It always felt like something elusive that would always get talked about, but never actually get planned. In the history of your particular circle, those words were carelessly thrown around during Pinterest searches or doom scrolls after too much wine more times than you could count, but never once made it out of the group chat.
That was until the self appointed leader of the group, Natasha Romanoff, decided that enough was enough. In her own words, she was tired of the drab concrete buildings in which you worked soul sucking desk jobs and wanted to explore. But she didn't want to go alone. So, she planned. She made itineraries that the group was excited about. A few helped narrow down the field to a destination of the Amalfi Coast. But somewhere between the planning stage and the plane taking off for a two week trip to Positano, only you and Natasha had actually managed to buy the airfare and split the cost of an ocean front hotel room in the picturesque town.
Arriving in a landscape dotted with colorful cliffhanging houses on the bluest waters you had ever laid eyes on should have been enough to decompress. Yet the first thing out of Nat's mouth when you had barely unpacked a bag in the small hotel room you would be sharing was: "You look like you need to relax." Evidently the charm of being in another country without having to think of emails and spreadsheets for two weeks was not enough to bring your shoulders down from where they had permanently bunched at your ears.
And that is how you found yourself herded to the five star spa attached to your hotel. The air was tinged more prominently with orange blossom and citrus oils here, mixing with the salt air of the sea that seeped in through the windows. There was a soft melody of instrumental music along with water bubbling from a few rock fountains that dotted the reception area, granting a relaxing atmosphere from the bustling of the hotel lobby just beyond the entrance.
You had been directed to a pair of plush armchairs by the receptionist and offered a glass of cucumber water along with a list of services that were outrageously priced, even for a tourist town. You supposed that the main focus of stepping into a place like this should have been the ease of which it was to relax. But what really wasn't relaxing were the prices on the laminated sheet.
"Nat I - " you began in a hushed tone, but were cut off by the wave of her hand.
"We're on vacation," she sighed taking a small sip of water. "Just charge everything to my card, and you can pay me back when you can. I need the miles anyway." It wasn't so much of an offer as it was a request to just treat yourself. Like innately, she knew that you would argue over spending an exorbitant amount of money on a ninety minute massage.
Slumping back in your chair, you knew it was futile to argue when Natasha put her mind to something. The receptionist approached shortly after, getting you both on the schedule. Her voice had a distinct charming Italian lilt that you supposed was meant to be calming, though it felt performative in a way; like everything in this over priced spa. Maybe that's how they were able to charge such high prices. If clients were lulled into a false sense of comfort at every turn, it hurt less when money changed hands.
Natasha's name was called first by a tall, muscular blonde man wearing dark blue scrubs. Before she disappeared behind the frosted glass doors flanked by two lemon trees, she gave a sly wink, her nose scrunching slightly. A secret girl code that loosely translated to her likely coming back out with her masseur's personal phone number.
Good for her, you thought. Though you dreaded if she actually did get it that you'd be spending the rest of the vacation playing tourist alone.
That left just you and the incessant dripping sound of water in the reception area, which truthfully wasn't all that relaxing when it had you debating if you had time for a bathroom break. In the middle of your deliberation, you heard your name called.
When your eyes lifted to see who your appointment was with, you now had a concrete reason as to why services here were so expensive. A six foot, broad shouldered muscular man with chestnut hair, and blue eyes that could rival that of the ocean waters of the coast was looking at you expectantly. Your gaze drifted down to the clipboard that held your assessment form you had filled out while waiting. And you were sure it was a normal sized clipboard, but it looked dwarfed being held in his hands. Hands that would soon be on your skin.
His smile was warm, and looked to be the most genuine form of soothing in the spa as you walked up to him on unsteady legs. "I'm Bucky, looks like I've got you for the next hour and a half," he introduced himself, and you immediately noticed he did not carry the same Italian accent of anyone you had encountered at the hotel.
He held the door open for you into a warmly lit hallway, with more greenery and a stronger scent of lemons. "Do you have any problem areas you'd like me to address?"
The only problem that came to the forefront of your mind - aside from your sore back muscles - was that your mind was now…blank.
And yet he patiently waited for an answer as he directed you to a small dim room. Likely having rendered so many women speechless, that this was just part of his routine when he introduced himself to someone new.
The room he showed you to only held a massage table, a small cart with various oils and towels, and the same plinking music that had been playing in reception could also be heard in here, albeit much softer. "Uh, my back kind of? It was a long plane ride," you said, finally finding your voice.
Bucky nodded, jotting something down on the clipboard he still held. "Taking care of yourself on vacation? Good girl, sitting that long can cause unneeded stress on your muscles."
The praise coming from his mouth seemed to slip out so naturally, your brain almost didn't register it. But the rest of your body sure did.
He's probably like this with everyone, he's just trying to get a bigger tip from you. You reminded yourself.
"If you'll just undress to your comfort level," he pulled the drape of the massage table back, "I'll be back in five minutes."
And with that, he was out of the room with the door closing behind him with a soft click. Truthfully your comfort level with a strange man in a foreign country should've been to add more clothes and walk out of here. Especially with the way your thoughts were racing as you pictured his hands on your body.
Perhaps you should go request a different masseuse. One that you didn't want to do things with he probably wasn't allowed to charge for. But with the way your back ached and the crick in your neck from an eight hour flight, you didn't want to wait for a different masseuse. Nor did you want to explain to Natasha why it was necessary and get teased relentlessly.
Deciding you'd like the full experience, you stripped bare and folded your clothes in a neat pile on the chair in the corner. Sliding into the cocoon of soft sheets on your stomach, you shifted the drape over your backside and as soon as you made yourself comfortable with your head on the rest, a knock sounded at the door.
"Alright sweet girl," Bucky's smooth voice reached your ears once more as he stepped into the room. "Let's see if we can't get you to relax."
This was already a bad idea, you surmised. Your body was reacting to the baritone of his voice in ways you hadn't even considered when Nat suggested a massage. Like it was reminding you of the dry spell you had currently been in with your dating life and that something or someone needed to rectify that soon.
He peeled the sheet away from your back to begin, the sudden rush of air hitting your nerves and sending a shiver down your spine,
"Cold?" He asked from somewhere above you, concern lacing his words.
"A little?" Your voice squeaked the lie piling on to your mortification. You weren't really cold, more like your nerve endings you long thought dormant were reacting to any form of provocations.
You heard the click of a button somewhere and a sudden wave of gentle heat flowed from a vent on the wall next to you. "There we go," he murmured. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible."
Some more shuffling occurred while you watched his shadow cast by the dim amber lights dance around the dark floor. A click of a cap being flicked open almost had you peaking over your shoulder to see what was going on, but eye contact would likely only heighten this one sided awkwardness you felt for the next ninety minutes.
A warm sensation dripped over your skin, and you felt goosebumps rise in its wake. Bucky's palms were on you next with a firm pressure that already had the tension floating from your body and into his palms. Deft fingers kneaded the muscles along your spine first, pausing to roll among your shoulders.
Sinking further into the table, it was almost easy to forget who was on the opposite end of the hands that you could describe as harbingers of magic. Your eyes slipped shut, finally letting out a deep breath you didn't remember inhaling.
"Good girl, keep letting go," Bucky whispered, knuckles digging into your shoulder blades and working your muscles loose. There was that praise again, made all the more intimate by the fact that you were now naked and his hands seemed to be working overtime to pull every bit of tension out of your body.
He made it so easy to relax. More so than anything out in the reception area. The aura around his person inviting and safe in a way that made it easy to let go. From the warmth of the room, the slide of his fingers, the gentle praise, a floaty kind of feeling rushed to your head. It was then he found a knot just to the right of your spine that was worked out with enough pressure for an involuntary moan to slip past the barricade you'd been carefully crafting.
And it really wasn't even something you could pass off as a momentary lapse of judgment, especially if he kept skillfully working your muscles out like he was.
But Bucky, professional as he was, never wavered even when he felt the tension rising back to your body like you had done something wrong. "Happens more often than you think," he reassured. "Make all the noise you need to, sweetheart. You don't need to hold back on my account," he said evenly, and you could hear the ghost of a satisfied smile in his tone.
With permission granted unlocking something in your brain, you sighed, letting whatever slightly pornographic sounds come out. It wasn't like you would see him again anyway to be embarrassed about it. And as you fully let go, both of Bucky's hands continued working lower now to where the drape covered the last bit of your decency.
"Your lower back is really tense…" he muttered, hands wrapping around your waist, your attention flaring to the point of contact. "Desk job?"
Your mind momentarily stuttered as you tried to get your mouth to form words that weren't 'you can bend me over a desk'. "Uhm, yeah, unfortunately. I try to stretch but…"
"I can put a towel under your hips if you'd like?" he interrupted whatever your thinly veiled excuse was going to be for not getting up and stretching for ten minutes every hour. "May help me work out some of this discomfort."
You spied him already rolling up a piece of fabric into a tight cylinder. His hands and fingers glistening in the low light looking like a sin you'd love to commit.
You nod in agreement, and shift so he can wedge the towel under your hips. In doing so, the drape covering your ass narrowed, now just barely keeping you concealed.
More oil was added to your skin and Bucky's hands returned to your lower back. You had to give it to him, the added cushion under your hips did help your spine stretch, and the oil was already seeping into your muscles, aiding in the relaxation. But now you had a different problem entirely. The towel had been placed in such a way it pressed right against your clit, the texture of terrycloth mixed with the oil dripping down providing a delicious friction you hadn't been expecting.
And just why had you decided it would be a fabulous idea to get naked? As if the heat pooling between your thighs the second you laid eyes on your masseuse wasn't bad enough, you now had to deal with the fact that every time his thumbs pushed from the swell of your ass to the middle of your spine he unknowingly rocked you just right to send sparks shooting through your limbs.
If you thought keeping your noises to a minimum before was a challenge, it was certainly about to be an even bigger struggle. Screwing your eyebrows together, your fingers gripped the face cradle harder, you dared to let out a much more breathy exhale than before. Slightly worried that if you held any further noises in, Bucky would catch on to the lewd activities happening under the drape.
It would be so embarrassing to come like this, you thought for a brief second, another airy moan traitorously leaving your lips.
That time, Bucky's hands did pause, ever so briefly, on their upward trajectory. Enough that it was obvious he noticed your sounds had changed. But he didn't draw attention to it verbally. Instead, he moved…slower.
His hands trailed down, past your hips to your thighs. Thumb digging just a touch more into your muscles as he moved with leisure.
You barely noticed the drape that had still been covering your ass was being pushed up, too focused on the way he seemed to know when to press on your lower back to get another inappropriate sound out of your mouth. On the next pass, Bucky's fingers grew bolder, dipping between your thighs and nudging your legs apart.
It eluded you that his thumbs were getting closer and closer to where you were now dripping on every pass. Rational thought had long since flown out the window with the way he was slowly rocking you against the towel.
At least…until he drifted experimentally. Two fingers slowly and precisely slipped directly between your thighs ever so slightly relieving the ache that had been building since you had put your body in his very capable hands. It was too deliberate, yet slightly timid to be considered an accident. Much like the soft moans he had elicited from you moments earlier.
Your eyes flew open, breath catching as he did it again. Two fingers mindfully stroking your clit like he was testing your reaction. "I can stop," he said easily once you met his piercing blue eyes over your shoulder, pausing his ministrations but not taking his fingers away. "But I am very good at my job."
You were aware that you could say no. Surely such a posh and highly rated establishment would not survive if such acts were being performed under duress.
You were also aware that while you could…you had absolutely no intention of asking him to stop. Much like when you gave yourself grace by letting your mouth fall open, moans flowing freely, you rationalized that you were on vacation. You were never going to see this man again, and your body was wordlessly begging your mouth to just say yes. Shifting to tilt your hips in a silent dare for him to keep going, you both performed a staring contest in the soft light. But you realized quite quickly that he wasn't going to move again until you said something verbally.
Letting out a shuddering breath, and throwing all caution to the wind along with the last of any rational thought, you imperceptibly shook your head and gave a shaky whisper of "don't stop."
A slow grin spread across his face, a spark of delight as he gingerly tossed the drape to the side. There was no use for it now, considering it had turned into a small sliver that covered nothing.
"Turn over for me, sweet girl, if we're doing this, let's do this right," he murmured, giving a slight tap to your clit before withdrawing, a gentle hand coming to your hip to help maneuver you to your back.
With shaky arms and his guidance, you adjusted. The towel you had been grinding against was also discarded quickly, all the better so you didn't see the mess you had likely caused. Bucky's hands were on you again, steady, but sure, working their way slowly back up your thighs like he was still giving you the chance to back out.
"Beautiful," you swore you heard him whisper above the low music that was still faintly playing in the background. Heat spread from your chest to your ears as you chanced a glance at him while his fingertips made their journey back between your thighs. But his eyes, dark and hooded, were fixated on the dance of his hand moving closer to your center.
You let out a small 'oh' the second he circled your clit, thighs parting further — an invitation to keep going while your fingertips dug into the table. Eyes falling closed, your body arched into the movement, rocking without abandon now that it wasn't something you were trying to hide.
He had not been over exaggerating, he was very good at his job. Executing just the right amount of pressure on the bundle of nerves, every so often dipping to gather the slick now freely dripping from your cunt and tease your entrance. Like he was a lover made just for you, and had learned every single way to provide the highest amount of pleasure to make your head spin.
"When's the last time she was taken care of, hmm?" his voice was closer than it had ever been, your eyes flew open again to see he had moved so his torso was hovering over yours, hand that wasn't performing magic between your thighs braced next to your head.
Fuck, his eyes were more disarming up close. Two shimmering pools of bright blue reflected what could only be described as starlight from the ambient lamps.
Did you really want to admit to a stranger how long it'd been since the last time anyone touched you like this?
"Uh…" you stammered, "haven't really…been awhile."
Real smooth. But what were you meant to say when words were drowning before they had a chance to form?
A gentle, compassionate look crossed his features. "Tsk, you can't neglect something as precious as this sweetheart."
With that, he finally pushed a long finger past your entrance, the stretch sudden causing a needy whine to travel up your throat.
"There you go. Just relax for me…" he whispered the command right against the skin of your cheek, and to your credit, you really did try. But the coil in your lower belly was tightening further and further.
Another unabashed moan slipped past your lips as he added a second finger, your jaw going slack from the sudden stretch while your fingertips dug further into the table to the point your knuckles ached. "I'm trying," you protested, though several parts of your body were continuously clenching.
Above you, a deep rumble vibrated from Bucky's chest. His hand that had been planted next to your head reached for yours, working your grip free of the table. Your fingers interwove with his creating a far more intimate connection than you had been braced for.
"Keep trying sweetheart, you can do it," he coaxed, leaning further in until his lips were right next to yours. While his hands and words were confident, there was a hesitation in the movement of his lips. Like he was a man who was afraid of pushing too many boundaries.
Your fingers squeezed his once his thumb pressed deliberately onto your clit, back bowing off the table while your thighs spread further, one ankle falling carelessly over the edge. "You're so close," he whispered, lips finally meeting the corner of yours. "Can feel it in the way she's squeezing me."
"Mhm," you managed to whine, lips chasing his automatically when he went to pull away.
There was barely a second of hesitation and his mouth was on yours, greedily drinking in the sounds of pleasure as he pushed you closer and closer to release. He tasted of bergamot, lemon and sea salt, like the personification of the small town itself.
It was like something snapped between you the second your lips collided. Something untamed finally being set free after being unfairly caged. Your hand flew to the nape of his neck, drawing him in closer, enough that with the angle, he had to withdraw his fingers from your cunt so he could steady himself above you.
You wanted to grumble at being denied, body clenching desperately around nothing. Until Bucky adjusted, knee finding the bare space of table between your legs. With a slight bounce, his large form soon eclipsed yours as he settled into a comfortable position. All the while, his lips never really ceased contact with yours. Exploring parts of you that you hoped he never dared venture with other clientele.
But any unfounded jealousy you may have stumbled upon exited your mind the second he pressed his hips to yours. The hard, throbbing ridge of his erection had your mind reeling. It hadn't really even occurred to you that he could be as affected as you were, needing his own form of tension relief. Perhaps the soft dark blue scrubs he wore were intentionally chosen to hide such things.
Your legs bent at the knees, drifting to either side of his torso until you cradled his lower body with yours. A sound came muffled from his throat, his teeth sinking into the plush flesh of your lower lip when your hips twitched upwards, bare pussy dragging across the outline of his cock that sent fire rushing through your belly.
Your free hand fisted into the hem of his top, thoughts running rampant of how you planned on daydreaming about ripping this very top off when you got back to your hotel room to now being able to experience the real thing. His hips moved in needy, urgent circles, the head of his cock catching your clit every so often causing your thighs to clench around his frame harder. His movements were so delicate, so restrained, you wondered if he was reconsidering.
Testing the already flimsy boundaries, your hand released his top, moving to rest on the warm skin of his abdomen. A shudder radiated from where your palm was placed as the weight of him sunk deeper onto you. Your hand explored further, your own hips canting up to meet his; soaking the front of his pants with your slick. Fingernails scratched into the hard wall of muscle, contracting like claws with each slow grind.
When you reached his shoulder, Bucky released his grip on your hand, yanking the fabric off and discarding it. It had been one thing to imagine what he looked like underneath the navy blue top. It was another thing in itself to see it in the ambient lighting of the massage room. The flickering candles on the shelves reflected shadows on every crevice that had to have been honed by hours in the gym. Both hands now moved of their own volition, traipsing up the dips until they smoothed over the light dusting of hair along his chest.
"Seems only fair I suppose," he chuckled softly, watching your hands explore. "That you get to feel me up now instead of the other way around."
You felt your cheeks heat once more, moving to withdraw your touch. But, Bucky moved quicker, gripping your wrist and placing a soft kiss to the delicate inside with a smirk.
"Knew you were going to be special the minute I laid eyes on you," he whispered, tugging your wrist until your hand landed at the nape of his neck again, your fingers carding into the soft hair.
"Bet you say that to every girl who walks in here," you mumbled, gaze darting to where his other hand was palming his erection through his pants that were slick from where you had been grinding against him.
A short laugh flitted from his lips, pulling the waist of his pants down further until his thick cock was freed. "I do, but none of them have ever gotten to do this though," he admitted gently, running the tip of his cock already leaking with precum through your folds.
The meaning behind his words barely registered when your eyes were still glued between your bodies. His large hand was wrapped around the thick shaft as he fucked into it, tip gliding through your aching pussy until it kissed your clit and withdrew again.
The motion continued, teasing away what little self restraint you had left with each dip that barely caught at your entrance. A frustrated exhale escaped your lips, looking back up to meet Bucky's eyes. "Can you just - " you huffed as he slid through even slower, like he had all the time in the world yet you knew the ninety minute session would have to end sooner or later.
The corner of his mouth pulled up again, head dipping so his nose brushed yours. "Patience sweet girl," he murmured against your lips. "Don't wanna rush this."
Your leg wrapped higher on his hips wondering if your strength could out match his. But his grip found your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh to keep you from using your muscles in an attempt to get what you want. His hand released his cock, letting it fall heavily onto your hip so he could cup your jaw.
"Breathe with me, okay? In," he inhaled, your lungs expanded on command, chest rising to meet his.
"And out," he exhaled, lips brushing yours intimately while your breaths mingled, his hips adjusting so you felt the nudge of his tip at your entrance.
You really should have expected him to press in the next time he coaxed you to inhale, yet the stretch of him finally filling you completely and slowly was something no amount of breathing exercises could've ever prepared you for.
A loud whimper tore through from your throat while you adjusted to his size, the hand at the base of his neck gripping a bit tighter to steady yourself. Bucky hiked your leg up further, hooking it around his hip — freeing up his other hand to completely cradle your face, elbows tucking under your shoulders while he settled his weight onto you. An intimate gesture you least expected, from someone who was a stranger a little more than an hour ago.
He hadn't even really moved yet, letting your bodies get acquainted; muscles clenching around his throbbing cock while his thumbs slowly brushed over your cheekbones. Every breath leaving your mouth was shallow, attempting to get air to your lungs while every other nerve ending was just concerned with pleasure.
Your fingernails found solace digging into the taut muscle of his bare back, clinging to reality as he finally buried every inch in. Eyes watered as you held his stare of concern marred behind feral need. "Breathe sweetheart," he reminded you once again, thumbs never ceasing the calming movement against your skin.
The table swayed gently with the start of his hips rocking. The ridges and veins of his cock massaging the most intimate and sacred parts of your body.
Needy deep grunts and soft breathless moans soon filled the room, articulated by the whisper of your skin connecting and the nature sounds that were once meant to be relaxing. They now only fueled a delirious fantasy, mixing with the heat rising. Where the room melted into something far more primal and less composed than anything the upscale spa had offered in their list of services.
His strong hands continued to keep your head tilted up. Every desperate thrust into your already fluttering pussy, still aching for the release he denied you earlier had your eyelids dropping. But his hypnotizing eyes that watched every flicker of pleasure on your features were hard to stay away from for long.
"Come on now, darling, let go of that last bit of tension," he breathed softly, head dipping to your collarbone so his lips were right next to your ear with another deep thrust that had stars bursting in your vision.
Words seemed fleeting, as much as you wanted to say for the umpteenth time that you really were trying, but the bliss washing over your body in waves was hard to release. Nothing would have made you more content than to stay in this haze of citrus scented oils.
"So stubborn." You swore you heard him huff, trailing a hand between your bodies where his thumb found your clit, massaging gently.
Entire body locking from the jolt caused a gasp to punch out from your lungs. Thighs and arms wrapped tighter around him, nails digging further into his skin until you were sure the half moons would become a permanent feature to his otherwise flawless body.
"There you are, now let it all go." Bucky's teeth grazed the column of your neck, thumb picking up speed in time with his pace that was becoming erratic. Pleasure finally crested through your nerve endings, flowing to every limb and ligament as you fell over the edge. Saliva pooled on your tongue, eyes finally falling closed to surrender to the sensations. His lips found yours again, an intimate gesture designed to bring you back to the present. He groaned deeply, a tremor rumbling through his entire body as you felt the throb of his own release flare into yours.
Bucky pulled back from the crook of your neck, hair that had been perfectly styled now fell in front of his wild eyes while realization crashed down on both of you. A sudden dawning of what just happened probably…should not have happened. Your limbs were still limp, muscles melting into the table in a sensation you had missed for too long.
"Am I - uh - going to have to pay extra for that?" you asked in an attempt to diffuse the situation, breath still ragged.
He laughed, low and genuine, brushing a piece of your hair back from your forehead. "Nah, we'll keep that off the books."
You giggled in response as he carefully maneuvered off of the table. You propped up on your elbows, accepting a clean sheet he handed in your direction, like he knew your body was already growing colder without his to keep you warm.
"When do you leave?" he asked sincerely, donning a fresh scrub top. Eyebrows drawn together in earnest.
You really hadn't been expecting him to all of a sudden seem so vulnerable, for someone who got you to the position you were currently in with such quiet confidence. "Oh, we're here for two weeks."
He nodded, looking now at a planner that was splayed open on the small counter. "Do you…want to come back tomorrow? I can take you to dinner first and then I can get you another…more appropriate session."
He tripped over his words as he asked, endearing in a truly charming way. "Yeah," you agreed easily, swinging your legs off the side of the table. "I'd like that."
Bucky's shoulders dropped, relief flooding over his features. "Great," he smiled, handing you a business card. "I've, unfortunately, got another appointment I need to get ready for, but I'm looking forward to it."
"Hope it's not one just like this?" you asked, turning the card around in your fingers to see what you assumed was his personal cell phone number scribbled in a margin.
"No," he chuckled again. "This was a…uh…first for me."
Natasha was already in the reception area when you drifted through the frosted glass doors. Everything that had first annoyed about the corporately saccharine decor was muted, the only thought on your mind was when you would get to see it again.
"So?" Natasha asked, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised as she scrutinized your sudden glow. "How was it?"
You accepted another small glass of cucumber water, settling beside her. "Amazing. I'm coming back tomorrow."
The redhead's eyes narrowed at that, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip. "Is that so? And here I thought this was meant to be a girls trip?" she teased, nudging your foot with hers.
"Weren't you the one who said I needed to relax?" you shot back, briefly flashing the business card before tucking it back into your pocket with a playful smile. "Not my fault the relaxation method doesn't fit your definition of a girls trip."
After Chirps: Okay, maybe I did have more to say??? I hope you liked this one! But I'd be remiss if I didn't link the masterlist post for the collab, and let y'all know that along with all of the other scrumpdillyumptious fics coming, my veterinarian Bucky fic comes out in less than a week! As proud as I am of this one, that one is my baby and I can't wait to share it ❤️
PAIRING: best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader
SUMMARY: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.
WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference (I just love beefy men so much ❤️🩹); light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; kind of guided masturbation; slight degradation; brief use of pussy pronouns; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; spitting; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.
WORD COUNT: 14k
A/N: this one-shot is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I'm so happy it's finally up again, it's just so important to me. I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip. hope you’ll enjoy 💛 ps: I apologize to all the interstellar fans for eventual mistakes, I've never seen it but I needed something to match bucky's love for physics and space.
Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted.
Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes are screaming do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.
Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend’s body has been betraying him for a while: knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.
Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.
Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.
The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park—technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes—to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.
The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.
When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.
The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”
“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.
Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere."
You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”
He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.
“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.
“Mh-mh.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”
Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.
“You’re freezing, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”
You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.”
“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”
You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”
He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”
“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.
“Still... she looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.
“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”
“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.
“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”
“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn’t miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… just wanted to get a head start.”
He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”
You sigh. “Buck—”
“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”
You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.
Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”
You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes—yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again in your presence. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.
He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile.
You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams.
Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.
Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.
Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice—the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.
Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech: the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.
Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You also walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.
Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along.
Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… you smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.
Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.
But sometimes… sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done.
You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.
And Bucky wants—selfishly, desperately—to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.
With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.
With him, you don’t need to think ahead.
He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.
You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to.
He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It calls for you. It rattles through him like something alive that needs to breath.
Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.
Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up.
Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.
He only knows there’s never been an end.
Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.
You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him—and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.
Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.
You have never kissed him on the lips, though.
Bucky thinks about that more than he should.
He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.
He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.
He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.
Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.
He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.
Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.
And sometimes... it’s just unbearable.
You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It’s just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little grin of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.
The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.
Bucky has imagined telling you.
It never gets far.
In his head, the words sound steady, confident.
But you’d blink, go quiet… look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.
So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses—Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.
From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.
Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie—you are the only one allowed to do that.
You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.
So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs. It sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class. It blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.
He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you’re both left wheezing.
With him, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it. Because Bucky has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.
Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.
But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.
Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile into the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.
“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.
“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”
Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.”
Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.
“James seriously, I have to finish—”
“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter.
“You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”
You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.
“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”
Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.
And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.
Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”
“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his tender attention.
“I know. I know, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… irresistible when you let yourself go.”
“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.
You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way.
“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”
You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”
“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.
“They look at you.”
“They look at everyone.”
“Not like they look at you, baby.”
There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.
“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the night. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
You lift your head just enough to squint at him.
“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.
You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mh. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.”
You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway.
“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.
You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.
He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good—too good.”
Your fingers tighten in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer.
You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this—he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.
Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.
“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, mh?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”
You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.
“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.
“Careful.” You snicker.
“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”
“You almost tripped over the air.”
“Well, the air started it.”
He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual.
“There,” he hums. “Contained.”
His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”
You go rigid at that. “James.”
“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.
“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s almost three hours long.”
“It’s cinema.”
“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”
“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”
“You loved it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”
He gasps softly. “How dare you!”
You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”
At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.
“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you’ve already watched, and rated, with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”
“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes—”
“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.
“Fine, baby.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”
“You cried during the docking scene.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s just... well done.”
After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so you can see as well, then shifts again so your body is draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.
“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.
“Mh.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”
“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”
Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.
Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.
When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.
“Still cold?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You shivered.”
“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.
You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs—soft and low—then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”
Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can’t help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.
He lets it go on longer than he should.
His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.
“What is it?”
“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.
“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”
At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud.
“I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”
His jaw tightens.
“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You’ve already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”
“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”
Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.
“I can help you.”
The words leave him before he can fully consider them.
You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Why—”
“You have your own stuff to do—”
Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant, I can help you not think about it.”
You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”
That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin.
His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and warm, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the cruelest of dreams. Your mouth on his, your skin bare. His shirt was drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sun split through the curtains and hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He quietly jerked off in the shower, ears red and stomach flipping with shame as he only saw you behind his closed eyelids, but the ache is always there. It never goes away.
His eyes close briefly.
This is not the time.
But the words sit at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.
“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something stimulating enough that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”
“Like what?”
His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can’t believe he’s really going to say it.
He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… sex?”
It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and tossed it between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.
You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback.
“I didn’t mean it like—” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a...” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”
You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.
“I just meant,” he tries again, cautious now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re—We’ve always been—I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… us.”
The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time.” You quietly admit.
He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.
“What?”
You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.
“Since... the last time I had sex.”
His stomach drops.
“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.
You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”
The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.
His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”
You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... years ago.”
You swallow. “I know.”
“You haven’t—” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.
You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.
His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent so many nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.
But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.
“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… sex would help.”
He swallows, nodding sharply. “It might.”
You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”
It’s not a question.
Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.
“Recently?” You perk up.
He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”
You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.
“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or—or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”
Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.
“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.
“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”
“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
“You are everything to me too.”
The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes—too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit—catch that instantly.
“Should we do it?” You ask, almost daring.
Bucky hesitates—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer just for one night.
“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just...” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”
Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.
Just a clean slate of neutrality.
The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.
Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.
“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Even the name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now.
She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently.
She’s contemplating if this will change things between you two.
She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it.
She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.
Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I’m—”
“James.”
He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.
“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it—”
His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.
You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.
Your sigh sounds like it’s been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”
His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.
“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”
You hold his gaze. “And then?”
“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”
You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.
“I won’t hate it.”
That confidence nearly unravels him.
“So… can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.
At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. The feeling of his thumb gently brushing along your jaw makes you shiver, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment into his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that simple motion nearly stops his heart.
Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact—a question posed in motion. It’s the most tender of kisses, meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.
Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.
His other hand hesitantly reaches your waist, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.
Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, still careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust. And your hair is caught through his fingers as he tilts your head slightly, to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this—this closeness, this softness—is real.
Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.
Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Can I... Can I kiss you again, angel?”
Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. The way he tilts his head is automatic, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours, trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding himself together at the thought of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.
His hands finally gather the courage to move, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.
“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.
“I’m—” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... to come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”
Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your stomach flutter. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”
“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question.
“What do you do when you’re alone, baby?”
“I have… toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.
“Show me.”
“You—You want to watch me while I…?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.
His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”
“But—”
Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.
“Then let me help you.”
There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.
“Where are they?”
“Um, second drawer of the nightstand.”
Once the box is opened, Bucky’s mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.
His brain stops. Just… fully refuses to work.
It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach.
A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too...
Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.
But it’s yours.
And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his—
And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… disrespectful.
“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”
“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if embarrassed. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.
“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves just slightly.
You nod, certain but coyly.
Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a sweet kiss on the corner of your mouth first.
“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.
He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.
“What about here, mh?”
You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.
“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.
Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.
“Here?”
You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”
That only makes it worse.
You shake your head slightly, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.
“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want me to hear your sweet sounds?”
He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.
“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.
Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.
“Mh, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, and Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.
“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.
“Careful, doll.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… in a way you won’t forget.”
Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.
“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.
“And here?”
A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.
“And what about here, angel?”
Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.
His lips... kissing your clothed pussy.
Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.
“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.
“The toys.”
“It—It depends if—” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood—Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.
“Mh?” He barely acknowledges you.
“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.
“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.
Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks instantly heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile, kissing you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager dance.
“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”
Oh.
You feel your eyes widen, jaw going slack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets and never come out. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your nub. Your slick seeps through, turning the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.
Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs.
“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky’s head shoots up, hands clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You then wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent room.
You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at the faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you consider the sensation for a short moment, before pressing the button again.
“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit.
“Can I—” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could come right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always.
“Ah—yes, yes please!” Your eyes fall shut.
“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift unconsciously. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, darkened eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.
“Open your eyes, baby. Let me look at you, c’mon.”
The command is soft but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him.
“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can swallow it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.
Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist in attempt to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindly into the pleasure.
“Feels so good, right?”
Your eyes drift over his face, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the perfect line of his nose, the smug curve of his smile, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly beautiful. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking open, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, when the pull in your chest finally bursts and you can only surrender to its force.
“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting.
“Say it again. My name.” His voice is suddenly deeper, you can see his throat bobbing.
“Bucky.” You moan, raw and louder this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames.
“Good girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.
Yes, a good girl. His.
“Wanna hear you say my name like that all the time.” He groans. “Why don’t you show me how good she can take this little toy of yours?”
You twitch, aching with the desperate need to put the dildo back, to indulge in the cruel vibrations until you fall over the edge. Yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding it inside your soaking core.
“Shit.”
You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.”
“I’m right here, okay?” He grits out, exhaling harshly as his gaze traces your body. “C’mon baby, put on a show for me.”
Thrusting harder, your eyes roll back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation.
“Good girl.”
All of a sudden, Bucky’s hands, warm and so familiar yet new as they explore your bare sides, glide under your sweater, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.
“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as he looks in your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down.
His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, then moving down to leave soft pecks on the swell of your breasts that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs brush your nipples so gently, indulging in every little gasp, but it’s not long before his lips close around a hard peak, both nipples receiving sweet suckles that gradually turn meaner.
“Why were you hiding these pretty tits from me, doll mh?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up.
“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw. His fingers keep your mouth open, only for a globe of his spit to land your tongue.
“Swallow.”
Gasping, you quickly follow his order, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. It only makes your core throb painfully.
“Beautiful.”
“Bucky please.”
“Please what? Need words, angel.”
Your mouth opens and closes pathetically a few times, before you can string a proper sentence together. “I want—fuck—I need you.” You eventually whimper out.
The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your stomach. “Good girl. Wanna see you come once around it, watch you moan and gush as you beg for me to touch you. And then I’ll make you leak for days.” His lips attach to your neck and collarbone, his rough words muffled by your soft skin.
You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, docile to his orders and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you.
Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs twitching impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That’s it. It’s been so long since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my princess needs me to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”
“Only you, Bucky. Only you can do it.” You whisper.
His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”
It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”
Nodding enthusiastically, the sound clawing out of your throat is pitiful. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, this feels like a cruel punishment. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.
“Bucky.” You wail, squeezing his wrist.
He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress at the warmth of his skin, yet your chin wobbles pathetically. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.”
“I need—can I touch it, please?”
Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk, the urgent worry disappearing at once. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit?”
“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I—I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His eyes widen, Adam’s apple bobbing. His whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”
You quickly slap your hand against your pussy, glancing up at him to find him licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into its coveted prey.
“Sweet girl, you like being rough with your pretty pussy?”
At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.
“Then slap it for me.”
You swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp smack. The shock of the impact makes your body jolt, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.
“Fuck!” Your pussy is so tender, yet the slap only spurs you closer to the edge.
“Again.”
You smack your flesh harder, gasping at the delicious sting. Alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks, you are not sure you’ll be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you around.
“Just like that, don’t stop.” Humming thoughtfully—his cock hot and painfully hard, still trapped in the confines of his underwear—Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery.
“You’re doing so well for me. One day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pussy, I promise.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His fingers smush your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”
“Please.”
“So fucking sweet.” He growls. “Go on.”
Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “’M so close.”
Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “Beautiful… so, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”
You nod enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I know you do.” He coos. “C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”
“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you bring the toy back on your clit, the knot in your belly ready to snap violently. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors hearing you.
“Fuck! I’m coming—Bucky!”
“Let go, doll. You have been such a good girl for me. Make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”
The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps. You are at your pleasure’s mercy, your thighs trembling and your aching pussy clenching helplessly around nothing.
“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect, so good for me. Love you so damn much, angel.”
The toy ends up dumped somewhere on the bed as your entire focus shifts on your breathing, your head flopping back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.
Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers leisurely running from your clit down to your entrance.
Your reaction is immediate as your body lurches. “Bucky.”
He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs. “Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your core, his breath sending shivers down your spine.
As Bucky lazily flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, your body suddenly feels like it is going to implode. A strangled gasp falls from your lips when he slips a finger in, his mouth moving to thoroughly savor every drop of arousal from your previous release on your inner things.
Bucky decides then to busy himself with your clit again, and your body stiffens.
“Bucky! Sensitive!” You choke out, a hand shooting down to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.
“‘S okay, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” With a mumble, he slips another finger in, making you cry out.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily nursing on your throbbing clit as his nostrils flare, your scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. It’s so messy, with his saliva dripping down his chin and the insatiable need to please you driving him wild. You can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending biting sparks down your spine.
Your mind and body are both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers stretching you so deliciously.
His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like a beast, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single brush of the mattress against his cock.
He pulls away with a wet squelch, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “Make a mess on my face” He rumbles, chest heaving. “Wanna taste you every day on my tongue.” His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds.
His fingers strategically curl up, massaging that sweet spot of yours, leaving you teetering on the edge of sublime release. His arms shake with pent-up desire, still, Bucky makes sure to take his time with your trembling body.
“I’m gonna—fuck, please please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts.
“Give it to me, doll. Use me.”
You obey, literally humping his face. “‘M gonna come.” You sob, hips frantically driving into his face. “Jamie!” His tongue abuses the poor nub while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth, soaking his stubble.
“Breathe, angel.” Slowly retracting his fingers, his eyes study your face, your inner thighs burning raw from the way he rubbed his facial hair all over your core. He brings his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean as he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.
“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.
“One more.” Bucky kisses you.
“What?” You squeak out, still dazed yet blinking at him more awake than ever.
“One more, baby.” He implores, his hand soothing along the curve of your hip as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”
Before your lips can part around an incredulous laugh, a weight settles between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as his length is gradually coated in your slick.
Thick, long, with veins running along the flushed skin.
“Shit.” He grits out, mouth watering at the sight of the mess you are making on his cock.
“I’m gonna come inside you, sweetheart. Ask me for it, ask me for my cum.”
“Please, Bucky.” You swallow back a whine, nails digging into his skin. “Make me yours.”
He shushes your blabbering gently, cupping your cheek. “Look at me.” He orders, your vision blurry from all the unshed tears. “I’m here, pretty girl. Just a little more patience and we’ll watch it leak out of you because it’s too much for you to keep inside.” The reverence in his blue eyes makes you shiver as he takes in your pleading gaze. The way his thumb traces your lower lip, so tenderly and hypnotizing, has him unconsciously leaning forward, until your mouths join in a slow dance.
Your name comes out of his mouth in a low murmur against your lips. “Thank you for letting me have you like this.”
You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and staring down at you as if you are the missing piece of himself he was searching for all along, you can’t ignore it anymore.
“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down for another kiss—hard and desperate and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.
With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, brought to his knees by three simple words.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. I can’t pretend anymore now that I know what it feels like to have you in my arms, knowing that you’re mine...” Bucky swallows, eyes falling down on your chest before tentatively lifting up to meet yours.
You have never seen him like this. Hesitant. Never around you.
“You are mine, right?”
“Always have.” You breathe out, and with a broken groan, he takes your face in his hands, kissing any part he can reach: from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, latching onto a nipple. Moaning, you indulge in his warm tongue taking care of both nubs as his length slowly humps your wet folds.
“You feel it, angel? This is what you do to me.” He murmurs, humming at your nod. “Such a good girl.”
“Your good girl.”
That earns you a feral kiss. “I have to be inside you.” Bucky pants as your lips messily meet once again. “Now. I can’t take it anymore, need to feel you—Christ.” You break with a sharp cry when his tip encounters some resistance as it finally breeches your hole.
“Slowly sweetheart, look at her opening up so beautifully for me, you—” Bucky abruptly grunts as you clench incredibly tight. Maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat. “You need to relax for me, or else I’m gonna finish embarrassingly fast, angel.” A strained chuckle bleeds through his gritted teeth.
“Can’t. You’re so big.” You squeal mindlessly, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.
“I know.” His lips briefly press to your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so well. God, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the tip inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands clinging onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.
“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling so sensitive you feel like you are going to burst into flames.
Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then bends your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, satisfied as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle making your eyes cross.
“Oh shit! Bucky!” Your nails leave crescent marks into his skin, toes curling.
He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in the way your eyes squeeze shut, or how your hole snuggles his cock deeper when his tip brushes just right against your walls. At some point, his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to flick and rub your puffy clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clench again.
“There she is.” He growls. “Fuck, it feels so good.” His thrusts turn animalistic.
“I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy.”
The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision. His muscled arms keep you safe and still for him to play with, his chest pressed against your bouncing breasts so your sensitive nipples are rubbed raw.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” His voice breaks when your pussy tightens.
It’s too much—his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering about whatever pops into his head.
And you? You can just take it. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close, legs shaky and hips trying to rock back into his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body freezes, before pleasure ripples through you like pure electricity. Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the clear liquid squirting out of you and making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can.
You squirm uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock.
“Jesus Christ, fucking beautiful, sweetheart. Wish I could keep you here and make you squirt on my cock every day for the rest of my life. You’re gonna make me come so hard.” He pants, voice bordering on a snarl and features scrunched up. “’S coming, take it all, doll—fuck!”
His cum spurts on your walls to claim you fully, cock throbbing, making him groan in utter relief. At some point, some spills out and down his thick length, mixing with your creamy mess on the bed and on your ass. You decide to not acknowledge it, too embarrassed by what you have done.
Bucky ends up collapsing over you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for so long.
You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet—and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax—so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewls when he finally reaches your mouth.
Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.
“Hey.” He clears his throat, voice hoarse.
Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try to answer, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. He leans closer, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”
You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.
“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”
A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel you trembling with the last threads of adrenaline leaving you. He holds you tighter, hums a random, almost inaudible melody against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.
It feels like an eternity passes before Bucky finally cradles your face in his hands, looking a little more lucid.
“We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.
“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”
Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment, it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble.
Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall—tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars at night, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, small touches, and secrets suddenly all converge in this single moment.
His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.
“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”
And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.
𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑬𝑫𝑫𝒀 Bucky Barnes has been secretly obsessed with you for months, the soft-spoken, innocent-looking Avenger who blushes at dirty jokes, so he gifts you a teddy bear with a hidden camera inside, convincing himself it’s just for protection.
new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!new avenger!reader
word count : 10.9k
warnings 18+ : porn with very little plot, no use of y/n, significant age gap (bucky is over 100, reader is early 20s), non-consensual filming (hidden camera in teddy bear), mutual corruption, innocence kink with fake innocence, size difference, praise/degradation, rough sex, face riding, deepthroating, creampie, cum play, exhibitionism, risky public sex, spanking, choking, possessive behavior, dirty talk, power-play dynamics, reader is portrayed as younger, soft, and “innocent” on the surface while being highly sexually proactive, slight anal play, sex tapes
author’s note : hii!! this was based on two requests I got so I just combined them into one bigger fanfic <33 hope you don’t mind and enjoyyy!!
Bucky couldn’t stop staring.
The compound kitchen was quiet this afternoon, sunlight slanting through the tall windows and catching on the steam rising from your mug. You were perched on one of the high stools, legs tucked under you, completely absorbed in the mission report glowing on your tablet.
That oversized cream sweater you loved so much had slipped off one shoulder again, exposing the soft curve of your collarbone and the delicate strap of whatever tiny top you wore underneath. Every time you reached for your pen or stretched slightly to grab the mug, the hem of those tiny sleep shorts rode higher up the backs of your thighs, just enough to make his mouth go dry.
You bit your lip in concentration, a small furrow forming between your brows as you highlighted something important. So focused. So unaware.
Or at least… that’s what he kept telling himself.
Bucky’s metal fingers flexed around his own coffee mug, the ceramic creaking under the pressure. His cock had been half-hard for the last ten minutes, straining against his jeans from nothing more than the sight of you looking soft and sweet and far too young for the kind of thoughts running through his head.
He was over a century old. The Winter Soldier. A man with more blood on his hands than most people could comprehend. And here you were, in your early twenties, the youngest recruit to join the newly reformed Avengers team after the chaos following the Thunderbolts.
You’d come in like a quiet storm six months ago. Recruited straight out of a specialized training program after displaying rare tactical intuition and an almost eerie calm under pressure during a hostage situation in Eastern Europe. Yelena had vouched for you personally, impressed by how you’d de-escalated a room full of armed mercs without firing a single shot. The team had welcomed you with open arms, but Bucky… Bucky had felt something twist in his chest the moment he saw you.
You were so damn soft. You had a gentle voice and blushed at almost everything. You always wore those big oversized sweaters, like you were trying to hide inside them. The team loved teasing you and calling you the “baby Avenger.” Every time they did, Bucky’s protective instincts kicked in hard. He started stepping in more than he should, getting between you and any roughhousing during training, draping his jacket over your shoulders when the room got too cold, and glaring at anyone who made jokes that went too far.
He told himself it was because you needed protecting. The world was too sharp for someone like you.
But late at night, alone in his room, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. It wasn’t just protection. It was obsession. The way you moved, the way you smiled shyly when someone praised you, the way those innocent little habits made his blood run hot.
It was becoming a problem.
A few days later, Bucky finally cracked. He went looking for advice but he did it in the most roundabout way possible.
He’d cornered Yelena in the training room after sparring, both of them dripping sweat. She was wiping her face with a towel when he asked.
“So, Belova,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You’ve spent more time with the kid than most of us. She… like plushies? Stuffed animals? That sort of thing?”
Yelena slowly lowered the towel, one perfect eyebrow arching high. Her smirk turned sharp and knowing.
“Ohhh,” she drawled, clearly amused. “What’s this, Barnes? You got a little crush on our sweet baby Avenger?”
Bucky’s ears burned instantly. “Jesus, no,” he grunted, scowling. “It’s not like that. She’s young. The compound gets quiet during missions. I just thought something soft might help her sleep better.”
Yelena let out a sharp, delighted laugh.
“Sure, sure,” she teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Totally innocent. You’re just being a big protective grandpa, right? Nothing to do with the way you stare at her every time she walks into a room.”
Bucky crossed his arms, metal plates whirring. “You gonna help me or just give me shit?”
Yelena grinned wider. “She does like plushies. Soft ones. Get her something cute and innocent-looking. She’ll light up like a Christmas tree… and maybe you’ll finally stop pretending you’re not completely obsessed with her.”
That was all the excuse he’d needed.
The next afternoon, Bucky had slipped out alone and driven into the city. He’d spent nearly an hour in a quiet little boutique that sold handmade plush toys, the kind with premium soft fur and stitched, friendly faces. He’d stood there like an idiot, picking up bear after bear until he found the perfect one: medium-sized, warm brown fur, a gentle stitched smile, and big innocent button eyes that somehow reminded him of you when you were focused.
He’d paid cash, tucked it carefully into a plain bag, and told himself again that this was protective. Just something soft for you to hold when the team was scattered across the globe. Nothing more.
That same night, during the team’s weekly movie night, he found his moment.
The lights were dim, some loud action flick droning on the big screen. You were curled up at the end of the massive sectional in yet another oversized sweater, knees drawn to your chest, looking smaller and sweeter than ever. When a lull hit and someone complained about how empty the compound felt during long missions, Bucky cleared his throat.
“Hey, doll,” he said, voice low and casual. He pulled the plush bear from behind the couch where he’d stashed it. “Saw this in a shop the other day. Thought it’d keep you company when I’m gone on missions. Something soft to hold onto.”
Your eyes lit up instantly, that bright, genuine sparkle that always hit him like a gut punch. You sat up straighter, the sweater slipping further off your shoulder as you reached for it.
“Really? For me?” Your voice was soft, delighted, almost shy.
Bucky nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Figured you might like it.”
You took the teddy bear and hugged it tight to your chest, pressing its plush head right between your breasts without thinking. The sight made his mind blank for a second, the soft fur sinking into your curves, the way your body curved around it so naturally.
You rose up on your toes right there in front of everyone and pressed a shy little peck to his cheek. “Thank you, Bucky. I love it already.”
The innocent brush of your lips against his stubble sent heat flooding straight to his groin. He had to shove his hands into his pockets and clench his jaw to stop himself from pulling you closer. His cock twitched hard, already leaking at the simple, sweet contact.
He almost came in his pants like a damn teenager.
Later, back in the privacy of his own room, Bucky locked the door, killed the lights, and set up the feed.
The hidden camera he had installed inside the teddy’s left eye was top-of-the-line, crystal-clear resolution, night vision and a wide-angle lens. He’d bought the bear, taken it straight back to his room, carefully pried open the stitching behind the left eye, and embedded the tiny device with steady hands. He’d even tested the feed twice to make sure the angle was perfect. Then he’d neatly re-stitched it so no one would ever notice.
Now he sat back in his chair, heart hammering against his ribs, laptop balanced on his thighs.
He told himself it was protective.
Just to keep an eye on his soft, young teammate. Make sure you were safe when no one else was around. You were too trusting. Too breakable.
That was the lie he repeated as the feed flickered to life and the image sharpened into perfect, devastating clarity.
There you were.
Fresh from the shower, skin still flushed pink and dewy, with nothing but a thin white towel wrapped loosely around your body. Bucky’s breath caught as you padded barefoot into frame, humming a soft little tune under your breath. The camera captured every detail in razor-sharp clarity, water droplets clinging to your collarbones, the way the towel barely clung to the swell of your breasts, threatening to slip with every step.
You stopped beside the nightstand, glancing down at the teddy bear with a gentle smile. Without hesitation, you unwrapped the towel and let it drop to the floor in a careless heap. Completely naked now, you looked so soft and vulnerable under the warm glow of your bedside lamp.
Bucky’s mouth went dry. His cock throbbed painfully in his sweatpants as he drank in the sight of your bare body, the gentle curve of your waist, the fullness of your breasts, the smooth plane of your stomach leading down to the soft patch of hair between your thighs. You were even more perfect than his fantasies had allowed.
You picked up the teddy bear with both hands, cradling it like something precious.
“Hey there, little guy,” you murmured, voice sweet and sleepy, barely above a whisper. “Bucky gave you to me today. Isn’t that nice? He’s always looking out for me… even when he thinks I don’t notice.”
You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight and settled back against the pillows. With a contented sigh, you pulled the teddy tight against your chest, pressing its soft plush head right between your full, bare tits. The high-resolution camera caught everything in devastating detail, the way your soft breasts spilled and squished around the bear’s face, enveloping it completely, your nipples already tightening into stiff little peaks from the cool air and the gentle friction.
You squirmed a little, hugging the bear closer, nuzzling your cheek against its fuzzy head. “Mmm… you’re so soft. Just like I imagined he’d be. Warm and safe… I bet his arms would feel even better though.”
A small, innocent giggle escaped you as you adjusted the bear, pushing it deeper between your tits until only its ears poked out. Your fingers stroked its back absentmindedly while you continued talking to it in that soft, dreamy voice.
“Night missions are scary sometimes… but with you here, I won’t feel so alone. You’ll keep my secrets, right? Like how I think about Sergeant Barnes when the lights go out…” You yawned, eyelids growing heavy, and pressed one last gentle kiss to the top of the teddy’s head. “Goodnight, little bear. Tell Bucky I said thank you again… and that I feel safer already.”
Within minutes, you were asleep, completely naked, cuddling the teddy bear tightly between your breasts like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your breathing evened out, chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm, the bear still nestled warmly in your cleavage.
Bucky sat frozen in his chair, laptop screen glowing on his face. His hand had slipped into his sweatpants without conscious thought, wrapping around his aching cock. He stroked himself slowly, almost reverently, eyes glued to the feed.
“Fuck…” he muttered hoarsely, voice rough with disbelief and raw lust. “So innocent… yet so perfect.”
He watched the gentle rise and fall of your tits around the teddy’s face for what felt like hours, thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every slow pump. The contrast between your sweet, whispered words and the filthy images burning into his brain made his head spin. You looked so pure, talking to the bear like it was a friend, confessing little pieces of your feelings for him while pressing it between your bare breasts.
His protective instincts warred violently with the dark, possessive hunger clawing inside him.
She’s too young. Too soft. I shouldn’t be watching this.
But he couldn’t look away. His hand moved faster, breath coming in ragged bursts as he imagined replacing the teddy with his own face, burying himself between those soft tits while you whispered his name in that same gentle tone.
By the time he came, hard, spilling over his fist with a choked groan, he was shaking.
And he already knew he’d be back for more tomorrow night.
The next morning, Bucky was already in the compound kitchen nursing a black coffee when you padded in, still soft-eyed from sleep and wearing yet another oversized sweater that nearly reached mid-thigh. Your hair was slightly messy, cheeks carrying that fresh, just-woke-up flush, and in your arms you carried the teddy bear like it was the most precious thing in the world.
You spotted him immediately and your whole face lit up with that shy, genuine smile that always made his chest tighten.
“Bucky!” you called softly, hurrying over with bare feet whispering against the tile. You stopped right in front of him, hugging the teddy tighter to your chest, the same chest he’d spent half the night watching spill around that very bear. “Good morning. I just wanted to thank you again for this little guy.”
You lifted the teddy slightly, pressing its head against your sternum as you looked up at him with big, sparkling eyes. “I cuddled him all night. He’s so soft… exactly what I needed. I even talked to him a little before I fell asleep. Told him how nice it was that you thought of me.”
Bucky’s grip on his mug tightened until the ceramic threatened to crack. Heat flooded his face and his groin, at the innocent reminder. He could still see it so clearly in his mind: your naked body curled around the bear, tits enveloping its face, nipples hard, voice sleepy and sweet as you whispered confessions to it.
He forced a casual shrug, voice coming out rougher than he intended. “It’s nothing, doll. Really. Just didn’t want you feeling lonely when the team’s scattered on missions. Figured something soft to hold onto might help.”
You tilted your head, still smiling that pure, trusting smile, and stepped a little closer. The hem of your sweater brushed against his thigh as you stood between his spread legs where he sat on the stool.
“Well, it did help,” you said softly, almost shyly. “I slept better than I have in weeks. He felt… safe. Like having a tiny piece of you watching over me.” You gave the teddy a gentle squeeze, then rose up on your toes and pressed another light, grateful kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth this time. “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re always looking out for me.”
The word “Sergeant” in that sweet voice hit him like a live wire. Bucky swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to grab your waist and pull you into his lap right there in the kitchen. His cock was already stirring again, memories of last night’s footage flashing behind his eyes, your breasts spilling around the bear, the way you’d sighed and squirmed while talking to it.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. “Anytime, kid. You need anything… you just tell me, alright? I’ve got you.”
You nodded happily, still clutching the teddy, and gave him one last bright smile before turning to grab a yogurt from the fridge. As you stretched up on your toes to reach it, the sweater rode up just enough to flash the curve of your bare ass under the hem.
Bucky looked away quickly, jaw clenched, blood roaring in his ears.
Too young. Too soft. Too fucking pure.
But the lie was getting harder to believe with every passing second.
He already knew he’d be watching the feed again tonight.
And deep down, a darker part of him hoped you’d do more than just cuddle the bear this time.
That night, Bucky barely made it through dinner. His mind kept replaying the morning, your soft “thank you,” the way you’d kissed his cheek, the teasing flash of bare skin when you reached for the yogurt. By the time he locked himself in his room and pulled up the feed, his cock was already throbbing and leaking in his sweatpants.
The camera flickered to life.
You stepped into the room fresh from the shower, skin flushed pink and still glistening with droplets. Without hesitation, you let the towel drop to the floor the second the door shut, standing completely naked under the warm lamplight. Your full tits swayed gently as you moved, nipples already tight, and the soft patch of hair above your pussy caught the light.
Bucky’s mouth went dry.
You glanced at the teddy bear on the nightstand, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. You climbed onto the bed, lay back against the pillows and spread your legs wide for the camera. With one hand you grabbed the teddy and tossed it carelessly onto the sheets beside your hip.
Your other hand immediately slid down your body. Fingers trailed through the slightly hairy mound above your slick cunt, then dipped between your puffy folds. You were already dripping. Two fingers pushed inside your tight hole with a wet, obscene sound, pumping slowly while your thumb rubbed messy circles over your swollen clit.
“Mmm… fuck,” you sighed, eyes fluttering half-closed. Your hips rolled lazily as you fingered yourself, the wet squelching noises filling the quiet room. The teddy lay ignored on the bed while you worked your pussy open, juices coating your fingers and dripping down toward your ass.
Bucky’s hand was already fisted around his thick cock, stroking in rhythm with every thrust of your fingers.
After a minute, you pulled your soaked fingers out with a filthy pop. You picked up the teddy again, biting your lip like you were embarrassed by how nasty you were about to get. Then you gave the teddy’s eye, the hidden camera the shyest little smirk, cheeks burning pink.
You pressed the bear’s plush face directly against your dripping cunt.
The second the soft fur touched your slightly hairy pussy, you squealed loudly, a high, pathetic sound that made Bucky’s cock twitch hard in his grip.
“Oh my god… that feels so fucking dirty,” you whimpered, voice breathy and trembling with shame and lust. You rocked your hips, grinding the teddy’s stitched mouth and nose right along your slick folds and through the soft hair covering your mound. The fur quickly grew dark and matted with your juices. “It’s so soft against me… but it’s so wrong. Using the bear he gave me like this…”
You moaned louder, pressing the plush face harder against your pussy, rubbing it up and down your slit. Your free hand grabbed one of your tits roughly, pinching and tugging your nipple while you humped the bear’s face with increasing desperation. Shy little squeals turned into needy, slutty moans as the fur dragged over your swollen clit again and again.
“So dirty… humping his innocent little gift… getting it all messy with my wet pussy…”
The embarrassment melted away completely. You shifted positions, straddling the teddy’s plush body properly. Bracing your hands on the mattress, you lowered your dripping cunt onto its soft belly and started riding it like a desperate whore.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in filthy circles, letting your slick pussy lips spread wide over the fur. Then faster. Harder. You fucked the innocent-looking bear like it was Bucky’s thick thigh, grinding your clit against the plush surface with wet, obscene sounds.
Your moans grew louder, thighs flexing as you humped faster and faster.
“Fuck… feels so good…” you gasped, back arching.
Your orgasm slammed into you without warning. Your thighs shook violently, a broken cry tearing from your throat as you ground down hard against the teddy’s belly. Your pussy clenched and pulsed, gushing slick all over the soft brown fur and leaving a big, shiny wet spot that soaked deep into the plush. You kept riding through the aftershocks, hips jerking erratically, small whimpers and squeaks spilling from your lips until your body finally collapsed forward, panting and trembling, the ruined teddy still trapped beneath your soaked, hairy pussy.
Bucky came with a guttural groan at the exact same moment, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist as he stared at the obscene wet mess you’d made on his gift.
“Jesus Christ, doll…” he rasped to the empty room, chest heaving. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
He kept watching as you caught your breath, your naked body still draped over the teddy, the fur between your legs dark and glistening with your cum.
Bucky didn’t stop at the live feed.
After you collapsed panting on the bed with the teddy still trapped beneath your soaked cunt, he immediately rewound the footage. He watched both nights back-to-back on a loop, the first night’s soft, innocent tit-cuddling mixed with the filthy second night: you fingering your dripping pussy with the bear tossed aside, shyly smirking before pressing its plush face between your legs, grinding it desperately against your cunt while whimpering about how dirty it felt, then straddling and riding the innocent-looking bear like a desperate little slut until you left a big, shiny wet spot soaked into its fur.
He jerked off furiously to both clips, hand flying over his thick cock, metal fingers digging into his thigh hard enough to dent the skin. His breathing was ragged, low growls escaping his throat as he stroked himself raw.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes glued to the screen. “Sweet little thing… humping the gift I gave you like a filthy girl.”
He came harder than he had in decades, the first orgasm ripping through him with a choked groan as he watched you grind the teddy’s face on your hairy pussy, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach. He didn’t stop. He kept stroking through the sensitivity, chasing a second release while the footage played again, this time focusing on the way your thighs shook and your slick dripped down the bear’s belly.
The second orgasm hit him even harder, leaving him shaking and breathless, chest heaving as he slumped back in his chair.
For a long moment, the only sound in his room was his ragged breathing and the faint wet sounds still playing from the laptop.
Then, on the screen, you slowly sat up after your own climax. Your naked body glistened with a light sheen of sweat, thighs shiny from your release. You caught your breath, staring down at the ruined teddy between your legs with a small, satisfied smile.
You leaned forward, looking straight into the teddy’s eye, directly into the hidden camera and gave it a wicked little smirk that sent ice down Bucky’s spine.
Your lips moved clearly, mouthing the words with deliberate slowness:
“Goodnight, Sergeant.”
You reached out, turned off the bedside lamp and the feed went dark.
Bucky froze.
His hand was still loosely wrapped around his spent cock, cum cooling on his skin, but every muscle in his body locked up. The room felt suddenly too quiet. His heart hammered against his ribs as the realization crashed over him.
Did you just…?
Had you known the camera was there the entire time?
You’d known Bucky was watching you for weeks.
It started small, innocent enough that anyone else might have missed it. But you were an Avenger. You’d been trained to notice the little things: the way his metal fingers would twitch against his thigh when you “accidentally” bent over in one of your short skirts to pick something up, the subtle shift in his stance, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting a war inside his own head.
You noticed how his eyes would darken, pupils blowing wide, whenever you licked whipped cream slowly off your finger during movie nights, letting your tongue drag deliberately along the pad of your thumb while maintaining soft, shy eye contact with him. He always looked away first, pretending to focus on the screen but you caught the way his breath hitched every single time.
So you leaned into it.
You played the part of the sweet, innocent little recruit perfectly, the youngest on the team, soft-spoken, always hiding in oversized sweaters that made you look even smaller and more delicate than you already were. You blushed on command at dirty jokes, giggled shyly when someone teased you, and acted like you’d never had a filthy thought in your life.
But behind closed doors? You were anything but innocent.
In the privacy of your room, you destroyed yourself thinking about him. You’d ride your biggest dildo for hours, the thick, veined one that stretched you open and made you cry out while imagining it was Bucky’s cock. You’d read the filthiest Bucky fanfics on your tablet late at night, touching yourself to stories where the Winter Soldier pinned you down and ruined his soft little teammate. You even recorded voice memos on your phone: moaning his name breathily while you fingered yourself, whispering things like “Bucky… please, Sergeant… I’m so wet for you” just so you could listen back to them later and come again.
You were a menace in private and you loved every second of it.
The teddy bear had been the perfect opportunity.
The moment Bucky handed it to you that night, you’d clocked the hidden camera. Your trained eyes had spotted the tiny lens glinting inside the left button eye almost instantly, Avengers-level observation skills mixed with your own natural tech-savvy side. The weight was just slightly off, the stitching around the eye a little too precise. You knew exactly what he’d done.
And instead of calling him out or smashing the damn thing, you’d smiled sweetly, hugged the bear to your chest, and decided to give Sergeant Barnes the show of a lifetime.
You started “innocent” on purpose.
The first night you’d dropped the towel, climbed into bed naked, and cuddled the teddy tightly between your bare tits, pressing its soft plush head right into your cleavage, letting your nipples harden against the fur while you sighed and talked sweetly to it. You wanted to tease him. To make him think you were still his pure, soft little girl.
But the second night? You escalated.
You’d fingered yourself with the bear tossed aside, then shyly smirked right into the camera before grinding the teddy’s face against your pussy until you were squealing and whimpering about how dirty it felt. Then you’d straddled it and ridden the innocent-looking plush like a desperate slut, soaking its belly with your cum while moaning for the camera.
All of it calculated.
All of it for him.
You wanted to see how long it would take the big, protective super-soldier to break. How long before his “I’m just keeping her safe” excuse crumbled and he admitted how badly he wanted to ruin the sweet young thing he’d been obsessing over.
So far, it was working better than you could have hoped.
The next morning, when you’d walked into the kitchen still carrying the teddy and thanked him again with that shy little kiss on the cheek, you’d seen the hunger in his eyes. You’d felt the way his body had tensed when you mentioned cuddling the bear all night.
He was already cracking.
And you couldn’t wait to push him further.
The next day, the gym was mostly empty after the afternoon training session.
You’d just finished sparring with Ava and were wiping sweat from your neck with a towel when you felt that heavy stare burning into your back.
Bucky was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, metal fingers drumming restlessly. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual. He’d been watching you the entire time.
You pretended not to notice at first, bending slowly to pick up your water bottle and letting your tight workout shorts ride up. When you straightened and turned, he was already moving toward you.
He cornered you near the mats, using his larger frame to shield you both from view. His voice dropped low and rough, almost strained.
“That teddy…” he started, eyes flicking down to your lips before locking back on yours. “You like it?”
You blinked up at him with wide, innocent doe eyes, cheeks flushing a perfect shade of pink. One hand came up to twirl a strand of your damp hair around your finger as you tilted your head sweetly.
“Oh, I love it Bucky,” you said in the softest, most angelic voice. “It’s so cuddly and warm. I slept with it between my boobs the first night… all soft and squished right there against my bare skin.” You bit your lip shyly, letting your gaze drop for a moment like you were embarrassed, then looked back up at him through your lashes. “And the second night… I had it between my legs.”
Bucky’s metal arm twitched hard at his side, fingers curling into a tight fist with a quiet mechanical whir. His breath hitched visibly.
You continued in that same sweet, breathy tone, leaning in just a little closer.
“It makes me feel really good, you know? So soft rubbing against me… I kept moving it around until it felt even better. I didn’t want to stop.”
His brain completely short-circuited.
You watched the exact moment it happened, his pupils blew wide, his mouth parted slightly, and the muscle in his jaw jumped violently. He looked like he was picturing every second: your naked tits hugging the bear, then your slick pussy grinding desperately against its soft belly.
“I… fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse and low. “Doll, you can’t just- you shouldn’t be telling me that.”
“But it’s true,” you replied innocently, blinking up at him with big eyes. “It felt so nice and warm between my legs. Made me all tingly and wet. You picked such a good one, Bucky. Thank you again.”
He looked like he was two seconds away from pinning you against the wall right there in the gym.
From that moment on, the tension between you became unbearable, at least for him.
During the evening briefing, when you “accidentally” dropped your pen under the table, you made sure to brush your ass slowly against the front of his pants as you straightened back up. Bucky stiffened behind you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Later, when the team was reaching for files on the high shelf, he stepped in close behind you, pressing his much larger body flush against your back “to help.” His metal hand settled on your waist, gripping a little too tightly, while his hips aligned perfectly with the curve of your ass. You felt the thick, hard outline of his cock twitch against you.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you arched your back just slightly, pressing your ass back into him with a soft, innocent hum as you grabbed the folder.
“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered sweetly, glancing over your shoulder. “You’re always so helpful… and so warm.”
His fingers dug into your waist for half a second before he forced himself to step back, breathing ragged.
“Careful, doll,” he muttered under his breath, voice strained. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
You just smiled shyly and twirled your hair again. “I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant. I’m just being grateful.”
By the end of the day, Bucky was losing his goddamn mind.
You could see it in the way he kept clenching and unclenching his metal fist, the way his eyes followed your every movement like a man slowly realizing he’d been outplayed by the sweet, soft girl he thought he was protecting.
And you were loving every single second of it.
Back in his room that night, the lights were off and the only glow came from his laptop screen. He sat on the edge of his bed, sweatpants shoved down just enough, cock already hard and leaking as he obsessively rewatched both clips on loop.
First the soft innocent night, your naked body curling around the teddy, pressing its plush head deep between your full, bare tits until they spilled and squished around its face, nipples hardening against the fur while you sighed and talked sweetly to it.
Then the filthy second night, you fingering your dripping pussy with the bear tossed aside, that shy little smirk right into the camera before you pressed the teddy’s face between your legs, grinding its soft fur against your slightly hairy cunt and whimpering about how dirty it felt. The way you straddled it afterward, riding the innocent plush like a desperate slut, hips rolling faster and faster until you soaked its belly with a shiny wet spot.
He couldn’t stop.
His hand flew over his thick cock, stroking himself raw, metal fingers occasionally joining to squeeze his balls as the footage played again and again. Low, broken groans filled the room.
“Fuck… look at you, doll,” he rasped, eyes glued to the high-res shot of your tits hugging the teddy. “So sweet and soft… and then you turn into such a filthy little thing.”
He rewound to the riding session, watching your pussy drag wetly over the bear’s belly, thighs trembling as you humped it harder. His strokes grew frantic, thumb smearing the steady leak of pre-cum over the head.
“Making my gift all messy… grinding that pretty hairy cunt on it like you needed to be fucked…”
He came hard the first time, spilling over his fist with a guttural groan, but he didn’t stop. He kept stroking through the sensitivity, chasing another release while the clips looped. The contrast between your innocent “I love it, Bucky” smile in the kitchen and the way you’d moaned while riding his gift was driving him insane.
He was still panting, cock half-hard again in his slick fist, when a soft knock sounded at his door.
Before he could even pull his sweatpants up properly, the door opened.
You slipped inside wearing nothing but his oversized black hoodie, the one he’d left in the laundry room days ago and thigh-high black socks that hugged your legs. The hoodie swallowed your smaller frame, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh, and it was obvious you had nothing underneath. Your hair was loose, cheeks still slightly flushed.
You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then walked straight to his bed without hesitation. Bucky froze, laptop still open beside him, the paused footage of you riding the teddy glowing on the screen.
You pushed him back gently but firmly until he was sitting against the headboard, then climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. The moment your bare pussy pressed against the hard line of his cock through his sweatpants, you felt him twitch violently beneath you.
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his stubble, and looked him dead in the eyes with a wicked little smile.
“Saw the little red light in my teddy’s eye, Sergeant,” you purred, voice sweet but dripping with teasing satisfaction. “Naughty, naughty boy.”
Bucky’s breath caught, his metal hand instinctively gripping your waist under the hoodie. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, caught completely off guard.
“You… knew?” he rasped, voice rough and strained.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you rocked your hips once, slowly, letting him feel how wet you already were.
“Mhm,” you whispered. “I knew the second you gave it to me. But I decided to give you a show instead… starting all sweet and innocent with my tits, then riding it like a desperate little slut the next night. Did you like watching me make your gift all messy?”
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again, still cupping his face, your voice dropping into that soft, angelic tone you knew drove him crazy.
“Every time I pressed its soft little face between my legs and rode it… I closed my eyes and pretended it was you underneath me. Your tongue, your mouth, your stubble rubbing against my wet pussy.”
You didn’t give him time to recover.
Still straddling his lap, you started grinding slowly on his clothed cock, rolling your hips in lazy, deliberate circles. The oversized hoodie rode up your thighs as you moved, and the only thing between your bare, wet pussy and his throbbing erection was the thin fabric of his sweatpants. You could feel every thick inch of him twitch and harden further beneath you.
Bucky’s metal hand tightened on your waist, the other gripping your hip like he was trying to anchor himself.
“Tell me the truth, Sergeant…” you purred, still grinding your soaked pussy slowly over his clothed cock, “how many times did you cum watching your sweet, innocent little teammate hump the teddy you gave her like a needy whore?”
He groaned, head falling back against the headboard, but you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.
“Don’t get shy now,” you whispered, grinding harder, letting your clit rub against the ridge of his cock. “I know you watched both nights. Tell me… how many times did you jerk off to me cuddling your gift between my tits? All soft and bare, nipples getting hard while I hugged it tight?”
Bucky’s breath hitched, his cock jerking hard under you.
“And then the second night…” You leaned in, lips brushing his ear as you rocked faster. “How many times did you stroke that big cock while I rode it like a desperate slut? Grinding my wet, little pussy all over its soft belly until I left a big shiny mess? Did you come when I squealed about how dirty it felt?”
“Fuck… doll-” His voice was wrecked, raw and broken.
You smiled innocently, still grinding slow and filthy on him. “Use your words, Bucky. Be honest. How many loads did you spill watching your sweet, innocent girl turn into a filthy little hypocrite on the teddy you gave her?”
He swallowed hard, eyes dark with lust and shame. “Three… maybe four,” he admitted hoarsely. “Couldn’t stop. Kept rewinding to the part where you pressed its face between your legs… fuck, the way you whimpered ‘so dirty’ while you humped it-”
You rewarded him with a particularly slow, wet grind, letting him feel how soaked you were.
“Good boy,” you cooed. “See? Wasn’t so hard to confess.”
Before he could say anything else, you climbed higher up his body, knees bracketing his head. You reached over to the nightstand where you’d dropped the teddy when you first entered, and placed it carefully on the pillow beside his head, its camera eye pointed straight at the action.
Bucky’s eyes widened when he realized what you were doing.
You lowered yourself onto his face without warning, smothering him with your dripping pussy. His groan vibrated straight through your core as you settled your weight on him, thighs framing his face.
“Mmm… that’s it,” you moaned, already rocking your hips. You reached down and threaded your fingers through his long hair, holding him in place. “You wanted innocent? I’ll give you innocent… while I fuck your face.”
You started riding him slowly at first, dragging your slick folds and soft pubic hair over his mouth and tongue. Bucky didn’t hesitate, he dove in like a starving man, tongue licking broad stripes through your pussy, sucking on your clit with filthy, wet sounds.
You moaned louder for the teddy’s camera, voice breathy and sweet.
“Look at you, Sergeant… buried under your soft little teammate’s cunt. Does it taste as innocent as you thought?” You rolled your hips faster, grinding down harder, smothering him with every movement. “I bet you jerked off thinking about this exact thing while you watched me on that teddy.”
Bucky growled into your pussy, the vibrations making your thighs tremble. His metal hand came up to grip your ass, metal fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you even closer, tongue fucking into your tight hole while his nose rubbed against your clit.
You whimpered, riding his face with increasing desperation, the wet sounds echoing in the room.
“That’s it… eat it just like that. Show the camera how much you love your naughty little liar’s pussy.”
Three days had passed since that first explosive night in Bucky’s room.
Three days of delicious, dangerous sneaking around.
You’d barely been able to keep your hands off each other. Quick, filthy kisses in the elevator when the doors closed. Bucky pinning you against the wall in the training room after everyone else left, metal fingers slipping under your skirt to tease your soaked panties while you tried not to moan loud enough for the team to hear. You’d sent him a short video clip during a briefing, your fingers buried in your pussy while whispering his name and watched him nearly choke on his coffee across the table.
The tension was unbearable. The secret made everything hotter.
Tonight, you’d both finally snapped.
You’d slipped into Bucky’s room after midnight, heart racing with the thrill of almost getting caught by Alexei on the way over. The moment the door locked, clothes started coming off but not before you pulled out the cameras.
“Tonight we do it right,” you whispered, eyes sparkling with wicked excitement. “Full performance. No holding back.”
You two set up the cameras together like twisted partners in crime. The teddy bear was placed on a chair in the corner like a perverted audience member, its red light blinking steadily. A proper tripod camera was positioned at the foot of the bed for a wide, clear angle, and you even added a smaller angle cam on the nightstand for close-ups. Both of you checked the framing, making sure every filthy detail would be captured perfectly.
Once everything was rolling, you turned to Bucky with a sweet, innocent smile that didn’t match the heat in your eyes.
“Sit on your hands, Sergeant. Don’t move them until I say.”
He obeyed, sliding his hands under his thighs, muscles straining with barely-contained need. His cock was already rock-hard and leaking against his stomach.
You stood in the center of the frame and began the slowest, most torturous strip tease imaginable.
Inch by agonizing inch, you peeled Bucky’s oversized black hoodie up your body, revealing every curve. When the fabric finally cleared your head, you were left wearing nothing but a tiny pair of baby-pink lace panties with a delicate little bow sitting right above your mound. The cameras caught everything, the way your full tits bounced softly as you moved, the gentle sway of your hips, the soft patch of hair peeking out from the edges of the lace.
You danced for the cameras like a filthy little performer.
Hands cupping and squeezing your breasts, thumbs circling your hardening nipples as you looked straight into the tripod lens.
“Remember when you first started watching me, Sergeant?” you asked in that soft, breathy voice, looking straight into the tripod lens. “I noticed it right away… the way your eyes would linger when my sweater slipped off my shoulder, how your metal fingers twitched every time I bent over in those short skirts.”
You turned slowly, arching your back and sliding your hands down your body.
“I started touching myself more after that. Humping my pillows at night, riding my biggest dildos while moaning your name… pretending it was you.”
Bucky’s breath hitched audibly from the bed.
“Dildos?” he rasped, voice strained.
You gave the camera a shy little smirk, then glanced back at him with big, innocent eyes.
“Mhm,” you hummed sweetly, sliding one hand down to rub slow circles over your panties, letting the cameras see the growing wet spot. “Big ones. The kind that stretch me open and make me cry. I’d fuck myself for hours thinking about you… and then you gave me that teddy.”
You spread your legs wider, still playing with yourself over the thin lace. “So I decided to give you a real show instead.”
Your fingers rubbed slow, teasing circles over your panties, letting both cameras clearly see the growing wet spot darkening the fabric.
“I got so fucking wet knowing you were watching me, Bucky,” you breathed, voice sweet but dripping with lust. “Knowing that my big, protective Sergeant was stroking his cock raw to his sweet little teammate acting like a filthy whore.”
That was it.
Bucky snapped like a rubber band.
With a deep, animalistic growl, he lunged forward. His metal arm shot out and pinned both your wrists high above your head against the wall. His flesh hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse flutter and your pussy clench.
“You’re worse than me, doll,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous, lips brushing your ear. “Filthy little liar. Walking around the compound acting all soft and innocent while you’ve been corrupting me for weeks.”
He ripped the tiny lace panties off with one brutal yank, the delicate fabric tearing loudly. The cameras caught the moment perfectly, your bare, hairy pussy now on full display, already glistening with arousal.
Bucky dropped to his knees and buried his face between your thighs like a starving man.
He ate you out with loud, sloppy, obscene enthusiasm. His tongue dragged through your slick folds, sucking noisily on your swollen clit, growling and moaning into your cunt for both cameras to record. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he devoured you, tongue fucking deep into your hole, lips sucking your clit, metal arm still pinning your wrists while his flesh hand spread you open wider so the cameras could see everything.
“Fuck, this pussy tastes even better than it looked on that teddy,” he growled against your clit, the vibrations making your thighs shake. “So fucking wet and hairy… my sweet little hypocrite is dripping for me.”
You moaned loudly, hips grinding shamelessly against his face, riding his tongue while the cameras captured every second.
After several long, devastating minutes of him eating you like he wanted to drown in you, you tugged desperately at his hair.
“My turn, Sergeant.”
You dropped to your knees in front of him, eyes locked on the tripod camera as you pulled his thick, heavy cock free. It was veined, leaking steadily, the head flushed dark.
You looked straight into the lens with a sweet, angelic smile while you took him into your mouth.
You looked straight into the lens with a sweet, angelic smile while you took him into your mouth.
“Smile for the camera, Bucky,” you purred, lips brushing the swollen head. “Show everyone how the big bad Winter Soldier looks when his innocent little teammate chokes on his fat cock.”
You swallowed him down in one smooth, greedy motion, taking him to the hilt. Bucky groaned loudly, one hand tangling tight in your hair.
“Fuck- that’s it,” he rasped. “Take every inch, doll. Let them see how deep you can go.”
He started face-fucking you, slow and deep at first, then rougher. Without warning, he shoved his cock all the way down your throat and held it there.
“Hmpf!” you choked out around his thick length, eyes watering instantly.
Bucky groaned in pleasure at the sound. “Yeah? You like that? Choking on my cock for the camera like a good little whore?”
He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, then started playing with it, dragging his slick cock across your tongue, slapping the heavy head against your swollen lips, and pushing it back down your throat again.
You were drooling everywhere, spit running down your chin and dripping onto your tits.
Bucky finally pulled out with a wet pop, breathing hard.
“Get the balls too, baby,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “Don’t be lazy.”
You whined, voice hoarse. “Buckyyy…”
He smirked, tapping his wet cock against your cheek.
“Huh? What’s wrong, princess? You don’t like doing all the work?” He gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “I watched you ride that teddy for hours like a desperate slut, and now you can’t even lick my balls? Open your fucking mouth.”
You whimpered but obeyed, leaning in to suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth, tongue swirling.
“That’s more like it,” he groaned, stroking his cock above your face. “Look at the camera while you do it. Show them what a filthy girl you really are.”
After a few moments he yanked you up by the hair, eyes dark with lust.
“Enough. Get on the fucking bed. Right now.”
You gave him that sweet, innocent little smile you knew drove him insane and crawled onto the mattress on all fours, ass swaying deliberately for both the tripod camera and the perverted teddy bear sitting on the nightstand, its hidden lens no doubt capturing every second of your dripping, needy cunt.
He didn’t give you time to settle.
Bucky flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, hooking your trembling legs over his broad, muscular shoulders and folding your smaller body in half until your knees nearly touched your ears. The angle was downright obscene, your soaked pussy completely exposed, lips puffy and glistening, clit swollen and twitching under the harsh lights of the cameras.
His cold metal hand wrapped tightly around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark with dizzy pleasure. The thick, veiny head of his cock nudged against your dripping entrance, smearing your slick all over himself.
“Beg for it,” he growled.
“Please, Bucky… fuck me. Ruin me for the cameras.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by brutal inch, stretching your tight walls until he bottomed out, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as he filled you completely.
“Look at the camera, baby,” he ordered, voice low and rough. He started thrusting in deep, powerful strokes that made your tits bounce violently with every snap of his hips. “Smile pretty for them. Show the world how innocent you pretend to be while you’re creaming all over Sergeant Barnes’ cock like a desperate little whore.”
He stared straight into your eyes, then glanced at the lens, metal fingers flexing tighter around your throat.
“Look how pretty you are getting absolutely ruined. Thought you were such a sweet, soft little thing… so pure. Now look at you- legs folded like a pretzel, pussy stretched obscenely around my fat cock, leaking all over the sheets.”
The wet, filthy squelching sounds of your soaked cunt filled the room as he pounded into you harder. Your juices dripped down to your asshole, making everything slick and messy.
But Bucky still wouldn’t let you cum.
You were losing your mind.
“Bucky- please,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “Please, I need it. I’m so close-”
He smirked, slowing his thrusts to a lazy grind, keeping you right on the edge. “What’s that, babydoll?”
You sobbed, desperation clawing at you. “Please, Buck… I need it. Please fuck me properly. I can’t- fuck- I need to cum so bad.”
Your hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers frantically rubbing your swollen clit before dipping lower, trying to push inside yourself around his thick cock.
Bucky’s eyes darkened.
“Don’t be pathetic,” he growled, metal hand snapping down to yank your wrist away. “Take those fingers out. Right now.”
You whined at the loss, but he didn’t let you suffer long.
He pulled your soaked fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low, filthy groan, tongue swirling around your digits like he was savoring every drop of your taste.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Now keep your eyes on the camera.”
Then he slammed back into you, hard, deep, and relentless. The new angle had his cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside you with every brutal thrust. His metal hand stayed locked around your throat while his flesh hand pinned your wrist to the mattress.
“Begging and trying to fuck yourself on camera? Such a needy little slut,” he taunted, voice rough with arousal. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.”
He fucked you like he was trying to break you, fast punishing strokes that made your whole body shake. Your moans turned into broken cries as the orgasm he’d been denying you finally crashed over you, hard enough to make your vision white out.
He yanked his cock out with a lewd pop, flipped you over roughly, and shoved your face down into the mattress. He yanked your hips up high, forcing your ass up in the air, the perfect humiliating angle for the tripod camera behind you.
“Arch your fucking back. Present that cunt like the slut you are.”
The second you obeyed, his metal hand came down hard on your ass with a loud, stinging crack. He spanked you mercilessly, again and again, turning your soft skin bright red and hot while he lined his throbbing cock up and slammed back inside you in one brutal, balls-deep thrust.
You screamed into the sheets as he railed you, hips snapping forward so violently the entire bed creaked and slammed against the wall. His metal hand kept spanking you in perfect rhythm with every punishing thrust, the sharp, burning sting blending into the deep, toe-curling pleasure of his cock dragging mercilessly against your g-spot.
“Fuck- yes, Sergeant!” you wailed, pushing back desperately to meet every savage stroke. “Harder! Mark me up- make my ass red and purple!”
He growled like a beast, gripping your hip bruisingly with his flesh hand while the metal one delivered another vicious slap that made your pussy clench hard around him.
“They’d fucking lose their minds if they knew their sweet little teammate was getting destroyed like a cheap whore from behind,” he snarled, voice dark and venomous. “Ass up high, pussy dripping down your thighs, begging to be bred while two cameras record every filthy second.”
Your cunt was making the most obscene, wet, sloppy sounds now, loud squelches every time he bottomed out, your creamy arousal coating his balls and dripping onto the sheets in messy strings.
You were shaking, desperate for control before you lost your mind completely.
You shoved Bucky onto his back and climbed on top, first turning away from him in reverse cowgirl so both cameras got the perfect, nasty view. You hovered over his massive cock, then sank down slowly, moaning like a pornstar as every thick inch disappeared into your greedy, slightly hairy pussy. The cameras captured it all in high definition: your puffy outer lips stretching obscenely around his girth, your ass cheeks spreading wide as you took him to the hilt, your tight little asshole winking above his slick-covered shaft.
You started riding him hard, bouncing up and down with wet, filthy slaps, letting the lens see his cock sliding in and out, shiny and creamy with your juices.
“Feel that?” you panted breathlessly, looking back over your shoulder directly at the tripod camera. “That’s how fucking wet your little stalker made me. My cunt is soaked and sloppy because I knew you were watching me hump that teddy bear like a desperate, horny whore for days.”
You spun around to face Bucky and the main camera, planting your hands on his firm chest. Now you rode him properly, grinding your clit against his pelvis, bouncing so your tits jiggled obscenely while you stared straight into the lens with hazy, lust-filled eyes.
“You rode my teddy like a pathetic little slut,” Bucky groaned beneath you, hands finally free to grip your hips hard enough to bruise. “Now ride the real thing, doll. Show the camera exactly how you fuck when you think no one’s watching.”
As you bounced faster on his cock, Bucky licked two of his flesh fingers, coating them generously with spit. He reached behind you and pressed the pads of his wet fingers right against your tight little asshole, tapping and rubbing teasing circles over your puckered hole.
“Look at this greedy little pucker,” he sneered, voice low and filthy, eyes locked on where his fingers were playing with you. “Been teasing this tight ass the whole time you were humping my teddy, huh? Such a nasty girl… acting all innocent while you wanted both your holes filled.”
You whimpered loudly, clenching around his cock as his fingers continued tapping and pressing against your asshole, not pushing in yet just teasing, promising.
You rode faster, harder, your swollen clit rubbing perfectly against him with every grind. Your pussy was creaming so much that white, frothy rings of your arousal coated the base of his cock and matted the dark hair there.
“I’m gonna come- fuck, Bucky- I’m creaming all over your cock!” you cried out shamelessly.
Bucky suddenly sat up, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and holding you down on his cock as you shattered. Your pussy clenched and pulsed violently around him, gushing clear slick in messy squirts that soaked his pelvis and dripped down his balls.
With a deep, possessive growl that vibrated through your chest, he thrust up hard and came deep inside you, thick, hot, endless ropes of cum flooding your spasming cunt. He held you pinned down, grinding up into you as he pumped every last drop into your womb while both of you moaned filthily for the cameras.
When he finally pulled out with a wet, creamy sound, a thick, obscene stream of his pearly white cum immediately poured out of your ruined, gaping hole, running down your folds and asshole in heavy globs.
Bucky didn’t let you close your legs even for a second.
“Keep them open for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough with satisfaction. “Spread them wider. I want the camera to see exactly how full you are.”
Face burning with humiliated arousal, you obeyed. With shaky fingers, you reached down and gently spread your puffy, well-fucked folds, opening yourself completely. You pushed softly, and a thick, warm trickle of his cum began to leak out of you, slow and creamy, dripping down onto the ruined sheets while the cameras captured every second in sharp detail.
Bucky’s eyes darkened with raw hunger as he watched. He couldn’t look away from the sight of his release slowly spilling from your stretched pussy.
“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he breathed, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. All full of my cum. I love seeing it drip out of you.”
He stayed like that for a long moment, just staring, mesmerized by the messy, intimate sight. His hand gently stroked your thigh, thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the intensity melted away.
Bucky pulled you gently into his arms, kissing you deeply, slow, tender, loving kisses that felt worlds away from how brutally he’d just destroyed you. He grabbed a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom and carefully cleaned between your legs, wiping away the sticky mixture of your combined fluids while pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your flushed cheeks, and your swollen lips.
“We’re both so fucking twisted,” he murmured against your skin, voice warm and possessively affectionate as he tucked you against his broad chest. “And I wouldn’t change a single filthy thing. My pretty little pervert.”
You smiled sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, already plotting the next time you’d corrupt him even further.
“Good,” you whispered, voice hoarse from moaning. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you, Sergeant. Next time… we’re bringing the teddy into the bed with us while we film.”
Two weeks later, the team was deep in an abandoned Hydra facility buried in the Romanian mountains.
The lower levels were freezing cold, pitch-black in places, and eerily silent except for the constant drip of water and the low groan of settling metal beams. The air smelled of rust, mildew, and old blood. Every footstep echoed like a gunshot through the concrete corridors.
You and Bucky had been paired to sweep the sub-basement. The rest of the team was three floors above but their voices kept crackling through comms, far too close for comfort.
The second you rounded a corner and lost sight of the staircase, the tension snapped.
Bucky grabbed your wrist and yanked you into a derelict interrogation room. The heavy metal door slammed shut with a deafening clang that echoed down the hallway. Old restraint chairs were bolted to the floor, broken glass and rusted chains littered the corners, and a single flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
“Fuck the mission,” he growled, shoving you against the cold concrete wall, teeth scraping your neck. “I’ve been hard since we landed. Been imagining bending you over one of these tables the whole flight.”
Heart hammering, you pulled the small body cam from your vest and clipped it to a rusted shelf at the perfect angle. The red recording light blinked on.
Bucky’s eyes darkened with pure lust.
“Risky little slut,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “John and Yelena are only three floors up. They could walk in any second.”
“That’s what makes it so fucking hot,” you whispered, already unzipping your jacket and letting it drop. “Imagine if they heard me moaning your name while you’re balls-deep inside me.”
He spun you around, bent you over the old metal interrogation table, and kicked your legs apart. The icy surface pressed against your chest as he yanked your tactical pants and panties down in one rough motion. The freezing air hit your soaked pussy like a slap.
“Look at the camera, doll,” he ordered, freeing his thick cock and rubbing the fat, leaking head through your dripping folds. “Smile pretty while I fuck you raw in a Hydra base like the desperate little whore you are.”
You moaned, pushing back desperately. “Hurry, Sergeant- please, before someone comes-”
Comms crackled loudly.
“Barnes, status report,” John’s voice came through, clear and close. “You two good down there?”
Bucky didn’t stop. He thrust into you in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You had to bite your own arm to keep from crying out as he immediately started pounding you hard, the old metal table scraping noisily against the concrete floor with every thrust.
He pressed the comm button with his metal hand while still railing you.
“All clear,” he answered, voice impressively steady. “Just clearing the last sector. Give us five more minutes.”
The second the comms cut, he fucked you even harder, metal hand spanking your ass red.
But it didn’t stop.
Comms crackled again, even closer.
“We are coming down to assist!” Alexei’s booming voice echoed through the speaker. “Yelena says she saw heat signatures moving near your position!”
Bucky growled and kept thrusting deep, grinding against that perfect spot inside you while answering calmly:
“Negative. False alarm. We’ve got it handled.”
The moment the comms went silent, you came violently, pussy gushing around his cock as you bit down hard on your arm to muffle your scream. Bucky followed right after with a deep, guttural groan, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of cum until it was leaking down your thighs onto the dusty floor.
You barely had time to catch your breath.
Comms crackled a third time, right outside your corridor.
“Barnes?” Yelena’s sharp voice cut in. “We’re at the bottom of the stairs. You better not be hiding anything down there.”
Heavy footsteps, two sets, were now thundering down the metal staircase toward your room.
“Shit,” Bucky hissed, pulling out quickly. Cum was still pouring from your ruined pussy as you both frantically yanked your clothes back on. You grabbed the body cam with shaking hands while Bucky wiped down the table.
The footsteps reached the end of the hallway.
The door handle rattled.
Alexei’s loud voice boomed from the other side:
“Barnes! Open up! We are here to help!”
Bucky shoved you behind the large restraint chair just as the door creaked open. He stepped forward casually, looking far too calm.
“Yeah, we’re here,” he said smoothly. “Found some old files. Nothing major.”
Alexei stepped inside, flashlight sweeping the room, Yelena right behind him. Yelena’s sharp eyes immediately narrowed on you, flushed cheeks, messy hair, legs still trembling.
“You both look… very red,” she said slowly, tilting her head. “And sweaty. Did you find enemies?”
Alexei grinned. “Yes! You are both breathing hard! Like you were fighting!”
You forced your sweetest smile, heart still racing.
“Just a lot of stairs,” you lied, voice slightly hoarse. “Very steep ones.”
Yelena stared at you for one long, suspicious second… then smirked like she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“Mm. Sure.”
As they finally turned to leave, Bucky’s eyes met yours across the room, dark, filthy and full of dark promise.
But you both knew the truth.
Yelena definitely suspected something.
And the game had just gotten a lot more dangerous.
Later that night, back at the compound, you and Bucky locked yourselves in his room, lights low and played the new tape.
The footage was raw, filthy, and terrifyingly hot. You could hear every wet slap, every muffled moan, every time Bucky growled in your ear while John, Alexei, and Yelena’s voices kept cutting in through the comms.
Bucky pulled you into his lap halfway through, already hard again.
“Fuck, doll,” he rasped against your neck, watching the screen as Yelena’s voice came through right as he was balls-deep inside you. “Listen to that. They were right outside the door while I was filling you up. You came so hard when Alexei said they were coming down.”
You shivered, grinding slowly against him.
“I know,” you whispered, biting your lip. “If they had opened that door two seconds earlier…”
Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on your hip.
“Next time,” he murmured, voice dark with lust, “we’re doing it in the quinjet bathroom while the whole team is strapped in for takeoff. I want to fuck you while they’re all sitting ten feet away.”
You turned in his lap, eyes sparkling.
“Or the training room after hours,” you countered, nipping at his jaw. “Right on the mats where we spar. I want you to bend me over the weight bench while the security cameras are still recording.”
Bucky groaned, gripping your ass and pulling you harder against him.
“You’re gonna get us caught one day, you filthy little minx,” he rasped, kissing you deep and hungry. “But I don’t care. I’m never stopping this.”
You smiled against his mouth, already wet again.
“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done corrupting you, Sergeant.”
requested by anon : heyy first req! could you do bucky x reader sex tape smut👀 (feel free to ignore if not comfortable!)
requested by anon : how are we feeling about pervyyyyyyyy!bucky and a reader who seems innocent... but is worse better than him?
summary: you and steve broke up after all of the trauma that vecna left behind in hawkins. but once he's back on your couch, can you really say no to each other?
pairing: steve harrington x ex!fem!reader
classification: angsty smut
warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, big dick steve, oral f!receiving, steve has a filthy mouth, non-descriptive violence, blood, bruises, scars, drinking, swearing, use of f slur (not by steve), not my gif!! lmk if i forgot anything!
wc: 2.6k
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Partying had become the way to numb the pain.
He’d been through Russian torture, fighting monsters from another world, being drugged, getting the shit beaten out of him, getting flesh ripped from his abdomen. Yet, somehow, none of them hurt as much as losing you.
You’d both agreed it was mutual, but was it really? The trauma from everything, especially after losing Eddie and Max and you almost losing your own life, you both decided to focus on yourselves.
Steve always knew he needed you. But he had no idea quite how much until you were gone. And now, with you gone, he was a mess.
It’s like he’s back to his high school days – going to trashy parties, getting wasted, finding some girl to fuck before she left when his eyes were still shut in the morning. He’s on his fourth–or was it fifth?–beer when the song starts playing.
Starman by David Bowie.
You’d been dating for six months. Being friends for so long beforehand, it felt like you’d been dating for years at that point. Because of that, you always knew how to cheer him up. You knew him.
He doesn’t remember why he had such a shitty day that day. Probably something with his parents. He’d retreated to your house where you were home alone, seeking your loving comfort and warm hold. You started making dinner for the two of you (his favorite, pasta), and Starman started playing.
He never thought you looked more beautiful. The way you squealed when the song started, your soft voice singing along as the acoustic guitar and synth filled the room. Your body swayed, your arms in the air, your hips moving back and forth. You sang louder as the chorus swelled, a giggle in your voice when you saw the way he was looking at you. So loving.
“What are you lookin’ at?” you laughed.
He just pulled you closer, his hands finding your hips as he leaned back against the counter. His chest pressed to yours, his nose buried in your hair. He inhaled before murmuring, “Just love you. You’re so beautiful.”
You chuckled and pulled back to look up at him, a soft smile on your face, a twinkle in your eyes. “I love you too, Stevie.”
The dinner almost burnt from how long you guys stood there, breathing each other in and swaying to the music.
“Steve?” Jonathan’s voice snaps him out of it. His hand finds Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, are you good? Do you need me to take you home?”
Steve looks away, blinking back tears that he didn’t even realize were there. He mutters a ‘no, I'm good’ before shuffling away. As he’s trying to escape the song, the feeling, the noise, the thought of you, he runs into some guy’s chest. The guy is bigger than Steve, more muscular, making Steve’s frame look almost frail.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!” the man shouts. Steve slurs an apology, barely audible over the music, just desperate to get out. “Hey! I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.”
Jonathan rushes over to Steve, turning to the large man. “Okay, let’s relax. I’m sorry about him, he’s just super drunk.”
“Like I give a fuck if he’s drunk, fag. Tell him to come here and fuckin’ apologize!”
Steve freezes. He turns around, red clouding his vision as he charges at the man.
Next thing he knows, he’s lying on the wet pavement outside, coughing up blood and phlegm, curling into himself in pain. Jonathan sits next to him, a bruise on his face from trying to break up the fight.
“Thanks for defending me, man,” Jonathan says gently. “Even if you got your ass beat.”
Steve chuckles dryly. Even the small movement hurts. “It’s nothin’,” he slurs. “Felt good to get those punches in. Needed that.”
“Even though it was very few punches?” Jonathan mocks. Steve lets out a fake laugh, slowly rolling over on the pavement. The light moment crashes when he hears a familiar voice.
“Holy shit, Steve?”
It’s you. His bleary eyes look up to see you leaning over him. For a moment, he thinks he must be dreaming. Or maybe having a nightmare. He groans and closes his eyes. “Fuckkkk.”
“Hi,” Jonathan says gently to get your attention. “He’s okay. He was defending me. We’re, uh… waiting on Nancy to come pick us up.”
“Fuck that, look at him!” you shout, angrily gesturing to a weary Steve. “I’m taking him home with me. As much as I really don’t want to, I can’t just leave him here knowing he might have brain damage or something. I studied nursing, so I'm going to check him out.”
Jonathan raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not stopping you. He’s a mess, though, just a warning.”
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Steve starts to sober up once he’s on your couch with some frozen peas pressed to a bump on his head. He’s eaten, had some water. It finally starts to hit him that he’s back at your house. Like nothing ever changed.
You reenter the room, changed out of your dress and into a tank top and sweatpants. You drop the first aid kit on the table. “Alright. This might suck, but I need you to stay still, yeah?”
Then you straddle him. He groans softly, partially in pain, partially in pleasure. “Fuck… yeah. Fine.” When you press the antiseptic-soaked cotton to a cut, he winces and whimpers.
“Don’t be a baby,” you gently scold, but doing so with a smirk on your face. He pouts. It almost makes you laugh, but you stop yourself.
You can’t help but stare at his face while you clean his wounds. Even beaten, he still looks as beautiful as ever. It pisses you off. His dark puppy dog eyes look up at you, a slight frown on his pouty, busted lips, his hands flexing on your hips.
He leans in a bit.
You quickly stand, packing the first aid kit once again. “All done,” you mutter, turning away.
“Oh,” Steve says. “That was fast.”
“Well, it’s mostly bruises, not really cuts. I’ll get you an ice pack in a second.”
You turn on a flashlight and shine it in his eyes. He flinches away. “Oh, what the fuck?!” You gently pull his eyes open. His pupils dilate.
“I’m making sure you’re not concussed, idiot. Relax, it’s not that bad.” Once you turn off the flashlight, he rubs his eyes dramatically, huffing like a child. You roll your own eyes and tuck the first aid kit away in the kitchen.
Then you sit next to him awkwardly. “You alright?” you whisper. “What even happened?”
“Ran into some asshole,” Steve mutters. “Then he called Jon a… whatever. I just swung.”
“You were drunk.” You hesitantly take his hand in yours. Why are you doing that? He turns to you, a soft, dopey smile on his face. God, you missed that smile.
“You should maybe just stay the night,” you continue. “It’s late. I don’t wanna drive you home.”
Steve tenses a bit, but forces himself to relax. “Okay. Sure. I’ll take the couch.”
Oh, this couch.
Early in the relationship, during the honeymoon phase, you guys couldn’t get your hands off each other. He remembers one specific time you both lay naked on this couch after sex.
You were lying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, tracing his freckles with your fingertip. His hand was tangled in your hair, the soft strands between his fingers, gently rubbing your scalp. He kissed the top of your head and murmured “I love you” for the first time.
The way you looked up at him shattered his heart.
Your eyes were so big and rapidly filling with tears. You sniffled, almost pathetically. “Really?”
He frowned at the sight of you. “Yeah,” he said softly.
You cried into his chest, overwhelmed. He just held you close and whispered sweet nothings into your ear until your sobs subsided and you whispered back, “I love you too.”
Steve lies on the couch slowly, staring up at your ceiling. You’re upstairs right now, and he’s down here, not that far away. He should be storming up there, begging for you. But he’s too tired to move.
To his surprise, you come downstairs.
“Uh…” you hesitate, shifting on your feet like you don’t know what to do with yourself. “Need anything?”
He shrugs, tucking his arms behind his head. “No, I’m good.”
You nod awkwardly. “Cool.”
You both stare at each other for a little too long, just quietly admiring. “Hey,” he murmurs, “thanks for taking care of me. Even though I’ve kinda been an asshole.”
Your breath hitches. “It’s fine,” you say, your voice quiet. “It’s, um… it’s good to see you, y’know? I worry about you.”
“I’m fine, baby.”
“Are you?”
You go quiet again. Your body tenses when you realize he just fucking called you baby.
“Are you?” Steve repeats. He slowly gets up, meeting you where you’re standing. “I shouldn’t have left,” he quietly admits. “Not after what happened. Not after you almost…”
Tears fill your eyes, but you blink them away. “I know I said it was mutual, but I didn’t want it, Steve.” You blink again, but they just fall. He steps closer. “I– I just thought it would be easier if… I dunno, I just–... I didn’t want it. It hurt.”
“I know,” he murmurs, leaning in a bit.
You hiccup a sob, “I hate you.”
“I know.”
You melt into him the moment your lips meet. It’s soft, tentative, but with a deep inhale from him, he pulls you impossibly closer, kissing you even deeper. His hands find your face, gently cupping your cheeks in contrast to the way he’s basically devouring you.
You taste just like he remembers, but with a hint of salt from your tears.
He tastes just like you remember, a sweet mintiness but with a hint of smoke now. Did he start smoking again?
You pull back for a minute, but your lips don’t stop touching. “I hate you,” you whisper again.
“I love you too, baby.”
He picks you up and you welcome him with open arms as your lips find his once again. Soon, he gently lies you on your bed, crawling over you until his forearms are resting on either side of your head. “Is this okay?” he murmurs.
You chuckle. “More than okay.”
His kisses are softer now. He takes his time to breathe you in, kissing down your face to your neck to your collarbone. He tugs at your tank top, looking up at you in silent question. You hesitantly nod. So he goes slow.
You’re different.
Your skin isn’t the perfect, soft, smooth skin he felt before. Your lower abdomen now has jagged scars running along it from that night. He gasps softly, running his hand over the tissue. You jerk under his touch.
When he looks up at you again, you’re crying. He frowns. He knows words can’t help anymore, so he instead opts to just kiss down your torso slowly, worshipping every inch of you, before kissing the uneven healed skin. You gasp, a whimper spilling from your lips.
“Still so beautiful,” he says against your skin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to fix this.”
You let him pull down your sweatpants. Your light blue panties are damp at the center of the cotton. He decides to neglect it for now, instead kissing at your inner thighs while he hooks them over his shoulders.
“Steve,” you whine, squirming under him.
He gently shushes you before mouthing at your clothed cunt. You cry out softly with a slight sniffle from your tears. It’s not long before he pulls away your panties and licks a stripe up your folds.
Your hands find his perfect hair, guiding him into you (as if he needs it). His big hands grip your soft thighs as he slowly fucks you with his tongue, his nose nudging at your puffy clit.
“Baby,” you moan, drawing a whimper from him that runs right through you. You tug at his hair and he reluctantly pulls back, looking up at you.
God, he’s beautiful.
His chocolate hair is tousled, your slick dripping down his chin and wetting his lips, his big brown eyes looking up at you in anticipation.
“I love this, honey, but I need you inside me,” you say breathlessly.
He curses before crawling over you again, removing his own shirt. He has scars of his own from over the years, the newest ones on his abdomen and around his neck. You softly kiss the one circling the base of his neck and he hums.
“Are you sure about this baby?” he whispers as he pulls down his jeans.
“I’m very sure.”
“Still hate me?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s change that, yeah?” He guides himself to your entrance. “Big stretch, baby.”
He slowly pushes in his tip and you gasp, already feeling full. You forgot just how huge he is. You bury your face into his neck, clenching and whining.
He groans. “Fuck, honey– so tight, baby, I can barely push in.” His fingers find your clit and you sob a moan. “Breathe, hun. Just open up for me.”
You begin to relax and he pushes the rest of the way in, groans punched out of both of you when he bottoms out. He moves in and out, slowly at first, but you both get too desperate.
You can feel every single ridge and vein of his cock against your walls. You cry and scratch at his back while he nuzzles into your neck. “So good, baby, fuck, you’re so tight.”
Steve whimpers, causing you to clench around his length even tighter. You both gasp in response. “So perfect for me,” he mutters, looking down to see where you both meet. “Oh, look at her. Just weeping around me. You needed this, huh? Needed someone to fuck you this good?”
Your eyes roll back. You can’t even say anything in response as you babble out nonsensical moans. He chuckles but whines again.
He hooks your ankles over his shoulders, driving deeper into you and slowing his pace. You sob and he kisses your forehead. “Shh… I got you. I love you.”
Your fingers grasp onto his hair again. “I love you,” you gasp through your tears. “I need you. Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t. Cum for me.”
You cry hard as you let go, warmth blooming beneath your skin, your vision going white. You feel like a heavy blanket has been draped over you, holding you tight.
When you come to again, your chest heaving, he’s spilling inside you with a soft cry of your name. You groan at the feeling of his burst into you.
Once he collapses on top of you, you hold him close, more tears falling while he kisses your sweaty, sticky skin.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “I should’ve been there. Should’ve never suggested leaving you, not after what happened, not after you were… fuck, you were bleeding out on that ground and I thought it’d be better if you had some space after it all. I’m an idiot.”
“You are an idiot. Sometimes. Especially then.” You press your lips to the top of his head. Not quite a kiss, just a touch. “But I forgive you. Just come back to me, Stevie.”
Steve looks up, tears in his own eyes.
“I’m here. I’m back. I’m yours.”
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
a/n: i am starting to work on all of my steve requests, but i've been working on this for a while. i'm not sure if i love it, but it's my first longer fic on here! let me know how i can improve <3 also this is obvi inspired by djo's delete ya
⋆˚✿˖° summary: your boyfriend was a gorgeous man- everyone knew it. but what you didn't know was that he looks even more gorgeous with a moustache on, and you ought to show him that.
⋆˚✿˖° word count: 1.6k
⋆˚✿˖° warnings: porn with very less plot, smut, reader is down bad for steve's moustache, a little fluff, unprotected sex (cuz I be just like that), Cunnilingus, fingering little fluff, idk pretty much it.
⋆˚✿˖° Author's note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. I just saw a post of joe in chile and his moustache look is back and since I am ovulating I am acting like a fucking horndog and writing fanfics on fanfics, so here is one inspired by his new look.
Steve had been weirdly secretive about his face for the past week. He'd dodge mirrors when you were around, tilt his head away during kisses, mumble something about "letting it grow a little" whenever you asked why he hadn't shaved. You figured it was another one of his dumb bets with Robin or maybe just laziness after long shifts at the garage. Either way, you didn't push. He looked good and scruffy. Always did.
Then Friday evening rolled around. You were sprawled on his couch in the empty Harrington house, flipping through a magazine while he finished up in the bathroom after work. Grease still lingered under his nails, hair damp from the quick shower he'd taken to wash off the day. The door opened and he stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, chest bare, looking like he knew exactly what reaction he was about to get.
Your magazine hit the floor.
The mustache was there. Full, dark, neatly shaped but thick enough to look intentional. Not patchy like you'd half-expected from a guy who'd never committed to facial hair before. It framed his upper lip perfectly, made his smirk look sharper, more dangerous in that effortless Steve way. The kind of mustache that belonged on a Tom Selleck poster or a 70s cop show lead. Not on your sweet, occasionally awkward boyfriend who still blushed when you told him he was pretty.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious under your stare. "So. Yeah. This happened."
You sat up slowly. Your mouth felt dry. Heat pooled low in your belly so fast it almost made you dizzy. "When did you decide on... that?"
"Last weekend. Robin said I couldn't pull it off. Twenty bucks if I shaved by Monday." He shrugged, trying for casual, but his eyes were locked on yours like he was waiting for judgment. "Figured I'd see it through. Surprise."
You stood up and crossed the living room in three steps. Your fingers reached out before you could think better of it, brushing over the coarse hair. It was softer than it looked up close, warm from his skin. Steve's breath caught when your thumb traced the curve above his lip.
"You hate it," he said quietly.
"No." Your voice came out huskier than you meant. "I really, really don't."
His eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"
You nodded, sliding your hand to cup his jaw so you could feel the new texture against your palm. Then you leaned in and kissed him.
The first press of mustache to your lips was a shock of sensation. A light rasp, not painful, just enough friction to make every nerve light up. You made a small, involuntary sound into his mouth and felt him smile against you. He kissed back harder, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting faintly of mint toothpaste and the coffee he'd had earlier. The mustache dragged along your top lip with every tilt of his head, every slow slide of his tongue. It was distracting in the best way. Addictive.
When you pulled back to breathe, your cheeks were flushed. "Bedroom. Now."
Steve laughed, low and pleased. "Bossy tonight."
"You have no idea."
He scooped you up without warning, hands under your thighs, carrying you down the hall like it weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing along his jaw, deliberately letting your lips catch on the new hair. He groaned when you nipped just under his ear.
"Keep doing that and we're not making it to the bed."
"Promises, promises."
He kicked the bedroom door shut behind him and dropped you gently onto the mattress. You bounced once, already tugging at the hem of your tank top. Steve watched for a second, eyes dark, then climbed over you, towel still somehow clinging to his hips. He peeled your top off, bra following a heartbeat later. His mouth found your neck immediately, open kisses turning into sucks that would definitely leave marks. The mustache scraped lightly over your collarbone and you arched, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"God," you breathed. "That feels..."
"Good?" He sounded smug. His lips moved lower, kissing a slow path to your chest. When he closed his mouth around one nipple, the contrast hit hard: wet heat of his tongue versus the rough drag of hair framing it. You gasped, back bowing off the bed. He hummed in approval, switching sides, giving the same attention while his hand slid down your stomach, popping the button on your shorts.
You lifted your hips to help him drag them off along with your underwear. Cool air hit your skin and then his fingers were there, sliding through your folds, finding you already slick. He groaned against your breast.
"Jesus. All this from a little facial hair?"
"Shut up and keep going."
He chuckled, but he listened. Two fingers pushed inside you slowly, curling just right while his thumb circled your clit. His mouth stayed busy, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, the sensitive skin beside your hip. Every time his face brushed your inner thigh the mustache rasped over soft skin and you jolted.
When he finally settled between your legs, hooking your thighs over his shoulders, you were trembling. He looked up at you through his lashes, lips shiny, mustache glistening faintly from earlier kisses.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said, voice rough.
You nodded. "Won't be."
He dragged his tongue up your slit in one long, slow stroke. Then he focused on your clit, sealing his lips around it and sucking gently. The mustache pressed flush against you now, coarse hairs dragging with every tiny movement of his jaw. It was overwhelming. The suction was perfect, wet and warm, but the constant scrape added this edge that made your toes curl. You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him there, hips rocking instinctively.
Steve moaned into you like he was the one getting off. The vibration shot straight through your core. He licked faster, firmer, mustache rubbing in tight circles that matched his tongue. Your thighs started shaking. Pressure built so fast you could barely breathe.
"Steve, I'm- fuck, don't stop."
He didn't. He pinned your hips down with one arm and doubled down, sucking hard while his tongue fluttered. The mustache dragged relentlessly over swollen, sensitive skin. You came with a sharp cry, whole body tensing, pulsing around nothing while he worked you through every wave. He kept going until you whimpered from overstimulation, thighs clamping around his ears.
When he pulled back his lips were red and wet, mustache dark with your arousal. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he'd won something.
You grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up. "Get inside me. Right now."
He didn't need convincing. The towel finally fell away and he reached for the nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom. You watched him roll it on, thick and hard, tip already leaking. Then he was back between your legs, guiding himself to your entrance.
He pushed in slow at first, letting you feel every inch. You both groaned when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. He stayed still for a second, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
"You feel so good," he murmured. "Every time."
You clenched around him on purpose. "Move."
He did. Long, deep thrusts that rocked the headboard against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His mouth found yours again and the mustache dragged over your lips, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. You chased the sensation, turning your head so it rasped along your throat while he fucked into you steadily.
"Harder," you gasped.
Steve shifted his angle, snapping his hips faster. Skin slapped skin. The bed creaked under you. Sweat slicked your bodies where they met. You dragged your nails down his back, hard enough to leave red lines. He hissed in pleasure, pace faltering for a second before he drove in even deeper.
You could feel it building again, that tight coil low in your belly. "Touch me."
His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. The combination was brutal: his cock hitting that spot inside, fingers on your clit, mustache scraping your neck every time he kissed or bit down. You shattered a second time, louder this time, clenching so hard around him he cursed under his breath.
"Fuck, baby. Gonna come."
"Do it," you panted. "Inside. Want to feel you."
He buried himself deep, hips stuttering as he came with a broken groan, pulsing inside you. You held him there, legs locked around him, riding out the aftershocks together.
For a minute you just breathed, tangled and sweaty. Steve pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, careful now that the urgency had passed. The mustache tickled softly, almost sweet after everything.
He finally rolled off, pulling you with him so you ended up sprawled across his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back.
"So," he said after a while, voice still rough. "Verdict on the mustache?"
You lifted your head to look at him. His hair was a mess, lips swollen, that ridiculous perfect mustache still somehow intact.
You leaned down and kissed him slow, letting the hair drag one more time just because you could. "If you shave it before I'm done with it, we're breaking up."
He laughed, arms tightening around you. "Noted."
"Good." You settled back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. "Because I'm nowhere near done."
Steve pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Plenty of time, sweetheart. All weekend."
You smiled into his skin. Yeah. All weekend sounded perfect.
I hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it ♡
steve’s such a sweetheart that he fucks you while you guys are high <3
you’re on your back, legs hooked loosely around his hips, cotton panties long since tugged to the side and discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed. steve’s hovering over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered to him.
“fuck baby,” he murmurs as he drags the blunt to his lips, takes a slow pull, cheeks hollowing, then leans down so his mouth is barely an inch from yours.
you part your lips on instinct. he exhales the smoke into your mouth, slow and deliberate, watching the way your eyes flutter and your chest rises. when you start to whimper, high, overwhelmed, still trying to adjust to the thick stretch of him inside you, he just shushes you gently.
“shh, shh, i gotcha,” his free hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “breathe f’me, honey. just breathe.”
he’s seated deep already, hasn’t moved much yet, letting you feel every inch. you’re so full it’s almost too much, thighs trembling, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders. a soft, broken sound slips out of you, “s-steve… ohhh”, barely a word, more air than voice.
he’s patient, rocking the tiniest little circles with his hips, barely pulling out, just enough to remind you he’s there.
“you’re doin’ so good,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “takin’ me so fuckin’ pretty. my good girl, yeah?”
the praise hits like the weed, melting your bones. you whine again, higher this time, “please… please, stevie”-and he chuckles low against your throat.
“aw, listen to you. already cryin’ for it.” he finally starts to move, slow drags out until just the tip is inside, then all the way back in, so deep your breath catches every time. “that’s it. feel that? feel how deep i am, baby? stretching this tight little pussy just for me.”
a long, shaky moan spills from your lips, “f-fuck… s’too much… s’good…”, head tipping back into the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy. your hips twitch up toward him without permission.
his thrusts stay measured at first, long and rolling, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. but the more you squirm, the more you arch up into him, the harder it gets for him to stay gentle. his control frays. hips snap a little sharper. the wet sound of skin on skin fills the room.
“goddamn,” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “you’re so fuckin’ wet. drippin’ down my balls, honey. you love this cock, don’t you? love gettin’ split open by your boyfriend while you’re stoned outa’ your mind.”
you can’t form real sentences anymore, just frantic little nods and a string of slurred, breathy sounds: “y-yes love it-love y-you steve- ahh-please don’t stop” your voice cracks on every other word.
he grins and brings the blunt back to your lips, “take another hit, baby. c’mon. let it make you even dumber for me.”
you inhale, shaky, eyes fluttering shut. a soft, needy whimper escapes around the smoke, “mmph s-so good stevie,” and he pulls it away, stubs it out in the ashtray, then grips your jaw lightly, tilting your face up so you have to look at him.
“there she is,” he murmurs, “my pretty, cockdrunk girl. gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name. just gonna be my good little hole tonight, yeah?”
he punctuates it with a hard, deep thrust that makes your back bow off the mattress. you cry out “oh god s-steve! mhmmhm mhm” nails raking down his back, legs shaking around his waist. he just laughs softly, kissing the tears that slip from the corners of your eyes.
“don’t cry, sweetheart. you’re takin’ it so well. so fuckin’ well.” another punishing stroke, all the way out, all the way in, pelvis grinding against your clit on every hilt. “gonna fill you up soon. gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days. you want that? want me to breed this sweet cunt while you’re high and helpless under me?”
your answer is just a sob, “yesyesyes-please fill me steve” thighs clamping tight around him, incoherent babbling spilling out between gasps: “s’deep… s’big… can’t-can’t think-only you…”
that’s all the permission he needs.
he fucks you harder then, still controlled, still deep, but relentless. whispering the dirtiest things right against your ear the whole time.
“that’s my girl. that’s it. cum for me, baby. cum all over this cock like the perfect little slut you are for me.”
your moans turn desperate and endless, “steve s-steve gonn-o-ohhh fuck gon’ cum pleaseplease” body locking up, trembling violently, “ahh fuck yesyesyes stevie!”
you’re shaking, clenching around him so hard it drags a groan out of him. he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you with a broken “fuuck baby yeah there w’go” hips stuttering as he fills you up.
he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, kissing you slow and lazy. you’re still whimpering softly against his mouth, slightly twitching, “mm… s’full stevie”
“love you,” he mumbles against your lips, voice wrecked and soft. “so fuckin’ much.”
you smile, dazed, boneless, fingers threading through his hair, voice barely above a whisper. “love you too stevie…”
⋆˚✿˖°summary: all you wanted was to study for your biology exam tomorrow, but what happens when you hear a knock on your window? or the one where your boyfriend steve helps you to study for your upcoming exam in a very interesting way.
⋆˚✿˖° word count: 2.5k
⋆˚✿˖° warnings: porn with a very little plot, fluff, my attempt at writing very poor biology stuff while being a mechanical engineer, fingering, p in v (wrap it up hoes), riding, sneaking in. yeah that's pretty much it.
⋆˚✿˖° Author's Note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. this is loosely inspired by that one S1 scene where sneaks into Nancy's room through her window and my favourite childhood movie.
The moon hung fat and silver over Hawkins,long shadows from the oak tree stretching across the grass. It was past midnight as the moonlight grazed over the pile of textbooks and scattered notes on your desk. You were neck-deep in biology, highlighter in hand, trying to memorize for tomorrow's exam. Your hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and you'd changed into your comfiest oversized tee and shorts after school, the fabric soft against your skin from too many washes. You looked up from your textbook as you stared at the photo sticked loosely on the wall behind your bed.
Steve Harrington was your boyfriend-had been for almost a year now, ever since that rainy night at the arcade when he'd ditched his king-of-the-school act and shown up with scoops of ice cream and an apology for being such an idiot before. He wasn't perfect; the scars on his side from demodogs and his occasional overprotectiveness could grate on you. But God, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him in this weird little town made it all worth it. You'd fallen into this easy rhythm, stolen kisses in the Baemer's backseat, late-night drives to Lover's Lake, and him crashing at your place when his parents were fighting again. Tonight, though, you needed space. Or at least, that's what you'd told him when he called earlier, voice all soft and teasing over the line: "Study hard, babe. I'll behave."
You snorted to yourself, flipping a page. Behave. As if Steve Harrington knew the meaning of the word.
A soft thump against the windowpane jolted you from your notes. You glanced up, heart skipping in that half thrilled, half annoyed way. There he was, all tousled hair and that lopsided grin, balanced precariously on the branch of the old oak tree that hugged the side of your house. His polo was untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and those brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he tapped the glass again, mouthing open up.
With a dramatic eye-roll that he could probably see from ten feet away, you pushed back from your bed and crossed the room. The window creaked as you unlatched it, cool evening air rushing in along with the scent of his cologne-something woodsy and warm, mixed with the faint chlorine from the pool where he'd been lifeguarding all summer.
"Jesus, Steve," you whispered, helping him clamber through without toppling the whole setup. His hands found your waist immediately, steadying himself as his boots hit the carpet. "My mom's downstairs. What if she hears?"
He straightened up, all six-foot-something of him filling the space, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. "Then we'd better be quiet." His voice was low, playful, but there was that edge to it, as if he'd been thinking about you all day. You could feel it in the way his thumbs brushed circles against your hips, lingering just a second too long.
You swatted his chest lightly, stepping back toward your desk. "I'm serious. I've got this exam, and if I bomb it, my dad's gonna kill me. Biology waits for no horny boyfriend."
Steve chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your stomach flip. He ruffled his hair, glancing around your room like he was seeing it for the first time-the posters of The Police and Bowie on the walls, the half-dead plant on your nightstand that you'd sworn you'd revive someday. "Horny? Me? Nah, I'm just here to... moral support." But his eyes dipped to your legs, bare and crossed casually as you perched on the edge of your bed, and you knew better. He was already shifting his weight, that subtle tell where he'd rock forward on his toes when he wanted to close the distance.
"Uh-huh." You picked up your highlighter again, settling back at the desk and flipping open your textbook. "Sit. Behave. Or go home and jack off to your Sports Illustrated stash. Whatever works."
"Ouch." He clutched his heart, feigning offense, but he dropped onto the foot of your bed anyway, knees bumping the desk frame. For a minute, he was quiet, uncharacteristically so, watching you scribble notes, his fingers drumming a lazy rhythm on his thigh. You could feel his gaze, heavy and warm. It made focusing harder than it should have been; every time you glanced up, he'd flash that smile, the one with the dimples that promised trouble.
Minutes ticked by. The clock on your wall read 10:30 PM. Your mom called up faintly about dinner, and you yelled back that you'd eat later. Steve stayed silent, but you caught him out of the corner of your eye, stretching his arms behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of tanned stomach. Asshole. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Finally, he sighed,long and exaggerated, like a puppy denied a walk. "Babe."
You didn't look up. "Study."
"Baaaabe." His voice dropped an octave, all whine and want. The bed creaked as he scooted closer, one hand landing warm on your knee under the desk. "You've been at this for hours. Take a break. With me."
Your pen paused mid-sentence. His touch was light, but it sent a spark up your leg, familiar heat pooling low in your belly. "Steve. We have an exam tomorrow. Remember?"
He hummed, thumb tracing lazy patterns on your skin, inching higher. "I remember. But I also remember how you aced that history test after I quizzed you in the car last month. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"
You bit your lip, fighting a smile. He wasn't wrong; Steve had this way of turning everything into a game, making the mundane fun. But tonight? Your brain felt like mush, and his proximity was making it worse. "Fine. Quiz me. But hands to yourself, Harrington. Deal?"
His grin turned wolfish, eyes darkening as he leaned in, elbows on his knees. "Deal. Hit me with a question."
You cleared your throat, forcing your eyes back to the page. "Okay. What's the primary function of mitochondria?"
"Powerhouses of the cell. They make ATP through cellular respiration." He rattled it off like he'd been paying attention in class for once, which you knew was bullshit-he'd probably overheard you ranting about it last week.
"Show-off." You marked it off, but his hand hadn't moved from your knee. If anything, it slid higher, fingers splaying across your thigh. "Steve-"
"What? I'm helping." His tone was innocent, but the way he watched your reaction, waiting for that hitch in your breath, was anything but. You shifted in your chair, thighs pressing together instinctively. The room felt warmer, the air thicker.
"Fine. Next one." You tried to sound stern, flipping pages. "Describe the process of photosynthesis. In detail."
He launched into it-chloroplasts, light-dependent reactions, the Calvin cycle, like a pro, his voice steady and low. But all the while, his hand crept upward, fingertips brushing the hem of your shorts. You swallowed hard, highlighter trembling slightly. "Good. Uh... electron transport chain?"
"Starts in the inner mitochondrial membrane," he murmured, closer now, his breath ghosting your ear as he leaned over your shoulder. "Electrons from NADH and FADH2 pass through protein complexes, pumping protons to create a gradient..." His free hand braced on the desk, caging you in, while the other dipped beneath the fabric of your shorts, tracing the edge of your panties. Your breath caught, a soft gasp escaping before you could stop it.
"Steve," you warned, but it came out breathy, lacking conviction. Your body betrayed you, hips tilting just a fraction toward his touch.
He paused, fingers hovering, that teasing glint in his eye. "You stopped. What's next, baby? Glycolysis? Pyruvate decarboxylation?" His voice was velvet, rough around the edges, and when his fingers finally slipped under the cotton barrier, brushing lightly against your folds, you nearly dropped the pen.
"You're ah!-cheating," you managed, but your free hand gripped the bed edge, knuckles whitening. He was already slick with your arousal, parting you gently, one finger circling your clit with agonizing slowness.
"Am I?" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, open-mouthed and hot through your shirt. "Tell me about ATP synthase. How's it work?" His finger dipped lower, sliding inside you with ease, curling just right. You clenched around him, a whimper building in your throat.
"Steve, I- I can't..." Your head fell back against his chest, textbook forgotten. He added a second finger, thrusting lazily, his thumb taking over on your clit. The stretch was perfect, familiar, but the way he held you there-teasing, controlled,had your pulse thundering.
"Nuh-uh, baby," he murmured, nipping at your earlobe. "Carry on. What's the role of oxygen in the electron transport chain?" His fingers pumped deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, but he slowed, just enough to keep you on the edge.
"It's... it's the final electron acceptor," you gasped, words tumbling out in fragments. "Forms water with protons and electrons. Steve, please-"
"Good girl." The praise washed over you, warm and filthy, his free hand sliding up your shirt to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple through your bra. "One more. Krebs cycle intermediates. Name 'em."
You were a mess now, thighs trembling, notes blurring as heat coiled tight in your core. "Citrate... isocitrate... alpha-ketoglutarate... fuck, Steve, I can't-"
His chuckle vibrated against your neck, fingers twisting inside you, thumb pressing harder. "You can, Keep going."
The words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm crested, crashing over you in waves. You clamped down on his fingers, back arching, his name a broken chant on your lips. He worked you through it, murmuring encouragements—"That's it, baby, so pretty when you come"—until you slumped forward, boneless and panting.
He withdrew slowly, bringing his fingers to his lips with a smirk that made your cheeks burn. "See? Aced it." But his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the bulge in his jeans was impossible to ignore. He was hard, aching for you, and the way he adjusted himself said he'd been holding back the whole time.
You turned in the chair, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. "Your turn to behave," you teased, voice husky, but there was no real bite to it. Adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, and the sight of him-flushed, hair mussed, lips shiny from tasting you had want surging back tenfold.
Steve's grin softened into something tender, his hands framing your face as he pulled you up to standing. " he muttered, backing you towards the edge of your bed, mouths crashing together in a kiss that tasted like salt and need. Tongues tangled, messy and desperate, and you tugged at his shirt, yanking it over his head. His skin was warm under your palms, muscles flexing as you traced the faint scars across his ribs-reminders of battles fought, survived, together.
He broke the kiss only to strip off your tee, bra following in a heap on the floor. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed, eyes raking over you like you were a miracle. It wasn't just lust; there was reverence there, the kind that made your chest ache. Steve had seen too much ugliness in Hawkins-monsters, betrayal, loss, and you were his soft place, his reason to laugh on the bad days.
You pushed him down onto the bed, straddling his hips as his hands settled on your waist. The mattress dipped under his weight, springs creaking softly. "My turn to quiz you," you whispered, grinding down against the hard line of him straining through his jeans. He groaned, head tipping back, Adam's apple bobbing.
"Anything," he promised, voice wrecked. "Ask me."
But words failed as you popped the button on his jeans, tugging them down with his help. His boxers followed, and there he was-thick and heavy, curving up toward his stomach, tip glistening. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow and firm, thumb swiping over the head. Steve hissed, hips bucking, one hand fisting the sheets.
"Fuck, baby-"
You leaned down, kissing him deep, swallowing his moans as you positioned yourself. The head of him nudged your entrance, still slick from before, and you sank down inch by inch, both of you gasping at the stretch. He filled you perfectly, every ridge and vein dragging against your walls, and when you bottomed out, seated fully with him buried deep, the world narrowed to just this: his hands on your hips, your nails digging into his chest, the shared rhythm of your breaths.
"Ride me," he urged, voice gravelly, but his eyes searched yours-checking in, always, even in the haze of lust. You nodded, rolling your hips experimentally, and the friction sent sparks up your spine. He was so deep like this, hitting spots that made your toes curl.
You set a pace, slow at first, savoring the way he watched you-lips parted, brows furrowed in bliss. "Tell me... how's this for studying?" you panted, lifting and dropping, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling the room.
"Best... fucking lesson," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, hands guiding but not controlling. It was give and take, the way your relationship was-him letting you lead when you needed to feel in charge, you melting under his strength when the world got too heavy.
Faster now, the coil building again, your movements turning erratic. Steve sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other hand tangling in your hair as he captured your mouth. It was filthy, all teeth and tongue, his hips snapping up hard enough to jolt you. "Come for me again," he murmured against your lips. "Wanna feel you squeeze me, baby. Please."
The plea undid you. You shattered around him, clenching tight, vision whiting out as pleasure ripped through you. Steve followed seconds later, groaning low and guttural, spilling hot inside you with a final, deep thrust. His forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, bodies slick and trembling.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His hands roamed your back, soothing strokes that grounded you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt of his skin. "Think I passed?" you mumbled, half-asleep already, the exam a distant worry.
Steve laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "With flying colors." He shifted, easing you both down onto the pillows without pulling out yet, content to stay connected. "But if you want, I'll quiz you again tomorrow. No fingers next time. Scout's honor."
You swatted his shoulder, but there was no heat in it. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, stars pricking the sky like promises. Right now, it was just you and Steve, tangled in sheets and each other, the room filled with the scent of vanilla and sex.
The exam was a blur-pencils scratching, questions flowing easy. You walked out feeling light, spotting Steve waiting by the Beamer, a bouquet of daisies in his hand.
"How'd it go?" He pulled you close, ignoring the stares from underclassmen.
"A." You kissed him, long and unhurried. "Thanks to my tutor."
He grinned, opening the door. "Ice cream to celebrate?"
"Always."
i hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it ♡
Authors Note: Heyyy this won the poll I put out yesterday also I think I am going to make this into a series off all of the characters! The Gator one I did has done really well and I appreciate all of the support <3 (P.S. The Joe one is coming soon 🤭)
Warnings: Smut, sex positions, Kinda daddy kink? Steves massive breeding kink because I want his nuggets, soft sex, rough sex, mentions of jealousy and fighting, spanking, praise
Word Count: 500
Missionary: Steve loves being a missionary, I mean, he absolutely loves it. He enjoys being able to see your beautiful face and amazing tits at the same time. He enjoys taking it slow after long nights at work, being able to slowly thrust into you and kiss you at the same time. Your fingers rake down his back, scratching him and making him moan gently into your neck. He also enjoys rough missionary, though, after a bad day or when he has spent the day being the babysitter yet again, and just needs to let out his frustration. He just enjoys being able to look at you and kiss you while burying his dick deep inside of you. It also helps that he enjoys pounding you into the bed, trying to get you pregnant. He had read that lifting your legs higher gets his cum deeper inside of you, so he really tries to get you to do that.
“Fuckkkk baby yeah keep your legs up on my shoulders, gotta get it deep in your pussy babe… Gonna make me a daddy, yeah? You ready for that, mama?” He moans, tossing his head back while he continues to snap his hips into you.
Doggy: Steve isn't the biggest fan of doggy. He doesn't get the joy of seeing your tits bounce of the pleasure on your face that he gives you. Doggy is more of a punishment than anything. After a rough day where you made him jealous or after a fight, makeup sex is usually doggy. He gets to push your face into the bed and use you for his pleasure. He enjoys watching you struggle to get back up on your feet after he's shoved you into the mattress. He also enjoys being able to watch your ass bounce and slap against him. He occasionally will start to spank you and loves how you moan out after a rough slap.
“That's my good girl, taking me so deep, huh?” He slaps at your ass before grabbing your hips and slamming back into you.
Cowgirl: This position is one of the best ones in Steve's opinion. It's perfect, he gets to relax and let you work yourself up and down on his hard cock. Your tits sway in his face, and he leans down and bites at your chest and neck, leaving behind bite marks and hickies. You also get to mark up the side of his neck, which Robin will tease him about the next day at work. Steve doesn't mind, though; it makes him happy knowing his girl gets to work out her frustration and feelings on his dick all while he gets a good show. If he's in a good mood, he’ll even help guide your hips when you start to get tired.
“Here, princess,” He says, taking your hips in his hands, “Lemme help you out here, I know you're getting tired.” You whine for his help and start to move your hips faster again.
Thank you so much for reading <3
Make sure you like, reblog, and follow for more!!!
Message me to be added to my tag list so you can be alerted when I post a new fic.
Thank you so much @uzmacchiato for the beautiful dividers <3
steve and his innocent gf who wants to be put in a headlock when fucking <3
steve’s got you pinned beneath him on the mattress, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand gripping the meat of your thigh so he can keep your leg hooked high around his waist. he’s been fucking you slow, deliberately slow, for what feels like forever, dragging the thick length of him out until just the tip nudges inside, then sliding back in so deep your breath hitches every single time.
“ohh baby,” he murmurs, “already so fucking gone and m’barely even trying”
you whine, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. he chuckles and rolls his hips in a lazy circle that makes your eyes flutter.
“a-ah stevieee!”
“uh-uh.” he dips his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you don’t get to whine my name like that unless you’re gonna use your words. c’mon, honey. tell me what you want. you can do that, right? or is that pretty little head too full of cock to think straight?”
heat floods your face. he knows exactly what he’s doing, has known since the second you started squirming harder every time his bicep flexed beside your cheek.
you swallow, “i… i want-”
he pulls out almost all the way again, waits. lets the silence stretch until you’re clenching around nothing.
“want what?” he prompts, voice dripping mock sweetness. “gotta say it, sweetheart. i’m not a mind reader. well-” another slow, torturous slide back inside, “i guess i am when it comes to this greedy little cunt, huh? she’s doing all the talking for you.”
your thighs tremble. you can feel how wet you are, can hear it every time he fucks back in. embarrassing. but you’re way past caring.
“headlock,” you finally breathe. “wan’ you to-put me in a headlock. please.”
steve stills for half a second. then a filthy grin spreads across his face.
“ohhh, baby.” he sounds delighted. “you’re so fucking cute when you’re this dumb for me.”
he doesn’t tease you about it, not with words, anyway. instead he shifts his weight, plants one knee deeper into the mattress so he can get the angle right, then slides his thick forearm under the back of your neck.
“like this?” he asks, voice deceptively gentle as he starts fucking you again, deeper now, harder, using the new leverage to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. “this what my sweet little dummy wanted?”
you nod frantically. can’t speak. don’t need to. your mouth drops open on a silent moan.
he hums, pleased. “yeah, i thought so. look at you, y’drooling. can’t even keep that pretty mouth closed anymore.”
the crook of his elbow tightens, just enough, cradling your head, forcing your neck to arch so you’re looking right up at him. his bicep bulges against the side of your face; you can smell the clean sweat and the faint cedar of his cologne. it’s overwhelming. you’re surrounded by him, inside you, around you, above you.
“you like this huh? pretty lil’ cunt loves it?” he groans, pace picking up, hips snapping harder. wet, filthy sounds fill the room. “love being my stupid little thing. can’t think, can’t talk-just gotta take it. just gotta let me rearrange that tight cunt while i hold you exactly where i want you.”
you whimper. try to say his name. it comes out garbled. “st-ohh-st-t-ohh-fu-fu-mmhmphh”
“shhh, i know, baby. i know.” he leans down, lips brushing your forehead, such a sweet contrast to the way he’s pounding into you now. “you don’t have to talk. you’re doing so good just laying there and letting me fuck you stupid. that’s all you’re good for right now, huh? my perfect little cockdrunk girl.”
the pressure of his arm increases, just a fraction. your vision blurs at the edges, pleasure spiking so sharp it almost hurts. you’re shaking. clenching. so close.
“gonna cum f’me?” he coos, voice wrecked and mocking at the same time. “gonna soak my cock while i’ve got you all locked up like this? yeah you are. i can feel it. this pussy’s begging for it. c’mon give it to me. let me feel how dumb stevie makes you.”
you break with a sob, back bowing, thighs locking around him as you come so hard your ears ring. he doesn’t let up, keeps the headlock firm, keeps fucking you through it with long, punishing strokes until he’s growling low in his throat, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a muttered string of filth you can barely process.
when he finally eases his arm away, he doesn’t pull out right away. just stays there, heavy and warm on top of you, pressing soft kisses along your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“good girl, y’did so good,” he whispers, all honey again. “took me so well.”
you’re still floating. still can’t quite string words together.
cw: makeout, spitting, thigh riding, praise, mean!steve if u squint!
steve is a messy kisser.
intentional, but sloppy.
his fingers threaded through your hair, tugging softly to lull your head back. granting him access earns a groan from him, his cock threatening to pulse out of his jeans, licking into your mouth. he earns soft moans from you, his grip on your hair more desperate. primal.
"c'mere," he breathes, "open."
you oblige, your tongue limply falling between parted lips, waiting for him to play with it. he squeezes your cheeks gently, barely brushing noses as he pulls back from you. he’s cocky tonight, and you know it. he knows how bad you need him.
his face goes mean-serious-pulling back just enough to spit in your mouth. his fingers ghost your flesh, dragging upwards from your knee, softly raking his nails along the inside of your thigh.
you clench around nothing, squirming as his tongue softly strokes against yours, collecting the saliva he’s deposited, feeling it travel between your tongues. his hand moves to hold your jaw, balancing it as he squeezes gently, holding you in place.
you’ve never heard the noises he’s making come out of him before.
his knee bumps between your legs, a silent invitation that you graciously accept. caged beneath him, he holds firm on your face, slowly nudging his knee against your core. mouth forced open, all you can do is sigh, though it forces itself out as a whimper.
“pretty baby.” he coos, barely audible. “such a pretty baby.” he continues, almost mockingly. his words send your brain into a frenzy, dizzied with lust as you attempt to push yourself down onto his thigh.
“this what you want?” he groans into your mouth, lifting his knee up firmly, knocking the head of it into your clit.
“fuck-!” you cry, everything clenching at once. you hear his chuckle as he moves his lips to the shell of your ear, humming softly. “like this?” he asks, large hands dragging down your side, resting firmly on your hips.
“steve-” you try, but it’s too late. the couch cushion envelops you deeper as he presses onto you, dragging your clothed pussy up and down his thigh.
“so fuckin’ desperate.” he manages, though it expels from him out as a strangled moan.
“please-” you beg, his hands quickening their pace. you feel helpless-the agonizing torture of your pulsing clit dragging along the firm denim, clinging to his muscles buried beneath.
“s’okay, sweetheart. know you’re close.” he replies, pulling back to look at you. when he does, his lips are glossy, pupils blown wide at the sight of you. you’re not sure how it’s humanly possible to move you at the speed he is right now, but it’s steve. it’s like he was built for you.
you fall limp beneath him, your breathing staggered. “there you go, honey. let go.” he demands, and like clockwork, you unravel beneath him. your hands fly upwards, desperately clawing at his biceps, those of which are pulsed and tight, using all of his strength to make sure you come for him.
“steve-!” you cry, feeling your panties soak, the stickiness of your release soothing your puffy clit. steve envelops you in his arms, pulling you upwards into his lap, cradling you as he presses soft-quick kisses to your lips.
“did so good,” he coos, “missed me today, huh?” he grins, brushing the strands of hair that cling to your face. you nod dumbly, a soft grin and exhale expelling from you. “always do,” you reply, his fingers searching for yours before intertwining them.
“never gonna have to miss me. always yours.” he replies, sure. certain. “you’re never leavin’ me, and i’m never leavin’ you. you hear me?” he continues, and you know he’s serious.
“never.” you reply with a grin.
he mirrors your expression, swooping you up to carry you upstairs.“good.”
summary: steve wakes you slow and sweet, easing you out of sleep with careful hands and a lot of praise until a soft morning turns into something much filthier.
cw: smut, consensual somnophilia, established relationship, prior discussion/consent, fingering, oral (f rec.), protected piv sex, dirty talk, praise, sleepy sex
word count: 2k
mdni 18+
You’re barely awake when you first feel him.
Not enough to open your eyes. Not enough to move. Just enough to drift somewhere close to the surface, caught between sleep and warmth and the heavy comfort of your bed. Your cheek is pressed into Steve’s pillow, his scent wrapped around you, his arm banded over your waist from where he’d fallen asleep behind you hours ago.
For a second, all you know is warmth.
Warmth at your back from his chest. Warmth at your stomach where his palm is spread wide and lazy. Warmth between your thighs when something nudges there, slow and careful, like he’s not trying to wake you all at once.
Then his mouth brushes the back of your shoulder.
Soft. Barely there.
Another kiss follows, lower this time, to the warm skin between your shoulder blades where your tank top has slipped down. His breath fans over you, and you make a tiny sound without meaning to, more sigh than anything, body instinctively arching back into him.
That gets a quiet reaction out of him.
“There she is” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and something lower. His hand smooths over your stomach once, soothing. “Hi, baby.”
You hum, still half-gone, lashes fluttering but not opening.
He doesn’t rush.
That’s the thing about Steve—always a little more careful than he needs to be, especially with you. Especially with something like this. The two of you had talked about it in whispers and embarrassed little laughs, your face hot against his chest while you admitted that the idea of waking up to him touching you sounded insanely hot. He’d gone pink all the way to his ears, then immediately started asking questions in that sweet, serious way he does when he wants to get something right.
What are you okay with? What’s off limits? Do you want me to wake you up first? What if you change your mind?
You’d answered all of them. Reassured him through all of them. Told him yes, you wanted this. Yes, you trusted him. Yes, he could wake you up slow and sweet and make you feel good. And yes—if he asked, you’d answer. If you weren’t into it, everything stopped. No hesitation.
Now, in the dark gray quiet of early morning, he remembers all of it.
His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shorts. He pauses there, palm cupping your hip.
“Wanna keep going, honey?” he asks quietly against your neck. “You can tell me no.”
Your brain is syrup-slow, but you manage a sleepy little “Mm-hm.”
His fingers still.
“Need words, baby.”
You swallow, lips parting against the pillow. “Yes” you whisper. “Please.”
The sound he makes is low and wrecked, like that one word went straight through him.
“Yeah?” His nose nudges behind your ear. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” A kiss to your shoulder. “Good girl.”
The praise sends a warm pulse through you that lands right between your legs. You shift against the mattress, body growing heavier and lighter all at once, and Steve exhales shakily behind you.
His fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts and panties together, easing them down just enough to get his hand where he wants it. He doesn’t tug them off all the way. Just parts you open with maddening patience, fingertips dragging through wetness that’s already there.
“Oh, baby” he breathes.
You whine softly into the pillow.
“So wet already.” His voice is hushed, almost awed. “Was this what you were dreaming about?”
You don’t know if it was, but it is now.
His fingers move in slow circles, just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. You’re still floating, eyelids heavy, trapped in that sweet dazed state where everything feels ten times more intense. Every little touch sparks. Every graze of his callused fingertips makes your breath catch.
Steve kisses the back of your neck, your shoulder, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder again.
“Still okay?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” It comes out shaky this time.
He rewards you with more pressure, two fingers circling your clit slowly, deliberately, until your hips start rocking back on instinct. He lets you. Just keeps you open with one hand and plays with you with the other, easing you into it until you’re fully awake in the best way—boneless, flushed, dripping, and aching.
“That’s it” he whispers. “That’s my girl.”
You finally pry your eyes open, blinking into the dim light spilling in around the curtains. Steve’s hand is between your legs. His face is tucked against the back of your shoulder, messy hair falling into his eyes, mouth pink and swollen from sleep. When he notices you looking, he leans up enough for you to see the question on his face.
“You good?”
You nod, then remember how he is. “Yes. More than good.”
The smile he gives you is ruined by lust in the prettiest way.
“Yeah? You want more?”
“So bad.”
He kisses you then, awkward only because of the angle, mouth brushing the corner of your jaw before he shifts you gently onto your back. He takes his time, helping you out of your shorts and panties the rest of the way, pushing your tank top up over your stomach. You’re warm and sleepy and open beneath him, and Steve just… looks.
Like he can’t help it.
Like he’s trying to memorize you.
“You’re so pretty like this” he says, voice low. “All sleepy and needy for me.”
You flush and reach for him, but he catches your wrist gently and kisses your palm.
“Let me take care of you first.”
His head disappears beneath the blanket, and your breath catches.
“Steve—”
Then his mouth is on you.
You jolt, hand flying into his hair on instinct, a broken moan spilling out before you can stop it. He groans into you at the sound, the vibration making your thighs squeeze around his head. He spreads them back open with his hands and goes right back to it, licking into you slow and deep before flattening his tongue over your clit.
“Oh my god” you gasp.
He knows exactly what he’s doing—patient where it counts, mean where it matters. Just enough suction to make your hips buck. Just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge without letting you tip too fast. Every time you squirm, he holds you there and gives you another long drag of his tongue that has your back arching off the mattress.
“That’s it” he murmurs against you. “C’mon, baby. Let go.”
Your body is still soft with sleep, nerves lit up and over-sensitive, and it doesn’t take long. Not with Steve between your thighs like he has all morning and all the patience in the world. Not with his hands gripping your thighs, his voice warm and encouraging, his tongue flicking just right.
You come with a helpless cry, legs shaking around him.
He doesn’t stop until you’re whining.
Only then does he emerge, hair a mess, mouth shining, eyes dark and pretty and completely gone for you.
“Hi” he says, breathless.
You laugh weakly, still trembling. “Hi.”
He crawls up your body and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck automatically, pulling him close, and he melts into it for a second like he always does. Like no matter how worked up he is, he still needs that softness too.
You feel how hard he is when he settles between your thighs.
“You still want—” He cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Still with me?”
You cup his face. “Yes. I want you.”
He closes his eyes for a second like that does something to him.
“Condom’s in the drawer” you whisper.
He reaches over without taking his eyes off you, fumbling one out and rolling it on with a little impatient huff that almost makes you smile again. But then he lines himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your wetness, and all the teasing leaves the room.
“Look at me, baby.”
You do.
“Tell me if anything feels off.”
“I will.”
He kisses you once. “Good.”
Then he pushes in.
The stretch hits both of you at once. You with a soft gasp Steve with a broken groan into your mouth. He stills immediately, forehead dropping to yours, giving you a second to adjust even though you’re already reaching for more.
“Okay?” he breathes.
“Yeah” you whisper. “Move, please.”
He does.
Slow at first. Deep enough to make your eyes flutter shut again. Your legs wrap around his waist and he sinks into you like he was made to, every thrust measured but wrecking, his mouth all over your face, your jaw, your throat. He keeps one hand laced with yours against the pillow, the other braced by your head until the rhythm starts to undo him.
Then it gets harder.
Not rough. Never rough without warning but needier. Hungrier.
His breaths turn uneven. His hips lose some of that careful control. Every thrust lands deeper, making the headboard tap softly against the wall and your mouth fall open on little broken sounds you can’t hold back.
“Steve” you moan.
“I know, baby, I know.” He kisses you sloppy and sweet. “You feel so fucking good.”
You drag your nails down his back and he shudders.
“Been wanting this” he admits against your mouth. “Wanted to do this exactly how you said. Wake you up all sweet. Make you feel good.”
“You are” you whisper.
“Yeah?” His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. “Need you to come one more time for me.”
Your whole body jerks.
“Can you do that?” he murmurs. “Come on my cock like a good girl?”
The praise turns your bones to water. You nod frantically, already close, and Steve’s face goes wrecked.
“That’s it. Knew you could.”
His fingers work you in quick, tight circles while he keeps thrusting, the rhythm going sloppy now, desperate. You’re not going to last. He knows it. You know it. The pressure builds fast and hot, pulling tight in your belly until you can barely breathe around it.
“I’m close” you gasp.
“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Me too. Let go, baby.”
That’s all it takes.
You come hard, crying out his name, body clenching around him in pulsing waves. Steve groans and thrusts through it twice, maybe three times, then he’s there too buried deep, shaking above you, mouth open against your throat as the orgasm rips through him.
For a few seconds, neither of you can do anything but breathe.
Then Steve kisses your shoulder and your cheek and your mouth in no particular order, all soft and shaky and fond.
“You okay?” he asks, still catching his breath.
You smile, lazy and completely spent. “More than okay.”
He laughs quietly, relief all over his face. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You brush his hair off his forehead. “That was really hot.”
His whole expression goes bashful in the cutest way, which would be funny if he weren’t still inside you.
“Okay, cool” he mumbles, making you laugh. “Good. I was trying to be cool.”
“You were not cool” you tell him.
He grins. “No?”
“You were sweet.” You kiss him once. “And very, very hot.”
“That’s better.”
He pulls out carefully, deals with the condom, then comes right back to bed and tucks himself around you like he belongs there. One arm under your pillow, one over your waist, nose tucked into your hair.
You’re almost asleep again when he murmurs, “Thanks for trusting me.”
Your chest goes warm.
You turn enough to find his hand and squeeze it. “Thanks for listening.”
Steve kisses the back of your neck, lingering there.
“Anytime, baby.”
And with him wrapped around you, morning light still soft beyond the curtains, you drift back to sleep smiling.
a/n: hii babies! sorry this is being posted so late, i wasn’t able to sit down and edit until later tonight. i have soo many requests in my inbox right now, so that’s what i’ll be working on over the next couple days and hopefully i can get a few more out for you soon!! thank you for being patient with me, love you all sm 🫶🏻
cw. miscommunication trope, angst, established relationship, hurt-comfort, fem! pronouns, sfw. kissing, suggestiveness towards the end, happy ending.
synopsis. overworked and mind packed with a million things to get done everyday, steve forgets to take you on your pre-planned valentines day date because he took a double-pay shift at the radio station.
"steve, again?"
your voice comes out soft and worried as you approach your boyfriend, who's currently asleep on the couch because it was easier to get to than your shared bedroom. you know he didn't mean to, either. the dinner you'd made him is on the coffee table, untouched, his shoes are still on, and half his limbs are sliding off the cushions.
you wanted to eat dinner with him, but it's impossible when he get home so much later than you. he had to take it out of the fridge where you left it because you went to bed before he got home. and he'd been so tired by the time he did that he didn't even get to eat his food, change, or come into bed with you.
this has been happening for a while now. ever since he got that new job at the radio station.
it's not the job itself that's the problem, it's the fact that he already has one. back at family TV. and college. with so many things to handle, he hardly has any time to unwind or spend time with you. and you don't know why he's doing all this either, but he insists that he can handle it.
it's not true.
you walk forward and gently shake his shoulder to get him awake. you both have classes at nine, and he hasn't changed, showered, or had breakfast. you feel bad waking him up when he clearly needs the sleep, but he can't miss any more classes or he'll be on academic probation. he startles awake, sitting up and squinting at you. "jesus," he rubs his eyes to focus his vision, then pushes his wavy hair off his forehead. "hey. i'm home."
you cross your arms and peer down at him, letting out a sigh when he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your stomach. "you said you'd be home by eight, y'know. what time did you get here last night?"
he groans and inhales your scent. "dunno, maybe ten. the radio station ran late cause of valentines promos. they're doing this love song marathon thing this whole week."
"isn't it a bit early for that?" you say quietly, your frustrations melting away as he nudges your shirt up with his nose to expose a sliver of bare skin. he presses open mouthed kisses against your belly in between his response; "yeah, well, people are insane."
you could forgive him completely right now with how cute he's being if you weren't so concerned about him. leaning forward, you begin to tug his vest off his shoulders to put it on the back of the couch. he lets you, head under your shirt as you get him out of his work clothes. he has that distinct acrid, plasticky scent of the Family Tv store lingering on him. "did you even shower last night?"
"no, crashed right when i got home." he hums. "got the scent of success on me, baby." he punctuates his bad joke with a gentle nip to your skin.
you don't smile back at him, gently coaxing his face off your stomach and making him look at you straight on. "steven."
he frowns. "uh oh. government name."
"you have two jobs, classes, and you barely sleep."
"baby, i do sleep,you just saw me-"
"no, you come home and pass out because you can't keep your head up anymore. you don't shower before, or eat, or greet me. you don't even take any time for yourself. and then you get a few hours in before you're back up and working or at school."
he sighs, watching you thoughtfully. he knows you're right. at this rate, he'll get high blood pressure in his early twenties because he's working himself to the bone. he catches your hand as you brush your thumb under his eye, and he traces the inside of your skin absentmindedly. "it's temporary, you know that right?" you open your mouth to argue, but he speaks before you can. "and i know i said that already, i've been saying it since october, but i mean it. i'm gonna quit family video real soon."
you roll your eyes at him. " 'soon' is not a date, y'know. and i'm serious. it feels like you're never even around anymore."
he gives you a look and leans forward. "i'm here right now, honey." his eyes are soft and tired, but earnest. as he tugs you to sit on his knee, you don't protest. you hate arguing with him, but you're getting more and more worried about his health as he keeps overworking himself. you just want him to rest. to choose sleep. to choose you. not this.
"you promised valentine's would be different," you say quietly, to which he responds with a quick nod. "it will be."
"you're not going to pick up extra shifts this time?"
"no. promise. i won't even stop by the station that day. valentine's is all about you."
you look at him skeptically, but hook your arms around him either way. "you remember the reservation?"
"you know i do" he says quickly. "seven thirty at that italian place that's always crowded to hell." he reaches for your waist, pulling you closer so your faces are right in front of each other. you don't catch any indication of a lie in his face. just love and tenderness. "i remember."
you exhale and nod slowly. "okay. i trust you."
steve presses his forehead lightly against yours, arms wrapping around you tightly. "and i'll come back here to pick you up. i know you hate the bus," he murmurs.
you nod, "yeah, 's just crowded and loud, that's all. but i don't mind it. some guy tried to sit too close to me yesterday."
steve's grip on you tightens. "is that so?"
you sigh. "he just kept leaning over, so i moved."
"i hate that," he says quietly. "you shouldn't have to deal with that." his expression is thoughtful for a moment, but you miss it, too busy brushing your thumb over the crease between his brows. then you stand up. you had to, eventually. neither of you can afford being late to class. but when you glance back at him, he's still lost in thought, staring right up at you.
his mind is all caught up on too many things at once again.
----
valentines day starts off well. you wake up before your alarm because you were too excited to sleep thoroughly. the room is still orangey with early morning light, and you just lie there happily, staring at the ceiling. today, you have your date with steve.
you booked the reservation for the fancy restaurant all the way back in november. you've been looking forward to it every time steve comes home too tired to even kiss you properly before collapsing into bed.
you roll over.
but he's not there. you frown and push up on your elbow, feeling his side o the bed. it's cold, and you're a little upset he left presumably a long time ago without waking you up to say goodbye, but you have faith in him. he's probably just gone off to get some early studying done or find a phonebooth to make sure he's not still scheduled for work. you trust him. steve's not the one to break a promise.
you swallow back the feeling of unease inside you and go about your day.
everything feels longer than it needs to be. you watch people pass little paper valentines to each other in your classes and observe couples hugging, kissing, and exchanging gifts. you wish that were you and steve right now.
you leave campus early to get ready. you take the bus home, gripping the metal pole when it jerks to a stop, and ignore the way someone stands a little too close behind you. you brush it off. tonight is supposed to be perfect. it's your first time spending a long night with steve with nothing else on your mind in a long while.
you think about how steve’s jaw clenched the last time you mentioned that.
once you're ready, you sit on the edge of the bed and open your bedside drawer, taking out the watch box you tucked at the back. you bought it for him with the money you'd been saving, hiding, in an envelope for months. he'd pointed it out on a mall date the two on you had went on a few months ago. he'd said; "that's a nice watch," giving it a starry eyed look for a moment before walking off. you knew he'd like it, but neither of you had the pocket money for it at the time. it'd make him really happy if you showed him you remembered such a little thing he'd taken interest in.
you glance at the clock. he should be home by now, surely. in fact, he should've been here a half hour ago. you'd let it slide because you took extra time to get ready, but it's getting a little concerning at this point.
you know he's not at the restaurant waiting for you, because he'd said he was going to come pick you up from here. he'd been pretty uncomfortable about you riding the bus, so where is steve?
you leave the room and sit on the arm of the couch, bouncing your knee while listening for footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment. every muffled sound makes your head snap up. but it never stops at the door. at one point, you even stand up and walk to the window to see if he's coming up to the apartment complex from the street. you see cars passing and couples walking by laughing and bundled up against the cold. more flowers exchanged. and chocolates, and teddy bears.
"fuck it." you walk back to the phone attached to your wall in the kitchen and dial the station. "no. he couldn't be at work." you whisper to yourself repeatedly. he can't have a shift right now. the phone rings and rings, then someone answers with music playing faintly in the background.
"WQSK! you're live on-"
"hi," you cut in quickly, wincing at the way your voice comes out so pitchy. "is uh, is steve there? steve harrington."
"yeah! hang on a second," the voice says cheerily, putting the phone down a second to go get him. so he is there. steve's working while you're supposed to be more than halfway to the restaurant by now. you have to wait an excruciatingly long time for him to pick up the phone, and you have to hold back from throwing up from the suspense.
"hello?"
steve's voice.
"steve."
"hey, honey!" he exhales deeply. he sounds winded and distracted. again, he's scatterbrained. you must be the last thing on his mind right now. "what's up?"
...what's up?
you must be going crazy. you pause for a minute, then you speak slowly. "it's seven fifteen."
he's clearly wracking his brain to figure out what you mean by that, why you called him to tell him the time. then slowly, it clicks. you have a date tonight at seven thirty, and he's here working while you're calling him from home, probably waiting for him in a pretty outfit and your shoes on.
"shit." he fidgets. "baby, i... i totally- fuck, i thought it was tomorrow. i've been-"
"it's valentines day today, steve."
he hesitates again, and you hear nothing from his end of the line but his little puffs of breath and someone calling his name. a phone is ringing off the hook. "we... we're just slammed tonight." he says, words tumbling over each other as he rushes to explain why he stood you up so you don't end up hating him forever. “it’s double pay and the lines won’t stop lighting up and i just... i lost track of the date baby, i swear, i didn’t mean to.”
"you forgot." you say quieter than you expect, your voice nearly breaking as you fight back tears. you look down at your pretty dress and the watch box sitting there waiting for him. all gone to waste.
“i didn’t forget you,” he says immediately. “i’ve had this shift on my mind for weeks and i just got mixed up, im so sorry.”
for weeks.
you close your eyes. “we booked this in november.”
“i know, i know, i’m sorry, i can leave the station in a little bit, and we can have our own little date at home, okay?”
“can you?” you ask softly. "it doesn't even work like that, steve. you forgot about our date. and me."
he hesitates just for a second, and that's enough for you to hear the chaos once more, phones, music, pressure, and the lack of certainty in him. he knows he's needed there, at the radio station. he already committed to work for the night, not you, as usual.
“…i can try,” he says. somehow, that hurts worse than if he’d just said no. he's not taking accountability, he's trying to appease you with his words. he'll try, but he knows there's no way for him to come home. but the thought counts, right?
you swallow hard. “don’t.”
“what?”
“don’t try. you clearly need to be there.”
“baby, please-”
“it’s fine.” you hang up quickly before you end up sobbing your eyes out. the silence after is even worse. you stand there for a second, still holding the receiver, listening to the empty dial tone hum in your ear. then you slowly place it back in the cradle. without even looking at the clock, you know your reservation is gone by now. a night that was meant to be perfect gone to waste because steve clearly cares more about money and work than making you happy.
after changing out of your dress and washing your face, you sit on the couch on your pjs and flip through valentines specials on the tv - the cheesy rom coms and dramas practically poking fun at you.
the watch box is still there. unopened. accusing.
you just sit there, replaying the phone call in your head. from the noise behind him, to how quickly he explained his thoughtlessness by mentioning the double pay. the way he hesitated after suggesting he could leave. this whole night feels like one big slap in the face to you.
what hurts you the most though, is that he said he's had that shift on his mind for weeks. meanwhile you’ve been counting down to tonight because it was supposed to be special. but here you are, pushed behind something else again. never in the forefront of his mind.
later in the night, you finally hear his footsteps in the hall and his keys scraping the lock. once the door opens, steve steps inside with wind-swept hair, looking exhausted from the events of his long day. then he sees you on the couch, eyes puffy and red from the crying you'd been doing, with no one to comfort you but yourself.
steve's face falls. "oh baby..." he drops his bag and walks over to you after shutting the door carefully, kneeling between your legs as you sit on the couch and avoid eye contact. he sighs and carefully rubs your thighs up and down with his large hands, face falling the longer he sees how hurt you are. "im so sorry. God, i'm so sorry."
you nod once, sniffling and refusing to look at him. he continues speaking. "i got everything mixed up. i've been thinking about that shift because it pays so much, and-"
"steve, i don't care about money. stop talking about money, please."
he sighs softly and bows his head. "it's something we need though, honey."
you shake your head slowly, looking down at the pitiful state he's in right now. you hold back your second round of tears for the night because you want to get your point across and not be emotional and forget what you plan to say. if you don't, this'll keep happening. he'll keep putting his work over you and miss more dates and eventually he won't have a girlfriend to come back to anymore he keeps putting you on the back burner. he needs to know that. "do you need money more than me?"
steve lifts his head immediately. "no. no, that's not what i'm saying."
"so what is it then?" you demand, voice raising slightly. as expected, he can't respond to you immediately because he can't come up with anything that won't make him sound worse. you laugh bitterly. "i sat here for hours, waiting for you. i got ready, waited, and called the station and had to ask a stranger if my boyfriend remembered me."
"baby of course i do." he squeezes your thighs again, looking up into your eyes and caressing your body gently. "everything i do is for you. i just screwed up and i'm trying to fix it... what do you need from me? i can't turn back time."
"i need you to prioritize me."
steve's eyes glaze a bit and go glossy from unshed tears. he let you down so badly you think he's putting work over you when that's not the case at all. he tries to blink them away and takes your face in his hands, palms warm and slightly shaky. "i'm trying to fix things."
"what things?"
"you taking the bus, dealing with creeps. the peeling paint on the walls. you deserve more than this."
you sniffle and press your face into his hands, taking his wrists into your palms and squeezing softly. "all i need is you." you mumble softly, and he sighs softly, reaching forward to give you a tight hug. you accept it, burying your face into his neck and taking time to return to a calm before lightly pulling away.
standing up slowly, you retrieve the watch box you'd set away earlier, walking back to him and placing it in his hands before returning to your spot on the couch. "what's this?" he asks quietly.
you watch him turn the box over in his hands and inspect it, feeling the weight in his hands. "i was going to give it to you at dinner."
his brows knit together but he slowly opens the box, watching the silver catch the warm lighting of the apartment. the exact one he’d stared at in the mall window months ago. he looks between the watch and you, not knowing where to focus. "...you bought this?"
"i've been saving up for it cause i knew you'd like it," you say softly, watching his throat bob as he swallows thickly. right after, he wipes away more tears from his flushed cheeks. he feels more and more awful the longer he thinks about how he let you down, whereas you've been waiting all night to give him this huge gift.
"i wanted tonight to be special," you say, "i s-see you working so hard, and i'm so proud of you... i just-" your words dissolve into sobbing as you break down. "i just wanted you to be there tonight."
steve is crying harder now too, closes the box gently, and sets it down on the table. he draws you into his arms once more and crushes you in his embrace, murmuring into your hair. "i'm so sorry, honey... i don't care about anything in the whole world more than i care about you, i swear."
steve's rough thumbs drag under your eyes, catching tears that won’t stop falling, while his own drip down and mix with yours because he’s so close. distance is what caused this, and he's not risking even an inch of it now. "i do it all for you. everything i save is for you and our future."
"you mean it?" you say softly, and he nods eagerly, squeezing your face in his hands.
he nods eagerly. "i've only been taking this many shifts because i've been saving for your car.
the words don’t register at first. "…my what?"
"i've been putting money aside for months now," he confesses, "from family video, the station, the extra shifts.... i've been keeping track of it all to get you a nice car."
you stare at him. "you… you've been saving for a car?"
"your car," he corrects quietly. "so you don't have to take the bus, deal with creeps leaning over you or stand in the cold waiting for it." he sucks in a breath and strokes your warm face, sounding a little congested from crying. "it'll help me rest easier knowing you'll be more safe getting home."
you sniffle and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. you must look a mess right now, you both do, but you don't care anymore. it makes sense now. the secrecy and his determination to work as much as possible, it was all for you. of course it was for you. he hadn't been lying when he told you you were his number one priority, and you feel silly for thinking otherwise. even if he let you down tonight.
"i was going to surprise you," he goes on quietly, "i was going to take you there in a couple weeks when i had enough and just... just hand you the keys and tell you you never have to ride that stupid bus again."
tears spill over both your faces again, fresh and warm. "i... i got so caught up trying to get you that stupid car that i forgot all about actually showing up for you. i thought... if i just pushed myself harder and sacrificed a little more sleep for a few more nights, it'd be worth it 'cause you'd be happy and safe and i'd finally feel like i was doing something right with you." he rambles. "i wanted to prove i could take care of you."
you whisper his name, holding him against you. and letting him go on without interrupting. it takes quite a lot for steve to get vulnerable, even with you, and here he is, crying, and looking sick to his stomach for hurting you and standing you up. you know he's sincere; he means his apology with every fiber in him. and part of you is glad this all happened, because now everything is laid out bare between both of you. no more secrets.
"but i messed up," he says, shaking his head. "i got tunnel vision and made it about the car and the money. i forgot the actual point was you."
"i'm so in love with you it makes me stupid sometimes," he continues the end of his speech hoarsely. "but i hope you can find it in you to forgive my dumbass." he gives you a wobbly smile, trying not to cry any more.
you let out a quiet "oh steve," before dragging him forward and pulling him on top of you, kissing him deeply. it's soft, desperate and a little too wet from the tears all over both your faces, but much needed. you sigh against his mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair while his hands frame your face as though you might slip away if he doesn't hold you steady against him. "no more secrets," he whispers against your mouth, and you nod fervently back, pressing a few more pecks to his lips as he draws back slowly, hovering over you.
he looks over at the kitchen slowly, then back at you. "stay here for a little bit, okay?"
"…why?"
"i'm gonna make you the best damn three-course meal you've ever seen, that's why. and no arguing with me. appetizer, main course, dessert. ten times better than that overpriced place with the red curtains. we're having our cute little date no matter what."
you giggle. "steve, you can barely make rice. or even eggs. you burn anything you put on the stove."
he gives you a mock gasp of outrage. "rude! i'll have you know i can use the stove perfectly fine."
despite everything, you’re smiling now.
really smiling. he leans down and kisses you again. "stay here and look pretty for me. pretend you just got picked up at seven-thirty and your boyfriend didn’t have a temporary lapse in brain function."
you grin and catch his wrist before he can walk away. "hold up! i'm helping."
steve groans. "baby, that defeats the purpose of the whole thing." he shakes his head when he sees the stubborn look on your face. "ugh, fine. but i'm in charge."
you lean up and smooch him, hands sliding around his body. "we'll see about that," you murmur against his lips.
he grins into the kiss and pushes you back into the couch, moaning softly into your mouth and rolling his tongue over yours sloppily, soft slurping sounds resounding between the two of you. he grunts and squeezes your body gently, rolling his hips between your thighs so you can feel how much you've worked him up.
you moan softly. "you're getting distracted, chef harrington-"
"i want a taste of you instead, mrs. harrington."
see more in my stranger things masterlist
see more in my main masterlist
keep this fic alive by reblogging it and commenting if you loved it!
