violet

22 x

[aphantasias]

my silly breakdown of the bellboy scene + the build up to it! specifically requested by my lovely mutual @mybloodstream-caffeine <3

[sephirthoughts]

[barbie-verse]

heated rivalry twitter (6/?) svetlana's tired of ilya's shit

[feral-peacock]

Shout out to Ilya Rozanov for not letting his bisexuality get in the way of being a boob man.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 38

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 37 | Series Masterlist | Part 39

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.5k

Chapter Summary: You go back to the Red Room.

Chapter Warnings: Reference to attack/assault, self-defense lessons, inner turmoil, possessive behavior, world building, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stared at the entrance of the Red Room, a strange sensation settling in your bones. Ray brought you there to get away from Bucky for a night, and that hadn’t stopped him from showing up early in the morning just to see you. You could’ve made a scene or shut him out, but you let him in. You let him hold you while you slept. In hindsight, you let him do a lot of things, didn’t you?

And the Red Room was where he revealed the truth about you and his mother.

You closed your eyes. It seemed like a lifetime ago when in reality it was days. Everything moved fast in his world. You were barely keeping up.

“Hey.” Bucky squeezed your hand. He held it the entire drive over and, shockingly, behaved himself. Maybe he was being considerate since you felt bad for Addison. “You ready to go in?”

“Yeah.” You managed a smile when he helped you out of the car and grabbed your workout bag. Were you ever going to get used to having such nice things? “You really won’t let me carry that?”

He paused with an offended stare. “What kind of future husband would I be if I made you carry this?” he asked, shooting Ray and Curtis a look that told them not to offer.

You shook your head. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that I can still carry my purse.”

Bucky chuckled and slid an arm around your waist, guiding you inside. Having Ray and Curtis flank you reminded you of the danger that surrounded this new life of yours and just how important you were. You had to take it one day at a time, and it was okay to mourn the loss of the normal life you had before all of this. It was only fair.

You were surprised to see Natasha waiting in the lobby in a full black bodysuit, her arms crossed and an aura that said she wasn’t to be messed with. She was truly an intimidating person without trying. She was also kind enough to squeeze in a self-defense lesson since Bucky demanded time to discuss Addison’s wedding.

“Thanks for-”

The redhead held up a hand, effectively cutting Bucky off. “You want to thank someone? Thank Antonia. She’s the one who’s going to make this wedding and reception happen since you decided your time is more important than anyone else’s. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but here we are,” she said, giving you a ghost of a smile. “Antonia will show you the space and provide details if you want to send that to Addison so she can decide the direction she wants to go. After that, she’ll bring you to the private gym.” 

“I really appreciate it, Natasha. You and Antonia,” you said. You couldn’t imagine how much time and money it would take to get everything set with such a short timeframe. 

“I think it goes without saying that you are the only reason I’m doing this,” she said, giving Bucky a pointed look. “An electrical fire. Tragic. Strange timing.”

“Very strange and tragic,” he agreed, smirking just a little. “But I’m glad you’re willing to help my girl.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, not dramatic but lethal. “Wipe that look off your face,” she ordered without raising her voice. “A woman’s wedding venue burning down isn’t an excuse for you to preen.”

Bucky’s smirk faded, but you sensed that it wasn’t out of shame. “I’m not preening. Like you, I’m trying to help.”

“I’m sure you are,” she muttered, her gaze softening a fraction when she looked at you again. 

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to believe so badly that Bucky didn’t have a hand in what happened. Was it burying your head in the sand to think he was innocent? 

A pair of sharp heels clacked quietly along the floor, a woman in a sleek black dress walking toward you with a tablet and folder in hand. She moved with confidence and grace, almost appearing like she ran the place. You wondered what her story was.

“This is Antonia,” Natasha introduced, and you instantly sensed that she fully trusted and respected her. 

“I’ll be showing you the event spaces and answer any questions you have.” She shook your hand, firm but not overpowering. She hardly glanced at the men, not deferring to them or seeking approval. “I understand we’re working with a short timeframe, and I’m sorry about your friend’s original venue, but she is lucky to have a friend who cares so much,” she added.

Your throat tightened. She was just doing her job, but you believed her words. It felt nice to meet someone who didn’t have a hidden agenda or power play in mind. 

“You’re in good hands,” Natasha promised, giving Antonia a nod. “See you when you’re done.”

Antonia gestured for you to follow her, and Bucky pulled you closer. Ray and Curtis wordlessly followed. You wished Addison was there with you, if only to make sure she was okay.

You stopped at a pair of double doors. “Here we are.”

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The terrace before you was like a secret garden suspended above the city. The view made the skyline look gentle and hopeful.

“This is where the ceremony would be,” Antonia explained, stepping aside so you could take it in. “Sunset hits right along that line.” She pointed toward the far edge. “Perfect for photos. Perfect for vows.”

You teared up picturing Addison walking toward Brady, her dress catching in the light, both of their faces soft and full of love.

“The photos Mr. Barnes sent over. Those were what Addison had in mind for her ceremony, correct?”

You nodded. You had forwarded Bucky images from the group chat. There were soft blush florals, warm gold accents, and long tables with candles that looked like starlight. Addison’s dream was romantic, airy, and elegant in your opinion.

She pulled up a tablet and showed you some mock-ups. “These are similar to what she wanted. We can recreate the arch exactly, or adjust it to fit the terrace’s shape.”

The images were stunning, like Addison’s vision only elevated. “She’d love that.”

“I hope so. And if she wants changes, we’ll make them,” she promised, directing you to another set of double doors. “The ballroom is through here.”

The space was also breathtaking. High ceilings with soft and warm lighting, velvet drapes in deep jewel tones. It felt elegant and luxurious, a dream reception space for Addison and Brady.

“There is, of course, a private area for the bridal party, and we’ll swap out the colors to match the theme,” she said, showing you a few more mock-ups. “We’ll make a canopy of lights on the ceiling so it looks like you’re all dancing under the stars.”

The pictures blurred together. There were so many things they could do with the space. It just wasn’t completely neutral territory, as much as you wished it was. It was Natasha’s, yet it was still part of Bucky’s world. Could you let Addison’s wedding happen in a place that shaped a portion of your unraveling? 

Antonia paused, seeming to sense your hesitation. “We can explore whatever options they wish if you don’t think they’d like this.”

Bucky searched your face, not pushing. He watched. He waited. 

You swallowed hard. Addison deserved a venue that felt like her and not a shadow of your own story. But the space was stunning. It was available and safe. Bucky was offering it with no strings, or at least claimed not to. 

Bucky cleared his throat and addressed Antonia. “Give us a minute.” He turned back to you once she stepped away, his hand rubbing your waist. “If this feels wrong for Addison, or you, we’ll walk away. I don’t care how perfect it looks.”

You blinked. He didn’t look upset or offended at your hesitation. He wasn’t pressuring you. The choice was yours.

You were thankful for the generosity yet fearful of what it symbolized. Accepting this was tightening Bucky’s hold on you. Guilt settled in next for even hesitating because this was about your best friend and her day, not you.

“She deserves a beautiful and magical day,” you said, letting him rest his forehead against yours. “And if they can make her dream come true here and it’s what she wants, then we should go for it.”

Bucky’s lips brushed yours. “Then it’s settled until she makes that call.”

You inhaled once Antonia came back over, the knot loosening in your chest. “I appreciate you putting the mock-ups together and showing us the space.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, giving what you imagined was a rare smile. “We’ll give her the perfect wedding.”

That mattered more than you could say.

Bucky stepped closer, watching you instead of the space. “And the rooms? I said so earlier on the phone, but some guests probably need a new place to stay.”

Antonia raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m aware that they’ll need space, which is why we’ve moved things around to reserve the entire guest wing. Private suites for the bridal party, standard rooms for guests, and a dedicated floor for family. Security included.”

You exhaled slowly. You were sure Addison and Brady were worried about arrangements for everyone. “I hope that it wasn't too much trouble to move things.”

“Of course not.” She turned an eye back to Bucky. “Payment will be due even if all rooms aren’t used or they choose to have their wedding elsewhere. We need some compensation for the changes.”

“Of course,” Bucky agreed, his usual confidence shining through his smile since money was no object.

Antonia handed you the folder and her card. “I took the liberty of putting the photos and layout options in here for review, as well as the accommodations. She can decide without stepping foot in the building yet. And she can reach out with any questions or concerns.”

“Thank you so much,” you said. This could work.

Bucky’s hand tightened more on you, proud and possessive, when Antonia led you down a hall. “She’s going to love it,” he assured you, already certain she’d agreed to the place. You had a feeling she’d agree, too.

Natasha stood at the end of the hall, waiting. She smirked when Antonia shook your hand again and pointedly ignored the men. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“She is,” you agreed. Having the mock-ups done that quickly was impressive. 

“Give her the bag, Barnes, and stay out here. I don’t need you trying to distract her.”

Bucky made a face that had you giggling when he handed you the bag. “Don’t break my girl.”

Natasha didn’t blink. “If she breaks, that’s on you.”

You snorted, and Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple before stepping back. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, Kotyonok.”

Natasha jerked her head toward the door. “Come on. Time to change. First lesson starts now.”

“Kick some ass,” Curtis encouraged, which was the only thing he said since you walked in.

You kissed Bucky’s lips to prevent him from saying something scathing to your bodyguard and followed Natasha. You expected to feel dread when you walked through the door, but you felt empowered. You were stepping into a version of yourself that wasn’t just surviving Bucky’s world, but learning to stand in it. 

The gym felt colder than the rest of the hotel. Polished floors and mirrors that wouldn’t allow you to hide. They would reflect every hesitation you made.

“Go change.”

You did so quickly, not wanting to keep her waiting. She didn’t waste time, tossing you a pair of gloves and nodding toward the nearby mat. Her demeanor had changed slightly. Not harsh, but uncompromising. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this today?”

You exhaled, doubt creeping in anyway. “I’m sure.”

She nodded after a moment. “Let’s warm up then.”

She led you through stretches before ordering you to stand. “We’re going to start simple. Blocking. Small things.”

“I don’t know how,” you admitted. 

“I know. That’s why I’m going to show you.”

She guided your arm through a block, slow and controlled. You were fine for a minute. But the moment she stepped behind you to correct your stance, fear slammed into your chest. It wasn’t because of her. You knew she wasn’t a threat, but your body tensed anyway. 

Clark’s hands on you. The way you panicked. The helplessness that took over your senses. How the very air was stolen from your lungs when he knocked you on your back. 

You blinked hard, grounding yourself in the present. Natasha wasn’t Clark, and this wasn’t that night. You weren’t powerless. Not anymore.

But your muscles didn’t quite know the difference yet.

“You’re holding your breath. Don’t,” Natasha said quietly. “That’s how you freeze.”

You exhaled shakily.

“Good.” She carefully moved in front of you. “Again.”

You concentrated, your arm coming up almost instinctively. But you flinched when her hand went too close to your neck. She paused. You expected annoyance or pity, but she merely assessed you. 

“You’re remembering,” she guessed, her voice low. 

“Yeah.” Your throat felt dry. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Never apologize for surviving.”

The memory of Bucky coming home with blood on his hands surfaced as she took you through the next drill, and it made your stomach twist for a different reason. How he beat up John with his friends. How he punched Zemo after his confession. The man who handed you his heart was prone to violence, but never against you. 

He spent so much time terrifying you, cornering you until he had you in his clutches. But he wasn’t trying to scare you anymore. He was attempting to loosen his grip, he really was. He still wanted you with a kind of intensity that felt like standing too close to a fire. 

And now he was waiting for you outside of the gym instead of demanding your full attention. 

The contrast between who he was when you met him and who he was now made your head spin and chest ache. 

“Don’t think about who you were,” Natasha urged, demonstrating a wrist break. “Think about who you’re becoming.”

You really did try, but when she grabbed your wrist, your breath stuttered. The room tilted. Clark’s shadow flickered at the edges of your vision.

She released you instantly. “Hey,” she said, stepping back, palms open. “Look at me.”

Your eyes burned as you did. 

“You’re safe,” she promised, her voice gentle. “You’re not that woman anymore.”

“Then why do I still feel like I am?” you whispered. 

Why were you waiting for the other shoe to drop again?

“Because everything is still fresh. It happened not too long ago, and you’re trying so hard to feel normal,” she pointed out. You couldn’t deny that. “You’re not weak for feeling what you feel. And you’re not alone.”

You sniffled and nodded. You were trying so hard. It was okay if you faltered. 

“You good?” she asked, waiting until you nodded again. “Okay. Again. Slower.”

You didn’t flinch when she took your wrist. At least, not much. That was progress. 

Clark would never touch you again. Bucky wouldn’t hurt you. Whatever happened, you would come out stronger. 

Your arms ached by the end of the session. Your legs trembled, too, and sweat clung to your skin. You weren’t fearless, but you weren’t frozen either. 

“You did better than you think.” Natasha almost smiled when she handed you the water bottle. “It’ll be easier next time.”

You huffed a laugh. You weren’t so sure about that. But you didn’t fall on your ass. 

She watched you sip the water, your heart starting to go back to normal. “There’s something on your mind.”

Your fingers tightened around the bottle. “I’m fine.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, too perceptive. “You’re many things, but fine isn’t one of them right now.”

You exhaled, the truth pressing against your ribs. She wasn’t judging you or prying. She was giving you a door to walk through if you wanted.

So, you did. 

“I slept with him,” you said quietly.

Natasha hardly reacted. Not a flinch, a gasp, nothing. “And?” she asked, her voice even. 

“I made the choice,” you said, lifting your chin. She looked at you like she already knew that. “It wasn’t an accident, and he didn’t pressure me. I chose him. And now I’m living with it.”

She studied you for a long moment and you wondered what she saw. Was it the fear you used to carry? The woman who trembled at the idea of Bucky’s attention? Or the woman sitting here now, tired from training but not broken?

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said, sipping her own water. “But you do owe yourself honesty.”

“I am being honest,” you whispered. Lying to yourself wouldn’t help. “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen or everything is magically okay. I’m just…” You tried to find the right words. “I’m trying to figure out what it means going forward.” 

You thought of how normal the morning felt, a small smile touching your lips. The sweet moment in the shower, cooking breakfast together. Even the day before with the garden, giving you another sanctuary. He wasn’t erasing the path of how he got you, but he was at least trying to make sure the path wasn’t as bumpy. 

Natasha nodded slowly. “Good. Because pretending is how people can get hurt. And you may not have all the answers today.”

You looked down at your hands still shaking slightly from the drills, but more steady now. “I’m not completely afraid of him anymore.”

“That’s not the same as feeling safe with him,” she said quietly.

“I know. I’m not naive, but my body knows he won’t do to me what Clark tried to do,” you said, wiping your forehead. “I know who he is and what he’s capable of. And I still chose him.”

You chose him entirely and you couldn’t take that back. 

Natasha’s expression shifted between respect, concern, and acceptance. “Then live with it. Not as some sort of punishment to yourself but as your choice,” she said, holding out a hand to help you up. “He may have pulled you into his world, but you’re the one who gets to tilt the axis.”

The weight of her words settled on your shoulders but they didn’t weigh you down. “So, you don’t think I messed up?” you asked in a small voice. 

“I think Barnes messed up by how he pursued you and so many other things, but you didn’t. You’re surviving, and I would never judge the choices you make. You have my word,” she answered.

“Thanks,” you whispered. It made you feel better. “For listening, the lessons, the wedding.”

She didn’t have to do any of that. 

“You may not be so thankful when our lessons continue,” she smirked, nudging you. “Now get changed before he barges in here.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” you teased.

The locker room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ventilation system. You peeled off your gloves and set your bag on the bench, your muscles trembling from the lesson. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a strange mix of exhaustion and clarity. God, you thought you were in better shape. 

You were halfway through pulling off your shirt when you heard Natasha’s voice coming from just around the corner. You didn’t even hear the door open. You really needed to be more aware of your surroundings. 

“I need eyes on that venue fire,” she said, low and sharp. “Not his people. Mine.”

Your pulse jumped and you tried not to listen, but you leaned in. Who was she talking to? And why discuss this so close to you?

“Electrical fires don’t usually take out an entire building that fast. And the timing is… convenient,” she continued, your fingers tightening on your shirt. “If it was an accident, fine. If not, I want to know who benefits.”

She didn’t outright accuse Bucky. She didn’t say he would benefit. But who else would?

“I’m not undermining him. I’m helping her,” she argued, not sounding the slightest bit guilty. “This is about her and her friend, and she deserves to know if her world is shifting under her feet again.”

You held your breath when things went quiet. She must’ve ended the call and walked out. You didn’t move for a minute. You couldn’t. 

No. You didn’t want to be suspicious. Not after everything. 

“Kotyonok?”

Your heart jumped to your throat when you turned and saw Bucky standing there, a tender smile on his handsome face as he looked you over. How did he get past Natasha? Did he hear the call, too?

“Can I join you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Or would you prefer that we shower together again at home before we pay Addison a visit?”

Hmm. Is Bucky innocent or did he have a hand in what happened? And what will Addison think of the venue? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ssvbse]

Handle Your Load

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | 6.7k

Summary: You have never see Bucky cum before, and the reason why is more complicated than you initially thought. Not that you mind.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, hyperspermia, lotta porn with a little plot, slight breeding kink, p in v, oral (f receiving), misunderstanding, reader thinks Bucky can't cum—turns out he very much can, verbally mentioned Ava x John jumpscare, ik Yelena is ace but let her have some fun

Inspired by THIS POST by superbassbuck, kudos to you!

You'd had a hunch ever since you started going out with Bucky.

The dates were always wonderful, and he was nothing but a gentleman—never failing to hold the door open, always buying dinner full-fold, and incessantly insisting he walk you home after every encounter. He was the pinnacle of the chivalrous male figurehead, but your suspicions didn't stem from his public persona.

It was your interactions in private—specifically in bed.

And it wasn't the sex itself. The sex was great.

"Jesus Christ, Bucky," you breathed, sinking your nails into the fluttering delts of his shoulders as he pounded his hips into yours. Bucky held the headboard hostage under a white knuckled grip, his abuse of the bed evident by the repetitive sound of the wood striking the apartment wall. He hung his head, and his lips were forcefully parted by a shaky groan.

"You feel so good," he whispered, his voice strained as the muscles in his face tightened. "You're so good."

"Bucky, God—" you whimpered. "Please, don't stop—I'm so… close—"

You felt your stomach tighten, and your naked abdomen visibly constricted as your core squeezed his thrusting cock. Bucky’s pace stuttered at the sensation, a choked "Fuck—shit—" falling from his mouth as his eyes shot open. You thought you saw flash of distress cross his features as he slapped one of his large hands down on your stomach to steady his movements. His body seemed to crumple in on itself as he hunched over, heavy, knitted brows stacked on top of squeezed-shut eyes, and he pistoned his hips into your just enough more times to feel the fluttery sensation of your finish before he quickly removed himself.

You laid out on the bed, spread and satisfied as you slowly managed to catch your breath.

"Buck," you whispered, blurry eyes looking down the expanse of your shiny chest to see his back to you at the edge of the bed, still hunched over. You attempted to sit up, but your core wheezed in disapproval, sending you flat-backed back down onto the mess of sheets. "Bucky?" you asked again, exhaling slowly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just—" he began, but he seemed to bite his words, "—just give me a second."

"Okay," you murmured, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the dots to clear from your eyes.

A few minutes of only the sound of your own weighted breathing stretched on before the mattress eventually shifted, and you watched Bucky's large frame crawl back to the top of the bed.

"You're sure you're okay?" you asked as he settled beside you. The cool metal of his artificial fingers bit into your side as he pulled you closer to him before he lounged the metallic arm lazily across your stomach.

"I'm fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The warmth of his breath engulfed your shoulder as he peppered soft kisses to your flushed skin in an attempt to reassure you. "I promise."

"You'd tell me if there wasn't something wrong, right?"

A mechanism in his arm whirled, and Bucky hesitated.

"Of course," he finally murmured. "What's my secret is your secret, too."

You nodded, momentarily satisfied by his answer.

"Good," you murmured, overlapping his metal forearm where it rested on your belly and sleepily tracing the grooves.

It should have been a red flag, but you decided to put the situation on the backburner. Maybe he was just having a bad day—maybe it was a cramp or even just a sudden sense of discomfort that had put him off.

Or maybe you were just overthinking it.

You hoped that sentiment would help you sleep that night, and it did. That was, until the following evening.

Perched at the end of the bed, work pants down to your ankles, and his face buried between your thighs, you were, once again, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your sheets were held hostage within your own bloodless knuckles as you leaned back on shaking arms, feeling as though you were about to see the light of God with how his tongue was working beneath your panties.

"Oh my God, Buck—" you moaned, a particularly sharp thrust of his tongue sending one of your arms out of commission as it collapsed. The change in stability had you wrapping a leg around his neck to steady yourself, and you felt a deep chuckle vibrate the entirety of your quivering frame. “You smug little—"

Your voice was cut off by a dirty suck, and that was the last of your second arm. You tangled your free hands into his grown out hair as you hips began to match the rhythm of his mouth, rising and falling from the mattress despite how terribly your core ached from the previous night's antics. Your clit nudged the notch of his nose, and the friction was almost enough to send you over the edge as your whole body twitched.

"Bucky, please, wait—I'm going to make a fucking mess—" you begged, raking your nails across his scalp and giving his forehead a push of warning. However, he didn't let up, his grip on your ass unrelenting as he only insisted you tighter against his face. He nuzzled his nose deep within your folds as his tongue worked your button raw. You felt your legs quake around his shoulders as you bit your wrist and came all over his face with a pathetic, stuttering whimper.

Words were difficult as you slowly came down from your high, a wheeze leaving your chest.

"Shit, Barnes," you huffed, your ears ringing as your hips twitched against the slowing movements of his tongue. You slid your fingers through his hair in a more soothing manner as he finally emerged from between your thighs, his idiotic grin glistening in the dim lamp light. "Don't look so proud."

"Why not?" he asked, placing a sticky kiss over the top of your mound before using the edge of the mattress to hoist himself up from his knees. "I can't be proud of pleasing my woman?"

"You can be pleased," you said, core crying out for help as you managed to sit up, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants, "but I know what would please you more," you murmured, taking him by the belt and tugging him between your legs. You flicked your eyes up to his. "Let me please you, Bucky."

And yet, despite your infamously persuasive doe eyes, he seemed to completely shut down at the request.

"I can do it," he quickly said, taking your wandering hand by the wrist before you could even think about touching the zipper to his trousers. "Don't worry about it."

You narrowed your eyes at his sudden discomfort, cocking your head as you did your best to mask your disappointment.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "I think you might like it if I—"

"I don't want to make you do that," he said, tugging your prying fingers away from his fly. "You don't have to."

"But I want to, Bucky," you said, a confused chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. "I promise it doesn't make me uncomfortable."

"I just—I don't want you to think that you need to return the favor," he said as he strategically stepped away. His intentional distancing only caused your confusion to swell.

"I'm offering to help you, Bucky—to make you feel good. I don't—" you said, moving to stand and following him only for your weakened legs to insist you back onto the bed. You swallowed, looking up from your shaking muscles to where he had retreated to the bathroom doorway. "What's going on? I've never heard of a guy giving up the opportunity to get blown."

Bucky took the comment as an accusation, and his response was sharp.

"I just don't want you to, alright?" he snapped, his voice easily filling the room. Caught off guard by his serrated tone, you snapped your jaw shut and quickly looked down at your feet as embarrassment burned your cheeks.

After a moment of silence, he audibly exhaled like he was about to say something, but instead he simply closed the bathroom door. The cruel chorus of the inner fan extinguished any chance you had at potentially hearing what he was hiding.

"Shit," you grumbled into the suddenly cold room. You managed to finally get to your feet in the style of a newborn deer and grasped your ruined panties from around your ankles. You tossed them into the hamper and found a clean pair, muttering to yourself as you began cleaning up for bed.

By the time Bucky came out of the bathroom, you were already in bed, lights out, pretending to be asleep.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that.

After fumbling around in the dark and attempting to keep his heavy footsteps quiet, the other side of the mattress dipped. You were briefly exposed to the cool air as the sheets lifted before a warm body settled itself behind you, heating the underside of the covers like a built-in sauna.

By his stuttering breath, you could tell Bucky wanted to say something. You could feel him ghost his hand over the curves of your side, but his hesitation was brief as he finally clamped his metal hand over your waist and tugged you back against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, breath hot on your ear. But you shook your head, repositioning yourself as he hiked one of his big, burly legs over your pair of already overlapping ones.

"Don't be sorry," you said. "I pushed you, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't—" he began, but sighed. "It isn't you," he mumbled, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "It's nothing you did—nothing you ever do. I don't want you to ever think that," he said. "It's all me."

You let those cryptic words hang in the air and felt the corners of your mouth sink deep into your face when you realized you didn't feel any relief after being declared innocent.

"You..." you began, inhaling sharply as you overlapped his metal hand on your stomach and squeezed. "You would... tell me if there was something wrong, right? If there was something bothering you, or something that made you uncomfortable—"

"Nothing's wrong," he promised, but the hollow words traveled in one of your ears and out the other. Your head lulled, and you hoped he couldn't sense your disbelief in his attempt to reassure you. "Nothing made me uncomfortable, I just..."

The pregnant pause that followed did not aid his credibility.

"I get it, Bucky," you eventually found yourself saying, cutting off his silence. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

His sigh of relief seemed artificial, as if it's purpose was to soothe you more than himself.

"Thank you," he murmured, offering you a kiss to the junction of your jaw, to your neck, and to your shoulder.

You tried to let it go.

You really did.

But God it bothered you.

And, with a more observative eye in the following countless bedroom encounters, with all your proceeding attempts at a blowjob continuing to be rejected, and with the notable lack of even the sight of his dick, you found yourself realizing you had never witnessed Bucky finishing.

Sure, he claimed to, but you never found evidence of such an act.

And you looked—you looked desperately and disgustingly.

But no, the mess of the deed was entirely your own; Not one speck of semen to be found.

You weren't sure if it was his clear dissatisfaction with you or the presence of an unyielding secret between the two of you that hurt the most.

"Men are disgusting," Yelena grumbled.

Ava hummed in agreement as she took a swig of her drink.

"I do not know how you two do it," she murmured, waving between you and Ava. "How do you live with such a creature? They are more like pet than partner," she said, sipping from her glass of hard liquor. "You clean up after them, you cook for them, you keep them entertained; What do they do for you, eh? Get you off?"

"Not even that sometimes," Ava mumbled into her glass.

"When me and Kate are together," Yelena went on, setting her cup down on the counter of the bar and raising her hands, "we are equal; do you see?" she asked, demonstrating. "I make Mac & Cheese one evening, she makes spaghetti next evening," she said, raising both her hands in a staggered fashion—one after the other. "When she cleans table, I clean dishes. When I get her off, she gets me—"

"We get it, Yelena," you grumbled. "Being gay is more fun."

"What's got your panties in a twist tonight?" Ava asked, noticing your sluggish attitude. "Trouble in paradise with Congressman Barnes?"

Your eyes followed the circular motion of your drink as it swirled in your glass, subtly bobbing your head from side to side as you decided how to answer the question.

"When you have sex with Walker, Ava," you began, meeting her eyes, "he cums, doesn't he?"

Ava coughed in surprise. "Jesus," she muttered, throwing back the rest of her drink and immediately gesturing for another as she glanced down in your direction. "Where did all that filth come from?"

You glared at her. "Just answer the question."

"Well," she said, sitting up a bit straighter. "He does—a lot," she murmured, tapping her fingers repetitively across the bartop. "He's actually very selfish about it now that you mention it."

"And you guys just hook up, right? It's nothing serious?"

She nodded, and her and Yelena's brows cocked simultaneously.

"What's this about? 'Barnes not satisfying you?"

You frowned, laying your head in your folded arms as your frustration began to overcome your confusion.

"No," you murmured. "It's the other way around."

Ava scoffed, and thanked the bartender for the beverage as he passed.

"That is joke, no?" Yelena asked. "What man would not be satisfied by you? You are very beautiful woman," she said, a teasing smile tugging at her painted lips. "I would know this."

"I have literally never seen him cum before," you said, voice breathy with exasperation as you glanced at them. You felt a worry line dig itself between your bunched brows. "I finally noticed it when he wouldn't let me suck him off, and I haven't been able to get—"

"Woah, wait a second," Ava cut in, face contorting in confusion. "Bucky wouldn't let you blow him?" she asked, appalled. "What kind of idiot is he? Did you bite his balls off the last time you gave him one?"

"And that's just the cherry on top," you groaned, slapping a hand to your face as you shook your head. "I haven't even done it to him before—he doesn't even know if I'm good at it!" you grumbled. "That's why I'm so fucking confused. He totally shut down the first time I offered, and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen his dick since."

"When was that?"

You felt your entire body sag as you sighed.

"Over a month ago."

Ava's entire face cringed, and Yelena shuddered.

"As in—no sex... or anything?" Ava asked.

You shook your head.

"Every time I initiate something, he gets me off with his mouth and then disappears into the bathroom where I assume he jacks himself off, but I can't even tell for sure because he turns the goddamn fan on. As far as I know he physically can't ejaculate."

The vulgar term earned you a strange look from the group of men a few seats down the bar.

"Maybe he cannot," Yelena agreed. "Man would be very embarrassed over inability to reproduce, no?"

You watched Ava slowly nod as she considered the idea.

"Yelena's probably right; he might be embarrassed," she said, throwing one leg over the other. "I know John would be. In fact, I'm pretty sure he would avoid sex all together if he couldn't—" She hesitated, "—perform up to normal standards."

You dug your palm into your forehead, closed your eyes as you tried to banish the guilt swelling in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck," you grumbled, dragging your hand down your face as you shook your head. "How do I tell him he doesn't have to be embarrassed? I don't care if he can't cum, I just..." You felt your voice break. "I just want him," you said, looking away. "I miss him."

Ava and Yelena exchanged a look at your deflated posture, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder, rubbing reassuring circles into a knot of tense muscles.

"Talk to him,” Yelena decided, leaning over the bar to better meet the low level of your eyes. "Bucky likes information straight; He does not like to dance around problems."

Ava nodded alongside the advice, gently squeezing the nape of your neck before pulling away.

"I have to agree. You're just going to have to face it head on," she said, taking another long swig of her drink.

"And if he doesn't respond well?"

The two women shared a look, but before the more sober of the two could answer, Yelena cut in, alcohol on her breath. "You come to Kate's place, and we celebrate freedom with strap!"

You managed to swallow your drink before you had the chance to choke on it, and Ava erupted into a mess of muffled laughter as the three of you received yet another glare from the men further down the bar.

Deciding to trust your friends and take their advice to heart, the next time you found yourself being undressed by Bucky, you probed the point of sensitivity.

"Bucky," you whispered against his lips, inhaling his exhale. Your lashes fluttered as you failed to capture the attention of his distracted eyes, his mouth continuing its tirade of affection across your jaw.

Hands under your shirt, roaming greedily across the naked skin underneath, Bucky pressed long, impassionating kiss to your neck. His teeth skimmed the junction of your throat, and his lips wandered lower, planting themselves across your chest as his hand tugged at the collar of your shirt.

"Bucky," you murmured as the suction of his lips relented from your sternum, "I wanted to talk to you about something," you tried, watching as he shifted to take the familiar position between your legs. Without thinking, you snapped your knees together, shyly meeting his eyes as he raised a brow.

"You talk, I continue," he said simply, grasping your legs and insisting them back open. He peppered the inside of your knees with sweet kisses, his hands smoothing themselves down your naked thighs as he melted into the sheets of the mattress.

"But this is about us—" you tried to argue only for your breath to hitch as he nipped at your inner thigh, "and I want you to actually listen."

"Do I need to prove to you that I can double task?" Bucky asked, but his threat was lost behind the booming beat of your heart against your eardrums. Your head fell back onto the pillow as you felt his fingers toy with your clothed slit, prodding over your twitching hole. "Because I will," he said, and you didn't miss the smirk on his lips as he pulled your ruined panties aside. And before you knew it, his fingers and tongue had teamed up against you, two digits sinking inside while his tongue prepped your clit.

"Jesus—" you gasped, arching into his tongue as you buried your hand into his hair. "Please, Buck, I need to—"

He only hummed in response, and the feeling caused your entire body to quake.

"I need—" you tried again, but your mouth fell open as he curled his fingers. Your grip tightened in his hair, pressing his face more insistently against your pussy as he forced a third finger inside and picked up his already brutal pace.

"What do you need?" he asked, your legs twitching at the sensation of his hot breath on your exposed slit. "Tell me."

"I need to talk—"

But he licked a long strip from your hole to your clit, shutting down that train of thought real quick. Your hips moved at their own accord, and you began desperately humping his fingers as your peak approached beneath the affectionate abuse of his thumb on your clit and his wet face against the inner fat of your thigh.

"God, fine!" you cried. "I need you, Bucky, please!" you whimpered, pulling at the root of his hair until the pressure elicited a grunt from him, and your entire body finally spasmed around his fingers.

He gently dipped his fingers in and out as you gasped for breath, and he pressed an all too sweet kiss to your twitching clit. You managed to get ahold of your exercised lungs, and you released a long, shaky exhale, the horny fog slowly clearing from your mind as you came down from your high.

Fuck, you needed to get a grip.

"'You alright?" he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to your kneecap as he pulled himself up to lay beside you. With you jaw hanging open, you continued to inhale ragged breaths, and your eyes slowly followed his movements until he settled on his back beside you, metal arm resting behind his head—pinned—and that familiar bulge pressing into the fly of his pants.

"Yeah," you breathed, flicking your gaze up to meet his. You could tell he almost immediately noticed the impish glint in your eyes.

"What are you planning?" he asked, offering you a lopsided smile as he cocked his head.

You moved before you could convince yourself otherwise, and, with your core stronger than ever, you threw your leg over his lap, successfully straddling him. The rough texture of his pants rubbed lusciously into your naked, sensitive clit, and the cool metal of the embedded zipper caused your body to arch into the sensation.

Bucky yelped at the sudden weight on the pressure in his pants, and his hands immediately grasped your waist. He desperately tried to bury his hips further into the bed in a poor attempt to flee.

"Hold on a second—" he grunted, every muscle in his face tensing in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I told you we needed to talk," you said, "and you weren't listening."

"Well, I'm listening now!" he barked, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his fingers dug into your flesh, metal arm whirling.

You pressed your hips into his, relishing the groan Bucky couldn't manage to swallow as the tendons in his neck popped and his head fell back into the pillows. His cock twitched beneath you, pulsing with every roll of your hips.

"Please," Bucky pleaded, face scrunched and his hands flexing at your sides. "You don't understand—"

He twitched beneath you as you settled a hand on the tight muscles of his abdomen and grasped his shoulder to anchor yourself. You bit your lip and dragged your clit over the metal of his belt.

"Relax, Buck," you murmured into his ear, watching his nostrils flare with a restrained exhale as squeezed his eyes shut and audibly swallowed. "I know what's going on," you murmured, ghosting your lips over his flushed pulse point, "and it's okay, Bucky."

The information seemed to make him sputter.

"You..." he began, but his breath caught as you ground your hips down against him. "You know?"

"Yes," you murmured. "Now relax," you repeated, pulling away and planting a kiss on the center of his forehead, "and let me take care of you."

You maintained eye contact with him as you slipped your hand from his shoulder and followed the grooves of his swathed chest down to the buckle fastening his pants. Your eager fingers easily worked the mechanism open, and you pulled the belt free.

Almost instantaneously, panic flashed over his face at the relief of pressure, and before you knew it his metal hand had encompassed your wrist, stalling your movements. And, as had happened before, disappointment flooded your face, and you were sure Bucky saw it as you looked up from where his hand had clasped yours.

Upon meeting those usually so assured, fearless eyes, your lips pursed tightly to keep yourself from getting visibly upset, you realized the expression on his face was not one of embarrassment; Cheeks that should have been beet red were unusually pale, and the sheene of sensual sweat on his normally heat-flustered body had gone sickly cold.

He was afraid.

"Bucky," you whispered, realizing it had been your actions that had caused him to react in such a distressed way. "I'm sorry—"

"No," he quickly said, once again pausing your squirming as you moved to get off of him. "No—I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't be normal for you, I just—"

He looked away, every worry line on his face digging deep enough to do damage. You watched his jaw flex.

"I need to explain to you what you're getting into because I just—" he tried, pivoting his chin back forward but failing to meet your eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded out of instinct, but paused, and a significant silence stretched between the two of you.

"Bucky."

"...Yeah?"

"How would your anejaculation cause me bodily harm?"

Another pregnant pause, and you watched his face contort in confusion, eyes finally looking up.

"Anejaculation?" he asked. "What the hell is that?"

"It's when a guy can't ejaculate," you said slowly. "That's... not what you have?"

He blinked, and a sharp, uncontrollable chuckle rumbled through his body before he was entirely taken over by unrestrained laughter. You felt your face flush red at his hysterics, and you had to reach out and grab his jumping delt to stabilize yourself on his lap.

"Ane—" he tried but was immediately cut off by another impromptu chuckle. You hit his chest, and he finally managed to gather himself. "No, sweetheart, that's not what I have," he said, "but you're sweet for thinking it's that simple."

"Don't flatter me," you grunted, crossing your arms. "You haven't shown me your dick in weeks, and you refuse to tell me why. What was I supposed to think?"

He failed to keep that shit eating grin from tugging at his lips.

"Maybe I didn't want to have sex?"

You moved to hit him again, but he caught your hand this time. Bucky pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist before molding your palm around the curve of his cheek, overlapping it with his own.

"Don't be a smartass," you warned him, your face softening as he closed his eyes and leaned into the heat of your hand. "Buck, why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

He was clearly still reluctant to elaborate; that worry line nestled itself back between his brows as he absently swiped his thumb over the skin of your hip.

"I—" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I just don't want you to see me differently," he said, briefly meeting your eyes with a vulnerability you're not sure you'd ever seen from him before. "I like how you look at me now."

"Bucky," you whispered, leaning closer to encourage his fleeting eyes to look at you again. "I won't," you said firmly, "I promise, Buck. I won't look at you any differently than how I am now no matter what you tell me, I promise."

His eyes almost crossed as he stared at you, and they fell into a loose triangle pattern before he finally inhaled and slowly nodded.

"When I was with Hydra," he said, lowering his voice as he swallowed, "they injected me with an experimental serum. It was meant to be a replica of the one they gave Steve," he said, gesturing weakly to nothing in particular. "Most of their attempts at remaking it failed, so they made sure that if it did happen to work on a subject that its effects would undoubtedly be passed on to their offspring."

You stroked his cheek, slowly nodding along with the information.

"The serum makes my orgasms really overwhelming," he murmured, cheeks flushing. "It's... a lot, and it's always a mess, and I didn't want to..." He trailed off, and cringed as his eyes flicked up to you, "... fill you up... because... well... it can be uncomfortable."

You were quiet for a moment, and felt his chest rise and fall shakily beneath you.

"So... you don't have a problem ejaculating?" you asked. His chuckle was fragmented by lingering emotion, but he shook his head, squeezing your waist.

"No, I don't have a problem ejaculating," he confirmed. "The opposite really."

"And you kept this from me because you thought I couldn't... what? Handle your load?"

His entire face reddened, and he groaned at your filthy phrasing, shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant," he grumbled. "I was just... afraid you'd think it was gross and weird—think I am weird."

His nostrils flared, and he shifted under your focused attention. You noted his distressed expression as he awaited your reaction.

"Well now you've got me curious," you murmured, biting your teasing smile, and he finally let out a genuine sigh of relief. His demeanor softened as he chuckled again, and his hands squeezed your waist. "And I feel the sudden urge to prove you wrong," you murmured, tracing a finger across the fabric between his pecs.

"Jesus," he breathed as you leaned down and pressed another innocent kiss to his pulse, feeling it flutter beneath your lips. "What did I do to deserve you?" he whispered, every muscle in his body tightening as you resumed the gentle rocking of your hips.

"Not sure," you murmured, playfully biting the lobe of his ear. "You tell me, Barnes."

His hands hadn't eased their grip on your hips, not allowing you much leeway with your movements as you did your best to help him relax into your warm embrace.

"I must've prayed," he murmured, breathless as you slowly undid each button of his dress shirt, steam practically radiating off the revealed skin underneath. With the fabric fully undone, you slid your hands along the gummy sides of his lower torso and pressed your palms into his lower back, insisting his hips closer to yours. He inhaled through gritted teeth as the bulge in his pants slotted itself against your naked core, and you hummed, reaching back around to his front and grasping the waist of his pants in an attempt to lift them again.

"Pardon me for being blunt," you found yourself murmuring as his cock pulsed against you, "but you said the point of your super orgasm was to guarantee a baby, right?" you asked, reassuringly squeezing his side. Bucky's glittering gaze appeared almost far away as he stared up at you, but he managed a frantic nod as his nostrils flared with wilting restraint.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes."

"Well," you murmured, barely able to contain a pleasurable hum as Bucky's hips inadvertently twitched, "do you think your serum can beat my IUD?"

The question finally seemed to snap the last of his restraint.

Before you knew it, you were being hoisted off of his lap, a squeal of surprise flying from your mouth as your stomach flipped, and your back hit the cushioned landing of the mattress. You blinked and had to scrub the surprise off your face as you looked over your parted knees to see Bucky looming over you, the holy sound of his pants zipper practically making you ascend.

"Only one way to find out," he grunted, and the tent of his pants fell flat as he finally let you lay eyes on his dick after weeks of separation. And oh how you missed the stunning sight; Already spouting with precum, his fully erect organ stared you down like it was making a promise.

Oh fuck.

You closed your legs out of instinct, but Bucky wasn't having your shy behavior. As he pumped himself to full height, he grasped both of your knees with his other big, broad hand and insisted your legs back open, revealing how pathetically wet you had became at just the simple sight of him.

He quirked a brow.

"Excited?"

"Shut your mouth, Barnes."

He grinned and settled himself over you, planting a stabilizing hand in the sheets beside your head as his heat filled the space between your chests. You found yourself panting beneath him, and your entire body flinched as he stroked the tip of his cock just above your twitching hole. You reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders as you mewled, head falling back at the sensation.

"Please, Bucky," you begged. "Please, I need you so bad—It's been so fucking long."

He let out a chuckle of amusement at your desperation, and gently teased his tip into your entrance a few times, the obscene suctioning sounds making you bite your tongue before he finally thrusted into your messy, swollen hole. You dug your fingertips deep into his traps, and your breath hitched as he sunk himself all the way inside, exhaling a hot breath over your chest.

"I forgot how good you feel," he murmured. "Too good."

You simply shook your head and raised your hips until they kissed his. He grunted, quickly pressing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to pin you down and stop your impatient movements before beginning long, slow thrusts into you. The coarse hair around his pelvis nuzzled against your stomach as he locked his hips into yours with every motion. His gentle, methodical pace enabled you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock, and eventually you even began to feel it's eager pulsing, already prepared to empty its seed inside your clamped walls.

As Bucky's pace began to quicken at the approaching ultimatum, you found yourself looking at him through hazy vision, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. That line between his brows was still prominently present, and his eyes were closed as he concentrated on restraining himself, his pace beginning to consciously falter. You watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple and noticed the way his arm was trembling beside your face.

He was still thinking—still worrying.

"I'm not going to last," he grunted, that tension in his face briefly wavering as he couldn't help but grind his hips into yours. You gasped, feeling the throbbing tip of his cock kiss your cervix.

"Good," you whispered. "Good, Bucky, that's good," you tried to reassure him, but he was shaking his head, his thrusts growing more shallow. You whined in complaint, hooking a leg around his hips to prevent his early exit.

"I can't do it—" he whispered.

"Yes, you can," you said. "You can—please! I want it—I need it so bad, Buck, please."

He bumped his hips back into yours, and you quickly trailed yours hands down his back until you could grip his ass, insisting him to pick up his hesitant pace.

"Jesus," he moaned into your ear, heavy headed as he rested his forehead on the bed. His lips ghosted your ear, and he mouthed your name. "It's—I can't—fuck," he groaned. "Where do you want it?"

You moaned at the question.

"Inside," you begged. "I want it inside, Bucky, please—"

An obscene noise left his lips at your request, and he began pounding into you, unraveling before your eyes. The wet slapping of skin filled the room as his hips crashed against yours, every hit of his pace pushing the burning tip of his dick harder against the entrance to your awaiting womb. You arched into his hand as he desperately palmed at your clit, and the simultaneous overstimulating pleasures had a stuttered cry falling from your loose jaw as your climax washed over you.

But Bucky wasn't finished.

"Are you sure?" he managed to ask you as you felt the muscles in his lower back tighten under the grip of your fingertips.

Barely coherent, a single word fell from your parted lips: "Yes."

"I shouldn't—" he tried, but the force of his remaining, stuttering thrusts indicated he was past the point of no return. He squeezed his eyes closed, and every muscle in his body seized as he made one last desperate attempt to pull out. Your second leg not only kept him buried inside you but pushed him deeper as he managed a panicked whine before you felt his hips jerk.

"Fuck," he bit, wrapping his arms around you as his pulsating dick fully emptied its load inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as the warmth spread deep within your stomach, and your walls devotedly clamped around his rocking cock, committed to keeping every speck of his finish within your pussy.

His seed burned your insides, and the victory felt glorious.

His heavy breaths fanned your neck, and the weight of his exhausted, ruined body rested on top of you. You gently gathered his overstimulated frame into your arms as his hips twitched, twining your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

A warm smile slowly pulled at your lips as you pressed a kiss beneath his jaw, and a breathless giggle left your lips as he slowly drew his cock out.

"I think those Hydra people overestimated—"

Every muscle in Bucky’s body convulsed, and he rammed his dick back inside, a choked sound leaving his parted lips as his cock spasmed and dumped another load inside of you. The fluid squelched as he desperately humped at your hole, hips sticking to yours with every push of his inconsistent pattern.

"Jesus," was all you managed to mouth as the warmth inside you mushroomed, spreading through your belly as he worked his seed further inside—making sure it would take.

His hips ground leisurely against yours, brushing your clit as he seemed to relax again only for you to feel his ass clench and his heavy balls contract before he fucked his hips up into yours once more. The breath was knocked from your exhausted lungs, and you could only whimper as he insisted his dick as far inside as it could possibly go, sealing off any chance of escape for his load as he poured into you once more.

Bucky sunk his teeth into your shoulder as his back hunched, a choked groan falling from his fallen, glistening lips. You vaguely felt a shudder overwhelm the entirety of his body.

"Fuck," he whispered into your skin, his eyes fluttering as he finally managed to open them. "Shit," he murmured, struggling to sit up from your ruined body as he cringed and slowly withdrew his wrecking ball of a dick.

You weren't sure you could move—you had never felt so heavy.

Vision still murky, your eyes weakly fell to look down your stammering chest at his blurry figure kneeling limply amidst your parted knees. Bucky's chin had fallen to rest on his collarbone, and his eyes were trained on what you were sure was a mess between your legs.

"Never mind," you found yourself mumbling, "they definitely didn't overestimate."

"Are you okay?" he asked, wincing as you huffed out an exhausted breath.

"Where does all that shit even come from?" you grunted, attempting to sit up only to immediately fall back down, stars clouding your vision. You zeroed in on the head of his dick from your fixed position, and your face contorted in exasperation. "And it's still fucking leaking!"

"Please, stop," Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face as he crawled up beside you. He rested on an elbow and met your drooping gaze. "Are you okay?"

You stared up at the ceiling.

"I feel defeated," you murmured, turning your head to look at him. "I couldn't handle it, which means you were fucking right."

Your playful disappointment had him cracking a smile, and he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and your neck.

"'Think your IUD feelings the same?"

You rolled your eyes and grinned, reaching up and poking his nose.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you murmured, enjoying the confirming glint in his eyes. "We'll see; you might have a little super soldier running around in a year."

You followed his eyes to where he stared at your stomach, gently tickling the shiny, exposed skin.

"We'd have to get married then," he mumbled catching your attention. A fluttery sensation erupted in your belly.

"Maybe," you murmured, "on one condition."

He raised a brow.

"And what's that?"

You grinned and were unable to keep your eyes from flicking down to his still drooling dick.

"You have to do that in my mouth."

Bucky groaned, burying his red face into your shoulder.

[joiebarnes]

𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

Writer's note: This is part 2 of my personal headcannons. Again, this is non-canon, and may not include any material from Marvel.

Warnings: mentions of weapons, sex, smut, r18, MDNI

Bucky would definitely call you sweetheart, something about the endearment just melts the anger in you when he did something.

Bucky takes you to shooting ranges as another added hobby to your list. The first time he taught how to pull the trigger, he was pressed behind you, his hand guiding your own as you held the gun, and his breath on your ear that made it hard for you to focus.

Bucky takes pride when you land bullets on every mark, often boasting that he was the one who taught you.

Bucky keeps a picture of both himself and yours in work uniforms in his wallet. His I.D. also has another picture of you. His phone wallpaper is a picture of the both of you with Alpine close to your chest.

Bucky likes to cuff your wrists and pins them above your head while he drills his cock in your cunt, your legs wrapped around his waist and moaning praises of desire.

Bucky's favorite sex position is missionary because he likes watching the way your mouth hangs open when you are reaching your climax.

People say you and Bucky have the same mannerisms and facial expressions when someone says something out of place or the joke is bad, often noting that you look like twins. Bucky found that absurd until when you were both in a social event and caught something drastic and embarrassing in public, you slowly turn your head towards him, only to find him doing the same, and you snorted hard catching the attention of a few. That's when he knew you both shared the same expressions.

[starling-in-the-sky]

Bookmarked

Roommate!Bucky X Reader

Summary: 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.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI) p in v, fingering, praise kink, use of a vibrator, softdom!bucky, a touch of perv!bucky because you know I can’t resist that man

A/N: Y’all, this was a bitch and a half to write, but the idea simply would not leave me alone. It took so many days that I wanted to be spending on other projects, but I rather like how this turned out. Proofread by only me and my human eyes. 

Your book is just starting to get good when Bucky walks into the apartment.

You let out a long-suffering sigh and lean forward, laying the book in your lap and doing your best to focus on the page. Not on the six-foot super soldier you share a wall with, who is currently wrapped like a present in one of those infuriatingly tight compression shirts, his hair still sweaty from his workout. 

“Morning, doll,” he greets you as he tosses his gym bag in the middle of the floor (where it certainly doesn’t belong) and moseys over to the kitchen.

“Morning. You lift those heavy things real good?” you ask, feigning disinterest as you turn a page. “Lift heavier things than the other guy?”

“Something like that,” he replies with a smirk before opening the fridge. “What’re you reading?”

You should have known he would ask. His favorite activity seemed to be bothering you with a million questions while you attempted to read in peace. But you’re sorely unprepared to field questions about this particular book. You already know he’ll give you endless shit if he gets wind of the… scandalous subject matter.

It certainly doesn’t help that you’ve been trying to picture anyone but your annoyingly hot roommate as you read it.

So you evade. “A critically acclaimed novel titled None of Your Business.”

Bucky snorts. “Let me guess. The protagonist is a real smartass.” His attention drifts back to the fridge, and he sighs in frustration. “Who forgot to buy more milk, again.”

You scold yourself internally and shoot him a remorseful look over the edge of the couch. “Oops?”

He rolls his eyes, sauntering into the living room to lean on the back of the couch. “Maybe if you didn’t have your head buried in a book all the time, you’d occasionally observe the things that need doing around our real-world apartment,” he chides.

Childishly, you roll your eyes right back. It keeps them from lingering on the way the veins stand out from his forearm, or how his biceps (flesh and metal) strain against the sleeves of his shirt, or how he’s looking down at you like you’re his favorite problem in the world.

And then he leans closer, peering over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re reading. 

Nope. You snap the book shut, tuck it under your arm, and head in the direction of your room. “I’ll leave the observing to the bionic staring machine, thank you very much.”

“Where you going?” he asks.

“To read in peace,” you say over your shoulder. “You talk too much.”

“Try not to miss me,” he calls after you as you shut the door. You can hear the smirk in it even if you don’t see it. Annoyance, followed by a heat that you don’t dare to examine, crawls under your skin, itchy and uncomfortable.

So much for peace, you think as you flop onto the bed and crack open your book again.

Bucky can tell when you’re hiding something from him. It’s really not hard - you’re a terrible liar, worse at keeping secrets. It's actually sort of adorable - almost as adorable as how mad you get when he finds you out.

And it would be a waste of his training in intelligence work if he didn’t try to figure out what you’re keeping from him.

The first step is to get your defenses down, so Bucky makes a stop on the way home from his briefing with Sam. 

When he unlocks the door and steps through the threshold, he finds you reclined on the couch, book in hand, the cover surreptitiously hidden behind your propped up knees. Bucky feigns innocence and places the bag from Din Soup on the counter with a flourish. “I got takeout.”

You groan in relief, pry yourself out of the you-shaped dent in the couch, and tuck your book under your arm. “Thank god, I'm starving.”

Bucky unpacks the order, and you both begin to fill your plates from the various containers. Unable to resist, he pokes you with a pair of chopsticks and asks, “Still reading your secret book?”

“It's not secret,” you reply, your tone suspiciously even. You have a terrible poker face.

“Oh yeah? What’s it about?” he prods, dropping a stray lo mein noodle into his mouth.

You shoot him a withering look. “It’s about the world’s most annoying roommate.”

“Sounds dumb,” he retorts with his mouth full. “Who’d write a book about you?”

“Hilarious. Pass the soup dumplings, idiot,” you demand, shoving his shoulder with all the strength of a malnourished chihuahua.

How can he not smile at that, when you call him ‘idiot’ like it’s a term of endearment? Still, he doesn’t allow it to distract him. “You didn’t answer my question,” he presses after handing you the requested container.

“Didn’t i?” Your eyes are on the takeout again, avoiding his.

“You don’t want me to know what you’re reading.” He says it less like an accusation and more like a statement of fact.

You let out that frustrated little huff he adores, the one you save for the special brand of exasperation only he can bring out in you. “God, you are just allergic to minding your own business, aren’t you?”

“Is it a romance?” he teases, looking for a reaction.

You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”

It’s not a denial, and you still won’t look at him, so Bucky suspects that he’s on the trail. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t wanna tell me.” 

He leans on the counter and gives you a devilish grin. “Let me guess, it’s some Pride and Prejudice-style romance with lots of yearning and accidental hand touching and quivering.”

You cock an eyebrow in response. “Quivering?”

“Lots.”

Again, you roll your eyes so hard, Bucky's surprised they don’t pop right out of your skull. “You know what? You got me. I'm a huge fan of the quiver genre.” 

You turn to carry your plate to the couch, and Bucky sees an opening. A metal hand flashes out and plucks the book from underneath your arm before you have time to react.

There’s a loud clatter as you drop your plate on the counter and whirl around to face him. “Hey!” you protest, reaching out to snatch it back, but it’s already too late. He jerks it away from you and examines the cover with curiosity.

And it’s not what he expected at all.

It’s better.

Emblazoned on the cover is an artist’s rendering of an attractive man with piercing blue eyes, his shirt unbuttoned scandalously low to reveal a muscular chest. The title is equally as interesting.

“Praise?” he reads off the cover, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

Your cheeks flush scarlet as you try again to grab the book out of his hands. “Bucky, give that back or I swear-“

Fortunately, Bucky is much faster and much taller than you, and he keeps the book out of your reach easily. “Oh my god, you’ve been reading smut. Right in the middle of our apartment.” 

The mere idea makes his cock twitch with interest - he’s only a man after all. And to think of all those times you sat in the same room as him while you read literary porn, trying to keep a straight face, maybe trying to keep from pressing your thighs together-

As compelling as that mental image is, the reality of you in front of him is even more entertaining. “Please stop,” you beg, covering your burning face with your hands.

But Bucky is having far too much fun to stop. 

“Is it any good?” he asks playfully, making a show of leafing through the pages.

“I- I haven’t formed an opinion yet,” you stammer, your blush turning impossibly deeper. You jump in an attempt to steal back the book. “Now give it back!”

Still he holds it out of your reach, then plants a palm on your head like a child to keep you away, laughing as you struggle uselessly against him. He squints to read the blurb on the back. The first line is so incriminating that he just has to read it aloud. 

“‘She's a good girl, but she’s falling for the wrong man’?” 

Vibrating with rage, you break free from his grip. “I will fucking kill you, I swear to god!” You lunge for the book, essentially climbing him like a furious monkey to get to it.

“Jesus, will you relax? I’m trying to read.” He plays nonchalant even as he tries to shake you off, enjoying himself immensely.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I will stab you with a pair of chopsticks!” You grab a pair off the counter, and you look so enraged that for a moment, Bucky believes you might actually try to use them.

“Okay, okay!” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. You make a move for the book, and he once again jerks it away. “Put down the utensils, take a breath, and I'll give it back.”

After a moment of consideration, you drop the chopsticks on the counter with a scowl. Bucky takes an exaggerated breath in, gesturing for you to follow. Even though the anger radiating off you is palpable, you take a deep breath anyway.

Bucky holds out the book in front of you, flashes his most disarming smile, and says, “Good girl.”

Your eyes widen, your face flushing all over again. You snatch the book, grab your plate from the counter, and hiss, “You are insufferable.” Then you turn on your heel and stomp off to your room, slamming the door like a teenager.

Bucky snickers under his breath.

You know that won’t be the end of it, before you even slam your door.

Bucky loves to torment you, and the bigger a reaction he gets, the more likely he is to continue. You shouldn’t have let yourself be so angry, so obviously embarrassed, but no one could get under your skin like him. In the months you’d been living together, he’d successfully located almost every single button you had and pressed them at will. Now that he’d found a new button, there was no way he’d leave it untouched.

By some stroke of luck, you manage to avoid him the following morning until you leave for work. Nothing to distract you like an absolutely punishing eight hour shift of work. When quitting time comes around, you feel dead on your feet, and probably look worse.

Your reward for a hard day’s work? Bucky, splayed out on the couch like an Epicurean figure in an Italian painting, eyes sparkling with mischief as soon as you walk in the door.

“The prodigal roommate returns.” 

“I’m not in the mood,” you deadpan as you drop your keys in the dish.

“In the mood for what?” he asks innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

You suppress a sigh and open the fridge. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Bucky sits up, eyeing the grocery store bag in your hand. “You bought milk?”

“Yes, Bucky.” Unable to keep the snipe out of your voice, you all but toss the jug into the fridge and push the door shut. “I do remember to do the things you ask me to every once in a while.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good girl.”

You’d been preparing for it mentally, but when the words fall from his lips, it’s like the first time he said it all over again. Your face superheats in record time, shame mixing with something else in your stomach. Something like arousal.

Because, despite your annoyance and embarrassment, you’d liked it.

“I - you -” Sputtering and angry and annoyingly turned on, you make an incoherent noise of frustration and stalk off to your room again.

You don’t slam the door this time. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But the image of his smirk as you close the door burns into your eyelids.

————————————

Bucky hasn’t had this much fun in a while.

This little discovery he’d made is the gift that keeps on giving. It’s just too easy. All it takes is a compliment, deliberately worded, and you whip around with a flush in your cheeks and a storm in your eyes. He gets the best reaction with those two little words that have become his favorite in the whole dictionary. Two little syllables that light you up like a match every single time.

The only drawback is that he can’t stop thinking about what you’d look like if he said those words to you in more… compromising positions. These brief, fleeting fantasies were becoming distracting, borderline problematic. He's had to stop wearing sweatpants around the apartment. Even still, he has no intention of letting this go.

Bucky's reverie is broken by the opening of your door. Whatever teasing jibe he’d been thinking up in the last five minutes while washing the dishes dissolves in his brain like soap in hot water. You’re wearing that little skirt he likes, the one with the slight flare that swishes when you walk and the hem that rides the line between appropriate and decidedly inappropriate.

“I’ll be back late,” you inform him casually as you attempt to keep your balance while slipping on your heels. “Don’t wait up.”

The motion causes the hem of your skirt to ride up. Bucky doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Where you headed?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a date.” You pull out your phone to check your appearance, fiddling with an earring and adjusting your lipstick.

Bucky raises an eyebrow as he dries a plate. “A date, huh?”

“Easy with the tone of surprise, Barnes," you return playfully, though your expression betrays a hint of nerves as you try to get your hair to fall just so.

Though he’d never admit it, the idea of you going out on a date with some guy is doing complicated things to Bucky's head and heart. Both of you had gone on your fair share of failed dates since you moved in together. But that was before… well, before.

The way you frown at your reflection in the phone makes something twist in Bucky's chest. He dries his hands and faces you. “Stop fussing, doll. You look beautiful.”

That gets you to look up from your phone, surprised, then wary. “Are - are you making fun of me again?”

“No, I mean it,” he replies earnestly. “You always look beautiful.”

The words seem to break past your defenses. Your eyes widen, and you swallow nervously, but you put your phone into your purse and you stop touching your hair so much.

As you hunt for your wallet and keys, Bucky asks, because he has to. “So, who’s the guy?”

“Liam. From the corner store.”

And Bucky's good mood is officially ruined.

Liam. The corner store manager who flirts shamelessly with you every chance he gets, who has been sniffing after you for months now. The one who had made you blush last week when he complimented your smile, and had Bucky seeing red all the way from the drinks aisle.

“Yeah, I know who Liam is,” he mumbles, wadding up the dishtowel and tossing it on the counter childishly.

“Why are you making that face?” you ask, hooking your purse over your shoulder. "He's nice.”

Bucky starts putting away the dishes with a little more force than necessary. "He's nice to you, because he’s been trying to get in your pants since you moved in. He's a sleaze.”

You plant your hands on your hips stubbornly. “He is not. He’s single, he’s cute, he’s employed-”

“You have got to get higher standards than that,” he snipes. He hates how jealous he sounds, how pathetic.

“Okay, what’s got your panties in a twist?” you demand, voice sharpening.

That’s when Bucky snaps. Determined to get the upper hand, he steps in towards you and says in a deceptively calm voice, “I don't wear panties, but I'll bet five dollars that you’re wearing your date night panties right now.”

He knows he’s probably gone too far, but it works, because your jaw drops, and your cheeks turn an alarming shade of red. “Excuse me?”

Bucky smirks. “Y’know, the lacy blue ones you wear when you’re trying to get laid.” The little gasp that escapes your mouth tells him he’s right on the money, which only makes him grin wider. 

“You are such a pervert!” You grab the wadded up dishtowel off the counter and throw it at him. “You’ve been scoping out my underwear?”

“Can’t exactly help it when you parade around in those short little skirts while you’re getting ready,” he retorts.

Indignant, you tug down the hem of your skirt self-consciously and snarl, “You’re an asshole.” The sound of your heels pounding the hardwood echoes off the walls as you angrily stride to the front door.

Bucky can’t resist one more dig. “Don't worry, I'm sure Liam will love them. Maybe he’ll give you some of that praise you want so bad.”

You grab your coat and shoot one last fiery glance back at him. “Fuck. You.”

“You should let him borrow your book,” he calls after you, just to get the last word. “Have him take notes!”

But the door has already slammed, and he’s shouting at the coatrack. Bucky sighs and drags a frustrated hand over his face.

Pathetic.

You’re so angry you could spit.

Getting asked on a date was the one non-humiliating thing that happened to you all week, and Bucky managed to sour your mood before it even started. And now you are sitting across from a perfectly nice guy who is buying you dinner, and all you can think about is your goddamn roommate.

It's so completely unfair, because Liam is great. He's good-looking, and charming, and even occasionally funny. This might have been a really nice date, if you weren’t so hot under the collar and humiliatingly damp between your legs thinking about the argument you’d had with Bucky.

By the time you both finish your meals, it’s clear to the both of you that your mind is elsewhere and your heart isn’t in it. You apologize, twisting your napkin in your lap. Liam offers you a wan smile and pays the bill, and says something about next time.

You already know there won’t be a next time.

Fueled by two glasses of wine and the fury of a woman mocked too many times, you stomp down the hallway and throw open the apartment door, violently wrestling off your coat.

Predictably, Bucky is reclined on the couch, looking at his phone until your entrance startles him back to the present. “Thought you said you’d be back late.”

You huff angrily, freeing yourself from your coat and tossing it in the direction of the coatrack, and then turn on Bucky. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Come again?” he asks, sitting up.

You kick off your heels and plant yourself firmly by the arm of the couch. “You know, what I read in the privacy of my own home is nobody’s business, especially not yours. It's perfectly healthy and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He opens his mouth to throw some asinine comment back at you, but you steamroll him. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to constantly humiliate me in my own fucking apartment!”

Silence hangs in the air a moment as he absorbs your words and you catch your breath. 

“Finished?” Bucky asks patiently, like he’s got all the time in the world.

You toss your hair out of your eyes and try to regain some composure. “For the moment.”

He sits forward, deeply amused. “Good for you, standing up for yourself. Wasn’t sure you had it in you. I'm proud of you, sweetheart.”

That turns you nuclear. You rip your purse off your shoulder and huck it towards him. “Stop fucking praising me!”

He flinches back from the flying projectile. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” Bucky gets to his feet and walks towards you, that maddening smirk reappearing on his face. “I guess nothing, since you came home before ten p.m. just to scream at me. Is that the problem? Are we a little… frustrated?”

You refuse to take the bait. “Why are you fucking with me like this?” you demand.

His smirk turns wicked. “Because you’re cute when you’re so wound up.”

You will your cheeks not to flush. “I'm being serious, Bucky.”

“So am I,” he insists, walking even closer. You step back to try and put some space between you, but Bucky pursues you. “You scrunch up your nose and your eyes get all fiery. And you get this little crease between your eyebrows.” 

He reaches up a hand and gently strokes it across the space between your brows. “Right here. Drives me crazy.”

Your brain fully bluescreens for a moment. It occurs to you that you’ve been holding your breath, that your back is suddenly pressed to the wall. When had he backed you into the wall?

You swallow nervously. “You… what are you doing?” 

His eyes pin you to the spot. Everywhere you look, Bucky is there. He's so close he fills your vision, so close you can breathe in his cologne. What is happening right now? your brain practically screams.

His thumb moves, tracing along the edge of your jaw. “And the best part is watching you pretend you don’t like it,” he murmurs. “That it doesn’t turn you on when I tell you how good you’re being for me.”

That sends a wave of heat through your whole body, resolving in a demanding throb between your thighs. Half of you is sure that he’s still making fun of you, and the other half needs to hear him say it again.

“Tell me why you came home early from your date.” It's not a request, and the low rasp of his voice makes you want to do anything he tells you to.

“I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you admit, because it’s impossible to think of a lie when he’s standing so close, when he’s touching you like this.

He hums to himself, pleased, his thumb stroking thoughtfully across your lower lip now. “You think about me when you’re reading that filthy little book of yours?”

You try to look anywhere but his face. “I-”

Bucky takes hold of your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, angling you up to look at him. “Tell the truth, doll.”

“…Yes.” 

“Good girl.”

You’re embarrassingly wet now, thighs shifting against each other to try and ease the building need. And he knows - you can see in his eyes that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and it’s not a game to him anymore.

Bucky’s hand wanders lower, down your arm, down the slope of your waist. It lingers there, tracing lazy circles through the material of your shirt. He leans dangerously close, his face inches from yours. “You picture me when you turn on that vibrator, thinkin’ I can't hear all those little noises you make?”

Your eyes go wide. white-hot humiliation and even hotter arousal races through your veins. “You- you can hear that?”

“Super soldier hearing, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear. “I heard it every time. Surprised you couldn’t hear me fisting my cock on the other side of the wall just to the sound of you.” You can feel his lips against the shell of your ear, his breath against your neck as he purrs, “You sound so sweet when you come.”

Your knees might have given out if he didn’t have you pinned to the wall. “Oh my god,” you breathe, your head falling back against the wall.

You feel the ghost of his smile at your ear, even if you can’t see it. “It's not enough, is it? You need something real, don’t you?”

The slight shock of cold metal jolts you as his left hand brushes at the skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. Bucky pulls back just far enough to look you in the eye.

“Tell me what you want.”

You’re too far gone for denial or shame anymore. “Fuck, I- I want you,” you practically whimper. “Please.”

“Good girl,” he replies, and then his lips crash into yours.

It’s a claim, a promise, and a preview all rolled into one. His mouth is hot and commanding against yours, and his tongue easily parts your lips and slips between them like it was always meant to be there. Your hands fly to the back of his neck, to his hair, tugging at the nape without meaning to, just needing something to keep you upright. He doesn’t seem to mind - in fact, he groans into the kiss like he wants you to do it again.

His thigh slots between yours, easing your legs apart for him. You can feel him, rock hard and pressed against your hip. A gasp rips through your lungs, and you grind down onto his thigh on instinct. You cunt pulses gratefully, glad to finally have some semblance of contact. You rock against him again and again, the needy sounds you’re making swallowed by his mouth against yours.

Suddenly, Bucky breaks the kiss and his vibranium hand pins your hips to the wall. You whine, aching for more. You aren’t wanting for long, because his other hand slips beneath the hem of your skirt. When he strokes you through your damp underwear, he curses under his breath. You shudder and bite back a moan.

“Jesus, doll,” he mutters, forehead pressed against yours. “You've been like this since you walked in, haven’t you?”

“Since we fought,” you reply, breathless, trembling as he strokes you again.

Bucky lets out an almost pained groan and leans in, bypassing your lips to nip at your jaw. “You were on a date with another guy, soaked and thinking about me the whole time?” His fingers trace the edge of your panties.

“Yes,” you pant, your hips squirming uselessly against his grip. “Yes, please, Bucky, please just touch me.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, then plants a kiss in the hollow just below it. “I’ll take care of you.”

He nudges the dampened fabric to the side and you feel a warm, calloused finger drag through your folds. Your hips try and fail to chase his hand, still pinned in place by metal and gentle force. 

The hand between your legs keeps moving, teasing, and Bucky pulls back to look at you again. “You gonna be good for me?”

“Yes, god, please, I’ll be good,” you whine desperately.

He smiles, cruel and beautiful and devastating. “I know you will.”

Then he pushes a finger inside of you, and your brain shuts down completely. Mercifully, the heel of his hand offers some friction against your clit as he pumps his finger in and out. You cling to his shoulders for stability, forehead falling forward against his collarbone.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you. “Hold onto me. Christ, you’re tight. Can you take another one?”

“Please,” you whisper.

Another finger slides in along the first, and you gasp against his chest, the stretch delicious and consuming. Bucky keeps the same unhurried pace, but there’s a ragged quality to his breathing that tells you he’s not completely unaffected. 

“You feel like heaven,” he mumbles. “Can’t wait to be inside you, feel you squeeze my cock just like this.”

You hadn’t even thought that far ahead, and the prospect sends a thrill racing through you. He makes a come hither motion with his fingers that makes you cry out sharply.

“Close already?” he teases, and he does it again, humming his approval as your whole body tenses around it. “My sweet girl. So sensitive. So needy.”

His words draw a pathetic whimper from your throat. Bucky increases his pace, releases your hip in favor of placing his left hand at your throat. The cool metal only presses hard enough to ease you back against the wall, giving him room to look at you properly.

“Wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he rasps. “Wanna see if you look as pretty as you sound through the wall.”

Your hips buck into his hand, rolling with each stroke of his fingers inside you. He moves his thumb directly over your clit, circling it in time, and your orgasm burns through you, sudden and scorching.

Bucky’s hand keeps moving between you as you ride it out, the intensity of his gaze on your face warm like a heat lamp. Your incoherent cries of his name taper off to whimpers, and he carefully withdraws his fingers from you.

His lips find your temple. “Perfect. That was perfect, sweetheart.” He steadies you, since you can barely stand on your own, and kisses you tenderly, a stark contrast to everything that came before.

As infuriating as he can be sometimes, this is also a part of who Bucky is. He's the guy who cooks you dinner, who always lets you pick what movie to watch, who calls you beautiful and perfect like he really means it.

You melt against him, arms draping lazily around his neck as he kisses you. You'd be perfectly content to kiss him just like this for hours, but you can still feel his neglected erection between you, straining against the fabric of his jeans, and it sparks interest and want all over again.

Trailing a hand down his chest and abdomen, you grasp the waistband of his jeans, your fingers curling inside and brushing against his skin. Bucky responds enthusiastically, nipping at your bottom lip before locking eyes with you. “Your bed or mine?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t care,” you reply, leaning forward to drag your lips across his throat. 

“Yours is closer.” He scoops you up, hitching your legs around his waist. Unable to resist, he takes advantage of the position to press you into the wall again, rutting himself against your ruined panties.

“Bucky, bed,” you remind him, even as the friction threatens to pull another moan out of you.

His throat works as he fights for composure. “Right. Bed.”

Bucky carries you to your room, nudges the door open with his foot, and makes his way to the bed. With the way he’s kissing you, you expect to be laid down like something fragile. Instead, he drops you unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Bucky!” you yelp, getting a few inches of air as you bounce on the mattress.

He grins boyishly and settles over you. Clothes are peeled away - first his shirt, followed by yours. He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and lowers it slowly like he’s unwrapping a gift, then tugs the skirt down your legs and tosses it onto the floor. Bucky runs a finger along the inside of the waistband of your panties, the lacy blue ones, and playfully snaps the elastic. “I knew it.”

You huff in exasperation and reach for the button on his jeans. “Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs out loud. “There she is.” He unzips his fly and shoves his jeans down and off. “First it’s ‘please touch me, Bucky, I’ll be good,’ and now it’s ‘shut up and fuck me’?”

He does shut up, finally, when you palm him through his boxers, a guttural groan falling from his lips.

“You talk too much,” you murmur, pulling him down to you.

Bucky makes short work of removing your bra, then runs his eyes over your chest in greedy appreciation. He palms both of your breasts, marveling at the way you arch up into his touch, the mewling sound that breaks out of your throat when he rolls a nipple between his fingers.

“Bucky, please hurry up,” you groan.

“So we’re back to ‘please’, then.” 

“I hate you.”

He presses his lips to the swell of your breast and begins to pull down your underwear. “No, you don’t.”

When your panties and his boxers are both removed, you finally get an eyeful of him. Truthfully (and irritatingly), it’s the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. Fairly long, thick, with a well-groomed dusting of hair at the base. It’s flushed beautifully and beading with arousal. He catches you staring with your lower lip caught between your teeth and smirks. “See something you like?”

“Definitely.” You open your legs invitingly for him. “What about you?”

He stares, swallows, settles between your legs again and asks, “Condom?”

“Bedside table drawer,” you reply automatically, only realizing your error when he’s already pulling it open. “Wait-”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky gasps as he pulls out the little pink vibrator that’s nestled between the box of condoms and your body lotion. He examines it with unbridled interest. “So this is what makes that buzzing sound, huh?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Please stop.”

“Absolutely not. This little guy and I are gonna get acquainted. Now, how do you -” He finds the button, and the machine hums to life in his hands. His eyes flash with mischief. “Huh.”

“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Put it back.” You reach for it, and he yanks it away.

“Doll, I've barely even started.” Bucky takes the vibrator and pushes it right against your clit.

It’s too much pleasure, too fast. You gasp like you’ve been electrocuted, your hand flying to his wrist. “Holy shit!” you cry, torn between pushing his hand away and keeping it there.

“Interesting,” he mutters as he watches your face with rapt attention. Your breath starts to come heavier, your hips start to shift and move under the little object in his hand. You see a lightbulb go off behind his eyes, and he takes your hand off his wrist and moves it to the vibrator. “Be a good girl and hold that there for me, huh?”

Your jaw practically drops, but god help you, you obey. Bucky takes his time reaching into the drawer for a condom, rolling it onto his cock, giving himself a few lazy strokes as he watches you squirm.

“Bucky,” you pant, “please.”

He moves close, replaces your hand with his own, but doesn’t remove the vibrator. You can feel the tip of him pressing at your entrance. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Yes, please, yes.”

Bucky begins to push in.

Once again, he takes his time, and some distant part of your brain wonders where all the seemingly endless patience and self-control comes from. But most of your brain whites out, consumed with the feeling of Bucky’s cock stretching you, compounded with the steady hum of the vibrator against your clit.

When he’s halfway inside and your nails start digging into his back, you feel his breath at your ear. “Easy, sweetheart. Almost there. You’re doing so good for me.”

You moan in reply, and like he’s spoken some kind of secret password, your body opens up for him, relaxes around him, and allows him to slide home. 

Bucky groans into your neck as you helplessly clench around him. “God, you’re fucking unreal.” 

When he starts to move, you are absolutely done for. He snaps his hips against yours like he has something to prove, and maybe he does. He doesn’t let up with the vibrator, either - he starts moving it in little circles against you.

You get close embarrassingly fast, yet again. Your hips rock up to meet his on every thrust, your body bowing against his. 

“You have no idea how much I've thought about this,” he whispers. “How many times I imagined you coming apart on my cock just like this.” You feel cold vibranium grasping behind your thigh, lifting your leg to open you even further for him. Your eyes roll back when the angle changes and his cock drags against that spot that had you unraveling against the wall earlier.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you keen, your nails scratching lines up his shoulder blades.

“Come on, good girl, let me feel it,” he growls against your neck.

The buzz, the feeling of him slamming into you, those two little words in your ear - all of it breaks you. A loud moan claws its way out of you, and you lose control of your muscles, thighs shaking, walls clamping around him as pleasure surges through you. 

Above you, Bucky loses his grip on the vibrator and it falls somewhere in the rumpled sheets, still buzzing faintly. His hips stutter, then surge forward as he tries to get as deep as he can. “Oh, fuck, fuck-”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, a groan bordering on a whimper in the shape of your name forcing itself from his lungs. He thrusts shallowly once, twice, and collapses against you, spent.

The two of you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, your bodies sweat-slick, Bucky softening inside you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters between breaths. “I didn't think I was gonna come that quick. I was planning to give you at least two more.”

You smile, giving him a condescending pat on the back. “Don't worry about it, champ. Happens to the best of us.”

“Says the girl who soaked my hand in the living room,” he retorts, scowling.

“Well, maybe next time, we’ll see if you can last longer, minuteman.”

Bucky picks his head up, eyes sparkling. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

Of course that’s the only part he heard. “Only if you’re very, very good.” You tap his nose affectionately, and he chuckles.

The denouement sets in as Bucky carefully pulls out of you and disposes of the condom, and you wobble to the bathroom to pee and throw on an oversized t-shirt. When you return, Bucky is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking a little pleased with himself, but mostly pleased with you.

“I think that’s my shirt,” he softly accuses you, his fingers toying with the hem.

“Super soldiers who don’t do their own laundry get their shirt rights revoked.” You stand between his knees and weave your fingers into his hair. “I'm sorry I threw my purse at you.”

“I’m sorry for teasing you,” he replies, hands brushing at the backs of your thighs.

“No, you’re not.”

Bucky grins. “No, I'm not. It got me into your bed, after all.”

You roll your eyes. “Speaking of my bed…” You flop down onto the mattress and stretch, a sleepy expression on your face. “I’m beat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that my cue to go?”

“Doesn’t have to be.” You nudge his thigh with your foot. “Wanna have a sleepover?”

His grin widens, and he turns off the lamp before flopping down next to you. “Scoot over, doll, you’re hogging the whole mattress.”

It surprises you how easy, how playful things are between the two of you now. As he wraps his arms around you and draws you close, it occurs to you that you could have fucked him ages ago and saved the two of you a whole lot of arguing and frustration. The thought slips away from you as you drift off, bone-tired and satisfied and, for the first time all week, at peace.

Bucky feels the warmth of you next to him before he even opens his eyes, and he’s already smiling. Wrapped in sheets that smell of laundry soap and sex and you, he rolls over with a quiet groan and sees you in the morning light.

You’re reading your smutty little book, openly, without a care for the fact that he’s right beside you. You don’t look up at him yet, but the smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of your mouth, like you’ve been waiting for him to find you like this.

He shifts closer, snaking an arm around your waist and kissing your jaw. “Morning, good girl,” he rumbles.

You turn the page, pretending that it has no effect on you, but he watches your cheekbones tinge pink. “You gonna stop beating that dead horse any time soon?” 

“Only when it stops being funny,” he replies with a smirk. “Or when you stop liking it so much.”

“Stop talking. I'm reading.”

He sighs and lays his stubbled cheek against your shoulder, his eyes curiously scanning the page along with you. You decide to let him - there’s not exactly any harm in it now.

After about thirty seconds, he cringes. “Doll, this is awful.”

“I know. but it’s also really hot.” you elbow him playfully. “Kinda like you.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully, losing interest in the book and becoming much more interested in you. He begins to cover your neck in lazy, open-mouthed kisses, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

“Bucky,” you warn, “I said I'm reading.” The warning has no real conviction, and it’s even less believable when his hands begin to wander and your legs part on instinct,

He pulls back the covers and settles between your thighs. “So keep reading.” Bucky nudges up the hem of your t-shirt and kisses your navel, before trailing lower.

You chuckle breathlessly, but you don’t put the book down. Not yet.

[heldbybarnes]

beefy bucky has me in a chokehold, i fear. but i don’t crave smut for him, instead, i crave tooth-rotting fluff.

reader being lowkey obsessed with beefy bucky but being wayyyy too shy to openly do or say anything about it. like she’ll stare at him, but not like “i want him”. more of like a “i want him to squeeze me in a hug and tell me i’m pretty”.

bonus points if they’re married and bucky is just used to his shy wife’s shenanigans!!

me core

---------

Your husband is enormous.

Not just tall. Not just strong. Beefy. Built like he was specifically engineered to carry heavy boxes, sweep you off your feet, and block out the sun whenever he steps near you. And you—his soft-spoken, terminally shy wife—cannot handle it.

Not even a little.

Bucky, of course, is fully aware of this. He’s lived with your shyness long enough to recognize the exact phases of it: the glancing and looking away, the slow pink rising to your cheeks, the lip-biting, the way you pretend you weren’t staring even when you obviously were.

He’s used to it. He adores it.

But right now? Right now you’re staring at him like you’ve forgotten how breathing works.

He’s in the kitchen in nothing but sweatpants, hair still damp from his shower, shoulders absolutely ridiculous. He’s slicing apples, except it looks more like he’s trying to make the fruit feel inadequate. Every movement flexes a bicep the size of your entire face.

You’re clutching your mug like a life raft, quietly losing your mind.

Bucky glances over his shoulder. Smirks. “Sweetheart, you okay over there?”

Your soul leaves your body.

“Me?” you squeak, instantly looking at the wall, because obviously that helps. “Yeah! Fine. Totally fine.”

He turns fully, brow raised, towel draped around his neck like he’s posing for a calendar. “You’re turnin’ pink, doll.”

“I—I’m always pink.”

“Mhm.” He walks closer, slow, the way he does when he’s teasing. He cages you between his arms, palms braced on the counter behind you. “You starin’ at me again?”

You bury your face in your mug. “No.”

“That so?” he hums.

You do not look up. Because looking up means seeing the chest you sleep on, the arms you crave, the smile that melts your bones.

He dips his head until his nose brushes your temple. “C’mon, honey. Tell your husband the truth.”

The word husband always makes your knees weaken.

Still, you shake your head rapidly. “I just—I was looking at… the fridge.”

“The fridge, huh?”

“Yes.”

“The fridge that looks nothin’ like me.”

“I think it’s handsome,” you blurt before your brain can intervene.

Bucky pauses.

Then he bursts out laughing—warm, fond, incredulous.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, nudging your forehead with his. “You kill me.”

You pout into your mug. “Stop laughing.”

“Can’t. You compared me to household appliances again.”

“It slipped out.”

“Mhm.” He wraps his arms around you, easily lifting you off your feet until you squeak. “You want a hug?”

Do you want a hug. Does a plant want sunlight? Does the ocean want to ocean?

You nod rapidly, hiding your face in his warm, firm chest. His arms fold around you like a fortress. Safe. Warm. Inescapably, overwhelmingly him.

He sways you, humming contently. “You always get like this when I’m fresh outta the shower.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You stare. Like you’re tryin’ to memorize me for a test.”

“It’s not a test,” you mumble into him.

“Oh?” He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. “What is it then?”

You squirm, shy to your bones. “Just… appreciating you.”

Bucky’s smile softens, warm enough to thaw metal. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb along your cheek, “you’re married to me. You don’t gotta be shy.”

You immediately shake your head. “I will always be shy.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I know.”

And he does. Some husbands would tease, push, demand. Not Bucky. He just… lets you be you. Soft, quiet, flustered, ridiculous.

Still holding you, he sits so you’re perched on his thigh, his hands warm at your waist. You curl into him instinctively—like always—and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Wanna tell me what you were thinkin’?” he asks gently.

“No.”

“Was it about how pretty I look?”

You gasp in horror. “Don’t say it!”

“What, pretty?”

You slap your hands over his mouth.

His eyes glint with mischief as he speaks against your palms, muffled, “You think I’m pretty?”

“You know you’re pretty!”

He pulls your hands away, laughing. “Sweetheart, I’m a hundred and six. No one’s called me pretty except you.”

“You are pretty,” you whisper automatically, then clamp a hand over your mouth.

Bucky melts instantly.

His expression softens into that tender, lovesick look—the one he only ever uses for you. He cups your face gently. “C’mere.”

He kisses you slow and deep, like he’s savoring it, like he’s savoring you. Your fingers grip his shoulders, feeling the solid strength under your hands. He makes a content little sound when you tug him closer.

When he finally pulls back, he nuzzles your nose. “If you want hugs… or squeezes… or for me to tell you you’re pretty… you just ask, alright?”

You blink. “You’d do all that?”

His brows shoot up. “Sweetheart, I already do all that. You just get too shy to notice.”

“I notice,” you mumble.

“Then why’re you over here pining like a little lovesick kitten?”

You hide your face in your hands. “Because you’re… you.”

“Beefy?” he teases.

“Stop.”

“Big?”

“Stop.”

“Handsome?”

Your whole face catches fire. Bucky laughs again—soft, delighted, so in love.

He wraps you up in another warm, crushing hug, lifting you easily off his lap and standing with you still tangled around him. You squeal, clutching his shoulders.

“See?” he murmurs proudly. “Told you. All you ever had to do was ask.”

“I didn’t ask!”

“You stared very loudly.”

You groan. He kisses your forehead.

“Pretty wife,” he whispers. “My shy girl.”

You look up at him, finally bold enough to poke his chest. “My beefcake.”

He snorts. “I’ll take it.”

“You like being my beefcake,” you accuse.

“Yeah,” he admits, kissing you again, smiling against your lips. “I really do.”

And then he squeezes you—just because you love it, because he knows you’ll melt, because he loves the tiny gasp you make when he does.

You melt exactly as predicted.

Bucky grins. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let your big strong husband make you breakfast.”

“You mean apples?”

“Those were the warm-up.”

“You warm up with apples?”

He kisses your temple. “Only when my shy wife is watchin’.”

You bury your face in him again, flustered beyond repair—but happy, glowing, and held tightly against the man you adore.

And Bucky? He wouldn’t trade your soft, shy obsession for anything in the world.

[heldbybarnes]

I have an idea if it interests you: angsty miscommunication where maybe bucky slips in a little degradation in the heat of the moment without talking about beforehand. To a reader whose previous relationships used those same words for harm and to tear her down. Which leads to the angsty spiral of reader thinking it’s happening again and if bucky actually thinks that of her.

MISCOMMUNICATIONNNNNN

----------

It’s supposed to be good.

It is good—warm, familiar, the kind of closeness that makes your body feel safe before your mind even catches up. Bucky’s weight is solid and grounding, his mouth reverent in the way it always is, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t touch you just right. His voice is low, breathy, rough around the edges in that way that usually makes your toes curl.

You’re lost in it. In him.

Until he says it.

It slips out in the heat of the moment, careless and unguarded, wrapped in want instead of intent.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Always needing me.”

The room doesn’t stop spinning—but you do.

Your body reacts first. Muscles go tight, breath catching painfully in your chest. The pleasure you were riding snaps clean in half, like a wire pulled too tight. Your hands—just a second ago clinging to him—go slack.

Bucky feels it immediately.

“Hey—” He pulls back just enough to look at you, brows knitting together. “Doll? You okay?”

You nod too fast. A reflex. A lie you’ve practiced.

“Yeah,” you say, even as your throat closes. “I’m fine.”

But your eyes won’t meet his, and he knows you too well not to notice.

He stills completely, the way he does when something feels off. Not angry. Not annoyed. Careful.

“You went somewhere,” he says quietly. “What happened?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. It’s nothing, Buck. Just—just keep going.”

The word please sticks in your throat. You don’t trust it anymore.

Bucky pulls back fully this time, bracing himself on his forearms so he can see you. Really see you. His expression shifts from confusion to concern in real time.

“No,” he says gently. “We don’t ‘keep going’ when you look like that.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. Your heart is racing now—not with want, but with something old and sharp and ugly.

You stare at the ceiling, blinking hard. You tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. He didn’t mean it like that. Bucky’s not like them.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Neither were they. Not at first.

The word echoes in your head, layered over old voices, old nights. Moments where affection turned into leverage. Where needing someone became proof that you were weak, pathetic, too much. Moments where words like that were used to shrink you down until you were grateful for scraps of love.

You swallow.

Bucky waits. He always does.

Finally, you whisper, “Did you mean it?”

His brow furrows. “Mean what?”

“What you said,” you murmur. “That I’m… that I’m needy. That I always need you.”

Something in his face breaks open—not defensively, not dismissively, but with dawning horror.

“Oh,” he breathes. “No. No, that’s not—”

You cut in before he can finish, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I get it. I mean—maybe you’re right. I do need you a lot. And if that’s annoying, I can—”

“Hey,” he says sharply, immediately reaching for you. His hands cup your face, forcing your eyes back to his. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

Your chest tightens. “Do what?”

“Turn it on yourself,” he says. His thumbs are warm, steady against your skin. “Whatever this is—you’re already blaming yourself, and I don’t even know what I did yet.”

You laugh weakly. It comes out wrong.

“You said something you didn’t mean,” you say. “Or maybe you did, and now you’re trying to take it back.”

Bucky shakes his head, frustration flashing across his face—but not at you. Never at you.

“I said something without thinking,” he admits. “Because I was caught up and stupid and thought we were on the same page. But I never—never meant it like that.”

You look away again. “That word has… history.”

That stops him cold.

His grip softens instantly, hands sliding from your cheeks to your wrists, holding you like he’s afraid you might bolt.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Tell me.”

You hesitate, then exhale shakily. “They used to say it when they wanted me to feel small. Like I was too much. Like I should be grateful someone wanted me at all.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His eyes darken—not with jealousy, but with something fierce and protective and aching.

“I would never use your past to hurt you,” he says, voice low and absolute. “And I would never think that about you.”

“But you said it.”

“I said it because in my head,” he says carefully, “needing each other isn’t a bad thing. It’s… it’s closeness. Trust. But I didn’t stop to think that it might not feel that way to you.”

You swallow. “It didn’t.”

He nods, accepting that without argument.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The words are simple, but they land heavy and sincere. “I should’ve talked to you first. I should’ve checked in. That’s on me.”

You finally look at him then, searching his face for cracks, for dishonesty. You find none. Just regret. Just care.

“I don’t want to be seen like that,” you whisper.

“You’re not,” he says immediately. “You’re strong. You’re wanted. And when you need me, it’s because you choose me—not because you’re lacking something.”

His forehead rests against yours.

“And if there are words or dynamics that are off-limits,” he adds softly, “you get to set those boundaries. Every time.”

Your breath shudders as the knot in your chest finally loosens.

“I just… spiraled,” you admit.

He huffs a quiet, sad smile. “Yeah. I know something about that.”

His arms wrap around you fully then, pulling you into his chest, holding you like there’s nowhere else in the world he needs to be.

“We’ll talk about it,” he murmurs into your hair. “Before. During. After. However many times it takes.”

You nod against him, letting yourself believe it.

Because this time, when the moment breaks, he doesn’t disappear.

He stays.

[mewkki]

Bucky x Fem!Reader, giving him the BEST bj he’s ever had. I’m talking choking, messy, and he’s just in pure bliss.

say ahh, angel

wc; 1.5k

tags; smut, oral m!receiving, blow jobs, spit kink, dom!bucky, praise, degradation (mild), hair pulling, deep throating, gagging on dih, really messy, porn w/o plot, use of petnames (sweetheart, baby, angel)

a/n; thank you anon! this request is delicious. i perceived this as more dom!bucky... i hope that's okay!

bucky’s fingers flattened against your tounge, pressing down to will your mouth open wider for him.

the thing about bucky barnes was that he didn’t need force. not ever. just a few sinful words, a firm command, you’d obey instantly. every time.

your knees dug into the unyielding floorboards, biting a sting that climbed up your legs, the discomfort unmistakable and immediate.

bucky stood over you with a steady, towering, stillness. his gaze was firm, his very presence looming like a dark cloud that left no air in your lungs to breathe.

spit was pooling at the corners of your mouth, slicking down your chin. he pushed further, plunging his digits in and out of your throat, slow and deep. you gagged around him, tears pricking your eyes.

this only spurred bucky on.

he never under any circumstances wanted you in pain. hell, he’d burn the whole world for you. but seeing you like this, all messy and teary eyed—just for him? he was completely wrecked.

“you look perfect like this. ‘s like you were made to be on your knees with your mouth stuffed full.” his eyes darkened, a wicked grin cracking across his lips. his tone alone made your thighs clench.

you needed friction, your hips desperately grinding down against the floor—searching for relief. bucky didn’t like that one bit, he removed his fingers with a wet pop.

one hand clamped around your cheeks, fingers digging in just enough to pinch them together, forcing your face still under his control. he was tugging you up by your face slightly so your leaky pussy wasn’t shamefully rutting against the floor.

you whined in response, but his eyes left no room to argue.

“open.” that tone. the one that you couldn’t disobey.

you did, your lips parted, tongue peaking out, delicate and on full display for him. bucky spits directly onto the heat of your mouth as you whined. “swallow.” he ordered. of course, you did.

he watched your throat bob, taking him down your throat so beautifully. “such a good girl f’me, huh? you like being told what to do? don’t you baby?”

you nodded, hesitant and small. in fact, you should feel small. you should be ashamed for letting him order you around, use you however he pleases—but you’re right where you want to be. you’d get on your knees for him a million times again.

bucky released your face, not before petting the rosy skin of your cheeks. “you’re such a sweet girl.” he murmured, hands working on the buckle of his belt.

“you’re gonna let me use this mouth? hm?” his belt fell to the floor with a clank, “c’mon be a good girl for me. i know you can do it.” he cooed, soft and sweet in sound, but laced with condescension.

once his cock was free your mind went blank, everything in you pulls tight around one spot, the rest of the world slipping out of focus until all that’s left is bucky’s shaft, leaking with pre-cum.

your mouth watered at the sight, he was downright unholy. the sight looked artificial, like he walked right out of your wet dream.

his tip was flushed red, angry and swollen. his balls strung so tight it looked almost painful, his cock throbbed at the look in your eyes; undeniably starved for him.

“wanna open up for me, angel?” he purred, his voice dripping in mock pity. the words and tone clashed, a delicious combo that went straight to your core.

your mind had gone soft and unfocused, switching off as you let bucky take care of you. you were nodding before you knew it. his head nudged your mouth, smearing his precum across your lips.

bucky always loved how you looked painted in his loads; how your lips glistened with his sheen, how you’d eagerly dart your tongue out to get a taste. the sight alone could have him cumming untouched.

you were whiny now, a strained sound slipping from the back of your throat, not able to hold back the need pressing inside your body.

bucky smirked, hips rutting his cock in and out of your mouth—only feeding you his tip. the musk of him filled your nose, it was almost suffocating, too much and too good.

“there we go…” he praised, finally working his way into your mouth. “nice and easy.” you relaxed your throat, his cock embracing your warm mouth so slow it was agony. bucky’s head tipped back, his metal hand fisting in your hair.

“oh, yeah… that’s it, baby.” he groaned, the sound reverberating from deep in his throat.

his balls nudged at your chin as he finally stuffed his cock as far in as it could go. you tried to remember what bucky would tell you. breathe through your nose, baby. relax. let me take what i need.

“hold it… just like that.” his muscles tensed, your hands locked around his thighs, clinging tight, molding into his skin like a lasting mark. his eyes rolled back as your warm mouth embraced his cock like a hug.

you were gagging now, throat tightening around his cock. “i know, sweetheart. ‘m sorry.” he groaned, hips finally thrusting—shallow short strokes.

bucky eased up, slipping out of your mouth to give you a chance to breathe. “you jus’ feel so perfect, angel. ‘m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

so you let him. if anyone deserved to let go, it was bucky barnes. to finally relax, to unclench, to stop bracing himself and just sink into the quiet of being cared for.

“let me…” you lean forward, pressing a kiss on his inner thigh. “take care of you…” another kiss on the opposite side, punctuating your sentence.

bucky’s eyes were locked with yours, mouth slack. he was always amazed by you. everyone else was completely ruined for him the moment you looked his way; he knew right then and there, he was utterly, irreversibly, gone for you.

he smoothed your hair back, gathering your loose strands into a makeshift ponytail. you were kissing you way closer to where he needed you most, your mouth dancing across his skin in the most perfect, sinful rhythm.

“angel…” he murmured, voice rougher than before.

you hummed in acknowledgment, licking a long stripe along the underside of his shaft—base to tip.

your palms slide up his thighs, feeling his taut muscles beneath your fingertips. your fingertips softly brush his balls, gently cupping them in hand.

“oh—fuck. baby, yes…” his head falls forward, involuntarily yanking your hair.

you take him into your mouth again, rolling his sack in your hand. mouth wrapping around him again, gently suckling at his tender head.

sounds you never thought he could make filled the room—sounds that frankly embarrassed bucky. his soft whimpers blended with the humidity of sex.

“angel, please… you—mmph…” he was cut off with a whine when you finally urged his cock deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat deliciously. your hand continuing to work at his balls, the other anchoring yourself to his thigh.

he forces himself still, groaning brokenly as your cheeks hallow around him. “your mouth—baby… god.” his jaw clenches, finally willing his eyes open to see a sight, so beautiful that it should be painted in the sistine chapel.

you; on your knees for him, tears hot, running down your cheeks, gagging around his cock like it was your full time job. the sight alone made his knees go weak, breath stalling in his chest as his body betrayed him before his mind could catch up.

he was close, you could feel it. his balls tightening, cock twitching in your throat. he was all talk earlier. now, reduced to a moaning mess.

your spit pooled around his length, slicking down his balls. he tried to be good, let you take care of him like you’d promised… that didn’t last long.

his hips were snapping forward, both hands flew to his thighs giving him leverage. his handful of your hair bobbed your throat up and down his cock. “i know, baby. i’m so fuckin’ sorry, ‘m almost there—fuck.”

your throat clenched around him with every gag, the noise was obscure. a wet gulp, a slap of his balls against your chin, slurping, with every thrust.

he didn’t need to announce it, you knew it was there.

before you knew it, he was coating your throat with a needy groan, his seed painting your insides like he’d promised he would. your eyes closed, slurping around him to insure a single drop wouldn’t go to waste.

he pumped you full, the hot ropes soothing the back of your now raw throat.

the room was hot and sticky, the air thick against your skin, filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and the quiet tension hanging between you.

finally pulling out, he slowly loosened his grip on your hair, the ache fading as his hand fell away. eyes half-lidded, you looked up at him, waiting. quiet, hopeful for some sign of approval.

“aww, baby…” He crooned softly, his fingers brushing your cheek with unexpected gentleness—a sharp contrast to the intensity from just five minutes ago. The warmth in his touch lingered, making the memory of what came before coil in your stomach even more. “my messy girl… did so good for me, yeah?”

[kqtholins]

this means sm to me.

[spdrveil]

he's the boss! masterlist | dividers by @uzmacchiato

boss!bucky who... after you started hooking up, gets clingy despite being just as firm as you were about no one knowing. he'd come over to your apartment all the time, and when you weren't in the mood for sex—he'd rubbed your feet while watching tv with you, getting into the shows and movies that you like even if he didn't completely understand them.

"wait, so everyone who's died in the house is a ghost, stuck there forever?" he asked, eyes glued to the tv but his thumbs massaging into your middle foot as you hummed in agreement, drinking from your mug with your legs on his lap.

boss!bucky who... showers you in gifts all the time, the car was only the first big gift. now, every time the newest phone or laptop comes out it's already on your desk wrapped in a corporate black bow and a white sticky note that he clearly wrote because it says "-bucky" in black ink cursive. everyone else writes his notes with "-james barnes"

boss!bucky who... starts to memorize your routine, catching you before you can catch him, playing it off as a funny coincidence but in reality he does it so he can smell your shampoo (or maybe it was whatever product you had in your hair, he didn't care, he fucking loved it) early in the morning when the sweet scent of it is practically radiating off of you. 

boss!bucky who... acts like he doesn't really care about your rambles, writing an email on his phone or playing mindless app store games that he's always playing—in reality he's adding the little shit you bring up to his cart on a different tab, and the rest he's making a mental note to remember.

boss!bucky who... always tries to get you alone so he can have you to himself. he booked a saturday night stay at a hotel that was triple your rent money, spending the entire night cuddle fucking you raw with his face buried into your neck while you took every inch of him as his hips slapped harshly against the plump of your ass.

boss!bucky who... started buffering when you asked him to start wrapping his huge arms around you more while he fucks you. he didn't even really realize just how bulky he's been getting recently, not until his tailor pointed it out a few days ago. but he didn't think you noticed too much, considering just how busy you are, so he canceled all the meetings he had just to fulfill your request to the best of abilities and leave you with a few loads worth of his cum leaking out of you when he was finally spent. 

boss!bucky who... with your permission, wakes you up by lapping between your legs, finding it adorable just how wet you get just for him even in your sleep, then you slowly wake with your back starting to arch off the bed—but his big hands keep you exactly where he wants you, he's not gonna stop until he's satisfied.

boss!bucky who... will stare at you across the table during meetings, drowning everyone else out just to admire you from afar. his resting face isn't really screaming 'admiring,' but when he slowly drags the tip of his polished shoe up your pant leg, feeling the smooth hard leather against your bare leg, you can tell he definitely isn't paying attention to anyone except you.

boss!bucky who... secretly enjoys when you get frustrated and overwhelmed by him, listening to you yell at him and all he's picturing is buring himself under that corporate skirt and making you cum over and over again until you forget your own name.

boss!bucky who... knows your coffee order and which little treat or pastry you like in the morning to make your day start off sweet. he'll grab it for you after his morning routine is all done, by then you've been living off of coffee from a pot all morning, so you're caving to his advances every time.

boss!bucky who... despite not being able to make it official without having to hire another assistant to replace you, still always talks about you to his colleagues without using your name.

boss!bucky who... declines everyone that sam tries to set him up with, even if it's just for "casual fun." he's already got you, everyone else seems so dull in comparison—and it didn't take long for sam to get the memo, that james barnes was in love with his assistant.

boss!bucky who... when you've had a bad day, he makes you sit down in the bathroom—often picking you up and sitting you up on the sink even if you're insistent you can take care of yourself—he'll take your hair down and wipe off your makeup with remover pads like you're the most delicate thing in the world under his touch. after all you're his girl, where would he be without you?

boss!bucky who... immediately rejects any brand deal john walker tried to make with the company after his comment about your ass in your "tight little skirt," thinking that bucky would agree and laugh it off as men do. wrong. that's his girl, and walker learned that the hard way when he lost a seventy thousand dollar brand deal because of it. 

"that's my assistant, don't ever disrespect her again." he warned lowly, giving walker a long side glance of disapproval and his signature scowl as he adjusted the button on his suit and walked away. it was open and shut just like that, and walker was left to stand there with his hands in his pockets with a confused and almost distraught expression written on his face.

"uh, mr. barnes—"

"the meeting's over john, go home."

𓈒　 ୭ৎ 　 taglist: @wint3rbarnes @slutdier @ncthingaheadofme @starfire-irl @imwjon @colettebarnes @vickynguyennn @wintersoldiersgfie thanks for reading!

[spdrveil]

pairing. single dad!bucky x nanny!reader synopsis. bucky barnes is fresh out of luck when his nanny retires, after posting an ad on social media he ends up giving the job to someone half his age and dangerously tempting, but the only one his daughter seems to like. inspired by this ask. content warning(s). alcohol consumption, reader is mentioned to be in her early twenties, age gap (consenting adults), male masturbation, pervy!bucky, bucky jerks off using your underwear, female masturbation, pet names (baby, little lady, etc.) fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving), bar bathroom sex, light degradation, a sprinkle of power play, bucky eats it from the back, cum eating, unprotected piv sex, spanking, pussy pronouns, creampie. word count. 9k

The tequila had a burning distaste going down, his face contorting slightly as he slapped the shot glass back down on the wooden bar. The surface wasn't completely smooth, the uneven polished wood gave the bar a unique touch. It rivaled against the modernism of local bars that was slowly killing the industry — in Bucky's opinion.

Maybe that was just his own taste for old fashioned things, and rebelling against the idea that if something wasn't neutral colored and modern, that it wasn't clean or dignified.

Bucky loved this bar. 

Alexei's Corner Pub. Known for it's older retro style and chip crumbs crushed in the deeper corners of the pool table. It was one of the few older bars left in Brooklyn, one that many have tried to swindle Alexei into buying and flipping for profit.

Alexei was a big guy with a loud mouth, but he was no fool. This bar was his, it belonged to his Russian father before him that came to America with dreams to open his own bar — and now, as he proclaims, it will follow the tradition to his daughters before he ever sells out to 'Americans in tacky suits with poor taste in liquor.'

Bucky was on edge tonight, usually during his nights out he would be himself, free and drunk with a couple of his military buddies, like every Monday night that he knew his daughter was at home with his entrusted Nanny.

She was a sweet old woman, one he could always entrust with his daughter — one that would make cookies with her and teach her how to take proper care of her hair. She taught his daughter a lot of good morals and advice that a daughter usually learns from her mother, and for that Bucky was eternally grateful. 

So when she told Bucky that she was retiring along with her husband, Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. He bought her an expensive necklace as one last appreciation gift, along with a card his daughter helped make.

But, his daughter wasn't home with her. She was home with you, the new nanny he recently hired because god knows he wouldn't last a day completely on his own. 

He did a deep background check on you before you were even given an interview, he busted out all the stops making sure you were the ideal choice to take care of his daughter when he was working or at Alexei's Pub every other Monday night. 

You were young, half his age, but experienced in baby sitting and working past part-time jobs. He made sure you were ready for this level of commitment, offering you the spare bedroom that the old nanny only spent a few nights a week in. 

A live in nanny position was no easy feat, he made sure you knew that. He made sure you knew that caring for a seven year old little girl could get stressful and chaotic, and you assured him plenty of times you could handle this.

He didn't have a real reason for being as nervous as he was, this was your first night with her and he promised himself he wouldn't worry — but he still did. Even Steve Rogers, his childhood friend and ex-military buddy, could tell that something was off with him, it was practically written all over his face.

"Buck, lighten up. I'm sure she's doing fine with Rosalie. You worry far too much." He chuckled lightheartedly, his firm hand patting Bucky's back. 

With a controlled smile, he drew in a breath and turned to face the rest of the small group. "Yeah, I'm fine Steve." He sighed, knowing he should just enjoy his night off and trust that he made the right decision hiring you after all the precautions he took. 

"I think your problem is you're lacking in the woman department." Clint spoke up as Bucky and Steve came and took their seats down at the table that Sam, Clint and Natasha were already seated at, previously talking among themselves. 

"Oh, is that my problem?" Bucky asked, the dry sarcasm dripping in his tone as his lips twitched in a faint smirk. 

"Don't put that idea in his head, once he learns about Tinder he's gonna be a force to reckon with." Sam jokes as he sips from his beer with his own smirk. "Killin' all the ladies."

"I think what they're meaning to say, beneath their terrible jokes… is that you need to start dating. Find a decent girl, you know." Natasha interjected with a softer smile and a shrug after Sam and Clint finished chuckling at Bucky's expense. 

"Between work and Rosalie, I barely have enough time to make it here once every two weeks…" Bucky muttered with a sigh, "Besides, I don't need you playing match maker for me, Nat."

"Her match making skill aren't all bad." Steve commented, sharing a lingering glance with Natasha before averting his gaze down to his beer. 

Clint groaned under his breath, sneaking his hand over to grab one of the shot glasses that were lined up in the middle of the table and downing it. "One more round and then I gotta get home before the misses starts texting." His voice was strained from the burning taste of the alcohol, then clearing his throat slightly as he set the empty glass set back down on the table.

After another drink and a few old stories, earning a genuine laugh from within Bucky's throat, the night wrapped up for him and the others. 

"Next time, I'm paying for all of you." Clint offered, clearly drunk as Natasha just laughed, supporting him up from under his arm as he waved to the others and started to go their separate ways on the street.

Steve stayed around for a little while, watching Bucky call an Uber on his phone with a content faint smile on his lips and his hands buried into his light blue jean pockets. "You gonna be alright, Buck?" 

The breath that Bucky drew in was telling, before glancing up at Steve from his phone screen. "Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. Just… this new nanny has me worried. I know Rosalie likes her, I just worry." 

With a breathy huff, Steve's smile widens slightly as he shook his head. "I know you worry, Buck. But I think this'll be good for her, to have a younger nanny to connect with and all." 

"No, no. I know." Bucky nodded, working to convince himself as well. "I'll see you soon, buddy." He smiled, the kind that creased his cheeks with smile lines as he leaned in and they shared a quick, familiar hug. 

Bucky's Uber pulled up almost immediately after Steve said his goodbyes and started walking towards his apartment complex nearby. Bucky dipped his head into the car, sitting down on the leather of the backseats as he shut the door behind him. 

When he got home, it was quiet — very quiet. A few lamps were on, enough to illuminate parts of the kitchen and living room, the ones that he knew you must've left on for him when he came home. 

With a glance over at the couch, he realized his daughter's favorite blanket was sitting on the throw pillows. A soft sigh left his lips, fond and familiar. He walked over, grabbing the fleece in his hand and making his way quietly towards her room.

He stopped when he noticed the door was cracked open, seeing you sitting by Rosalie's bed and quietly organizing some of her favorite bedtime books by her nightstand as she was fast asleep in her small bed. 

The floorboard creaked slightly under his weight, making you jolt and glance in the direction of Bucky's broad frame and faint apologetic smile. Your hand came to your chest, and with it came a quiet — barely audible laugh at yourself for getting jump scared by the owner of the house.

You walked towards the door, making sure Rosalie had a nightlight plugged in as per her sleepy, mumbled request before finally falling asleep hours ago.

"How'd it go tonight?" Bucky asked as you walked out from the hallway, he started making himself busy in the kitchen — throwing together something quick to snack on before he planned to head to bed himself.

You let out a content sigh, a small smile pulling at your lips as you sat yourself up on the kitchen stool. "It went great, Mr. Barnes. Your daughter sure is something special." You responded softly, earning a small smile from him as he nodded.

You innocently grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter, peeling down the banana's peel with those manicured nails he found himself glancing at every now and then. When you bit into it, your tongue darting out just slightly, Bucky was sure he was going insane.

The words from earlier came back to him, the stupid tipsy jokes his friends made about him needing a new woman in his life — or maybe just for the night. He swallowed heavily and focused back on fixing his own snack, ignoring the growing burn in his lower abdomen and the urge to stare at you like the hungry man that he was slowly realizing he was.

"Are you alright, Mr. Barnes? You look burnt out." You asked, chewing slowly as you blinked at him with the fruit sitting in your hand. 

"No, No." He cleared his throat, mentally berating himself and avoiding looking at you directly out of pure shame for the thoughts in his head. "Thank you, have a good night."

A small pout pulled on your lips as he turned his back and headed off down the hallway to turn in for the night, but you understood. Mr. Barnes was a busy man, you knew that and you understood. After all, if he wasn't you'd be out of a job without a doubt. 

But what you didn't know was just how deprived of touch he was becoming, a man with a hidden lust that was beginning to boil over and spill into his everyday life — which as of late, included you.

He knew it was a mistake to hire someone like you — half his age, a voice like silk, a high maintenance working woman that formed an instant connection with his daughter as if it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t.

With a tired sigh, he set his plate of fine crackers and cheese on the nightstand and plopped down into his bed. He felt limp, too tired from the day move — yet alone actually get undressed. 

It didn't help that he was half hard from just watching you do something as mundane as eat a piece of fruit. He groaned in uncomfortably as he pulled his belt off, pushing himself lazily out of his jeans. 

The room was only illuminated by the single lamp that sat with a slightly crooked shade from when he reached under to bring it to life by it's pull chain. 

That didn't help.

He was too comfortable, too mellow and too eager to relive the only form of uncomfortably he felt — desire, for you.

Before any logical thoughts could form in his brain, his hand was already freeing his cock from the thin fabric of his boxers by inching them down just below his base.

An empty sigh left his lips, stroking himself a couple times with a slow and steady pace. His grip tightened as he pulled his cock upwards, a barely audible groan leaving his throat and his eyes closing softly.

He was lost in the bliss of reminiscing. Your scent, your hands, your voice… everything about you. When he closed his eyes, he could picture you perfectly — only you weren't in the clothes he would often see you in, the skirts that almost reach your knee caps, the sheer stockings and worn sneakers.

In his mind you were in navy blue lace underwear, the bra clinging tightly to your breasts as you hovered above him and kissed down his chest, your hand smoothening over his skin in a way that made his cock harden fully.

His pace picked up slightly, fucking his fist at a slightly faster pace as his own hips lifted slightly off the bed to meet his pumps. His lips were parted, dark brown locks clinging slightly to his the sweat on his forehead.

As soon as his thoughts started to wonder, about him spreading your perfect legs and burying himself between your thighs — imagining how you'd taste on his tongue and fingers — he let out a deep groan and came over his stomach.

The white ropes clung to his ab muscles, spurting over his skin as he milked his cock slowly with soft groans spilling from his lips.

The regret came a bit later, while letting the steaming water of the hot shower rain down his body and clean off the sinful release he indulged in just moments ago.

He just came undone to impure thoughts of his newly hired nanny, was he truly a lost cause? It felt like his lowest and his highest wrapped into one — and he started to realize maybe Clint wasn't wrong at all. 

After his shower, with his hair still slightly damp from being lazily towel dried, he finally crashed in his bed and let sleep envelope him in it's warm embrace of comfort and exhaustion.

His alarm went off with vibrations under his pillow, the sound simple and default but still just as annoying. With a deep groan, he pushed himself up slightly and rummaged under the sheets for his phone. 

He heard laughing from the kitchen, making him sit up a little straighter and search for some pajamas to throw on before he decided to get up for the day. 

It was freshly seven in the morning, the sun rising into sky and casting it's light along the side of the globe that faced it. His slippers made a soft sound against the hard wood floors, walking into the kitchen as he rubbed the corner of his eye.

There you were, wearing one of his kitchen aprons and making cinnamon rolls with his daughter kneeling on a chair next to you to assist. "Oops, they're slipping back down." You spoke softly, reaching over to roll Rosalie's sleeves up a little higher while she was mixing the ingredients in a bowl with a large mixing spoon.

"Daddy!" She beamed once she peered up, seeing Bucky walk into the room with a lazy smile and a bad case of bed head. 

"Hey, angel. What'cha making?" He asked, towering over both of you as you glanced over at him with a small polite smile.

"She wanted to make cinnamon rolls to have with lunch, so we're getting a head start." You explained before focusing your attention back on the little one.

"Let me guess, mac and cheese and cinnamon rolls for lunch?" Bucky asked, his tone sarcastic and fond. He walked past you, reaching up into the cabinet to hoop his fingers around the handle of a coffee mug and bring it down to the keurig. 

"No, Ms. Nanny makes breakfast for lunch on Tuesdays." Rosalie explained, licking frosting off of her thumb when she thought you weren't looking — making you chuckle under your breath. 

"Oh?" Bucky asked, eyebrows raising slightly in an appreciative and surprised glance toward you. 

The old nanny didn't do meal plans, simply fixing whatever seemed appropriate and appetizing that night. It was almost refreshing to see how organized you were with his daughter, and it made his heart melt seeing how much fun she seems to have with someone like you. 

"We're gonna go swimming later, if that's alright?" You spoke up, keeping your hand on the bowl while Rosalie stirred the mixture of ingredients.

Bucky popped a coffee pod into the machine, pulling the hatch down and pressing the largest cup option before turning toward you and leaning his hip against the counter, his big arms folding across his chest comfortably. 

"Yeah, that's fine. Just make sure you have her swim suit and—"

"Sunblock, change of clothes, it's all in her backpack ready to go." You finished, taking him aback slightly before he chuckled under his breath.

"Alright, show off." He muttered playfully, shifting his gaze over to his daughter who was contently mixing the bowl with a hum and a sprinkle of flower on her small cheek.

You turned when the toaster popped, two slices of toast evenly browned peaking over the steel of the toaster. With a quick snag, you plated them on a small plate and offered them to Bucky with a simple, kind smile.

"Can't just drink coffee for breakfast, Mr. Barnes." You reminded, making him let out a small huff of something genuine, the feeling almost foreign.

"Thank you, that's very sweet." He smiled faintly, looking down at the toasted bread you were offering him before taking it from you and setting it by the brewing coffee machine.

It went like that for a while, the softness and the ease of a nuclear family. The school often mistook you as Rosalie's mother for a while in the beginning, giving that Bucky wasn't a very public showing person — you set the record straight after a few simple slip ups, but it ran through Bucky's mind constantly.

You ran through his mind constantly. It was the little things you did, the sweet gestures and the kind smile with innocent intentions. 

Bucky felt disgusting after each time he'd fuck his fist to you, he'd imagine you in porn videos where the woman's face couldn't be seen — he'd close his eyes and imagine every sinful act he'd want to commit on your beautiful body and that gorgeous face.

And it stayed a secret, a very shameful secret that Bucky pushed deep into the back of his mind to keep a friendly relationship with you. Especially for the sake of his daughter — she adored you, and you were so good with her, the perfect nanny any little girl could ask for.

Both of you were gone for the day, out doing some grocery shopping at the local market before school started back up again. Bucky had the house to himself for a few hours, so he figured he'd be a gentleman and take care of some of your dirty laundry for you in your room. 

He entered the space cautiously, pushing the door open and subconsciously inhaling the scent of your room. Sweet, warm vanilla. Like the scent of a previously blown out candle and a mix of your perfume that didn't stick to you and clung to your room. 

Your clothing basket was about halfway full, not entirely worth a whole load of laundry but something that Bucky didn't mind doing for you — after all, you do everything around here it's the least he could do for you on his day off. 

As he reached for the basket, he noticed a your dresser drawer peaking open slightly with a glimpse of something red and lace. It was like something he imagined you wearing, only instead of navy blue it was red and black. What played through Bucky's mind was pure pornography. 

He found himself setting the basket down, slowly pulling open the drawer and getting a full view of your small collection of underwear. On one side was cute, regular cotton underwear and some normal everyday bras. The other side was purely erotic lace sets.

It was wrong, it was disgusting just to be looking at this, it was a pure invasion of your privacy and trust — but to his better judgement he let his dick take over his brain.

The fabric felt tiny in his calloused hand as he slowly picked it up, the design of the lace making his hardened cock press right against his zipper. 

He pressed his lips together, glancing over at the closed door of your room before immediately beginning to fumble with his belt, unbuckling it with ease.

He freed his cock just enough to wrap the garment around his leaky tip, softly beginning to stroke himself with it as quietly as possible. He moaned under his breath, something low and lustful as he fucked himself with your clean panties.

The smell of your room was intoxicating, this was your most private personal space and here he was committing obscene acts in it. His lungs were greedy, and so was his lustful appetite. He reached down with his free hand, grabbing your silk nightgown and bringing it to his nose, inhaling the scent deeply while he pumped his cock faster.

"Fuck, fuck—" He moaned, slowing his pace down as his white hot release slowly began to soil your black lace panties. 

Once again, the regret came after. Staring down at your beautiful clean panties now ruined by his own lustful perversion toward a nanny he's supposed to have no interest in.

So what was it about you that pulled him in so deeply? You sat in the corner of his mind like a whisper — never leaving, never fully coming to the front. 

With a disappointed groan, he tossed the dirty garment into the basket and shamefully pulled his pants back up, buckling his belt securely. 

Now, contrary to recent activities, Bucky Barnes is not a pervert. He's a very sweet guy, a single father in arguably the world's worst economy in modern times. You are the only person who's brought out this hungry side of him. This uncontrollable insatiable appetite for you is going to be his downfall, he knows it.

When you got home, it was late. You carried his daughter who was sleeping on your hip, arms securing her with a grocery bag hooked on your elbow. She was a bit too big to be carried, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to wake her up when she was sleeping so peacefully.

The television he was previously watching was now completely forgotten, already on his feet to help you by quietly taking the groceries. "There's more in the car if you could grab those for me, Mr. Barnes." You whispered softly, making his heart melt as you walked quietly down the hallway toward Rosalie's room carrying her on your hip.

This was the night the change happened inside Bucky, the spark of something beyond lust, the spark of seeing you take on an almost motherly role despite your job title being a nanny.

"Yes ma'am." He responded, now to an empty room. He walked out to the car, the night air cold and biting against his bare arms. The street was illuminated only faintly by the public street lamps, but enough to reach in and grab the bags. 

He reached up, his tee-shirt rising with his movements as he pulled the trunk down until the shut. The bags of groceries were in his hands as he pushed the door of the house open with his shoulder, making his way inside.

You were sitting down on one of the kitchen stools, pouring a half glass of wine and clearly pondering about something in that pretty little head of yours. Blame it on curiosity, or maybe the urge to get closer with you beyond what he imagines in his head, but he couldn't resist speaking up. 

"Something on your mind there, sweetheart?" He asked, hands running along the granite as he settled on the other side of the kitchen island. The pet name slipped past his lips before he could suck it back in, but it was out there now — there was no taking that back.

You blinked up at him, a soft sigh leaving your lips. "Just… personal issues. Boyfriend drama, if you will." You huffed, playing it off as you took a sip from the glass. You noticed he was listening, he had chin resting on his hand, elbows leaned on the granite.

"I don't wanna burden you with my love life, Mr. Barnes. I'm okay, really." You offered him a small, polite smile. One that was still professional — after all, he was your boss at the end of the day.

He hummed, contemplating between letting you have your space or pushing you a little further. He settled on the former. "You don't look okay, I see the gears turning." He spoke, voice laced with a kind of dry humor that was entirely him, along with a softer half smile that made your pulse stammer. 

With a soft exhale, you finally caved in. "My ex-boyfriend and I, we broke up recently. It was… numbing, because I knew the love was gone well before this happened." 

His expression softened into one of sympathy and understanding, his hand coming to rest on top of yours that sat on the polished surface of the kitchen island. "I know how that feels." 

It felt hotter in the room now, a room that was once almost chilly now had your face heating. Or was it really the temperature? Surely the single father rubbing gentle strokes with his thumb over your knuckles like you were something delicate had nothing to do with it. 

"I think I'll be okay." You muttered after a moment, maybe softly trying to convince yourself of it. "I'm just thankful I have this job." 

His lips thinned into a fonder smile. "You'll always have this job, Rosalie admires her nanny." 

His kind words made you huff, your lips pulling into a soft smile at the idea that you were admired by a child that you deeply care for. "She's a special little girl." You spoke, voice starting to rasp with a tiredness after a long day of activities.

With a single glance, Bucky noticed the heeled shoes you were wearing, as well as the tired expression you were growing to have. "She really keeps you on your toes, huh?" He joked softly. With a simple movement, he moved to your side and offered out his hand. 

"Let's have a movie night, huh? Or a show night, whatever you're feeling like. I wanna get to know you. You treat my daughter like she's your own, I don't think I've ever seen her happier." He spoke, his words melting your heart at it's core. 

"A movie night?" You repeated, the question sounding foreign on your tongue despite that being what he just asked you. He was your boss, you were his daughter's nanny. Maybe he wanted to explore a friendship, but that's not quite the vibe you were getting within this moment.

You could see the faint crow's feat near the edges of his eyes soften when he asked you, as if he was nervous to do so — yet he displayed the softest confidence that you'd take his hand. 

And you did.

Now, two bottles of wine into the night, your legs were laid across his lap as he convinced you to let him rub them for you. "My mother always said a good foot rub relieves deeper stress." He explained smoothly, your mind slightly buzzed as you let him work his fingers into the arch of your foot.

"She sounds like a knowledgeable woman, Mr. Barnes." You murmured, cheek pressed into the fabric of the couch as you quietly admired his side profile rather than the movie that drowned out in the background — merely faint voices and muffled sounds in your ear.

You felt as if you should know better, getting wine drunk with the man who’s essentially your boss, letting him give you the best foot massage of your life — it all felt unprofessional to say the least.

He reached up, your foot still between his lap and his crunched stomach, wrapping his fingers around his glass of wine and taking a prolonged sip. Bucky was still aware of the movie, mildly entertained by it — you on the other hand were more focused on him.

Blame it on the wine coursing through your veins, but the father of the little girl you took care of was starting to look like something out of a museum. He's always been a rich painting to take in and admire but never touch or linger too close, yet in this moment all you wish to do is run your fingers along his gold frame and admire him closer.

If you only knew half of the thoughts that run through his mind, you would know he's just as eager. He was thankful for the throw pillow over his lap, your foot securing it over his half hard cock buried beneath the layers of his jeans and boxers.

He blamed it on the proximity, pushing it out of his mind with a simple 'It's because she smells good, it'll go down later.' Meanwhile, it never quite went down as you sat on the couch for two hours.

It was so casual that it made Bucky's brain fuzzy, or maybe that was the wine. Maybe it was both. All he knew in this moment was that his heart was beating out of his chest as you inched a little closer, thinking he wouldn't notice. 

"I should probably go check on Rosalie." You spoke after a while, your softened voice slightly rasped with a faint tiredness. Bucky only hummed, his loose grip on your foot releasing completely to let you maneuver however you'd like.

He knew his daughter slept like a rock once she was out she was out for the night. She'd been that way for a while, such an easy little girl to put to sleep at night because she loved her sleep — she also loved the expensive princess themed bed Bucky splurged on a few Christmases ago just for her.

You pulled the throw blanket off of your waist, sitting up from your position on the couch and strolled off toward the stairs to go peek into Rosalie's room. 

Bucky's gaze peered over to you before you turned the corner, body moving slowly from the relaxing moment you just shared. A quiet sigh left his lips when you disappeared from his view, his shoulders slumping slightly. 

In his moment of silence and seclusion, it dawned on him just how ridiculous he felt in this very moment. You were half his age, recently broke up with your little boyfriend and not to mention he's risking the best nanny his daughter has ever responded to.

"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, dragging his large calloused hand over his face in exhaustion. His hands fell to his lap, then he sat up to press the button on the remote to turn the volume down a bit.

If it weren't for you coming back down the stairs, he would've taken the throw pillow off off his lap — but he didn't trust himself, not being half hard. 

"What'd I miss?" You asked, as if you were ever paying much attention to the movie in the first place. You walked over, bending your knee as you dipped down on the couch closer to him than you previously were.

Yet to Bucky, not nearly close enough.

"Not much." He cleared his throat, wiping his palms against the textured fabric of the throw pillow on his lap. He could smell the perfume you wore that clung to your clothes better than it clung to your skin. The scent of that mixed with the sweet smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils. "Rosalie okay?"

"Sleepin' like a baby." You replied, dipping softly into the comforting back of the couch. Your lips had a faint red tint on them from the wine, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to crash his own into them and taste the familiarity on something so foreign as your lips.

"Good, good." Bucky said, drawing in a steady breath and sighing it quietly out as his fingers drummed lightly on the throw pillow. "You know if you're tired you can—"

"It's fine, I like spending time with you." You spoke innocently, the way your eyelashes batted on their own at him made Bucky's problem below the throw pillow worsen.

He just nodded silently, keeping his eyes trained on the sixty-inch screen just above the fireplace. The movie dragged on a little further, your outer thigh brushing against his.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Barnes?" Your tone was sweet and concerned, one that shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did but right now his restraint to grab you and pull you into his lap was thinning.

He cleared his throat, thankful to see the end credits on the screen. "I think I'm just gonna call it a night. I'm—I'm just drained, long day. You know?" Bucky excused, sitting up before you could part your lips to speak. His feet dressed in wool socks padded along the hardwood floor before rounding the corner. His back, muscled with a visible outline through his gray tee-shirt became just a memory. 

"Okay, goodnight." You muttered, bottom lip sticking out slightly with a sigh. An idea ran through your head about another movie, but your attention span was dwindling too much for that commitment. 

Pulling yourself up from the comfort of the couch, you snagged the wine glass off the coffee table in front of you by the base and taking another soft swig until it ran empty. You made your way upstairs after shutting off the lights, head spinning slightly on turns in ways that made you hold back giggles to yourself.

When your back hit your bed, your body bouncing against the mattress, you let out a relaxed sigh. Blame it on the wine fogging your brain, but heat began to pool in your lower stomach, hands wondering on their own down your body until you stopped at the hem of your shorts. 

Your hand felt warm, your own nails felt somehow different as they dragged along your skin and slipped beneath your shorts. Two fingers slid down, spread and putting pressure on your folds before then sliding up your clit. A breath left your lips, eyes closed as you could only picture one face, one body, one voice.

The face, body and voice that would only get you in trouble — Bucky Barnes.

With wetness gathering at every passing second, you rubbed circles into your clit, imagining his calloused hands on your hips — guiding you, forcing you down to take his cock deeper into you. Breathing became heavier, fingers dipped into an eager hole that swallowed them in gratefully. 

"Oh, Bucky…" It was a sinful, quiet whine that shouldn't have left your lips, and yet it did. A mind fogging orgasm ran through your body from your core, fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt as you came down. Soft, barely audible moans fell from your lips.

The kind that only you could hear, or maybe someone that happened to be awake to grab a glass of water to calm his mind. Someone that happened to walk past your bedroom door and was smart enough to know what those quiet moans were. Someone that was the center of your fantasies and didn't even know it.

Someone who spent the rest of that night stroking his cock, replaying the quiet, barely audible moans in his head until his hand cramped and his energy was truly spent. Someone who in that moment knew he was truly done for.

Clinking beer bottles and laughter filled the bar, lively for the time of year when college students were returning home for the holidays — Bucky's worst nightmare. A once relaxing environment was now filled with twenty something's in short skirts and jerseys with their names proudly printed on the back. 

"Oh, jeez." Steve muttered, pushing through a group of people with sheepish apologies hands carrying beers from the bar. "Sorry, the bar was packed." Their hands reached out to grab a bottle from Steve as he sat down, Bucky taking the last. 

"Well, looks like the kids are having a good holiday season so far." Natasha commented, watching a group from the secluded table they sat at. Bucky just looked irritated the entire time, twisting open the cap on his beer as he avoided looking at them.

She took a swig of the beer, leaning back in her chair as she observed the group of guys talking too loudly, laughing over a memory only they shared. Bucky on the other hand had enough of hearing it, so he drowned himself in his beer and grumbled as the other four talked on about their lives.

"How's the nanny situation, Buck?" Sam spoke up, breaking a wave of silence that washed over the group after their chatter. He choked slightly on the sip he was about to swallow, turning his gaze to Sam who wore a growing smirk at his reaction.

"Nanny situation?" Play dumb, Barnes. 

Sam sat up slightly, elbows leaning into the table as his beer rested in his hand. "She's new, right? How's your daughter warming up to her?" 

Bucky cleared his throat, his free hand lifting to a shrugging gesture. "I mean, Rosalie likes her. That's what matters. It's been a few weeks now, everything's… fine." 

Steve smiled, pleased to hear his friend and his daughter are doing well — Natasha didn't quite buy it, and neither did Sam. "Just fine? Rosalie likes her, you don't?" Natasha was the one to break the ice, making Sam shoot her an approving glance and a not so subtle smirk.

"It's not like that, Nat." He sighed, gaze shifting down to his beer. "She's just… young."

"The old nanny retired, right? I'm sure you're not used to a young woman running the house. That's understandable." Steve spoke with reason, "How old is she, anyways?"

"Early twenties." Bucky sighed, earning a small chuckle from Natasha.

"And you're not… I mean, you two aren't…" Sam's vague tone, filled with hints still didn't completely register to Bucky for a few moments. Then it clicked when Natasha's smirk widened and Steve looked increasingly close to sighing.

"No. We aren't." Bucky said firmly, his offense to the insinuation only proving Sam's inter theories — but he nodded, setting down his empty beer on the table before pushing his chair back to stand. "I'm gonna go get another beer."

The group watched him go, the silence speaking louder than words before Sam broke it with an amused chuckle. Steve shot him a disappointed look, while Bucky was parting through the waves of college kids. 

That's when he caught it. The whiff of that familiar perfume across the bar. Your hair was styled differently in smooth curls, jean skirt shorter than his patience with the crowded space. For a moment he just stared, blinking in surprise as he watched you laugh with your friend.

You were clearly having a good time, laughing and babbling on, letting the alcohol in your bloodstream have a mind of it's own. It was odd to see you like this, it felt personal — even if it was just looking at you from afar. 

Then your eyes met his, and you froze like a deer in headlights. This was your night off, Rosalie was staying with her grandparents for the night, so in truth you had no responsibilities you were avoiding with him — so why did seeing him make you feel instant guilt in your stomach.

He was the first to look away once your friends surrounded you once more. "Oh, he's cute!" Sharon whispered in your ear, the scent of her hair spray filling your nose along with the vodka on her breath.

You let out a breathy chuckle, watching him order a beer from the bartender and actively avoid your gaze. Out of all places in Brooklyn, you had to be here, surrounded by college idiots that were making his patience in this environment thin?

"Stop staring them down, you're gonna scare away their money." Yelena teased, turning around with his beer in hand. She twisted open the cap and placed it on the bar for him. 

Bucky's lips twitched in a smile, her dry sarcasm easing the irritation that made his neck vein pop out. Alexei and Melina were close by, serving the other crowd and making casual conversation between waves.

With a gruff 'thank you,' Bucky turned on his feet and walked back towards his group with a new beer in hand. His gaze still lingered, watching you from afar in the corner of his eye like he wasn't essentially your boss — if this was ever a normal situation, he probably would've approached you by now, made some lame excuse of small talk and get to know you. 

But this wasn't a normal situation, you weren't someone he didn't know before tonight. You were the center of his fantasies, his guilty pleasure and the reason for multiple sleepless nights.

He settled in his seat once more, still keeping you in the corner of his eye. You were laughing, letting a man wrap his arm around your waist claiming you were good luck before he lined his pool cue up and played the most pathetic shot Bucky's ever seen. 

But what really got him is how comfortable you were being touched, how you laughed at everything that amused you in the moment. You were carefree while he could only watch you, forcing himself to focus on his own friends — to rid the thoughts of you from his mind even though you were in the same building.

"Earth to Barnes." Sam called out mockingly, snapping his fingers by his head as Bucky blinked. 

"What the hell was that for?" He asked, irritation evident in his tone.

"For tuning us out." Clint teased, sliding over a shot in his direction across the wooden table. "Drink."

A sarcastic remark was on his tongue, but he thought maybe a shot would ease his mind of you. He took the small glass, tipping his head back as he downed it with a slight sour expression.

"That's my man." Sam encouraged, his contagious laugh filling the small area.

Bucky shook his head, clinking the glass down on the table before standing up. "I'm gonna go take a leak." He excused, listening half mindedly to a story Nat was starting to tell as he took his leave.

He excused himself past a few groups, apologizing when his shoulders touched someone else's trying to get to the gender neutral bathroom tucked in the back corner of the bar. He pushed open the swinging door with his body weight, feeling the air change as he walked in.

The lights were florescent over his head, the smudged mirror clearly needing a wipe down and the sink wet with recent use, some water and soap on the counter itself. Once he was finished, he pulled open the stall with intent to go back to his friends.

He didn't expect to see you walking into the bathroom, adjusting your jean skirt by pulling it down slightly over your upper thighs where it had slipped up just slightly. For the second time that night, you were a deer caught in Bucky's headlights. 

"Hi." You spoke before you could register the situation. He cleared his throat, nodding toward you as he took a few steps and settled in front of the sink, turning on the hot water. 

But you were a little too eager for the awkwardness to subside, "Are you having a good time with your friends, Mr. Barnes?" You asked, offering a small smile as you stood near by, watching him in the mirror as he rubbed his hands together under the running water — his eyes down.

"Yeah." He answered, glancing at you from the mirror's reflection. "You can uh, you can call me Bucky, you know." And just like that he was focused on his hands once more, this time reaching for the paper towel dispenser.

Maybe it was a mistake to let you call him that, because once the words left your mouth that familiar heat was pooling in his lower abdomen. "Alright, Bucky."

"Don't say it like that." He spoke a little too breathlessly, regretting ever giving you permission in the first place. You were so close, your scent intoxicating him in a way that the alcohol in his veins couldn't measure up to.

"I'm sorry?" Your tone was a mixture between an apology and utter confusion, taking a small step closer as he tossed his used paper towels into the silver garbage can. 

He wanted to disappear in that moment, but you were unknowingly blocking the door. Maybe it was better to face the situation head on — the one he'd been avoiding since shortly after hiring you. Shortly after you came into his life and made yourself comfortable.

In just a few steps he was standing in front of you, broad frame towering over you. "You just… you have no idea what you do to me." He spoke with a rasped tone, his freshly washed hand coming up to your cheek to hold. 

Everything was slow, testing, patient. 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what he meant, and it made your stomach light up like fireflies. Your lips parted to say something, anything — but he was slowly leaning into them with his own until they connected.

He tried to keep it slow, to keep it at a level where he could stop if you showed any signs of discomfort — but you were opening your mouth for him, hand coming up to slide under his open leather jacket and feel his ribs through his tee shirt. His other hand came to hold your face in both hands, deepening the kiss with a tilt as his tongue pushed it's way in. 

He parted slowly, eyes opening to meet yours. When he noticed he smudged your lipstick, he accepted the fact that he was gone. His arm moved to the door behind you, fingers clicking the lock as he pushed you up against the door. "Are you sure?" He asked, searching your expression for the slightest bit of hesitation. 

He found none.

"Show me what I do to you." You spoke lowly, your eyes having a hard time separating themselves from his lips. His hands were on you right after a quiet groan left his lips, holding your thighs from below, hoisting your legs around his waist. 

You pushed your lips onto his again, hands coming to feel the short hairs of his beard that you've dreamt about sitting on. His tongue felt sinful on it's own, pushing into your mouth like he owned it — his hands holding your face to keep you close. 

A soft gasp escaped you when he hoisted you up completely, walking you to the sink's counter and placing you on the chilling quartz that sent silvers up your spine. His lips moved in hunger down your face, taking his time when he found your neck dragging hie tongue up the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Bucky." You almost whined, feeling his grip on your thighs tighten, his fingers surely digging red marks into the flesh. 

His teeth were sinking into your neck, a muffled growl sent a tingle through your gut. "This little jean skirt is tempting me. Who'd you wear it for, huh?" He asked, his hands traveling up, pushing the material up along with it.

"No one." You breathed, watching him grip the waistband of your underwear before his lips were on yours again. Every kiss, every deep claiming lick felt more and more heated until he was pulling the waistband down slowly.

"You sure you didn't wear this because you knew I'd be fucking you in the dirty bathroom of an old bar?" His words were pure filth, his voice luring you in enough to nod mindlessly at whatever he was saying — as long as his fingers kept guiding up and down your folds through the cotton of your panties.

Bucky parted from your lips, drawing in a breath as he forced you down off the counter with his hands on your thighs. "Still want me to show you what you do to me?" He asked lowly, spinning you until your hands were gripping the sink's counter, your ass bent and your back arching in his favor. 

"Yes." You spoke without hesitation, your voice a soft whisper. His large hand covered your back, feeling up your spine as he pushed your panties down fully with the other until they pooled by your ankles. 

He moved down, kneeling behind you as his fingers knitted into the fat of your ass, hands gripping and separating the mounds as he licked a stripe up your folds from behind. You whined when his tongue slipped into your hole, pushing itself in and out softly, as if savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Manicured nails dug into the quartz of the counter, your eyes flickering up to your own reflection repeatedly but never able to stay watching yourself come apart as his fingers worked their way into the game — a finger slowly entering you as his tongue circled your clit. 

You leaned further into the counter, elbows now resting against it as he continued his tireless assault on your cunt.

"She's so eager, suckin' my fingers right in." He spoke, removing his mouth from your pussy as he stood up, his chest hovering right over your arched back. A soft moan fell from your lips as he pumped two fingers into you as if he knew what you needed. 

His other hand moved to wrap around your throat, holding you upright forcing your chin up so he could kiss you upside down as he fingered you relentlessly. When your knees buckled and your whines broke the kiss, he knew you were getting close to where he wanted you. 

"Gonna cum, baby? Do it, cum on my fingers." He coaxed, breath hot on your face as your thighs shook around his hand, walls fluttering around his fingers. A helpless mewl spilled from your lips as you came, white hot and powerful that knocked the air from your lungs and made your eyes begun to water.

He never stopped until you were coming down, letting you ride it out as long as you needed, then his fingers slowly slipped out. Soaked with your slick and cum, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. 

Bucky's hand around your throat moved to position you fully bent back over the sink. You let a soft gasp as he pressed himself firmly against you, you could feel the outline of his hard cock poke right against you through his jeans. 

"This is what you do to me, little lady." His voice was strained, enjoying being pressed against you a little too much. All you could do was whine in response, pushing your ass back against him as a form of begging for him. 

You could hear him fumbling with his belt buckle from behind, then his tip pressing through your folds and sinking into you. His thickness stretched you open in ways that had you whining and clawing at the counter, his hands finding their place on your hips.

"So tight." He breathed, sinking in deeper with a groan. 

"I can't, I can't— Fuck." You babbled, moaning deeply once he finally bottomed out inside you, making your elbows give out on the counter.

His arms snaked around you, holding you up. "Just breathe, you can take me. You can do it, baby." You could hear the satisfaction in his voice, his restraint to not start fucking into you until you were ready.

Your breathing was heavy, but you nodded your head and gripped the counter's edge as he started moving slowly. His pelvis brushed intimately against your ass with each slow push back in after pulling out slightly — building a smooth rhythm until you were starting to meet his thrusts.

His hands traveled up under your shirt, finding your breasts under your bra and squeezing them firmly as his hips began to slap into yours from behind with a new found pace. Each moan and breathy whine that left your lips fueled him to fuck you deeper, to squeeze each part of your body like he craved it. 

His balls smacked sinningly sweet against your clit with each of his thrusts, ripping another orgasm from your body like it was nothing — your knees shaking and broken whines leaving your lips. 

His speed picked up, losing himself in how your walls fluttered around his cock, milking him perfectly. Rhythm became a thing of the past, his neck craning back as he moaned into the now sex smelling bathroom of Alexei's Corner Pub. 

Then, you felt it — his warmth slowly filling you as his thrusts stopped. He slowly pulled out, his cum dripping out of your gaping hole where his cock was once stuffed deep inside. His thick arms wrapped around you once more, keeping you from collapsing into the counter. 

"I've wanted to do that for a while now." He murmured, burying his face into your neck as you breathed heavy under his grip. 

"Fuck me?" You asked, slightly out of breath and legs still shaking.

He let out an airy chuckle in response, grabbing some sheets of paper towel and wetting it with warm sink water. He turned you, hoisting you back up on the counter and spreading you softly, wiping the fluids he stuffed you with. 

"No, sweetheart… more than that." He admitted quietly, tossing the paper towel in the trash. His touch against you was soft, gentle, sweet. He pulled your panties up to your waist before pulling your jean skirt back down securely. 

You watched him with a softened expression, in the back of your mind you were relieved he wasn't the type to fuck you and ditch you — instead he was cleaning you up like you were something fragile under his calloused hand.

Yet you couldn't help but ask, "More than that?" 

He locked eyes with you, hand coming up to brush a piece of hair out of your line of sight. "Let's go home and talk about it." 

There was something is his tone, not only the way he called his house your home — but the way his eyes promised a future, the way his touch delivered something soft and secure. You slipped down off the counter, his hands on your waist helping you down. 

"Okay, Bucky. Let's go home." You spoke, your hand coming to hold his hip for support. 

﹙ veil's taglist ﹚ 𖥔 @umbreoni @wint3rbarnes @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @angryoilslick516 @bucky-luvr @herejustforbuckybarnes @54nboo @blowingbarnes @swimmingnightcolor + add yourself!

[aquaticmercy]

The Woman You Are

Summary : Sam sets Bucky up with you, a human ray of sunshine.

Pairing : FATWS! Bucky Barnes x Sunshine! reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags :  Fluff, smut-ish, nothing too explicit but still very steamy, sexual themes. Kind of grumpy x sunshine, reader is mentioned to be Sam’s gym buddy, Bucky has an annoying neighbour, cursing, reader is secretly kinky in this. set immediately after FATWS (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count : 6.2k

Note : I originally aimed for this to be around like, 3k words, but oh well. Enjoy!

The Saints game blared through Bucky’s apartment, the volume louder than necessary because Sam insisted he couldn’t feel the game unless it rattled the windows. Bucky sat slouched in the armchair, arms crossed, looking every bit the human embodiment of a raincloud.

“What’s up with you?” Sam raised an eyebrow while he sipped his beer, noticing his friend a bit lost on his phone for the better half of the game. 

“Online dating,” Bucky muttered, stabbing a fork into the takeout container on his lap. “I tried it, but it was a disaster, Sam. You swipe left, you swipe right… I feel like I’m making decisions about people like I’m picking produce. It wasn’t like this in the ‘40s.”

Sam didn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah, in the ‘40s all you had to do was show up and girls tripped over their own feet.”

Bucky glared. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Buck, please. Steve told me you were the original pretty boy of Brooklyn,” he laughed, scoffing with amusement. “Don’t rewrite history just because you’ve lost game.”

“People actually talked back then,” Bucky grunted, “We courted. It took time. Now it’s all emojis and ‘wyd.’ What the hell does that even mean?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It means: what are you doing.”

“I know what it means,” Bucky rolled his eyes.“I’m just saying…. It feels impersonal. And half the time we stop talking before we even get to dinner.”

“Maybe because you open conversations like you’re writing your memoir,” Sam said. “You sent that one girl five paragraphs on your favorite plums.”

“They were good plums.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but it seemed like the universe would cut him off.

Knock knock knock.

Both men jumped. Then came the voice.

“James!” Mrs. Carmichael, the old lady who lived next to him, shouted through the door. “Turn that infernal game down! Some of us are trying to sleep before our arthritis medication kicks in!”

Bucky looked at the clock. 

It was like, 6 p.m. And it wasn’t even that loud.

Bucky groaned and got up, dragging himself to the door. He cracked it open just enough to see the elderly woman in her robe and slippers, her scowl carved so deep, he wondered how long it had been since it was permanently etched into her mouth.

“Sorry, Mrs. Carmichael,” Bucky said. “Sam’s really into the—”

“I don’t care if Sam is into it. Turn it down!” she huffed, wagging a finger. 

Bucky sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She eyed him another moment, then shuffled back toward her apartment muttering about “handsome men with no manners.” Bucky shut the door.

Sam burst out laughing. “She still lives next door? Oh man, I remember when she tried to get you evicted for using your vacuum cleaner.”

“She’s gonna live there till she dies. And that’s assuming that she can die.” Bucky hopped on the couch and went back to sulking. 

Sam watched him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. He knew his friend had always been grumpy in the 21st century… but he can’t remember the last time Bucky even tried to date. That effort must’ve counted for something. Right? 

“You know… I might know someone,” Sam started. “Someone who’s not into emojis. She’s sweet. Real sweet.”

Bucky stiffened. “Are you setting me up on a date?”

Sam shrugged. “If you want. I think you’d like her. More importantly, I think she’d actually like you.”

Bucky scoffed, staring at the floor. “I doubt it. I’m… a lot.”

“C’mon, man.” Sam leaned forward. “She’s the kind of person who could brighten a dungeon. You’re the dungeon. She’ll balance you out.”

Bucky cracked the smallest smile. “Wow. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam patted, grinning. “Trust me. She’s gonna adore you.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure.

—

Bucky spent the entire subway ride rehearsing how not to sound like an idiot.

Sam’s voice echoed in his head: She’s easy to talk to. Just don’t scowl like you’re interrogating her.

He tried to relax his face. It felt wrong, almost unnatural. Apparently, according to Joaquin, he had a ‘resting bitch face,” whatever that meant.

The café Sam set you up on was cosy, warm, and smelled like cinnamon. Bucky stepped inside and immediately spotted you at a booth by the window: bright smile, sunny sweater, waving at him like he was an old friend instead of a stranger.

His stomach did something embarrassing.

“You must be Bucky!” you said, standing up and offering your hand like you genuinely couldn’t wait to meet him.

He shook it. “That’s me.”

You laughed softly. “Sam showed me your picture. He didn’t show you mine, did he?”

“I—I didn’t ask.” (He absolutely should have asked. He would’ve stress-panicked less if he knew you were this gorgeous. Or maybe he would’ve panicked more. Who knows?)

You sat back down, folding your hands in front of you. “Sam talks about you all the time. He said you two were watching football and yelling at the TV when your neighbor threatened to evict you?”

Bucky groaned. “He told you that?”

“We go to the same gym,” you said with a little shrug. “He shares a lot during cooldown stretches.”

“Yeah, he shares too much in general,” Bucky said, and managed to pull out a genuine chuckle this time.

You laughed again, like you thought he was charming instead of off-putting. Bucky didn’t know what to do with that.

The waitress came by, and you placed your order with cheerful confidence. Bucky panicked and just echoed whatever you picked.

You talked after that. About little things, stories from work, a funny moment at the gym, how Sam always stretches like he’s performing for an invisible audience. And Bucky… listened. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because for once, listening didn’t feel like a chore. It felt as natural as breathing.

Every time he did speak, even if it was just a small “mmm” or a hesitant answer, your eyes warmed like something important had come out of his mouth. 

It had been a long time since someone looked at him with interest, without fear or pity. 

Your hands wrapped around your coffee cup as your laughter spilled quietly into the air. Your ankle brushed his by accident and he went still, not out of fear, but because a hopeful part of him had opened its eyes. 

He liked how you made the world feel lighter.

He liked the way you filled silences with warmth, not noise.

He liked… you. Immediately. More than he’d expected or prepared for.

When it was time to go, you slipped into your coat, still smiling (always smiling) and Bucky realized he didn’t want the moment to end. Not the cinnamon-scented room, not your sweet voice, not the warmth in his chest he’d thought he wasn’t capable of anymore.

“I had a really, really good time,” you said, meeting his eyes sincerely. “If you ever wanted to do this again… I definitely would.”

And Bucky felt his heart flutter under his ribs.

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’d like that.”

You gave him one last bright smile and your number before stepping out into the crisp evening, the bell on the café door chiming behind you like a promise.

Bucky stood there a long moment before pulling out his phone to text Sam:

She’s… nice.

Sam replied instantly.

Nice?? That’s it?? Did you at least smile???

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

He just looked out the window at the spot you’d disappeared around the corner and let his mouth, slowly, tug upwards. 

Eventually, he typed back:

Yeah. I smiled.

—

Date two was Bucky’s idea.

He texted you a simple “Coffee? Same place?” and immediately regretted the lack of emojis, punctuation, of anything. But you showed up with the same bright smile anyway, excited just to see him.

This one felt easier.

You talked about your week, your favorite silly shows, Sam’s terrible gym playlists. Bucky found himself watching your hands when you talked, the way they moved gently through the air like you were painting your words.

He told you a little more about himself this time. Nothing heavy, just small glimpses, like jazz records he liked, a diner he missed, and that he never understood why people thought biscotti was edible (he always got crumbs stuck in his teeth. You, on the other hand, didn’t mind it.)

You laughed, and Bucky realised he didn’t mind being teased by you. Not at all.

When you said goodbye, you touched his metal arm lightly.

He felt the warmth for hours.

—

After a whole week of texting and adorably calling in the middle of the night, you pulled the trigger on the third date. 

You took him out on an evening walk, warm air, ice cream dripping down your fingers as you both wandered down a quiet street.

Bucky walked close enough that your shoulders brushed sometimes. Close enough that he noticed how you smelled sweet, like clean laundry and just as comforting.

You talked less tonight. It wasn’t awkward, just… peaceful. You pointed out pretty windows, he made small comments, and every silence felt like a blanket, not a void.

When the walk ended at your corner, you stood together, streetlights glowing above you.

“I had fun,” you said, voice smaller than usual.

“Me too,” he answered, and it came out lower than he meant.

You stepped closer. He froze, not out of fear, but because he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to misread, didn’t want to ruin the warmth that had grown between you.

But you just tipped your face up and whispered, “Bucky?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I?”

He barely got out a nod before your lips met his. You kissed him like you knew he needed slow, not fast; soft, not deep.

His heart did a wild backflip behind his ribs.

When you pulled back, he was still half-leaning toward you, like gravity was confused.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you whispered.

—

Bucky didn’t go home right away after you kissed him goodnight.

He needed… a minute. Maybe more than a minute. His heart was still beating too fast, his lips still tingling, and his head felt strangely clear and warm at the same time. Like you had cracked open a window in a room he didn’t know was stuffy.

He ended up walking a few blocks before pulling out his phone.

Sam was usually up late, but Bucky hesitated anyway. He typed, deleted, typed again.

You awake?

Sam responded within ten seconds.

Yep. Did you ruin it?

Bucky rolled his eyes at the screen, but the smile tugging at his mouth wouldn’t go away.

He typed back.

No. I… actually wanted to say thanks.

Another quick reply.

???

Bucky exhaled slowly. Then he called him.

Sam picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”

Bucky stopped under a streetlight, staring at the pavement like he could make sense of the last two hours by studying it. “Just had the third date.”

“Oh, that’s what this was about,” Sam sounded way too proud of himself. “How did it go?”

“It was good.” He swallowed. “I haven’t…Sam, I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

Sam went very quiet. 

Bucky continued. “She’s… kind. She smiles at me like—like I’m someone worth smiling at.”

“Buck,” Sam chuckled, something like relief threading through his voice.

“There was a moment,” Bucky said softly. “We were walking. And she just… slipped her hand into mine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And for a second, I forgot to be nervous.”

“Oh damn,” Sam whispered. “You’re in deep.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I think I might be.”

He leaned back against a closed shop door, watching the city glow. His chest felt full, and it was a new feeling. A good one.

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “For setting us up. For thinking she’d… like me.”

Sam snorted. “You’re like a sad puppy with muscles. Girls eat that up.”

“Sam.”

“Fine, fine.” Sam paused. “But seriously—,you gonna see her again?”

Bucky didn’t have to think. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Atta boy.”

—

Date four was dinner on a Thursday night. You both sat closely in a dim corner booth, your knee pressed against his the entire time.

You told him more about yourself. Dreams, fears, silly stories. Bucky listened like each word mattered. And sometimes, he reached out, just lightly, brushing your fingers, your wrist, like he was memorizing the texture of your presence.

When he walked you home, you held his hand and came in for a hug.

He didn’t even register how much he was touching you until you turned your face into his neck and whispered, “Bucky?”

He hummed.

“You can kiss me.”

So he did.

One kiss became two. Two became a handful. Your fingers curled into his shirt.

Before you knew it, you pulled him into your apartment. There, he found a couch and he pulled you gently into his lap, mouth brushing yours.

His heart pounded under your palms, not out of fear, but out of want. He whispered your name against your lips and sighed. 

At one point you pulled back just enough to look at him, “You feel so good.”

It sent a shiver straight through him.

He kissed you again, laying you down on the couch, guiding you gently beneath him, one of his knees braced by your hip. He didn’t rush. He didn’t even seem to think about anything except the sounds of your gasps, your fingers curling in his shirt.

You tugged him closer, and Bucky let out the smaller, rasped sound right against your lips—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Bucky froze.

You froze.

A very familiar voice shouted through the door.

“Hey, you home? I gotta talk to you bout somethin’” He paused, listening for a response. “Why is it so quiet? You dead in there? Did Bucky kill you?”

Sam.

It was Sam. Knocking on your door in the most unfortunate of moments. 

You buried your forehead to Bucky’s shoulder as you tried not to laugh. Bucky’s hands stayed on your waist, gentle, protective, and mortified all the same.

“Don’t—” he whispered urgently, “don’t make a sound.”

But you were shaking with laughter anyway.

Sam knocked again. “Uh… if you’re not answering, I’ll just wait out here—”

You scrambled out from under him so fast it would’ve been funny if he weren’t panicking.

The moment you cracked it open, Sam barged in like an overprotective sitcom parent.

He pointed at you. Then at Bucky. Then back at you.

“Good. You’re alive.”

You blinked. “I… what?”

“I came to check you weren’t breaking my boy’s heart.” Sam waved a dramatic arm at Bucky. “Because if you hurt him, gym buddy or not, I’ll make your next leg day a personal hell.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. “Sam!”

Bucky buried his face in both hands. “Get out.”

Sam ignored him entirely. “I mean it. He told me how much he liked you the other day and if you don’t like him back—”

“Sam,” you interrupted, cheeks burning, “I like him. A lot.”

Sam looked between you two… finally really saw the flushed faces, the messy hair, the way Bucky refused to make eye contact because he was trying not to die of embarrassment.

“Well,” Sam clapped his hands together. “Glad we cleared that up. Now I can go, unless…”

He glanced at the table, where you have a jar of sweets.

“…you got snacks?”

Bucky closed his eyes in despair.

You, of course, too nice for your own good, beamed. “Come in.”

“No,” Bucky muttered under his breath, horrified.

But Sam was already stepping into your living room.

“Smells like cookies,” he said, before looking at the messy cushions on the couch and the super-soldier size dent that was left in it. “You two were definitely making out.”

“Samuel,” Bucky growled.

You patted Bucky’s arm. “It’s okay. It’s kinda cute.”

“See, Buck?” Sam snorted. “She thinks you’re cute. She thinks you’re cute. Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.”

You and Bucky ended up on one side of the couch while Sam plopped himself in the armchair like a self-appointed cockblocker.

The makeout session was now officially over. And you were too sweet to say no to hanging out with a mutual friend. 

But you still leaned your head on Bucky’s shoulder. And Bucky slipped his hand into yours.

Even with Sam loudly narrating the movie (“Girl, don’t go in there, the killer is ALWAYS in the basement!”), Bucky felt grounded and stupidly, unbelievably happy, with his girl on one side and his best friend on the other.

Later that night, when Sam finally left, you turned to Bucky with a smile.

“It’s very late, and I got work in the morning, but you can come back tomorrow,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheek, “this time, I promise I won’t let Sam in.”

—

When tomorrow came, you didn’t even bother pretending it was anything but continuing what Sam had interrupted. 

When Bucky walked through your door, your smile was mischievous, eyes glinting like you knew exactly what the two of you were going to do.

“Hey,” you greeted, stepping close enough that your hip brushed his. The touch was deliberate, teasing, enough to make him tense and melt at the same time. “Come on in.”

He kicked off his shoes, aware of the way you were watching him, the way your gaze lingered on his lips, the curve of his necklace, the muscles under his shirt. His own hands itched to touch you, but he waited, because you wanted this. You were daring him, and he could feel the pulse in his chest quicken at the thought.

You guided him toward the couch, your fingers grazing his hand as you settled close. Just brushing him was enough to make him take a deep breath. His body was already on fire from your proximity and the tension between you that had been building since yesterday.

When your lips finally met his, it was urgent and hungry, but careful. His hands moved to your waist, gripping gently, pulling you closer, tilting your hips just so, pressing you into him with a controlled force. Your lips parted beneath his, sighing against him, and he groaned low in his chest, feeling the coil that ran down your spine.

“You feel so amazing,” he murmured against your mouth, lips trailing down your jaw, brushing against your neck. His teeth caught your collarbone in a teasing nibble, and you gripped his shoulders for balance.

You tugged at his shirt, breathless. “Bucky… I want you.”

He froze for a moment, eyes darkening, chest rising and falling. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Every kiss, every touch, was deliberate, teasing, filled with heat and care. He slid his hands under your shirt slowly, savoring the feel of your skin, watching your reactions, every moan driving him further. You did the same, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him down.

At some point, your clothes began to come off and he carried you to your bed. His hands traced your curves while exploring, making you sigh against him. You whispered against his lips, little words that made him groan and press closer.

“Bucky… please,” you gasped, breathless, sliding your hand along his chest.

“Shh,” he whispered back, “just let me take care of you.”

And you did. You let him take the lead, let him guide, let him touch and tease in ways that made your knees weak and your heart race. 

You gasped and grabbed his back, pulling him closer, pressing your body against his in every way possible without words.

An hour passed in a haze of warmth, kisses, and touches. Every time you paused to look at each other, the world outside vanished. Bucky’s hands, both vibranium and flesh, mapped you, memorizing your body without ever rushing. Your hands did the same, threading through his hair, across his shoulders, down his back, feeling every inch of him, claiming him just as he claimed you.

Finally, when you both rode out your high, you curled into his chest, tangled together in a blanket. Your thumb brushed against his cheek, and you whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relaxed after sex.” You chuckled, kissing his nose. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled against your hair, brushing his lips over your temple. “Yeah?” he said, chest full, voice thick. “What do you usually feel?”

You winked playfully, “You’ll see… if you take me out again, soldier.”

He chuckled, pulling you impossibly close, heart swelling with a feeling he hadn’t felt in decades.

“Oh… I will.”

—

Bucky absolutely took you out again.

He would’ve taken you out the very next day if he hadn’t been dragged off on a two-week mission with Sam and Joquin. And the entire time he was gone, he had one plan waiting for him the moment he got back: invite you over to his place for the first time, cook dinner, maybe cuddle on the couch, kiss you breathless, and, if he was lucky, fall asleep with you in his arms again.

What he didn’t plan for was… whatever the hell tonight turned into.

Your first official sleepover at his apartment started perfectly normal.

He cooked. You teased him about how seriously he took seasoning. He tried (and failed) to not stare at you like you were the prettiest little thing that ever walked into his kitchen.

Then you two curled up on the couch to watch a rom-com with way too many sparkles. Halfway through, you leaned over and kissed him, soft at first… then deeper… then longer. 

Eventually, you kissed him long enough that the movie became irrelevant and breathing became optional.

And then…

Well.

Everything escalated so fast he didn’t remember where the ground went.

One minute you were straddling his lap, his hands on your hips, your mouth hot against his. The next, he was being guided, no, maneuvered— back toward his bedroom, his thoughts crashing, his self-control slipping, and you whispered dirty nothing in his ears like, “aw, Buck… you get so obedient when you’re worked up.”

And at one point he actually had the clarity to think my sweet sunshine… Was this filthy?

Because you were so bubbly in the daylight, warm in conversation, golden when you smiled, and yet here you were pushing him onto his own mattress like he weighed nothing, kissing him like you were claiming territory, looking down at him with this wicked glint that should’ve been illegal.

He genuinely wondered if he should be embarrassed by how fast he let you take over.

Or how he didn’t even protest when you slid his hands up over his head.

Or how quickly he nodded when you reached into your bag, casually, like you were grabbing lip balm, and pulled out a pair of pink, fuzzy metal handcuffs.

“Why do you have those anyway?” he’d asked, dazed.

“Just felt like it,” you said with a shrug. And he swore the universe shifted.

He’d never been that man before.

The kind who wanted to be pinned, teased, ordered, and handled in bed.

But with you?

He was helplessly, shamelessly that man. He would be any man you wanted.

And oh, you took advantage of that on the best way

You wrecked him, rewired him, and made him want to give it.

Without going into much detail, the headboard might consider legal action. The poor mattress probably shifted into another dimension. And Bucky discovered an entire list of kinks he had absolutely zero idea he possessed.

By the time you were done, you were draped across his chest, both of you trembling and completely undone. Your limbs tangled with his like you’d melted into him. His wrists were free now, but faint red marks lingered on his human one as an evidence of trust, surrender, and the fact that he definitely did not want you to stop. He knew he could easily break free, but fuck— he didn’t want to. 

His hands settled on your waist, grounding himself through you as his chest rose and fell under your cheek.

“Holy hell…” he rasped, voice shredded. “Sweetheart, what was that?”

You laughed weakly into his neck. “Fun?”

“That was…” He shook his head, trying, and failing, to catch a full breath. “I didn’t even know I liked half that stuff.”

“You do now,” you giggled, lips brushing his stubble with a smug smile.

His groan was almost a confession.

You kissed him again, softer now, pulling him down from the high. His fingers traced lazy, soothing shapes on your back.

After a long, blissed-out silence, you pushed yourself up on shaky elbows. “I need to shower before everything gets… sticky.”

“It’s already sticky,” he mumbled, hooking an arm around your waist like he could will you back onto him. “C’mon, sweets. Stay with me a minute.”

You swatted his metal arm away. “Behave.”

“After what you just did?” His eyebrow arched. “Absolutely not.”

You kissed his chin, grabbed the towel waiting on the chair, and wrapped it around yourself before wobbling toward the bathroom.

“You sure you can walk?” he teased.

“Barely,” you shot back. “That’s your fault.”

“Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You closed the door before he could continue being insufferably pleased with himself. The shower turned on, steam curling out from the edges, and your quiet humming drifted through the running water.

Bucky fell back into the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

His wrists tingled. His mind spun with flashes of you, your hands, your voice, your wicked smile.

So that’s what you meant…

He dragged a hand over his face, then let it fall again, smiling like an idiot. He could feel you even with the door shut.

He could smell you on his sheets, on his skin, in the air he breathed.

I’m a lucky man, he thought. So unbelievably lucky—

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“I know you’re in there!”

Bucky shot upright like he’d been hit with a stun grenade.

For a second, and just a second, he truly believed the universe had taken personal offense to how thoroughly you’d ruined him. As if fate itself had peeked into his bedroom, seen the bite marks and heart the things you whispered in his ear that rewrote his entire understanding of himself, and gone Absolutely not. Consequences time.

The knocking thundered again.

He launched himself off the mattress, only then realizing the room looked like a hurricane of love and passion had wreaked havoc through it.

There was a tank top dangling off the lampshade like a surrender flag, your bra clinging to the bedpost for dear life, and the sheets halfway down the mattress.

And, dear god, the handcuffs were sitting perfectly centered on the pillow, catching the light like holy relics.

The voice shrilled through the door again, “Barnes! Don’t make me call the police again!"

Bucky froze in a pose reminiscent of a startled deer halfway into sweatpants. “Again? Oh, just kill me now,” he whispered to no one, wrestling his legs into the pants like they were trying to escape.

He managed to yank them up (inside out, backwards, incorrect in every conceivable way), grabbed the nearest shirt (inside out as well), and attempted to flatten his hair (no luck on that either).

His metal arm gleamed and the skin around it was marked. His neck… well. You’d left plenty of love letters there in the form of dark kisses and very illegal-looking scratches.

Phenomenal for his ego.

Horrific for dealing with his neighbor, Mrs. Carmichael.

Two years he’d lived next to that woman. Two long, traumatic, hyper-vigilant years.

She was, without exaggeration, the undisputed heavyweight champion of unnecessary noise complaints. The woman had called the police on Bucky last summer because he played “Bring It On Home to Me” at a volume that could be accurately described as “normal human.” She once accused him of running “illegal industrial machinery” at 10 a.m., which was just him making a protein smoothie. She left notes under his door if he so much as coughed after 9 p.m. And she had threatened to contact the landlord the one time he dropped a plastic bottle on the floor.

She also had—Bucky had seen it with his own eyes—a laminated, color-coded folder titled:  Building Violations.

So tonight, with how loud both you and Bucky have been? 

Oh, tonight would be her Superbowl.

“Okay,” Bucky whispered to himself as he staggered toward the door. “You survived seventy years of brainwashing. You can survive… an angry cat lady.”

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK—

“No I can’t,” he whimpered.

He swung the door open before she could pound a hole through it.

There she stood, in her pink robes and slippers shaped like furious cats, holding a binder labeled Noise Ordinance Laws – PERSONAL COPY clutched like a holy scripture. (Bucky knew he didn’t violate it. It was only 9.30 PM. Quiet hours in New York start from like, what, 10PM?)

Her eyes traveled from his face, down his neck, over the suspicious red marks, to the shirt that was definitely inside out, and then lower, to where his sweatpants sat incorrectly on his hips like a toddler dressed himself.

She sniffed.

“Well,” she announced. “I see you’ve been… active.”

Bucky sighed. “Mrs. Carmichael, I really don’t—”

She raised the binder like an executioner’s axe.

“Do you know,” she barked, “that the walls in this building are six inches thick? SIX! That is not my fault! That is YOUR responsibility!”

Bucky blinked, mortified.

She charged on.

“The noises coming from your unit tonight were outrageous. Absolutely obscene. Groaning, thumping, banging, the headboard knocking like a cat was stuck in a dryer.”

Bucky choked. “That is NOT— I mean—no one was— there’s no—”

“And the language!” She clutched her chest. “I’ve never heard filth like that in my life! And I was married to Richard Carmichael for forty years!”

Bucky wanted to melt into the floor.

Halfway through his attempt at a defense, you got out of the bathroom and made your way into the living room wearing nothing but a towel.

Oh no, Bucky thought, gotta protect you from Mrs. Carmichael.

But you were clueless, still glowing from the shower, smelling like warm vanilla and sin, water dripping down your collarbones as if you were walking out of a movie scene.

Bucky could feel his soul leave his body.

“Buck?” you asked gently, sweetly, “Everything okay?”

Mrs. Carmichael looked at you so quickly it was a miracle she didn’t injure herself.

“Well I— I— I was just—” Bucky started, but of course the building dragon interrupted him. 

“Everything is not okay young lady—“ she started, but you just smiled sweetly, interrupting her in return.

“Oh!” you beamed. “Your robe is adorable. I love the color on you!”

Mrs. Carmichael actually stopped and blinked.

Her entire posture relaxed like someone had unplugged her battery. “T-thank you?”

You stepped closer with that gentle, disarming sweetness that could make a demon repent. “I don’t think we’ve met properly yet.”

“Martha,” Mrs Carmichael said, voice suddenly meek.

“Well, Martha,” you said, tone honey-smooth, “why don’t you come inside? I was just about to make some tea.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Sweets—she literally tried to have me evicted—last month—”

You patted his cheek lovingly.

“Honey,” you murmured. “Go shower.”

He blinked at you, dazed, almost bewildered.

You guided Mrs. Carmichael— his mortal enemy, as far as he was concerned— inside. Martha fussed with her robe, suddenly shy.

“Well…” she said. “If you insist… I do enjoy a good chamomile.”

You looked over your shoulder and winked. “I got this.”

Bucky backed into the bedroom like a man fleeing a battlefield, closing the door behind him before resting his forehead against it and groaning into his hands.

—

Bucky took one of the fastest showers of his entire existence.

Partially because he was still overheated, skin buzzing with the afterglow. Partially because he was terrified of leaving you alone with her.

The woman who once accused him of “walking too aggressively for a man of his size.” 

He shut off the water and just stood there dripping, towel in hand, bracing both palms against the wall like he was preparing to charge into battle.

“Okay,” he pep-talked himself. “They’re probably done talking. She probably drank her tea, yelled about  me again, threatened to call the cops, and left. Right. Right.”

He dried off, threw on actual clothes this time, not inside-out panic-wear, and dragged his fingers through his wet hair. 

Barefoot, heart thudding, he padded down the hallway.

As he reached the living room…

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Because sitting on the couch—on his couch—was Mrs. Martha Carmichael, pink robe draped like a queen’s mantle, angry-cat slippers still on her feet, holding a delicate teacup in one hand, offering her other hand to you as you, still just in a towel, sat cross-legged on the coffee table in front of her, painting her nails a glossy, shade of cherry red.

You were laughing.

She was giggling.

Giggling.

The woman who once threatened to report him to the FAA because she heard a “jet-engine-like noise” from his apartment at 4 a.m. (he had snored).

Bucky rubbed his eyes, fully convinced he was hallucinating from dehydration or post-orgasm brain fog.

“—and then,” Martha was saying in a tone far too lively, “he had the audacity to tell me I was the reason he couldn’t finish! Can you believe that? The nerve!”

You gasped like she was confessing to a federal crime. “Oh my god. I can't believe  he blamed you for his incompetence.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Martha slapped her knee. “Forty years, and the man couldn’t find—well, we don’t need to get into that, but let’s just say Richard was a walking, talking disappointment.”

You hummed sympathetically, rotating her hand to finish the coat. “Trust me, I get it. I got lucky with Bucky, I mean he could rattle my insides like a sailor on leave— but my ex? He was useless. Genuinely didn’t have a clue—”

“HEY,” Bucky barked before either of you could talk about something far more embarrassing.

You looked up with wide eyes.

“Oh! James! There you are.” Martha lit up like a Christmas tree. “We were just discussing men with poor… aim,” she added as if this was a normal Tuesday.

Bucky made the sound of a man dying inside.

You winked at him, as if you hadn’t just implied to his enemy neighbor that he rearranged your organs.

He pointed helplessly between the two of you. “You’re… still here?”

Martha lifted her newly painted nails to the light, admiring your work. “Yes, dear. We were bonding.”

“Bonding,” Bucky repeated slowly, like the word was foreign.

You flashed him a pleased smile that nearly put him on his knees.“She’s a sweetheart once you talk to her.”

Martha actually blushed. “Oh, stop.”

“No, really,” you continued, “you have fantastic taste in robes. Which means we’re kindred spirits.”

“Oh, you’re such a lovely girl.” Martha preened like a bird. “And your skin! My goodness, do you moisturize, exfoliate, what do you use? I’ve been trying everything but nothing makes me glow like that.”

Bucky stared in awe.

You had healed the neighborhood menace.You had actually domesticated the building’s final boss.

A few minutes later, after you’d finished her nails and given her your skincare routine (soap, really), Martha stood.

“Well,” she said, smoothing her robe, “I should get going. I don’t want to intrude.”

She leaned toward you, “But you must stop by for brunch sometime. Anytime. I make wonderful blueberry scones.”

“I would love that.” Your eyes lit up. “But only if you let me bring more colors.”

“Deal,” Martha agreed immediately.

Then, as the miracle to end all miracles, she turned to Bucky and smiled.

“You take good care of her, James,” she said with a wag of her freshly painted finger. “Or I’ll file a noise complaint.”

“Wait—what did I—why—?!” Bucky sputtered.

“Just kidding.” She chuckled. “Mostly.”

She left peacefully, the first time she had ever left his apartment without threatening legal action.

The door closed behind her with a click.

Bucky stared at the door for a good minute before he turned to you.

You sat there, legs swinging lightly off the coffee table, absolutely glowing. “We’re best friends now.”

Bucky tilted his head “How did you do that ? I was in the shower for ten minutes and she wanted me evicted. You talk to her for ten minutes and suddenly she’s telling you about her dead husband’s… performance issues!”

You blinked up at him innocently as you wrapped your arms around him and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “She just needed a girl’s girl.”

His brain short-circuited. 

God, the way you were looking at him now… so gentle and so in love without even saying it—

It hit him like a truck.

I’m gonna marry her.

He hid his face in your neck, arms locking around your waist like.

You giggled again, rubbing his back. “What’s going on in that pretty head, Barnes?”

“Nothing,” he lied, breathless.

You kissed the crown of his head, completely unaware of the way he was in awe of the woman you are, caring and kind to him, a sunshine to everyone else around you, yet so damn filthy when you needed to be. 

But he knew.

Oh, he knew.

I’m gonna marry this girl, he thought again, helpless and certain.

And Bucky Barnes had never been so sure of anything in his life.

-end.

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[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 37

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 36 | Series Masterlist | Part 38

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.3k

Chapter Summary: You process the night before and receive an unexpected phone call.

Chapter Warnings: Kissing, reference to protected p. in v. sex, mention of oral sex, bits of fluff, dirty talk, inner turmoil, possessive behavior, world building, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You didn’t wake up to the sound of an alarm, but your body stirred like one went off. Bucky’s arm rested around your waist, along with a leg tangled in yours. You turned your head and found his eyes closed, his breathing slow and peaceful. There wasn’t a single stress line or worry in his sleep. It almost looked like he was smiling. Maybe he was since you gave him your body last night, which was a very important piece of yourself. 

But he still wanted your heart and soul.

You shifted, which made his hold tighten more. His touch was always enough to brand you in some form and keep you close, but not enough to physically harm you. That instinct was there even while he slept. 

His eyes didn’t open until you shifted again, heavy with sleep but soft with something that made your chest ache. “I thought for a second that last night was just a dream,” he said, his voice rough.

“It wasn’t,” you whispered. The ache between your thighs reminded you that it was very real. It was the choice you made. 

Looking around the room, you realized it didn’t look any brighter or duller than it had the day before, but it also didn’t look the same.  You were seeing things differently. Maybe the rose-tinted glasses finally came off, the ones you stubbornly refused to remove. Bucky could’ve snatched them off, but why do that when you had to see it for yourself?

He tilted your chin, bringing your gaze back to him. “It was everything and more,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was no rush or urgency. Only the quiet intimacy of waking up beside you the way he always wanted.

He eventually moved to his back and stretched, his limbs and scars shifting with the movement. While you moved to cover your chest with the blanket, he made no move to shield himself. He had nothing to hide. It wasn’t fair that he looked that good in the morning. You could look like death warmed over, and he would still call you beautiful.

“Breakfast? I can make us an omelette,” he said, glancing at you with a dreamy smile. “After we have a shower.”

You swallowed slightly. “We?”

“It’ll help save on the water bill,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, because you can’t afford it,” you teased.

He laughed and rolled on top of you, making you gasp. How was he hard already? “I’ll start the water.” His knuckles grazed your cheek. “We can get your birth control figured out today, too.”

Of course, he wanted that sorted out. He respected your wishes to use protection the night before, but he wouldn’t want that all the time. Why would he when he made it clear that some of his fantasies involved filling you up?

“Okay,” you whispered, surprised when he rolled off you and got to his feet. Like the king he was, he moved toward the bathroom tall and proud. He came back seconds later with your robe. “Thanks.”

“As much as I don’t want you covering yourself up, I have a feeling you aren’t quite ready to walk around naked yet.” He winked before leaving you alone once again.

It took you a bit to get to your feet and slip the robe on. While you didn’t move with the same composure he did, you no longer walked through the room like a visitor. You were now a permanent resident, and you felt the weight of your choices with every step.

Bucky smiled at you as he brushed his teeth and you smiled back softly, the water from the shower providing background noise. You stopped when you saw your reflection. Your eyes opened wider, seeing the cracks in who you used to be filled in with Bucky and what led you to this point. You wouldn’t call yourself phoenix reborn since you still carried the ashes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented while you brushed your teeth, which almost made you laugh. 

“You said that last night,” you reminded him once you rinsed out your mouth. There was nothing beautiful about cleaning your teeth, but leave it to him to make it seem like an ethereal task. 

He grinned and shrugged. “I’m saying it again because it’s true.” He turned and leaned a hip against the counter. “One day, you’re going to look in the mirror and realize you aren’t just beautiful. You’re so much more.”

Your chest tightened and you didn’t have a response. You did, however, reach over and touch his hand. It wasn’t just his opinion that you were beautiful and more than enough, but his truth. He would preach it until you believed it.

You moved toward the shower, steam curling around you. He was by your side in an instant, helping you remove your robe and testing the water in case it was too hot. He stepped in before you and held out a hand to help you, your heart pounding against your ribs. Your eyes closed as he guided you under the spray, the heat cascading over your skin.

“See? Saving on the water bill,” he teased, his voice light and happy.

You kept your eyes closed. You half expected the world to end by sleeping with Bucky, but you didn’t have to look outside to know it still continued like normal. Your friends were going about their days. The sun would rise and set like always. Tonight you’d fall asleep in the bed you two made together. 

Moisture built in the corners of your eyes. Something lingered within you since it was hard to forget how you arrived there. You believed you reclaimed something last night and you wouldn’t diminish the choices you made. Doing so would set you back. 

But the embers of your fire drifted until they faded into the air and you had to wonder if you didn’t fight hard enough for yourself. Did you give in quickly out of fear for those closest to you, or did you hold out as long as you could? The inescapable truth was that it would always end this way, no matter how long it took. And you had to keep your head up because this journey was far from over.

“You’re in your head,” he whispered, your eyes opening in time to see him grab the body wash beside him. You refused to look lower and didn’t watch the water drip down his abs to the large cock that still had you aching. 

“I keep retreating there,” you whispered back. Kind of like how you had retreated to your library. It was a way for you to keep processing everything. 

He poured the extravagant liquid onto his palm and rubbed his hands together, not pushing you to share more and you appreciated that. It surprised you that he was able to shower with the prosthetic and the hand on your shoulder was gentler than you expected. He rubbed the soap down your arms with care, light but no less intense.

“You’re letting me take care of you,” he murmured, his hands moving to your chest. His touch lingered and made your knees weak, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to seduce you. Not let, at least. “Even in your uncertainty, you’re letting me.”

“Who said I’m uncertain?” 

“I can read you like a book.” His hands dipped lower, your skin growing warmer. “And you wouldn’t retreat into that beautiful head of yours if you were certain, Kotyonok.”

In a world where it was easy for you to hide from so many, he found and saw you every time. “I was certain last night,” you assured both him and yourself. 

He smirked, but there was nothing smug about it. “You were, but you’ve been through a version of hell and the aftermath of that doesn’t just vanish.” His hands roamed your hips as if to ground himself. “Not to mention, I helped create that hell. I didn’t make this easy for you because all I wanted was you and I did whatever I could to have you.”

Your hands rested against his chest as you took your next breath. He was so unapologetic in his admission, but it was nice that he at least acknowledged his role as the puppet master in this. “Was last night really better than you imagined? Because I know you have a vivid imagination.”

The fantasies he shared with you so far were proof of that.

He kissed your lips, sighing at the feel. “It was everything,” he breathed, backing you against the tiles and bringing his mouth back to yours. He kissed you until your lungs almost gave out. “We didn’t just make love. It was like our souls were one.”

You didn’t tremble, but you braced yourself since this was part of the fallout of your decision. Giving him your body fueled his love and obsession. You just didn’t know if it would help things grow or if he’d tighten the bolts on your cage without realizing.

His lips brushed some of the droplets from your neck and you felt his hardness press against you, yet you weren’t afraid. He’d eventually fuck you in the shower, but you knew it wouldn’t be today. “You want more nights like that,” you mused.

Having you would only hold him for so long.

“Not just nights.” He kissed back to your lips and he groaned when you moved a hand to his wet hair. “Mornings and afternoons, too.”

That was a dream. Mornings, afternoons, and nights between the sheets. Not just making love, but making each other laugh and sharing secrets. Reading books together, talking about nothing and everything. An ease of being together with no fear, holding each other like nothing else mattered. 

“You love me so fiercely,” you whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw. “And you taught me a lesson that I wasn’t aware I needed to learn.”

“I do love you.” He tilted his head curiously while leaning into your touch. “What lesson is that?”

“That love given in its entirety can leave behind scars. And…” You brushed your finger against his lips, his focus solely on you and the truth that you weren’t afraid to speak. “We’re not meant to hold onto love, but we’re meant to let it move through us.”

Holding onto love was like trying to hold your breath. You had to exhale eventually. Putting chains on the person you claimed to love also constricted breathing. It would suffocate them if they weren’t careful. You wanted the kind of love that felt as natural as breathing. 

“Scars don’t scare me, Kotyonok,” he murmured, kissing your fingers. “They’re proof that love lived here, that it survived, and that it mattered.”

You had to smile at the man who wouldn’t sway when it came to how he felt for you. “Then let it move through us,” you urged. You weren’t sure if you could ever dial down the strength of his love for you, but you could help him learn where to direct it. “Don’t lock it in a cage. Let it thrive.”

Bucky had to let you thrive.

His eyes softened, like your words resonated with him. “That’s what I want,” he promised, sliding a hand to your waist. “I want our love to thrive.”

His kiss wasn’t desperate or consuming, but it was threaded with something deeper. Love didn’t have to trap. The invisible scars might leave you changed, love could flow and heal.

“Good. Because I don’t feel like staying in my head,” you said, gathering a handful of water and lightly splashing him.

He took a step back, his eyes wide. His expression had a laugh bubbling up in your throat. “Did you just splash me?”

You shrugged innocently. “Bet that got rid of your hard-on real quick, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, I’m practically a walking hard-on around you, and that isn’t going away,” he growled playfully, grabbing your wrist and tugging you back against him.

“Hey! I’ll fall!” You shrieked when he tickled your side and you thought you’d slip, but he chuckled and kept you upright.

“I’ve got you,” he promised in your ear, and you knew he didn’t just mean his current hold.

The combined laughter echoed off the tiles as he kept tickling you and you both eventually ended up on the shower floor. His eyes and nose crinkled as you shrieked again and kicked your feet. It should’ve been ridiculous, both of you wet, naked, and laughing in the shower. But it got you out of your head and that was a great feeling.

You were both breathless when the water began to cool and you didn’t protest when he helped you to your feet to lead you out. Your sides ached in the best way as he dried you off with a towel, and he looked lighter than before. Was this really the same man who came home with blood on his hands? 

“When I said I want mornings, afternoons, and nights like last night, I meant this, too,” he whispered. 

You looked at him and saw the contrast that unsettled you. A man who could commit heinous crimes and a man who cradled you like you were the only thing that kept him human. A king who ruled his kingdom who wanted ordinary gestures that couldn’t be bought with money or power. 

“That’s what I want, too,” you whispered. Not that you needed to tell him that. He knew. 

“Good.” He smiled and reached behind you to pat your ass. “Now get dressed so I can make you breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, knowing the only reason he wanted you dressed was so Ray and Curtis didn’t see you in your robe. If this was your home like he said, he’d have to get used to it eventually. “You get dressed, too.”

Your eyes flickered to your phone once you picked your clothes out. You’d have to tell Addison about last night. She’d ask questions, maybe raise concerns, and be happy if you were happy. The way any best friend would.

Bucky had a bounce in his step as he dressed, even more prominent than the one he had after you blew him. He practically had “I got laid” written all over his face. You wondered how he’d act when he didn’t have to wear a condom. Would he throw a party?

He tugged your hand toward the kitchen after you grabbed your phone. Ray and Curtis weren’t in there like you expected. “So, you’re going to make us omelettes?” you asked, perching yourself on a stool.

Bucky rummaged through the fridge, his expression serious when he took out the eggs and cheese. “You’re going to witness art in the form of breakfast.”

You put your chin in your hand. “You meant the art of burning breakfast?”

He put a hand to his chest. “I’m a man of many talents, and that includes feeding my girl.”

You smothered a laugh when he cracked an egg with too much force, half of it splattering on the counter. “You sure about that, Bucky?” 

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still a man of many talents,” he muttered. 

“Okay. I’m not an expert with making omelettes like I am with baking brownies, but I do know how to crack an egg,” you teased, sliding off the stool and going around to help him. “So, please, let me help.”

Bucky didn’t protest, letting you crack the eggs. His hand covered yours when you held the bowl and he helped you whisk, guiding without controlling. There was intimacy in the task, his lips brushing your temple and his sigh happy when you leaned into him. It was simple, ordinary, and what love should feel like.

By the time you transferred everything to the pan, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Perfect. Just like you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you were smiling.

“Ridiculously in love,” he countered, sneaking a kiss in when you turned his head. “I’ll start the coffee.”

“That should’ve been task number one,” you teased. 

It didn’t take long for the aromas of the coffee and cheese from the pan to fill the space, wrapping you both in morning warmth. You noticed he only took out one plate, intending for you both to share the meal. Another form of intimacy that thrived in the daylight.

“We have a lot around the corner,” he told you, helping you plate the omelette once it was ready. “Thor’s party, seeing Steve and his girl and…” He stared off for a moment. “Visiting my mom’s grave.”

You put a hand on his arm, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. “I need to make the arrangement for that,” you reminded him. “And I’ll be there with you.” He didn’t have to go through that alone. 

The clouded look faded from his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, helping you take a seat. 

He fed you the first bite and you fed him a bite in return. You wondered how overwhelming Thor’s party would be. Hanging out with Steve was going to be something, too. The silver lining was that you still had time off from work to rest if things were too much.

“And I still need to meet with Natasha,” you said, feeding him another bite. You weren’t going to push off something that would help you mentally and physically. 

“And I need to have the team start working on the fundraiser.”

You almost forgot he had promised that. “How are you not exhausted all the time?” you asked. His schedule had to be crazy before he came into your life. He ran his club, and he had his hands in other businesses. How did he do it? 

“I told you I was asleep until you came along,” he pointed out, gripping your wrist and kissing it. He had to feel your heart racing. “But that’s also why I have people to help.” His loyal crew, of course. “And I promise you’ll always come first.”

You smiled softly. “I know.”

He turned your body in the stool toward him, his hands moving up your thighs. “I’d love to make you come again,” he said, his voice husky. “Put you right on this island and eat your sweet pussy as an early dessert.”

You didn’t mean to whimper. “What if your men walk in?”

“They won’t,” he said, opening your legs more. “Took everything in me not to wake you up with my tongue buried in you. Should’ve dropped to my knees in the shower. I really need a taste. Don’t deprive me.”

The visual made you tremble. “Now that I have clothes on, you want to eat me out?” you asked, your cheeks hot.

A hand slid higher. “Tell me you don’t want it,” he dared you, your panties dampening. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you.”

“You’re insatiable," you whispered. The man was addicted to you. He’d been hard practically all morning and that had to hurt. 

He opened his mouth to say something else when your phone rang, annoyance filling his eyes. He didn’t reach for it, but he did crane his neck to see the name on the screen. “I didn’t think Addison usually called this early.”

You frowned, a weird feeling swirling in your gut and quickly erasing your arousal. “She doesn’t.” She usually texted. You knew she wanted to talk to Bucky, but something in you said that wasn’t the reason for her call. “Hello?”

You didn’t hear anything on the other end and you wondered if the call disconnected. “D-Do you have a second to talk?” Addison finally asked, her voice small. 

Your heart stopped. You could already tell she’d been crying. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Bucky sat up straight up at your tone, the sob from your best friend loud enough for both of you to hear. “Our wedding venue…” She sniffled a few times. “There was a fire.”

“A fire?” you repeated. Did you hear her correctly? “Wait, there was a fire at the venue?”

“An electrical issue. The whole building burned down.” She hiccuped and you could hear Brady in the background trying to calm her down. “W-We can’t have our wedding there.”

“Oh, Addison. I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your heart breaking for her. 

You were thankful something hadn’t happened to her, Brady, or another loved one, but you were still upset for her. Her heart was set on that venue. Every detail had been planned. They had to book it far in advance. 

“No one was hurt, thankfully, but I don’t know what to do.”

You stared at the man sitting beside you. You didn’t want to suspect him, not after he promised he wouldn’t hurt your loved ones. And he stared back at you with nothing but concern and not a single trace of guilt or victory. 

“Can you put her on speaker, please?” he asked. 

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. But the way Bucky’s voice carried calmly instead of demanding made you nod and press the button. Addison’s shaky breaths filled the kitchen within seconds, her grief spilling into the space you and Bucky had just filled with warmth and laughter.

“Addison? This is Bucky.” His voice wasn’t as gentle as how he spoke with you, but it was softer than how he spoke with most and vastly different from how he spoke to your parents. “We’re both so sorry that you’re going through this.”

There was a pause and a muffled sob, Brady’s voice once again trying to soothe his fiancé. 

“We’ll help you figure this out.” Bucky covered your hand with his, your eyes wide. “There are other venues, and if you want, I’ll make sure you get something even better than what you lost.”

Addison sniffled and you wished you were there to hug her. “But it won’t be the same.” She sounded so fragile. “We planned everything around that place.”

You turned your hand and squeezed his, a silent warning to tread carefully. This was your best friend. “I understand that, and I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but what matters is you and Brady. The venue won’t be the thing that makes the marriage. It’ll be you two,” he said, his eyes tender as he gazed at you. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help. I can even put down the deposit at another venue or help negotiate things so you won’t have to move the date.”

Addison’s sobs quieted, replaced by shaky breaths. “You’d… You’d do that?”

Your mouth opened, his thumb brushing over your wrist to ground you. That was a huge thing to promise, but he had connections all over the city and could make it happen. Would he do this with no strings attached? Would he expect something in return?

You observed him carefully, trying to find the answer. There was still no trace of manipulation in his gaze or tone. His power seemed to be about offering support instead of control because Addison was important to you. 

“You’re my girl’s best friend. Of course, I want to help,” he said, your heart stopping. This wasn’t jealous Bucky who couldn’t stand your attention being on someone else. This was growth.

“And we will help you,” you promised, your voice tender. “We’ll help you find something together.”

You heard a couple of deep breaths. “Thank you. I’ll call you later when my head’s a bit more clear, okay?”

“Do you need me to come over?” She had Brady there, but you’d go over immediately if she needed you.

“No, I’m good, but I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he looked away, but he didn’t let go of your hand. You knew it was hard since that was the very thing he wanted to hear from you. It was different though. He had to realize that.

You stared at the device once Addison ended the call. “An electrical fire.”

“You haven’t asked if it’s me,” he said, turning back toward you. 

“Because it wasn’t you.” He let out a breath at your words. “Even if you’re jealous of my bond with her, you wouldn’t do that.”

He closed the distance, kissing you deeply, a wordless thank you for not blaming him. “Yeah, I’m jealous because I want to hear you say you love me. And I know you don’t love her or anyone else romantically. I’m just… still feeling a little selfish.”

“Love is meant to thrive and go through us, remember? And I haven’t said the words yet, but these little moments and interactions…” You trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks.

“They’re a form of love,” he whispered. “I’m still going to have the fire looked into.”

“I hope it was just a terrible accident,” you said, but you knew he didn’t believe in coincidences in his world.

His eyes lit up unexpectedly. “You said you wanted to pay Natasha a visit, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, why?”

He fed you the last bite of the omelette with a smile, not letting it go to waste. “Because the Red Room might be the perfect venue for the wedding and reception.”

You sat back in shock while he made a call, his tone shifting to that commanding cadence reserved for business. Addison’s wedding at the Red Room? A place still connected to Bucky in some form? It would be beautiful, and everyone would be thankful. Everyone would believe more and more that Bucky was the perfect man for you.

And maybe he was.

Poor Addison. Coincidence or something more? How will Natasha react to the suggestion? And how do we feel about the morning after? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[superbassbuck]

〝 Need a ride? 〞

pairing: trucker!bucky barnes x hitch hiker!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap, mid to late 70s setting, smoking, public sex, pervy!bucky, softdom!bucky innocent reader, dacryphilia, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, road head, handjobs, teabagging, dubcon, reader is inexperienced but wishes to please him, pet names: "sweetheart" "little duck" "doll" "baby"

word count: 8.5k he's a busy man! masterlist || masterlist

a/n: these gifs did something to me so i had to write him. in result, you guys get more of my perverted literature. have fun with trucker bucky! dt @opheliabbarnes

synopsis: When you stole your dad's car keys to sneak out of the house to go to a concert, the last thing you expected was to break down in the middle of nowhere. So, you do the one thing a young, impressionable woman should never do: you stick out your thumb on the side of the road and hitchhike.

Most girls’ fathers had—or should have—already taught their daughters how to change the oil, replace tires, and how to jump-start the good ol’ chevy in case of an emergency.

Unfortunately for you, your father hadn’t taught you any of that—nor had you been bothered enough to learn.

You never imagined yourself getting stranded in the middle of nowhere, standing on the side of a deserted road with no signal and a car that wouldn’t start. You began pacing back and forth, kicking rocks as your mind raced—not even knowing where to begin.

“Dang it,” you grunted, directing the frustration at both yourself and your past self for refusing your father’s help and warnings.

You knew you should have listened, but you were a spoiled girl who never got her hands dirty—always having strong and reliable men to take care of things. When there was a concert just a few hours drive away from home and your parents refused to buy you a ticket—you took matters into your own hands. You stole the keys to your dad’s car, negotiated with someone online for a last-minute sold-out concert ticket to meet up with at the venue, and that’s how you ended up here.

Stuck with no concert ticket and a car that wouldn’t start.

So, you did what everybody would tell you not to do.

You stood on the side of the street, one hand blocking the sun, and the other with your thumb out.

You were hitchhiking.

How bad could it be, really? It happened all the time in movies. You had heard stories where people actually ended up where they needed to go in one piece—where they met kind people and went on wild adventures with stories they could recite to their kids for years.

But, of course, there was also the horror stories. You tried not to let your mind wander to that.

Several cars zoomed past, kicking up dust in their wake. Every time one slowed down, it would edge dangerously close to the shoulder—close enough to make you squeal and jump back toward the safety of your chevy.

Each time you thought someone might actually stop, it turned out to be a middle-aged man behind the wheel, lecherous eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. His wife, seated beside him, would take one look at your concert-ready outfit, glare daggers, and snap at him to keep driving.

The longer you waited for salvation, the more your anxiety gnawed at you.

What if no one stopped? What if you never got signal, never made it home—just stayed here, stranded in the middle of nowhere? You should’ve listened to your father. This is what you get for being a spoiled brat chasing a stupid concert.

Maybe if you started walking now, you could make it home in… what? Four days? Five?

You felt your heart thudding faster in your chest as every terrible scenario raced through your mind. Just as you were about to go back into your car to rest your aching feet from standing for so long, your hand paused at the door handle.

In the distance, the sound of a large, heavy truck, like thunder rolling far off in the desert filled your ears.

A long-haul truck—silver cab, a little beat-up, with various worn stickers fading on the bumpers—slowed as it approached. The truck hissed as it finally came to a full stop beside you, the brakes slightly creaking. The window rolled down, and a blast of cooled air from inside hit your sunburned skin.

“Hey, little lady.”

You lifted your head and rose onto your tippy toes, squinting through the harsh glare of the sun to get a better look at the man behind the wheel.

He looked like he had been carved out of the same roughness that the road was built on. A close-cropped haircut framed a strong jaw with days’ worth of obvious scruff. He—and his truck—smelled faintly like cigarettes. His eyes were blue and cold, a contrast to his sun-kissed skin from driving around for days. He must have caught you staring, because he narrowed his eyes, a little skeptical.

“You lost?” he asked, pulling your attention back to him.

You stood up a little straighter. You had your thumb sticking out for over an hour, and not once did you prepare what to say if someone were to actually stop for you.

“Oh, um—” you hesitated. “My car won’t start.”

He blinked as if he couldn’t hear what you said, the softness of your voice barely audible over the music playing on his radio. He turned it down and leaned in a little closer from his seat.

“I see that,” he huffed. “The closest town is about a hundred and seventy from here. You need a ride?”

You shifted on your feet, your fingers tightening on your door handle. You hadn’t expected less from a trucker—he looked rough, the kind of man you wouldn’t approach in any other situation. He was clearly older, with the kind of face that looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You swallowed, suddenly not feeling as confident as you were moments ago. “I—I don’t know,” you said quietly, taking a cautious step closer to your own vehicle. “Could you just—help me out and try jump-starting it?”

His jaw clenched for a moment, and he exhaled through his nose. His grip on the steering wheel tightened—like he was contemplating just driving off and leaving you stranded once again. Eventually, he sighed, pushed open his door, and climbed down from the cab. His boots hit the asphalt with a heavy thud, and up close, he was even taller than you’d thought.

Without a word, he walked past you toward your car. You trailed behind, keeping a good distance between the two of you.

He crouched beside the front end, his eyes scanning the hood, the tires, and the faint line of oil that had started to pool beneath.

“What’s your name, mister?” you asked, trying to start light conversation.

“Bucky,” he replied, eyeing your Chevrolet carefully. “And yours?”

You gave him your name, and he repeated it back softly, the sound rolling off his tongue as he stared at the car.

Then he straightened, wiped a hand across his jaw, and looked at you.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “She’s not going anywhere.”

You frowned. “What do you mean? You didn’t even—”

He gestured toward the car with a nod. “You’ve got a blown gasket, maybe worse. She’s been leaking for a while. You could crank her ‘til sundown, and she still wouldn’t turn over.”

You stood there with a blank face, the words sounding like a different language. “Oh,” you nodded as if you understood, but you didn’t at all.

He watched you for a moment, then checked the sun sinking lower behind the hills. “Look, I’d stick around and help you figure it out, but I’ve got somewhere to be before nightfall.”

Bucky stepped back toward his truck, his hands pausing at the doorhandle.

“I’ll drop you off at a nearby gas station. You can use the payphone to call your ma or pa—whoever it may be—to come to your rescue.” He glanced at you again, nodding his head at the passenger seat.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, the faint rasp in his voice making you hesitate. “I don’t bite.”

You looked down at your shoes—now dusted from the desert sand—bit your lip, and looked back up at him warily.

He seemed kind enough; he’d technically stepped out of his truck and taken the time to at least try helping you. Despite his rough appearance and gruff demeanor, there was something about him that made you want to trust him. He gave off the same steady, dependable energy as the other strong men in your life—the ones who always made sure you were safe, even when you didn’t deserve it.

It was instinctive, almost paternal.

When Bucky realized you weren’t moving, he let out a tired sigh and shrugged.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t have all day,” he said, walking around to the front of his truck to get back into the driver’s side. “I do hope that you find your way back home. Be safe out here—”

“Wait,” you protested.

He paused, the sound of his boots shuffling against the ground as he glanced over the hood to face you again.

“Um—if you don’t mind the company, I’ll tag along.” You said, your fingers fiddling in front of you anxiously. “I just need to—uh,” you hiked your thumb over your shoulder, “grab my stuff…”

Bucky raised his brows in surprise, not actually believing you’d come. “Okay, then.”

He walked back to the side of the road, watching as you quickly scrambled into the backseat of the chevy to grab your belongings.

As he rested a shoulder against his thousand-pound rig, his eyes lingered a little too long, staring at the slight curve of your back as you bent over. His tongue slowly swept across his dry bottom lip at the sight of your hips swaying as you tried to grab something that was out of reach, your legs dangling slightly.

Just a single breeze, or just an extra stretch, would expose whatever was hiding under that deliciously short dress you were wearing. He shouldn’t be eyeing you like this. He was probably double your age—if not more. His own nephews and nieces might even be about your age.

Bucky forced a smile once he saw you gather your things, your hair a little disheveled from rummaging around.

“Need any help there?” he nodded toward the two bags you were holding.

“Yes, please,” you huffed with a smile, raising your arms.

He smiled back, clearly finding it amusing that you needed his help. It was to be expected, really. In his eyes, you were this helpless little thing who couldn’t do anything on her own. Good thing he was here—cause what could you have done without him?

He reached out and grabbed both bags out of your hands, lifting them with ease, and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor of the passenger seat.

Bucky extended a hand, helping you up. “Not too roomy in here, but better than standing out all alone in the desert, right?”

You smiled and grabbed his hand. His hands were rough and calloused—a complete contrast to your soft and dainty fingers. He hauled you up and watched as you wiggled slightly, tugging the hem of your dress down to cover your thighs, trying to get comfortable in the passenger seat before you buckled yourself in.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded.

The engine started, slowly but surely, as Bucky merged back onto the main road. The sight of your father’s car grew smaller and smaller as you watched it slowly disappear into the distance in the side mirrors. The ride was silent—only the faint sounds of the wheels turning on the road and the low music playing in the background.

You snuck curious side glances at Bucky. He had one arm resting on the window and the other lazily holding the wheel. You were waiting for the part where he pulled out a knife and started stabbing you, or made a sudden right turn off-road and murdered you in broad daylight, but he just kept his eyes on the steady on the street, humming to the music as if you weren’t even there.

“Curious little duck, are you?” he spoke suddenly.

You blinked, his question throwing you off guard. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shyly averting your eyes back to your lap.

He chuckled, a deep, raspy sound rumbling from his chest that only sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart beat faster. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You’ve never been inside a rig before, have you?”

You shook your head. “No… I’ve only seen the inside of these,” you looked around again, “in movies and stuff.”

“And stuff,” he repeated, the corners of his lips tugged up in an amused smirk. “And that bel air back there, that ain’t yours now, is it?”

“No,” you confirmed softly. “That’s my dad’s.”

“He let you drive that scrap all the way out here?”

You shook your head with a frown. “No…. um—I stole his keys. There was a concert I really wanted to go… but my parents wouldn’t let me.”

He raised a brow, his head turning slightly to meet your eyes. “Jesus,” he huffed. “If I was your daddy, I would’ve had you over my knee.”

A little laugh escaped your lips. “Do you have daughters, mister?”

“No kids,” Bucky said. “And don’t call me mister—it makes me feel old. Bucky’s fine.”

“Okay, mister Bucky,” you repeated with a gentle nod.

He snickered, shaking his head. “Just Bucky, sweetheart.”

You nodded again, folding your hands in your lap as the truck rumbled down the empty stretch of road. For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the steady thrumming of the engine, the faint rasp of the tires against the pavement, and the rock music playing quietly.

After a few minutes of silence, he glanced sideways at you. “So,” he said, his voice low over the hum of the radio, “where were you headin’, anyway?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “Oh—um, there was a concert a few towns over. I was supposed to meet a guy for sold-out tickets. ”

He raised a brow. “Stealin’ your old man’s keys and meeting up with a stranger online,” he made a face. “You’re just asking for trouble, little duck.”

You frowned, your fingers fiddling in your lap as you bowed your head in embarrassment. “I know. It sounds stupid now.”

“Sounds stupid? It is stupid.” He sighed. “Girls like you have it easy—I mean, you look well-fed, you’ve got on a nice little dress—probably drained your parent’s wallet for that outfit, and now you’re protesting because your old man won’t let you go to a concert? You’re a little spoiled cookie, aren’t you?”

Your chest tightened, your face started to feel warm, and you blinked quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sting behind your eyes. You had already been stranded for hours, burned under the sun, humiliated by your own choices—and now, the stranger who had come to your rescue was reminding you just how foolish you had been.

It felt demeaning. Here you were, an adult woman, getting lectured by a man you didn’t know as if he were your own father. And the only thing you could do was sit here and take it, because he was the only person who had the decency to stop for you and give you a ride. Riding with him and actually getting to a safe destination was far better than standing on the side of the street, getting catcalled by every old man who drove by.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice breaking just a little. “I know it’s stupid. I just… really wanted to go, okay?”

Bucky glanced at you, his expression softening slightly when he caught the little wobble in your voice. You were turned to the window now, blinking hard, pretending to be fascinated by the endless stretch of desert instead of his lecture.

“Hey,” he frowned, his voice softer and almost apologetic. “Didn’t mean to sound like that.”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

He sighed, his fingers tapping the wheel as he looked back at the road. “I just—” he exhaled through his nose, “guess I ain’t the best at talkin’ nice.”

There was another moment of long and awkward silence. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, still looking out the window, perfectly still with your timid hands in your lap, perched like a proper doll.

Bucky couldn’t take this silence anymore. He found you amusing—too kind for your own good. What could have happened if it wasn’t him that picked you up? What if some other man with no good intentions had swept you off the road? You probably would have been dead by now.

He was drawn to you, almost protective. And now that the ride was nearing an hour, he couldn’t handle sitting here in the tense silence any longer.

He tapped a few switches to grab your attention, pointing them out as he spoke without preamble. You turned a little in your seat, watching as his hand moved to the dashboard.

“This one here controls the trailer brakes. Don’t wanna hit that one by accident unless you’re lookin’ to stop hard. This one’s for the axle lock. That one—” he pointed to a faded red knob, “that’s the parking brake. The whole thing’ll hiss like a snake when you pull it.”

You sniffled quietly and wiped your nose with your finger, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course—but he didn’t say anything. He just kept talking, hoping to cheer you up.

“And this one—” he continued, nodding toward a small, rusted switch near the radio, “turns on the cabin light. But don’t mess with it too much. The thing flickers worse than a Christmas tree with bad wiring.”

You let out a small, involuntary giggle, and he caught the sound, glancing over with a grin that deepened the faint lines around his eyes.

“What?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “You laughin’ at my truck?”

“No, it’s just…” you chuckled, trying to hide your smile. “Comparing a creaky rig to a Christmas tree is silly.”

He looked over at you for a moment, the light from the sun reflecting in his eyes. “You’ve got a nice laugh, little duck,” he said.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because that’s what you are,” he grinned. “A cute little duck.”

You looked down at your lap, finding the contrast between being in a pretty dress and sitting inside an aged rig amusing. “You make me sound so little,” you shook your head, grinning. “I’m not some fragile little thing, you know.”

“No?” he hummed, clearly entertained. “You might be right. Especially since you were standing on the side of the road all by yourself without a scare in the world.”

He gave you a subtle sideways glance that you didn’t catch, one hand steady on the wheel as his eyes roamed over you. He watched you sitting there, like a princess perched on a dirty seat, how you squirmed a little and fiddled with your hands in your lap, unsure what to do with them.

You were the picture-perfect image of innocence—and for some reason, Bucky wanted to ruin it.

When you’re sitting down all day as a trucker, you don’t get much blood flow in your legs. It’s vital to stop and take breaks to stretch them out, keep the blood pumping. But sitting here next to you, he seemed to no longer have any issue with his circulation as his blood flowed warmly from his core and straight to his cock.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, adjusting the growing tightness in his jeans.

You turned to look at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Are you okay, mister Bucky?”

“M’fine,” he grumbled, forcing his eyes back onto the road. “And stop calling me mister.”

“It just feels…” you pursed your lips into a subtle pout, “… impolite.”

It was rare that Bucky felt cuteness aggression toward anyone or anything. He’d felt it with pets, sure. Maybe even with his nephews and nieces. But you? You were something else entirely. You were sickeningly sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. You were so soft and spoke so gently that he wanted to wrap his burly hands gently around your delicate throat to preserve your voice forever.

And throughout the drive, he felt exactly that. Cuteness aggression. Having these vulgar thoughts about a pure, innocent stranger was completely inappropriate. He began making pointless conversation in hopes to get his mind off of it.

“What concert were you goin’ to, sweetheart?” he had asked.

“Heart.”

“Heart?” he raised a brow. “I pegged you for the Olivia Newton-John type. I didn’t expect you to be fond of those Wilson sisters.”

You giggled. “I’m not as innocent as you think I am, mister Bucky.”

He smiled—not a genuine, kind one, but one that almost seemed taunting. “I’m not sure about that, little duck.”

These types of talks were supposed to distract him, to keep his mind occupied with something else, but they hardly dulled the warm feeling that was slowly building in his groin.

As the minutes went on, as an hour turned into multiple, the harder it became for him to ignore the way his cock was pressing insistently against the denim. Your soft laugh after every bad dad joke he threw, the way you would cross and uncross your legs every now and then, fiddling with the ends of your skirt. He grew more tense by the second, his body rigid and tense. He would let out a heavy sigh every now and then, his knuckles nearly going white around the wheel.

You noticed this, but you had been trying your best to ignore it. But after another agitated exhale from his nose, you decided to speak up.

“Mister Barnes?” you started, turning your head to face him. “Are you okay?”

He paused, his jaw clenching slightly. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said, though his voice was strained.

You frowned, leaning in a little closer. “Are you sure? If you want, I can take over. Though I’ve never driven a rig before…” your voice trailed off softly.

And there you went again—to Bucky’s demise, you were being aggravatingly adorable.

“No,” his jaw clenched again. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his focus on the road and not the sweet, intoxicating scent of your perfume. “I think I just need a smoke. You don’t mind, do you, doll?”

You pursed your lips together. You were never a fan of cigarettes, always hating how the smell clung to your hair and clothes no matter how many times you washed them. But what kind of position were you in to deny this man’s request—especially in his own truck?

So, you shook your head. “I don’t mind.”

He hummed, shifting his hips to dig in his back pocket for a pack of Marlboros. He opened the box and pulled a cigarette out, waving one toward you.

“Want one?” he asked with a smile.

“No thank you,” you declined with a polite smile.

Bucky shrugged and rolled the window down just barely, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep inhale before puffing it out. The smell already made you gag. Bucky was oblivious as he kept inhaling, exhaling an unpleasant cloud of gray smoke that made you cough and sniffle.

You kept coughing—small and stifled, like you were trying not to make a fuss. Your nose scrunched, eyes watering. And when you coughed a little louder, Bucky finally turned his head to look at you.

“You alright there, little duck?” he asked, blowing smoke out.

“I’m fine,” you wheezed.

Despite your words, he could clearly see that you weren’t fine. You kept blinking rapidly with a scrunched nose, trying not to let the smoke get to you as you sat there trying to be polite—trying to be good.

The sight of your innocence and purity only made his cock twitch in his pants even more. Bucky’s grip on the wheel tightened in frustration. With a deep sigh, he rolled the window down further, letting the cool wind sweep in as he stubbed the cigarette out in the portable ashtray in the cup holder.

“There,” he gruffed, flicking the butt out the window and flashing you a strained smile. “No more smoke.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you looked at him warily. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were stiff, and he kept shifting around in his seat—as if trying to ease some sort of discomfort. If anything, he looked even more on edge than he did before he took his smoke break.

Now, guilt started to eat at you, and you began to feel like this was your fault. He had picked up a random woman on the street, who was taking up his space and alone time, and he couldn’t even take a proper smoke without you having coughing fits right next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke up suddenly, looking at him. “I feel bad for cutting your smoke break off early. Is there anything I can do to help you?” Your eyes quickly raked over his tense form with a frown. “You look like you’re in pain.”

He made a little grimace, not trusting himself to look at you.

“Stop worrying your pretty head,” he said, trying to sound playful, yet it came out strained. “I’ll be fine.”

You leaned in a little closer, trying to get in his peripheral view. His body stiffened.

“But, you don’t look fine.”

“Don’t push it, little duck.”

“Mister Barnes,” you frowned, leaning even closer. “I feel bad. I want to help you.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply. The smell of your sweet candy perfume filling his nostrils that are usually clouded by smoke, seemed to be the last and final straw for him. He snapped his head at you, making you shrink back just slightly as he spoke.

“You know what pretty girls like you do to men like me to help ‘relieve stress’?” He asked. “Huh?”

You shook your head, biting your lip.

Bucky continued. “They put their mouths to good use.”

You frowned a bit, sulking in your seat. “Like… sing?”

The earnestness in your voice made him suck in a breath.

Sing?

The words that had just come out of his mouth were filthy, practically an indirect invitation for you to suck his cock right then and there, but it had completely gone over your head.

This only made his patience wear thinner.

“Not singing,” he sighed in defeat. His hand went down to adjust the bulge straining against his jeans.

Your eyes trailed down to his hands—big and calloused—as he subtly tried to palm himself. Bucky’s breath hitched as he gave his cock one good rub against the denim before placing his hands back on the wheel.

He was hard. You knew that for a fact, because your eyes would not leave the tent between his legs, no matter how many times he tried to adjust himself; it almost seemed to be begging for you to notice.

In your desperation to help Bucky in any way you could, you leaned over and reached your hand out. Before you could think, your soft palm rested gently on his clothed erection.

He immediately jumped in his seat, thrown off guard by your sudden action.

“Jesus! Doll, what the hell are you doing?”

You immediately retracted your hand as if you hurt him, looking at him wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry—!”

“No,” he interrupted, his hand coming to circle your wrist and bring it back to his crotch. “Don’t apologize—just… just keep it there.” He instructed quietly, his hand closing around yours as he held you still.

Your face flushed as you felt his warmth beneath your palm. He felt heavy, full, and the way his cock pulsed when you slightly grazed your fingers against him made you sigh softly. Encouraged by his subtle reaction, you rubbed your hand again, watching him carefully.

He sucked in a breath, glancing at you. “Fuck. Do you have any idea what you’re doing—” a small groan left his lips as you squeezed him through his pants again.

“Is this helping you, mister Bucky?”

Bucky shuddered, his hips jutting up slightly to meet the palm of your hand. “Shit,” he mumbled. “It’s helping, doll, but…” his hand wrapped around yours firmly, guiding it up and down harder against his length. “Move your hand like this.”

You followed the motion he instructed, biting your lip as you watched him carefully. You eyed the way his jaw hung slightly as his breathing grew heavier, the way his eyes were focused on the road, though it was obvious he wanted to look at you.

“Like this?” you asked, palming him harder.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, rocking his hips against your hand. “Like that. Just like that.”

You continued moving your hand up and down against his cock. He pulsed and throbbed underneath your palm, but he made a face—a look that told you this wasn’t enough. That he needed more.

So, you took it upon yourself to unbuckle your seatbelt, reach over and adjust your knees in your seat as your hands clumsily fumbled at his belt.

Bucky finally looked at you, wide-eyed as you worked at his buckle. “What—sweetheart, what are you—” a shocked gasp escaped him as you started unzipping his pants. “Jesus Christ—you… you’re an eager little duck, aren’t you?”

You batted your lashes at him. “I want to help you.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, lifting his hips up to help you. “Go on, then. Show me how good girls like you take care of men like me,” he said. “And it better not be by singing.”

You dug your fingers in his jeans, your soft hands finding the hole of his boxers and pulling his length out—freeing him from its confines. Immediately, he felt hot and heavy in your hands, heavier than he had against the denim. He was big, too big, and you didn’t know if you could wrap your small hands around him fully.

A soft little sigh escaped you as you hesistantly tried to wrap your fingers around his warm shaft.

He groaned, his head dipping back slightly against the car seat, his cock already pulsing at the sensation of your timid little fingers. He’d been so starved of any female affection out on these lonely roads that just your slight touch and smell were enough to make him bust right then and there.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed. “Keep… keep going. Move your hand up and down.”

Encouraged by his instruction, you squeezed your hands a little tighter, causing him to groan. You started to move your hands up and down and his hips started to shake as he gave your warm palm shallow thrusts, beginning to fuck your fist.

“Is… is this good?” you asked softly.

It was like a bolt of ecstasy flooded his entire body at the sound of your soft and innocent question. He pulsed in your grip again, and you took that as a sign to keep going. You started to pump him steadily, sighing softly at the sight of him trembling beneath your hand.

“That’s… that’s good,” he grunted, forcing his eyes on the road. “…very good. Don’t stop, doll.”

And you didn’t.

Your hand kept pumping him eagerly, your fingers giving his length a squeeze now and then, leaving him trying to contain his grunts and groans. A bead of pre-cum started leaking at his tip, and with a shaky thumb, you swiped your digit over it and smeared his arousal over the head of his cock.

“Jesus, baby,” he groaned. “How would your daddy feel if he found out his daughter was such a dirty little girl? Getting picked up by a stranger and stroking a man who’s twice her age’s cock?”

You chuckled softly. “He’d be very upset with me, mister Bucky.”

Bucky’s body shuddered, a groan rumbling from his chest. Your hands—so clearly inexperienced—made him feel good, sure. But he wondered how well you could do with that innocent little mouth of yours. He wanted to feel the soft, wet, and warm press of your tongue against his cock instead.

He adjusted his seat back slightly. “Come here,” he urged.

You leaned in a little closer, confused, before he grabbed the back of your head, fingers slinking through the strands of your hair as he moved your face down to his lap.

“Closer,” he grunted, his hands tightening around your hair and making you whimper softly. “Sorry, little duck. Gonna need your cute little mouth for this one—think you can give me that?”

“I can try,” you said softly, adjusting yourself. “Though, I never—”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, his voice strained and raspy. His grip on your hair was tight, and you could tell it was taking everything in him to not shove his cock into your inexperienced mouth right then and there.

“Just give it a few licks—a few kisses. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your face burned hot at his question. The way he asked it made it sound simple and innocent—though every word that left his mouth was dirty.

But you were determined to please him. After all, he was doing you a huge favor by saving you off the side of the road and giving you a ride.

“I’ll try my best…”

You adjusted yourself in your seat, your knees digging into the worn fabric of the passenger seat as you leaned down, your face barely hovering over his lap. You looked up at him, and his jaw was clenched tight, one hand still laced in your hair and the other holding the wheel steady.

“Are you sure we should be doing this while you’re driving?” you asked hesitantly, your lips tugging down into a pout.

“We’ll be alright, doll,” he soothed. “The road’s empty, and it’s just one straight road for more than a hundred miles. And don’t worry—I’ll finish quick.”

He glanced down at you, eyes wide and innocent, your hand wrapped around his cock and your lips hovering right over his tip. The sight of you like this, innocent as a bunny, only made him want to ruin you further.

He claimed he’d be quick, but even he knew that was a lie.

He was going to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Go on,” he urged. “Give me a little kiss.”

You leaned in hesitantly, your breath warm over his shaft as you pressed a soft and tentative kiss against his cockhead. Bucky’s eyes momentarily fluttered shut, groaning at the feel of your soft, wet lips touching his sensitive length.

You kept giving him the same delicate and shy kisses all over him—each kiss was a taunt, leaving him wanting to defile you more and more. His hand tightened around your hair, and he nudged your face closer. You let out a small yelp as his cock started to rub up and down clumsily against your cheek. He groaned at the feel of your soft cheek rubbing against his sensitive and wet tip.

“God, fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips up against your face. “Bet you never had a grown man’s cock all over your face like this, huh?”

You whimpered beneath him, squeezing your eyes shut as his cock caressed your face. Deep, shallow thrusts of his cock smeared his pre-cum all over your cheeks and ruined your makeup.

“Go on, baby. Get a good whiff of that.”

Doing as instructed, you inhaled deeply, letting his masculine, musky smell fill your lungs. You’d never been this close to a man’s cock before—the smell and the close proximity of him was enough to make your head dizzy.

Bucky looked down, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips at the sight of your scrunched face.

“Aw,” he cooed, teasing you. “Look at you. What an innocent thing you are. You said you’ve never sucked a cock before?”

You blinked up at him, shaking your head shyly. “No, I’ve never done it before. I’m sorry if it’s going to be bad.”

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath at your words, and he had to stop himself from smiling even wider. You were so innocent, so pure, and you were actually apologizing to him in case you gave him a bad performance.

He didn’t care about that.

He just wanted you.

“Don’t apologize, little duck,” he said, his thumb wiping the smeared mascara underneath your eye. “I’ll be happy with you trying your best.”

A soft, faint blush warmed your cheeks at his words. Most people tossed out lines like that without thinking. But coming from him, it settled differently. People didn’t usually have patience for you and your various lack of experience with… things.

“Okay,” you smiled softly, feeling encouraged. “I’ll try my best.”

With that, you parted your lips slowly, giving his cockhead a slow and shy lick. When he groaned, you took that as encouragement to move your tongue around more, teasing the swollen tip. The taste of his pre-cum that gathered at his slit was unusual, a little salty. But the way he moaned and bucked his hips for more—it only motivated you to keep going.

“Don’t be a tease, babydoll,” he warned raspily.

With one hand around his shaft, you leaned your head down and opened your mouth wider, your soft lips enveloping the tip. You swirled your tongue in an attempt to please him, but it was clumsy, uncoordinated, and you were already drooling down your chin like an amateur.

Bucky laughed softly. Your attempt was cute, but he wanted to test you.

“Gonna push your head down a little, sweetheart,” he gave you a slight nudge, watching in satisfaction as your small mouth stretched around his length.

He didn’t even make it halfway before you immediately broke into a gagging fit, tears springing in the corners of your eyes. You whined and choked around his cock, though you didn’t pull away.

He felt bad, really. It was your first time with a dick inside your mouth, and it was one of this size. But he couldn’t admit he wanted to see you struggle.

“Oh,” he breathed, huffing out a small laugh. “You’re taking my cock like a champ, little duck. Ain’t this hurting you?”

He shouldn’t have bothered asking, because he knew he was not going to get an answer—not when your mouth was stuffed with just half his cock. When you muffled and coughed around his shaft, Bucky loosened his grip in your hair just slightly and gently started caressing your head, as if soothing you.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t try to force it, just take what you can—fuck, that’s it. Gooood girl,” he cooed softly.

One hand was tight on the steering wheel, keeping it steady. His eyes kept flicking back between you and the road—it damn near made him dizzy. “Try bobbing your head up and down a little, baby. Can you try doing that for me?”

You nodded against his dick gently, your head slowly moving up and down, your cheeks hollowing around his length. Your tongue rested heavy against his pulsing cock as you tried your best to take him deeper, and a little bump in the road made his cock hit the back of your throat. You immediately choked and pulled away slightly.

“Shit,” Bucky grunted. “I’m sorry, baby. The road’s a little bumpy. Just breathe in and out of your nose, okay?” He glanced down at you, pushing a stray hair out of your face and running a finger against your hollowed cheek softly.

“You’re already being such a good girl for me.”

You pulled his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cockhead before you swiped your tongue over your lips. You craned your neck to look up at him. “… I am?”

Bucky’s eyes were glazed with lust, lips parted as he looked at your face—makeup smeared, hair a mess, drool painted all over your chin—it was a beautiful sight. “You are, baby. You’re being a very good girl.”

You were no longer the innocent, helpless girl who stood by the road with her thumb out. You were his now, his own little plaything that made him have fun with for the first time in a long time.

If he had a girl like you in his passenger seat for every car ride, he’d be the happiest, and luckiest, truck driver on earth.

“Am I making you feel good, mister Bucky?” you asked shyly, with one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and pumping him at an uneven pace.

“Y-yes, baby,” Bucky’s breath was shaky. “You’re making me feel more than good. Think you can try taking the rest of me in your sweet little mouth?”

You tried to catch your breath as your hand paused, eyes trailing back down at his length. He was big; you already knew that when you first pulled him out of his jeans. You were only able to take half of him inside your mouth, and that was with you already trying your hardest.

To say it wasn’t painful would be a lie. The stretch around your lips burned, and the ache around your jaw was a type of ache you’d never experienced before. Your own drool and spit were everywhere—even smeared all over your chin. And after that bump on the road, you hated the feeling of gagging.

But even then, there was a building heat that pooled between your legs from the very start.

Despite the ache, you liked this.

You liked knowing that you were able to please a man who was way older than you, with much more experience, even though you lacked it all. And seeing his face—handsomely desperate for an inexperienced girl like you... how could you deny him?

“I don’t know—I mean, I can try…”

“I know, doll. Just show me how much you want to please me,” Bucky encouraged, flashing you a lazy smile.

You blushed softly at his words. Eager to please him, you leaned back down, your soft lips finding the tip of his cock again before your warm mouth stretched around him, slowly sinking your head down further as your tongue dragged along every pulsing ridge and vein.

“Fuck!” he moaned as he felt you go in deeper than you had before, your mouth slowly constricting around his cock as you went deeper.

Tears were springing to your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to keep them from flowing.

“No, baby,” he grunted, his rough fingers tangling in your hair again. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to keep ‘em open while you take every inch—fuck, yesss, that’s it!”

His head thudded hard against the driver’s seat, his mouth dropping completely into an o-shape as he guided your head down deeper and deeper. A tear dripped down your cheek and onto his lap as the size of him started to get too much. Your mouth was not used to such a large object inside, but the filthy sounds that left his mouth were enough to spur you on.

He was more than halfway inside your mouth by now, moving with a gentle slowness that was almost excruciating for him. He pushed, paused and let your mouth adjust to his size, then pushed again.

But the more you gagged and the more his cock rubbed against the walls of your sweet, warm mouth, it made it harder for him to keep control. You were so close to taking him all—you just needed to be a good girl and take one last push.

“God—fuck!” Bucky shouted as he gave your hair one hard tug before pulling your head down in one hard, swift motion.

Your eyes went wide as your nose hit the base of his pelvis. Your hands flew to his thigh for support as you choked and sputtered around his cock. “Mmph!”

His grip on your hair was tight as he held you still, his hips rocking up against your face, fucking your mouth hard and relentless.

“Shit, shit,” he moaned loudly. “I know, baby. I’m sorry—fuck, but I couldn’t hold back anymore. Just… just stay still, okay? I’ll take care of the rest—shit!” He gasped as he felt himself getting close.

Everything was intoxicating.

The thrill of having a pretty, innocent girl’s mouth wrapped around his cock while driving, the wet sounds of your mouth as he slammed his hips up and fucked your face harder than you could take—the way your eyes rolled, your back arching slightly over the console, your dress barely covering your ass as your knees dug deep into the uncomfortable cushions of the seat…

It was more than he could take.

This very moment was everything he could ever dream of, and he knew that the minute he painted your pretty lips white with his seed, every truck ride after you wouldn’t be the same.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, his thrusts sloppy and uneven as he desperately chased his release. “Fuuuck, you little slut!”

A little sympathetic whine left his lips as he heard you mewl and sputter beneath him, choking and crying on his cock.

“Sshh, shh… I’m sorry. I know, doll. I know it hurts—but fuck, you’re taking me so well. I’m close—just…move your tongue a little—”

His body immediately shook, and another loud and almost animalistic groan tore straight out of his chest the minute you—attempted to—rub your tongue up and down along his shaft. You tried to keep in time with his brutal throat-fucking, though you couldn’t keep up.

It was cute, really.

“Shit, shit, shit,” a litany of curses spilled from his lips as he felt his base coiling hot. “F-fuuck, I’m gonna cum—” his balls tightened up, and his face twisted as he felt himself let go.

With one hard thrust upwards, he sheathed his cock completely inside your wet mouth. You coughed and choked around him as warm, thick cum flooded your mouth, making it spill and drip around his length. You tried your best to swallow it all like he would have wanted you to, but with your gag reflex already overstimulated, you didn’t have it in you to choke it down.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, lifting your head up so that you could catch your breath.

Bucky’s cock was released from your mouth, and you immediately started coughing and catching your breath, your cheeks streaked with tears and long rid of its makeup.

His eyes flickered to the road—still empty—then back to you. He released his hand from your hair and clumsily swiped his thumb over your lip, catching any stray drops and sticking his thumb in your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he panted, giving you a tired and reassuring smile. “You did so well for me. I didn’t hurt you too bad now, did I?”

You coughed, shaking your head and giving him an equally tired smile. “It was a little rough. It was a new feeling,” you admitted. “But I enjoyed it.”

His smile widened, letting out a breathless laugh as he reached out and ruffled your already messy hair. “Good girl. Now, sit back down and buckle yourself in. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt now.”

You scrambled back into the passenger seat, adjusting your dress and putting your seatbelt back on. You pulled the sun visor down and rolled the mirror out, and you let out a shocked gasp at the sight of yourself.

You looked completely debauched. Your hair and makeup—once neatly done for the concert you were supposed to go to—were now smeared and desecrated. You looked like a woman straight out of a porn magazine. Even worse, you looked exactly like the woman your parents would warn you about.

“Oh my god,” you murmured, trying to flatten your hair.

Bucky turned to look at you with a grin, already tucking himself back into his pants. “What is it, little duck?”

You frowned. “My father would kill me if he saw me like this!”

Oh, that.

His smile faltered just a little.

Just a few miles from now, he had to drop you off at a safe location, say goodbye, and never see you again. His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles going white as he stayed silent.

You looked at him with a frown. “Are you okay, Mister Bucky?” you asked curiously. “Did my… did I not help you feel better? Are you still feeling tense?”

He immediately snapped back and loosened his grip on the wheel just slightly. He turned back to you—the sight of your wide eyes, still innocent and bright despite the brutal face-fucking you took from him just mere seconds ago—it tugged at the strings in his chest.

There it was. That damn cute aggression all over again.

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m fine, babydoll. Don’t worry about me now.” He forced a smile.

You smiled back, genuine. “Okay.”

There was an awkward, very tense moment of silence after that. Your eyes were peeking curiously at the window, and your thighs were clenched tight together. He kept stealing glances at your lap every now and then, and every time he looked, you were squirming and fidgeting. Your hands were playing at the ends of your skirt, and your teeth would catch your bottom lip.

You looked just as tense as he did before you… “took care of him.”

And he realized now how foolish he’d been not to take care of your own needs, especially after how diligently you worked to please him.

“You feeling alright, little duck?” he asked, keeping his eyes casual on the road.

“… I’m fine,” you mumbled.

You were not fine. After giving your first blowjob, your heart had been hammering in your chest with excitement. Your body felt warm, and the area between your legs felt tingly and, well, damp. You were so wet, your panties were practically soaked right through, and Bucky hadn't touched you once aside from the hair tugs and gentle face caressing.

You needed more. Your body ached for him—but you felt like it was too selfish to ask. The blowjob was supposed to be you paying him back for giving you a ride. He had already done too much for your sake.

“Hey,” he nudged you gently in the arm, grabbing your attention. “You hungry? There’s a little diner I know that’s just a few miles ahead. I’ll fill up the tank, and we can grab something to eat.”

You blinked at him. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be more of a burden—”

Your voice immediately trailed off as he reached over, his hand casually resting on your thigh. You stiffened, and that same tingling, clenching feeling you had came back tenfold. A little whimper escaped you as you felt his rough, calloused hand slowly glide up and tickle past your skirt.

“You’re not a burden, doll,” he reassured, voice deep. “Then after we eat, we can park somewhere… discrete, and just relax. We can continue having some private time to ourselves before you call your daddy to come pick you up.”

Then, he finally looked at you.

There was a glint behind his eyes, a look that told you that he was sensing what you were feeling. It was almost as if he didn’t want to drop you off somewhere safe—but rather keep you here with himself.

After all, you needed a reliable and trustworthy man to look after you—and who better than him?

“How about it, sweetheart?” he smiled. “Spendin’ more time with mister Bucky. Doesn't that sound nice?”

IM FINALLY FINISHED I HAD THIS DRAFT UP MY BUTT SINCE THE BEGINNING NOV but anyway. im finally finished. i honestly dragged my feet for the second half so i apologize for any mistakes.

thank you for reading!! <3

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[superbassbuck]

everybody knows that i'm a good girl, officer

cop!bucky barnes x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, noncon, smut, p in v, manipulation, power dynamic, dominant bucky, reader works as a bartender, degrading, derogatory term for cops (pig), handcuffs, car sex, abuse of power, breeding kink, please tread carefully.

Summary: You were driving late at night, and you got pulled over for something so trivial—it felt targeted. You think you might get away with a warning if you play your cards right, but Officer Barnes has a dark look in his eyes, and he doesn't like to be messed around with.

Word Count: 3.2k

cop!bucky masterlist || main masterlist courtesy 🏷️@opheliabbarnes

The flashing red and blue lights beam through the dark streets, mocking an already terrible day.

"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me," you groan, gripping the steering wheel in frustration. In the rearview mirror, you watch the cop shut his door and begin his heavy approach towards your car.

What the hell could you have been pulled over for? Expired plates? No—that can't be it. You just renewed them. Speeding, maybe? The roads are empty, so it's fair for you to be easy to catch. But you were only going five over.

You're exhausted, you reek of alcohol, drained from a long night shift, and itching to get out of your tight uniform. The last thing you need is a cop breathing down your neck. Maybe if you play your cards right, you'll get lucky and he’ll let you off with a warning.

You glance at yourself in the mirror and pat your tousled hair down. You barely have time to return your hands to the wheel before a knock sounds the window. You turn and quickly roll it down, clearing your throat and forcing your brightest smile.

"Good evening, Officer—"

"Do you know why I pulled you over, ma'am?" The officer's voice cut through gruff and low—leaving no room for charm.

This might be a tough one. Still, you hold the smile and tilt your head slightly, playing innocent as you bat your eyelashes.

"I have no clue, Officer..." you glance at his name tag. "Barnes."

He stares at you for a moment, one hand resting on the top of your car, his gaze sweeping inside suspiciously.

"Yeah?" he scoffs, unconvinced. "You’ve really got no clue?"

Officer Barnes' studies your face for a little longer. His eyes flick down briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"You were driving over the speed limit."

Your smile falters a bit, your brows furrowing as you kept your hands locked at ten and two. "I was?"

He doesn’t bother answering. He just stares, eyes narrowing slightly as his nostrils flare in slight annoyance. Then, he tilts his head. “Step out of the vehicle.”

You blink, thrown off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Out,” he repeats, voice firm and demanding. “Now.”

Your stomach twists. Was he being serious? You were only going five over! A part of you just wants to switch the gear to drive and slam down on the gas, but a part of you also feels a little hopeful in getting away with a warning.

So, you do as your told.

You undo your seat belt, and the night air hits your skin the second you open the door. As you stand, you notice his eyes drop to your body for just a split second. He takes in your uniform—the short skirt, the low-cut tank top clinging to your chest, and the hint of glitter still on your collarbone from your body mist.

You cross your arms defensively. “I just got off work," you explain before he could even ask.

“Uh-huh," he steps closer, close enough for you to smell the leather and aftershave beneath all that cold bullshit professionalism. “And what kind of work has you dressed like that, smelling like vodka?”

You recoil, offended with his implication. “I’m a bartender, not a party girl.”

“You drink what you make?” he asks flatly, pulling out his flashlight.

“You tend to smell like alcohol when you serve it,” you bite back. “Spillage happens, you know.”

Officer Barnes narrows his eyes, still unconvinced. His jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is low, gruff—enough to send a chill straight down your spine. “Look forward. Eyes on me.”

"Is this really necessary?" you scoff, your patience wearing thin. "Can't you just take a breathalyzer test and be done with this?"

He ignores you, and you feel like you're talking to a brick wall. Instead, he just lifts the flashlight and shines it in your face without warning, making you squint and blink rapidly.

"Follow the light," he demands.

You do your best to stay still, tracking the beam left and right, up and down. He leans in just a bit closer, a little too close to be considered appropriate, and you catch the faint crease between his brows. Like he wants to catch you slipping.

“I’m not drunk,” you mutter under your breath.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not hiding something,” he says, eyes locked onto yours.

"Jesus," you shake your head in disbelief. "I'm not hiding anything, Officer."

His eyes flash dangerously at your tone. He snaps his heads at you and levels you with a look. “No? That’s hard to believe, with all the fake smiles and bedroom eyes while you stink of alcohol.”

Your jaw hangs open at his audacity. Bedroom eyes?

What a fucking pig.

He takes a step back, barely. “Turn around. Hands on the hood.”

Your stomach drops. “What? But I didn't do anything wrong!"

“You’re not under arrest...” he cuts in flatly, “...yet. But I’m not done. So unless you want to make this worse, keep your mouth shut and do what I say.”

You grit your teeth, breath shaky, but turn around and plant your hands on the cool metal of the hood. You can feel him behind you—close and watching. You don’t hear him move, but you feel the tension in his stare.

Then, he finally takes a step, the heavy thud of his boots behind you. “You carrying anything I should know about?”

You glance back over your shoulder. "Like what?"

"Drugs, weapons. Anything that'll make me regret not cuffing you sooner."

You scoff. "This is starting to get ridiculous, Officer—"

He cuts you off with a deep exhale and steps closer. “I’m going to pat you down.”

You snap your head around, hair whipping at him with how close he's standing. "Holy shit, you can't be serious—"

"I'm serious about everything when I'm in uniform," he mutters, his hands unnecessarily finding your waist in a tight grip before you could even finish your sentence. "Spread your feet."

You do.

"Hands flat."

They already are.

Officer Barnes releases his grip on your waist and starts patting you down, his large hands running over your curves and arms more slowly than necessary. His touch lingers on your hips, your waist—bordering on inappropriate. His blue eyes gleam with a predatory light as he leans in closer, his stubble brushing against your neck.

You shiver against him, body feeling tense as you instinctively shift in your stance, trying to subtly create some space between you two.

"Be still," he warns you as he reaches for his handcuffs. "Unless you want me to add resisting arrest—"

"You're arresting me?" you gasp out in a panic once you hear the metal of the cuffs clinking together. "B-but I didn't do anything wrong! I don't have anything on me. I mean—sure I went five over, but that shouldn't warrant an arrest. Can't you just make both of our nights easy and let me go with a warning?"

A small, evil smile tugs at the corners of Officer Barnes' lips when he sees your once faux innocent eyes turn to fear and uncertainty. "Oh, so that's what you were hoping for? Me letting you off with a warning and a pat on your back?"

He grabs your wrists, his large hands easily encompassing them. With a rough and swift motion, he snaps the cuffs around your wrists and pulls them tight to make sure they hold.

He leans in closer, his face just mere inches from yours. He can practically smell the fear on you, and it's intoxicating.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I can't do that," he rasps against your ears. "But... if you can agree to be a good girl, I wouldn't mind letting you off with a warning."

You shudder against him and glance over your shoulder, brows furrowing. "A good girl?"

He nods, his breath tickling against your ear. "That's right."

You bite your lip anxiously. You were busting your ass every night at the bar to pay your bills. A ticket is the last thing you needed on top of everything else.

"I... can be a good girl, Officer."

A low and raspy chuckle escapes his lips, a dark grin spreading wide across his face. He's used to getting what he wants, to having people fall in line and obey his commands. And now, he has you—this defiant woman who dared to question his authority now at his mercy.

He grabs your cuffed wrists and lead you towards the back of his cop car. He opens the door and places his hand on your lower back, ushering you in. He looks around briefly before following in after you. As he shuts the door, he begins to feel a rush of power, control, and lust coursing through his veins.

He watches you, squirming in the backseat, hands confined by the cuffs behind your back, and your legs squeezing together tightly—slightly rubbing.

Oh.

You were craving it, weren't you?

He scoots closer, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders, nudging you closer against his side. He rubs your arm soothingly, his touch gentle and warm but everything about this screamed the opposite.

"Are you scared, baby?" he rasps, his other hand finding your bare thigh, tracing it up and down. "Don't be scared. You're a good girl, aren't you? Just do what I say, and I'll let you off the hook."

You nod meekly. You were so confident that you would get away with this, and now here you are, in the backseat of his cop car, so vulnerable and innocent. Just the sight alone sent a shot of arousal straight to his groin. He shifts slightly, adjusting the bulge in his pants.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters, his hands finding the silky strands of your hair. He brings it to his nose, sniffing you. "But you know that already—because you batted your pretty eyes at me, thinking you could use your good looks to get away from me..."

His hands creep up higher and higher, until it reaches the hem of your skirt, pushing it up slightly to reveal your panties.

"But I know what you really want. You were begging to get fucked by me, weren't you?"

You shake your head. "I wasn't—" you let out a shocked gasp as you feel his warm fingers caress your wet panty-clad clit. He runs his finger up and down, pushing against you—creating friction.

"No?" he growls. "But you're already so wet for me, baby."

You try tightening your legs, but he lets out a frustrated groan as he grabs one thigh with a tight grip, prying you wide open.

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head. "Open up for your Officer."

He leans in, nuzzling his face into your neck as one arm around your shoulders keep you still against him. He strokes your wet slit through your panties, hands getting rougher and more persistent. He presses wet kisses to your neck and cheeks, muttering filthy things like "S'good... so pretty," and "Can't wait to feel you around me, baby."

He tilts his head up and leans in to give you a kiss, but you pull away, avoiding eye contact.

He lets out a harsh laugh, his lips brushing against your ear. "Don't break my heart now, pretty girl. Your Officer just wants a kiss."

You recoil, shaking your head. "You're a disgusting pig."

He lets out a frustrated noise as he grabs the back of your head harshly, forcing you to face him as he slams his lips roughly against yours. His kiss was hungry, desperate, wet, and sloppy. You try moving away, but he held you tight against him.

"That's not gonna work, sweetheart," he pulls away for just a second to catch his breath. "I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, so you're just making me angrier. And don't bite me unless you want to be locked up in a cell tonight."

You don't even get the chance to respond as his lips are already back on yours. He forces his tongue inside, tasting you, devouring you—all while you sit there, whimpering helplessly against him. You feel your face burning shamelessly as his hands roam all over your body greedily—groping your tits through your shirt, rubbing your thighs...

He presses his hips against your legs and you get a good feel of his hard cock. You feel a wet spot rubbing against you as he grinds his hips insistently against your leg. You recoil in disgust once you realize he's practically leaking inside his uniform pants like a pathetic virgin.

"You feel that, baby?" he moans against your lips. "You've got me leakin' in my pants for you. Fuck, I bet your body's just so tight and beggin' for it..."

He could practically feel your hatred radiating as he pushes your skirt up around your waist. He lifts your shirt just over the curve of your breasts—forcing you to bare yourself to him.

"Look at you," his hands groping greedily over your tits with a dark look in his eyes. "So helpless, lookin' all cuffed and pretty for me. But I bet you want this, don't you?"

Your face was burning hot with hate, your stomach was sinking with fear—yet there was a hint of reluctant arousal pooling between your legs, and Officer Barnes could see that. "You sick, nasty, twisted, filthy—"

"What?" he barks. "You gonna call me a pig again? Since you keep callin' me an animal, I might as well fuck you like one, huh?" He roughly grabs the waistband of your panties, shoving them down your legs despite your squirming. "Squirm all you want, pretty girl. Nobody is going to be around to save you in the middle of the night."

He leans back as he starts unbuckling his belt. His eyes never leave your body as he unzips himself, breathing heavy. He pulls his cock out—hard, thick, heavy, and already leaking all over his hands as he begins fist fucking himself. You watch the strings of his precum glisten in the dark, mouth parted in shock from how sick this is—from how utterly disturbed this police officer was for you.

An amused smirk tugs at his lips as he hovers over you, one hand stroking his shaft and the other holding one thigh wide.

“I’ve had such a long day at work, pretty girl,” he licks his lips as he jerks himself off, watching your arousal dripping down your thigh and onto his leather seats. “It’s not easy being a police officer, you know? Risking my life every day and not having a pretty woman like you to come home to…”

He positions himself against your dripping cunt, pushing slightly past the entrance so that his tip can get a taste of your warm and tight embrace. You let out a soft gasp, your body going stiff.

“Fuck, sweetheart! Your pussy is kissing my tip so sweetly… just—just a little more…”

With his hands tight on your waist, he slowly slides in—your pussy unbearably tight and resisting—until he completely bottoms himself against you.

“Fuuuck,” he tosses his head back, his badge glinting in the moonlight. “Damn, baby. You’re so fucking tight. Fuck. Just being here, sheathed inside a pretty girl… I could cum right now.”

He starts thrusting slowly, savoring your wet warmth enveloping his thick shaft. His balls were so heavy and full, it was almost borderline painful. He starts moving his hips faster, because how could he not? When your pussy is so wet and ripe for the taking, inviting him in.

“Good girl… good girl…” he pants, his breath growing heavier as he looks down at you with dark eyes. “You’re a good girl, taking an officer’s dick so well. Tell me, baby. Tell me you’re a good girl.”

You whimper as you bounce helplessly against his leather car seat. The entire car shakes with the force of his thrusts. You can feel the handcuffs digging into your skin as you're forced to lay down on your back.

“I’m—I’m a good girl, Officer Barnes," you force yourself to cry out, the words leaving a disgusting taste on your tongue.

“Oh, yes you are,” he grunts, rutting into you deeply. “Such a good girl… the sweetest girl. Fuck, I need a wife like you—I swear. Someone to come home to… to warm my cock every night.”

His hand slides around to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as he pulls you harder against him. He fucks himself into you, his cock throbbing with the desperate need to release.

His hands roam your curves, squeezing and kneading, claiming every inch of your soft skin. He leans down to capture a hardened nipple in his mouth. He suckles hard, his tongue swirling and teasing, as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. "You like this, don't you, slut? You're so wet and tight, fuck—your pussy just keeps inviting me in!"

Then without warning, he quickly pulls out—the sudden emptiness makes your pussy throb reluctantly. He grabs your waist and flips you over so you're on your stomach. You yelp as your face press against the leather of his seat. He grabs your waist and pulls you back to him, one hand finding its way through your hair and holding you down against the seat—forcing you to arch your back and present your bare ass to him.

"Keep your ass up, sweetheart. I want to see you present yourself like a good little girl."

Then with a low and dangerous groan, he sheathes himself back deep inside you—fucking you even harder, claiming you as his. He sees the way your hands clench and unclench behind your back, the metal of the handcuffs glinting under the moonlight. The sight of you restrained, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy... it was too much for him to bear. He couldn't stop himself from speeding up his thrusts.

"Fuck, fuck! Baby, I'm gonna cum soon," he breaths, chasing his release. "You have the most perfect ass, the tightest pussy ever... fuck, m'gonna cum... might...might even breed you..."

Your eyes widen as you try to shake your head despite his strong hands holding you still.

"No, no! You can't do this! Officer Barnes, please—"

"Oh, but I will," he cut you off with a sharp thrust, his leaking tip hitting your sweet spot just right as you let out an involuntary moan. "Might even get you pregnant... that way you're forced to be my wife. But that's okay, you can just rely on me... to take care of you... to... fuck!"

He starts to pant as he's right on the edge of release with no regard for your pleasure or pain.

He cries out as he fills you, letting out a loud and animalistic groan as his warm, thick seed pumps inside your waiting body. He stills for a long moment as he catches his breath, and only then when he is sure that every single drop inside you takes—he finally pulls out with a wet plop.

"Shit, baby," he breaths, his thumb caressing your swollen and puffy lips. He sees a trickle of his seed try to escape your pussy, and he lets out a dark chuckle as he pushes it back in with his finger, plugging it back inside you.

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, voice raspy and dry. "Gotta make sure it takes, pretty girl."

[blood-made-deactivated20251226]

i miss my husband