Summary: A pure smut! No plot. Just drunkly (literally) in love with Hayden. Intense sex in jacuzzi —
╰┈➤ Put On a Show For You
• Smut, 3,1k words,
Summary: After a long, exhausting day on set, Hayden comes home expecting quiet, maybe sleep — but his much younger girlfriend has other plans. Dressed in nothing but his shirt, she's waiting to put a show just for him.
╰┈➤ Swiss Summer
• Fluff, 1,3k words,
Summary: What starts a lazy, sun-dressed day in the Swiss Alps turns into flirting, Gelato, mountain make-outs — and a very awkward encounter with Hikers. No agenda. No cameras. Just you, Hayden, and a dangerously short sundress.
╰┈➤ Built To Ruin
• Smut, 8k words,
Summary: Hayden escapes to his quiet farm with his girlfriend, hoping for a peaceful retreat. But the calm is quickly replaced by an irresistible pull between them— they just can't get enough of each other, and desire takes over in the most unexpected ways.
╰┈➤ Marked Territory
• Fluff, 1,9k words,
Summary: Just a jealous girlfriend marking her famous boyfriend <333
╰┈➤ Dilf!Hayden Alphabet
╰┈➤ The Last Day TW • !!!
A deeply personal one-shot exploring the darkest parts of my mind—written not for attention, but as a way to survive the heaviness, to bleed the pain onto the page, and to feel just a little less alone.
╰┈➤ Rumor Has It
• Pt. 1 — You Said My Name
• Pt. 2 — Let Them Talk
• Pt. 3 — Tell Me To Stop
• Pt. 4 — Keep It Quiet
• Pt. 5 — Yours (The End)
Summary: When a rising young actress admits in an interview that her ultimate celebrity crush is Hayden Christensen, she doesn’t expect it to actually get his attention. But one flirtatious red carpet encounter later, the internet’s on fire — and the rumors aren’t even close to the dirtiest part.
╰┈➤ Grade Me Harder
• Smut, 2,3k words,
Summary: You show up to Professor Christensen’s office hours wearing the shortest skirt in your closet and a smirk that says you’re there for anything but academic discussion. He’s kept his distance all semester, but your bratty mouth and lack of panties finally push him over the edge.
╰┈➤ A Man Who Yearns Is A Man Who Erarns
• Fluffy Smut???, 3,3k words
Summary: Hayden spends the day yearning for his teasing young wife—and when he gets home, he earns her in every way.
╰┈➤ "I Don't Even Like Ice Cream"
Pt.2 — "l Think I Start Liking Ice Cream"
Pt.3 — "I Love Ice Cream"
Summary: After a long press day, your co-star Hayden Christensen convinces you to sneak off for a secret ice cream run. It’s supposed to be casual — just friends, just a treat — but the night turns soft, slow, and impossibly romantic.
╰┈➤ Heavy Labor
• Fluff, 4,9k words,
Summary: You’re 27 when you marry Hayden Christensen. The world calls it impulsive, dramatic — just another Hollywood fantasy. But when labor begins with your first child, everything becomes real. The pain, the fear, the haunting whispers of his past… and the quiet question you’re too scared to ask: Will he stay?
╰┈➤ Fangirl In Yellow Ferrari
• Smut, 4,9k words,
Summary: You never planned on staying long at the Malibu beach party. Just long enough to snap a few shots for your portfolio and maybe catch something real through your lens. What you didn’t expect was a yellow Ferrari… or the man leaning against it — Hayden Christensen. Celebrity you've been dreaming about every night.
╰┈➤ Skywalker's Padawan
• Smut, 3,3k words,
Summary: After nearly a year apart, you reunite with Hayden Christensen on the set of a new Star Wars project — he’s playing Anakin, and you’re cast as Ahsoka, his padawan. Long hours of training and dangerously close fight scenes lead to explosive tension behind the scenes.
╰┈➤ Trouble
• Smut, 3,2k words,
Summary: Hayden always said he loved J. Cole — but tonight, he loves the way you sound to the beat even more. After a late-night jog leaves you sweaty and smug, your teasing pushes him past his limit. With “Trouble” playing in the background, he devours you in every way: on the couch, in the shower, against the tile. Hayden’s not just obsessed — he’s addicted. To your bratty mouth, your pretty sounds, and the way you beg when he calls you his. And he’s going to ruin you… slowly.
╰┈➤ Real Love Deserves a Second Chance
•Fluff, 5k words
Summary: After four painful years apart, you and Hayden—once lovers bound by a fairy-tale romance—unexpectedly reunite at a charity ball. Haunted by past insecurities and public scrutiny that tore you apart, the tension between you slowly melts into laughter, confession, and undeniable passion. As you navigate your complicated history and rediscover your love, you realize some bonds are too strong to break. Together, you prove that real love deserves a second chance—no matter what the world thinks.
╰┈➤ Remote Access
• Smut, 4,1k words
Summary: Hayden’s young wife secretly wears a remote-controlled vibrator to a Hollywood gala to spice up their night, but when he takes control, the teasing turns into public torment — until they finally return to their hotel, where he gives her the release she’s been begging for.
╰┈➤ Little heartbeat
• Fluff, 4,7k words
Summary: You’re young — in your early twenties — and deeply in love with Hayden Christensen, your much older partner. Everything feels light and easy… until you find out you’re pregnant. It’s your first time, and fear grips you. Hayden’s already a father; you’re still figuring out life. But as the truth settles in, you find a gentle, creative way to tell him.
╰┈➤ Alien Slut
• Smut, 4,8k words
Summary: You watched Ahsoka for one reason only: Your boyfriend — Hayden Christensen. But when Anakin appeared, so did she — Ahsoka Tano. And her lekku. Now you can’t stop thinking about them. About how sensual they look. About how badly you want to wear them while Hayden ruins you. So you surprise him with full Togruta cosplay — tribal paint, mesh tunic, hard nipples, lace panties — and beg to be his little alien slut. He’s more than happy to oblige.
╰┈➤ Save In His Arms
• Smut, 3,6k words
Summary: After running from the violence at home, you show up at Hayden’s door in the pouring rain. Bruised, broken, and desperate for safety, you find comfort in his arms again. But as his protective tenderness blurs into something deeper, the safety you crave begins to mix with forbidden desire.
╰┈➤ Number 66...and 69
• Smut, 4,6k words
Summary: When Hayden attends a baseball game with his daughter and ex Rachel, his much younger girlfriend finds herself battling jealousy watching it unfold on TV. But when Hayden returns home, he quickly reminds her she’s the only one he wants—through whispered reassurances, heated kisses, and a night that burns as hot as the spotlight she saw him in.
╰┈➤ Forbidden Desire
• Smut, 5,7k words
Summary: A Hollywood nepo baby spends the summer on her father’s set, obsessed with his best friend Hayden Christensen. Once a childhood crush, he’s now an older man, and the tension between them turns hot, forbidden, and irresistible.
╰┈➤ F like Fuck me Daddy
• Smut, 8,6k words
Summary: You’re failing Professor Christensen’s psychology seminar—until a private meeting in his office turns into a dangerous “experiment.” What starts as Freud quickly becomes forbidden desire, dirty lessons, and the kind of grade you’ll never forget.
╰┈➤ Manipulative Blue
• Smut, 6,1k words
Summary: After a brutal fight with your boyfriend, you run out into the storm and find yourself vulnerable, heartbroken, and lost. Hayden is the one who finds you, offering comfort in his car, but his piercing blue eyes and commanding presence soon pull you into something much darker, deeper, and more passionate than you ever expected.
╰┈➤ Together
• Fluff, 6,5k words
Summary: Exhausted and struggling with postpartum depression, you navigate life with your teething baby while Hayden is away filming. When he returns, his love and presence help you find hope, support, and a path toward healing.
╰┈➤ Love Birds
• Fluff, 3,4k words
Summary: After you come back from your nursing course, Hayden takes you on a surprise date to a quiet place.
╰┈➤ Dream Tape
• Smut, 6,1k words
Summary: What starts as a cozy night on the couch turns into something much hotter when the camera starts rolling. Making a dream sex tape.
╰┈➤ Girl With Schells
• Fluff, 3,6k words
Summary: You only went surfing for the waves. You found a cute girl looking for shells, but you didn’t expect to find a pair of blue eyes watching you carefully.
╰┈➤ The Handyman Next Door
• Smut, 5,4k words
Summary: After moving into your dream house in the Canadian countryside, your first night takes an unexpected turn when the shower breaks. Embarrassed and desperate, you knock on your neighbor Hayden’s door for help.
╰┈➤ History Professor
• Smut, 4,7k words
Summary: You’re a college history student with an innocent crush on your professor, but when you stay behind after class to help him carry books, things take a very forbidden turn that changes everything.
╰┈➤ Cockwarming
• Smut, 4,3k words
╰┈➤ Teddy Bear
• Fluff, 1,8k words
Summary: You and Hayden travel to Sydney for his Star Wars training. You also forgot your teddy bear...
╰┈➤ Dirty Jazz
• Smut, 2,6k words
Summary: You were supposed to go to bed after your shower… but ended up on your knees under the piano.
╰┈➤ Your Lips Are Mine
• Smut, 3,3k words
Summary: At a party game of spin the bottle, someone else gets to kiss you. Hayden doesn’t let it slide — he drags you off and claims your mouth the way only he can.
╰┈➤ I can't finish without you
• Smut, 2,2k words
Summary: While missing Hayden, you touch yourself—but you can’t finish without him… so you call him.
╰┈➤ I Want You
• Smut, 4k words
Summary: You’re autistic and have never had sex before, but this time you’re so turned on that you let Hayden take you—and he ends up overwhelming you in the best way.
╰┈➤ Bows & Pigtails pt. 1
• Fluff, 3,7k words
Summary: You work a late shift at a rough bar and meet a mysterious, older stranger named Hayden
╰┈➤ Kisses & Harleys pt. 2
• Fluff, 3,2k words
Summary: You wake up next to Hayden, a stranger who’s already become impossible to ignore
╰┈➤ Doctor's Orders
• Hurt/Comfort, 2k words
Summary: Hayden comes home sick, and you refuse to let him take care of anything except resting.
╰┈➤ Nasty Teaser
• Smut, 3,8k
Summary: After teasing Hayden all through the award ceremony, he finally loses control.
Summary: A pure smut! No plot. Just drunkly (literally) in love with Hayden. Intense sex in jacuzzi —
╰┈➤ Put On a Show For You
• Smut, 3,1k words,
Summary: After a long, exhausting day on set, Hayden comes home expecting quiet, maybe sleep — but his much younger girlfriend has other plans. Dressed in nothing but his shirt, she's waiting to put a show just for him.
╰┈➤ Swiss Summer
• Fluff, 1,3k words,
Summary: What starts a lazy, sun-dressed day in the Swiss Alps turns into flirting, Gelato, mountain make-outs — and a very awkward encounter with Hikers. No agenda. No cameras. Just you, Hayden, and a dangerously short sundress.
╰┈➤ Built To Ruin
• Smut, 8k words,
Summary: Hayden escapes to his quiet farm with his girlfriend, hoping for a peaceful retreat. But the calm is quickly replaced by an irresistible pull between them— they just can't get enough of each other, and desire takes over in the most unexpected ways.
╰┈➤ Marked Territory
• Fluff, 1,9k words,
Summary: Just a jealous girlfriend marking her famous boyfriend <333
╰┈➤ Dilf!Hayden Alphabet
╰┈➤ The Last Day TW • !!!
A deeply personal one-shot exploring the darkest parts of my mind—written not for attention, but as a way to survive the heaviness, to bleed the pain onto the page, and to feel just a little less alone.
╰┈➤ Rumor Has It
• Pt. 1 — You Said My Name
• Pt. 2 — Let Them Talk
• Pt. 3 — Tell Me To Stop
• Pt. 4 — Keep It Quiet
• Pt. 5 — Yours (The End)
Summary: When a rising young actress admits in an interview that her ultimate celebrity crush is Hayden Christensen, she doesn’t expect it to actually get his attention. But one flirtatious red carpet encounter later, the internet’s on fire — and the rumors aren’t even close to the dirtiest part.
╰┈➤ Grade Me Harder
• Smut, 2,3k words,
Summary: You show up to Professor Christensen’s office hours wearing the shortest skirt in your closet and a smirk that says you’re there for anything but academic discussion. He’s kept his distance all semester, but your bratty mouth and lack of panties finally push him over the edge.
╰┈➤ A Man Who Yearns Is A Man Who Erarns
• Fluffy Smut???, 3,3k words
Summary: Hayden spends the day yearning for his teasing young wife—and when he gets home, he earns her in every way.
╰┈➤ "I Don't Even Like Ice Cream"
Pt.2 — "l Think I Start Liking Ice Cream"
Pt.3 — "I Love Ice Cream"
Summary: After a long press day, your co-star Hayden Christensen convinces you to sneak off for a secret ice cream run. It’s supposed to be casual — just friends, just a treat — but the night turns soft, slow, and impossibly romantic.
╰┈➤ Heavy Labor
• Fluff, 4,9k words,
Summary: You’re 27 when you marry Hayden Christensen. The world calls it impulsive, dramatic — just another Hollywood fantasy. But when labor begins with your first child, everything becomes real. The pain, the fear, the haunting whispers of his past… and the quiet question you’re too scared to ask: Will he stay?
╰┈➤ Fangirl In Yellow Ferrari
• Smut, 4,9k words,
Summary: You never planned on staying long at the Malibu beach party. Just long enough to snap a few shots for your portfolio and maybe catch something real through your lens. What you didn’t expect was a yellow Ferrari… or the man leaning against it — Hayden Christensen. Celebrity you've been dreaming about every night.
╰┈➤ Skywalker's Padawan
• Smut, 3,3k words,
Summary: After nearly a year apart, you reunite with Hayden Christensen on the set of a new Star Wars project — he’s playing Anakin, and you’re cast as Ahsoka, his padawan. Long hours of training and dangerously close fight scenes lead to explosive tension behind the scenes.
╰┈➤ Trouble
• Smut, 3,2k words,
Summary: Hayden always said he loved J. Cole — but tonight, he loves the way you sound to the beat even more. After a late-night jog leaves you sweaty and smug, your teasing pushes him past his limit. With “Trouble” playing in the background, he devours you in every way: on the couch, in the shower, against the tile. Hayden’s not just obsessed — he’s addicted. To your bratty mouth, your pretty sounds, and the way you beg when he calls you his. And he’s going to ruin you… slowly.
╰┈➤ Real Love Deserves a Second Chance
•Fluff, 5k words
Summary: After four painful years apart, you and Hayden—once lovers bound by a fairy-tale romance—unexpectedly reunite at a charity ball. Haunted by past insecurities and public scrutiny that tore you apart, the tension between you slowly melts into laughter, confession, and undeniable passion. As you navigate your complicated history and rediscover your love, you realize some bonds are too strong to break. Together, you prove that real love deserves a second chance—no matter what the world thinks.
╰┈➤ Remote Access
• Smut, 4,1k words
Summary: Hayden’s young wife secretly wears a remote-controlled vibrator to a Hollywood gala to spice up their night, but when he takes control, the teasing turns into public torment — until they finally return to their hotel, where he gives her the release she’s been begging for.
╰┈➤ Little heartbeat
• Fluff, 4,7k words
Summary: You’re young — in your early twenties — and deeply in love with Hayden Christensen, your much older partner. Everything feels light and easy… until you find out you’re pregnant. It’s your first time, and fear grips you. Hayden’s already a father; you’re still figuring out life. But as the truth settles in, you find a gentle, creative way to tell him.
╰┈➤ Alien Slut
• Smut, 4,8k words
Summary: You watched Ahsoka for one reason only: Your boyfriend — Hayden Christensen. But when Anakin appeared, so did she — Ahsoka Tano. And her lekku. Now you can’t stop thinking about them. About how sensual they look. About how badly you want to wear them while Hayden ruins you. So you surprise him with full Togruta cosplay — tribal paint, mesh tunic, hard nipples, lace panties — and beg to be his little alien slut. He’s more than happy to oblige.
╰┈➤ Save In His Arms
• Smut, 3,6k words
Summary: After running from the violence at home, you show up at Hayden’s door in the pouring rain. Bruised, broken, and desperate for safety, you find comfort in his arms again. But as his protective tenderness blurs into something deeper, the safety you crave begins to mix with forbidden desire.
╰┈➤ Number 66...and 69
• Smut, 4,6k words
Summary: When Hayden attends a baseball game with his daughter and ex Rachel, his much younger girlfriend finds herself battling jealousy watching it unfold on TV. But when Hayden returns home, he quickly reminds her she’s the only one he wants—through whispered reassurances, heated kisses, and a night that burns as hot as the spotlight she saw him in.
╰┈➤ Forbidden Desire
• Smut, 5,7k words
Summary: A Hollywood nepo baby spends the summer on her father’s set, obsessed with his best friend Hayden Christensen. Once a childhood crush, he’s now an older man, and the tension between them turns hot, forbidden, and irresistible.
╰┈➤ F like Fuck me Daddy
• Smut, 8,6k words
Summary: You’re failing Professor Christensen’s psychology seminar—until a private meeting in his office turns into a dangerous “experiment.” What starts as Freud quickly becomes forbidden desire, dirty lessons, and the kind of grade you’ll never forget.
╰┈➤ Manipulative Blue
• Smut, 6,1k words
Summary: After a brutal fight with your boyfriend, you run out into the storm and find yourself vulnerable, heartbroken, and lost. Hayden is the one who finds you, offering comfort in his car, but his piercing blue eyes and commanding presence soon pull you into something much darker, deeper, and more passionate than you ever expected.
╰┈➤ Together
• Fluff, 6,5k words
Summary: Exhausted and struggling with postpartum depression, you navigate life with your teething baby while Hayden is away filming. When he returns, his love and presence help you find hope, support, and a path toward healing.
╰┈➤ Love Birds
• Fluff, 3,4k words
Summary: After you come back from your nursing course, Hayden takes you on a surprise date to a quiet place.
╰┈➤ Dream Tape
• Smut, 6,1k words
Summary: What starts as a cozy night on the couch turns into something much hotter when the camera starts rolling. Making a dream sex tape.
╰┈➤ Girl With Schells
• Fluff, 3,6k words
Summary: You only went surfing for the waves. You found a cute girl looking for shells, but you didn’t expect to find a pair of blue eyes watching you carefully.
╰┈➤ The Handyman Next Door
• Smut, 5,4k words
Summary: After moving into your dream house in the Canadian countryside, your first night takes an unexpected turn when the shower breaks. Embarrassed and desperate, you knock on your neighbor Hayden’s door for help.
╰┈➤ History Professor
• Smut, 4,7k words
Summary: You’re a college history student with an innocent crush on your professor, but when you stay behind after class to help him carry books, things take a very forbidden turn that changes everything.
╰┈➤ Cockwarming
• Smut, 4,3k words
╰┈➤ Teddy Bear
• Fluff, 1,8k words
Summary: You and Hayden travel to Sydney for his Star Wars training. You also forgot your teddy bear...
╰┈➤ Dirty Jazz
• Smut, 2,6k words
Summary: You were supposed to go to bed after your shower… but ended up on your knees under the piano.
╰┈➤ Your Lips Are Mine
• Smut, 3,3k words
Summary: At a party game of spin the bottle, someone else gets to kiss you. Hayden doesn’t let it slide — he drags you off and claims your mouth the way only he can.
╰┈➤ I can't finish without you
• Smut, 2,2k words
Summary: While missing Hayden, you touch yourself—but you can’t finish without him… so you call him.
╰┈➤ I Want You
• Smut, 4k words
Summary: You’re autistic and have never had sex before, but this time you’re so turned on that you let Hayden take you—and he ends up overwhelming you in the best way.
╰┈➤ Bows & Pigtails pt. 1
• Fluff, 3,7k words
Summary: You work a late shift at a rough bar and meet a mysterious, older stranger named Hayden
╰┈➤ Kisses & Harleys pt. 2
• Fluff, 3,2k words
Summary: You wake up next to Hayden, a stranger who’s already become impossible to ignore
╰┈➤ Doctor's Orders
• Hurt/Comfort, 2k words
Summary: Hayden comes home sick, and you refuse to let him take care of anything except resting.
╰┈➤ Nasty Teaser
• Smut, 3,8k
Summary: After teasing Hayden all through the award ceremony, he finally loses control.
⟢ ─ bucky’s best friend 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽
⤷ ft. congressman!bucky, dbf!bucky, & more.
⋆˙⟡ an anthology of 12 stories inspired by sabrina capenter’s album, man’s best friend.
⟢ ─ glitter & grease 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. mechanic!bucky, rich-girl!reader.
⋆˙⟡ cum take a peak into the mind of your father's mechanic, a man who has set his sights on staining you with his touch.
⟢ ─ last train home (on hold.) 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽
⤷ ft. ex!bucky, hurt/comfort.
⋆˙⟡ hours after the void swallows half of new york city, bucky barnes finds himself breaking his #1 rule: don't show up at your door. click here for part 2 + here for part 3. (series masterlist pending.)
⟢ ─ manchild 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽ ᯓ★
⤷ ft. roommate!bucky, frenemies to lovers.
⋆˙⟡ in which, after a series of misfortunate dates, you fall in love with your infuriating roommate.
⟢ ─ training wheels 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. mentor!bucky, age gap.
⋆˙⟡ bucky’s task was supposed to be simple: train you into being a valuable member of the new avengers. but when a mission goes awry and you both wind up sharing a bed, a single wet dream is enough to undo the thinning threads of your mentor’s sanity. click here for part 2. (series masterlist pending.)
⟢ ─ after-party of two 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. rockstar!bucky, popstar!reader
⋆˙⟡ scandals and cameras can’t keep you away from bucky, not when he’s looking at you like that. (this is set in the same universe as the vocal economy but can be read separately!)
⟢ ─ bucky bossa nova 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽
⤷ ft. congressman!bucky, fwb to lovers
⋆˙⟡ opening night of your broadway debut, the last thing you expect to see is a familiar set of blue eyes watching from the balcony. is it normal for fuck-buddies to show up for each other’s big moments? alternatively,, is bucky barnes an emotional fuckboy or is local woman oblivious to signs and in need of a visit to an opticians? this, & more, at 11!
⟢ ─ emergency contact 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽
⤷ ft. ex-avenger!reader, ex-friends to lovers
⋆˙⟡ you and bucky are friends... or, at least you were 2 months ago, before he cut all contact. if you had known an injury and a hostage situation was all you needed to finally get some answers out of the stubborn soldier, you would have handed yourself over to karli morgenthau months ago.
⟢ ─ helping hand 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. sorority sister!nat, loser!bucky.
⋆˙⟡ nat knows her precious sorority sister is always eager to lend a helping hand… well, in this case, take a helping hand.
⟢ ─ incu-bust! 𝜗𝜚 ᯽
⤷ ft. incubus!bucky, virgin!reader.
⋆˙⟡ following the untimely death of your mother, you purchase a charming yet abandoned farm-house. between creaky floorboards and squeaky doors, a creature lurks in the darkness of your new home. waiting, watching, lusting for the right moment to smudge the air of purity that surrounds you.
⟢ ─ my bloody valentine 𝜗𝜚 ᯽
⤷ ft. congressman!bucky, enemies with benefits.
⋆˙⟡ based on a tiktok prompt: an enemy showing up at your door covered in blood, “i had nowhere else to go.”
⟢ ─ oh, christmas three! 𝜗𝜚 .ᐟ
⋆˙⟡ in the midst of cleaning your apartment post-christmas party, your two overly-competitive roommates accidentally reveal the existence of a bet: whoever kisses you under the mistletoe first gets to confess his feelings for you.
⟢ ─ only bucky 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. stepdad!bucky, camstar!reader
⋆˙⟡ they can all watch, but only he can touch.
⟢ ─santa doesn't know you like i do 𝜗𝜚 ❀ .ᐟ
⤷ ft. stepdad!bucky, daddy kink.
⋆˙⟡ you’ve made a nasty habit out of calling bucky barnes whenever you find yourself one drink too deep to drive. maybe the habit wouldn’t be so nasty if he wasn’t your mother’s ex-husband.
⟢ ─ the vocal economy 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽ ᯓ★
⤷ ft. rockstar!bucky, popstar!reader
⋆˙⟡ after a chance encounter at paris fashion week, you find yourself entangled in a web of sex, lies, and watchful eyes alongside the drummer of beloved rock band the howling commandos. a problematic boyfriend is a rite of passage for every pop-girlie… but bucky barnes is not your boyfriend, he’s your drug. no matter how hard you try, can you truly quit him?
⟢ ─ tear you down, wear you out 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽
⤷ ft. spy!reader, bucky’s pov.
⋆˙⟡ to everyone else on the team, you're a ball of sunshine, a quick-thinking spy, a genius pair of eyes keeping track of anything suspicious during missions. to bucky, however, you are the bane of his existence, the knife in his back, the ire in his blood. he'll stop at nothing to get you kicked off the team, even if it means risking his own life. unfortunately, he never planned for this: you pinned beneath him on the training mat, wide-eyed and fully aware how hard he is against your thigh.
⟢ ─ what’s your favourite dirty movie? 𝜗𝜚
⤷ ft. ghostface!bucky, dubcon.
⋆˙⟡ hot, bothered, and stood-up for phone-sex by your beloved boyfriend, you decide to take matters (ie. your pussy) into your own hands... until the phone rings.
⟢ ─ white xmas 𝜗𝜚 ❀ ᯽ .ᐟ ᯓ★
⋆˙⟡ mission report winter 1999: two hydra assets infiltrate a quiet town in norway under the guise of being newly weds. one hydra asset returns. http-error-403 — the assets fall in love.
bucky comes home & cums in you + bucky has a prise kink + congressman!bucky restrains you with his tie + husband!bucky gets you in trouble + riding beefy!bucky + munch!bucky
Italian: [la ˈdoltʃe ˈviːta]; Italian for 'the sweet life' or 'the good life'
or...
A girl travels to Italy in search of relaxation, only to find something far sweeter and more complicated.
Last Updated: May 19, 2026 [ongoing]
Main Masterlist 𖤓 Taglist
𖤓 Pairing | Massage Therapist!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
𖤓 Summary | A girls trip to Italy was just what you needed to cope with the classic corporate burnout. You just didn't think the way you coped would be the disarmingly charming massage therapist at the Amalfi Coast hotel.
𖤓 Warnings | Fluff + Smut, vacation fling, just two idiots infatuated with each other, banter, some angsty feels, Romanogers appearances, no reader descriptions, no use of y/n | each part will have more indepth warnings, please read at your own risk :)
𖤓 Word Count | 5.6k (so far)
𖤓 Chirps | So...what does one do when the deadline for a collab fic sneaks up on you and you leave the submission open ended? You turn the idea into a series of course! Literally the night before I was meant to post my fic I had a rather interesting discussion about the movie Monday with some friends, and then this was thought up in the aftermath.
── ⋆⋅𖤓 Part 1 | Earned It
While on vacation, your best friend books a spa day for you to loosen up. A luxury spa, the hottest masseuse you've ever laid eyes on, and the slip of a sound lead to a very not normal massage. But in your defense...he had very good hands and a flexible definition of tension relief.
♪ Prompt | Living La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin | "But she'll take away your pain."
♪ Summary | Sent to spy on The Asset in Romania, you bite off more than you can chew.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Brief mention of kidnapping + torture by HYDRA, reader gets held at gunpoint
♪ Phoenix Chirps | This 300 word max is really messing with me. The original text was 800 words, and upon condensing it, I feel like it lost its charm 😭 maybe there's an extended play in this one's future
♪ Word Count | 300
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The nickname 'The Fixer' had followed you long before you had fallen into the clutches of HYDRA. Known by many as someone who handled problems by slipping in and out of sticky situations undetected, you were kidnapped and forced to undergo treatment to do their bidding.
Whenever the organization needed you, you were brought out of cryofreeze, and sent to fix whatever had been broken. And right now, that meant returning The Asset who had been lucky enough to escape.
He wasn't easy to track. A frustrating round of dead ends later, and you found him buying…plums of all things. In a little stall in Bucharest. The weather far too warm for the layers of clothes he wore, right down to the leather gloves that you knew concealed a metal arm that could crush you in half without a second thought.
Once you laid eyes on him, where the Winter Soldier went, you followed.
Empathy began to claw at your chest when you saw his living situation. A small rundown apartment with barely a mattress, running water, or heat. Sure it wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was better than where he had come from at least. And the longer you stayed away from your own handlers, the more you wanted a life…like this. Without having to do anyone's bidding.
"Soldat," you whispered, finally revealing yourself from the shadows after weeks of staying hidden.
The Asset moved swiftly, drawing a gun, and aiming right for your chest. "Who sent you?" his voice carried none of the confidence you would've expected. Instead, he seemed…scared.
"You know who sent me," you answered gently, not even flinching away from the loaded weapon. "But if you let me help you, I think I can take away both of our pain."
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, jealousy, porn, masturbation, fleshlight, sex toys mentioned, p in v sex, innocence kink, sex recording, even more coercion, blowjobs, dirty talk, threats of baby trapping, degrading, praising, size difference kink, breeding kink, humiliation kink, rough and possessive sex, exhibitionism, bucky is a little mean here, and he still has a cringy username
⭐︎ word count: 7.7k
⭐︎ a/n: nearly a year later, here we go again. this is part two of my p*rnstar bucky. read part one in order to understand this part. thank you for all the love and support you've shown me in the first part. i didn't plan to write a pt2, but with pt1 hitting 10k along with 7k followers, i had to do it for ya'll. i hope you enjoy!
synopsis:
One video isn’t nearly enough for Bucky. He wants more of you—wants to make you his star, his girl. But it isn’t just him who’s hooked. His viewers can’t stop talking about the voice in the video he’s been jerking off to. Now everyone’s desperate to know who the mystery woman is… the only thing is, it's been ten months since you two last spoke.
← previous fic | main masterlist
Ten months.
It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.
After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.
You were his loyal fan.
You were there for every single one of his videos.
Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.
So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.
Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.
Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?
Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.
Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.
There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.
You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.
Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.
His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.
A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.
“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”
His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.
“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.
The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.
At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.
Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.
“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.
He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.
“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”
With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.
Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.
Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.
From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.
He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.
Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.
After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.
As usual, it never did.
Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.
Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.
He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.
Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.
I would like to know the same thing.
After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.
wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??
StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx
Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)
Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.
He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.
He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?
How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.
How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?
Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.
Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.
He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.
Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!
Bucky blinked.
Was he seeing this right?
He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.
But no, it was you.
When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.
He couldn’t believe it.
You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.
Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.
No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?
A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.
Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.
Then, his heart leaped.
Pleasure_Ring is typing…
Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?
Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.
But right now, he just felt pissed off.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?
There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.
Pleasure_Ring is typing…
Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.
Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.
Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.
Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?
And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.
You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.
The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.
It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.
You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?
The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.
Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.
His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.
Naturally, it did things to you.
He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.
Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?
“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”
“Where have you been?”
You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.
“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”
Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.
You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”
Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.
“Ashamed?”
“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”
Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.
Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.
“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”
Your eyes widened.
“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”
That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.
“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”
There it was.
The sentence Bucky had been dreading.
While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.
“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”
“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.
Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.
“Teach me how to be better at sex.”
An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.
You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.
Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.
“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”
The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.
“I know,” you said bashfully.
“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”
He paused, studying your reaction.
“And this time, I’m posting it online.”
You sat there frozen.
It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.
Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”
Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.
“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”
For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.
“What do you say, doll?”
Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.
Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.
The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.
Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.
Your chat history.
His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.
Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.
Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.
“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.
Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”
You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.
Modeled after you?
Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.
The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.
“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”
A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.
“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”
You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.
For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.
Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”
A slow, patient sigh escaped him.
Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.
“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.
The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.
“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”
He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.
Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”
While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.
“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”
The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.
Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.
“… Teach me?”
A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.
He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.
“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”
He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.
With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.
“Bucky…” You gasped softly.
His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.
“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”
Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.
Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.
“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”
Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.
“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”
With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.
He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.
“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”
You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.
“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”
He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.
“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”
You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.
You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.
Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.
“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”
He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.
“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”
You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.
“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”
He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.
“Mph!”
“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.
He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.
“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”
With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.
“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.
His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.
Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.
“Ohh, shit.”
You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.
Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.
“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”
You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.
Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.
“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.
Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.
“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”
He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.
You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”
Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.
He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.
“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”
Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.
You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.
Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.
He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.
“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”
Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.
He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.
“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”
You felt your body growing weaker by the second.
You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.
“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”
“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”
Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.
Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.
Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.
“Do you want to stop, doll?”
Stop?
Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.
“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.
The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.
“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”
His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.
“I promise,” he added.
“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”
It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.
“That’s my good girl.”
While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.
“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.
He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.
It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.
Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.
“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.
You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.
“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”
A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.
“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”
With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.
Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”
“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”
Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.
“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.
You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.
“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.
“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”
The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.
Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.
“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”
“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”
He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.
“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”
Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.
Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.
“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”
His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.
Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.
He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.
“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”
The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.
The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.
Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.
The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.
The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.
“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”
Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?
But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.
“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”
Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.
“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”
But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.
“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”
You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.
Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”
Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.
You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.
“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”
Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.
Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.
“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”
His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.
“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.
“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”
A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.
He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.
Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.
“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”
Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.
Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.
When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.
Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.
Two million views.
A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.
You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.
You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.
You made him feel that good.
And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.
Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog
Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?
pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.
Your brow rose at the last comment.
Gave her a follow?
Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.
It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.
Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.
You couldn’t believe it.
People loved watching you.
They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.
A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.
It was pure excitement.
Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.
“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”
“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”
He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.
“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”
You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.
“Sweetheart, what is it?”
A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”
And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.
Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.
This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.
“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”
hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j
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summary. you’re finding yourself around james more often—around bucky more often too. and somewhere between shared laughs and quiet moments, your feelings start knotting up, tangled in the realization that you might be falling for both of them at once. but maybe they aren’t as different as you’ve been telling yourself they are.
content. loser!bucky x fem!reader, valorant terminology, mdni (+18), bucky is a certified FREAK i’m telling u, service dom!bucky, cunnilingus, cum-eating, mating press, dacryphilia, belly-bulge, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy pls), big d!ck bucky, pet names (baby, dollface, angel), porn with plot, bucky’s got superman-themed boxers <3 lmk if i missed anything!
word count. BRO 19k HOW DID THAT HAPPEN
from lia. i'm so serious i have no idea how this became 19 freaking thousand words long it was at twelve-k when i last checked. i'm so sorry. also tagging @dolcesaints here in the author's note because i don wan u to tampo <3
part one masterpost
james’ dorm was...nice.
it was heavily decorated—walls splashed with posters of characters you half-recognized and shelves crowded with things he clearly loved; it also faintly smelled of doritos—and you haven’t exactly decided if it was a good or bad thing to be smelling.
you two usually worked on the project at your place, but with your roommate—emily—beating you to it and made best of the situation by hosting a study session with wanda, you had no choice but to come over to james’ place.
“so um—make yourself at home.” he awkwardly pressed his relentlessly sweaty palms against his jeans, darting his eyes around the room to look at anything but you.
“wow…” you breathed, a soft smile forming as you took it all in. “this is… a lot of stuff.”
he shrugged, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he shoved his bag onto the floor. “yeah. it’s um—all the stuff i’ve collected from the past few years.” he pointed at a specific portion of the wall where there were multiple posters and funko pops of the same character. “i-i’m not a huge fan of that. at all. don’t-don’t mind that…” bucky waved a dismissive hand in the air, picking up a lost sock on the floor before shoving it in his pocket. “just— make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the bed. his hands were still awkwardly pressed against his jeans, and you noticed the faint blush creeping across his cheeks as he avoided your gaze.
you lowered yourself onto his bed, careful not to touch anything fragile, and took a moment to just look. his desk was a command center—dual monitors, keyboard with those clicky keys, a headset dangling from the corner, and a few random figurines tucked in between speakers.
you made your ass comfortable on his bed, pulling your laptop out of your bag and onto your lap. the second your laptop flickered to life, bucky’s eyes flicked to your screen, then to his own. he sat a good few inches from you, with him sitting on his gaming chair by his absolute unit of a gaming setup. all that was plaguing your vision right now was the sight of him, with his glasses sliding down his nose and his eyebrows pinched with squinted eyes as if he couldn’t already see any better with his prescriptions. it in all honesty, looked cute.
“so… i logged in for a sec before leaving my place,” you began, glancing at his screen that was now showing the google doc which you’ve been working your project on, “i just remembered last minute about the stuff you told me the other— ichangedsomeofyourpartsbythewayhopethat’sokay— and i went ahead and added the few tweaks you mentioned—hope that’s cool.” you lifted your head up for a second before continuing, “and, how do you feel about changing more of the main part of the story line so it would fit perfectly in the ending? like—like in the end, where they reveal they were actually the same person, what if, before that, they get into some huge confusion-fiasco thing.”
bucky leaned back against his chair, frowning at the laptop. “yeah…that does sound cool, but i think it would feel heavier if it happened when one of them knows who the other is, and then gets jealous. it kinda hits harder.”
“oh! that’s a really good idea. which quotev page did you pull that out of?” you leaned a little closer, a teasing smirk on your face.
“i don’t read on quotev! i mean… i’m—i’m just suggesting,” he muttered, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “i’ve never seen a quotev page in my life.”
“sure, okay. just know that it’s completely normal to be reading whatever it is you’re reading online.” you smiled, leaning your palms back against the soft cushions of his mattress. “but i’ll believe you, mr. suggestion guy.”
he gave a small, lopsided grin, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “sure you do.”
you watched him hunch over his laptop like the hunchback of notre dame to resume typing, while your gaze began to wander around the room again. however, no matter how much you fixated on whatever colorful poster that managed to catch your eye, your attention kept drifting back to him. bucky looked so… focused—yet awkward at the same time, and somehow, that made him endearing.
for the next few minutes, quiet fell over the room—filled only with the low clicks of keys and the occasional scribble of your pen. every now and then, your eyes would drift toward him, catching little things: the way his hair fell slightly into his eyes when he concentrated, the way his fingers tapped the keyboard when he was thinking.
peace draped over the room like a warm blanket—comfortable and just right. despite it being the very first time you were in his dorm, the project started to feel less like an assignment—and more like an excuse to be in the same room together.
you shifted on top of his bed to get into a more comfortable position with your laptop on your lap, scrolling through the document with a half-hearted focus. a certain part of the document bugged you a lot more than it should’ve, you squinted your eyebrows at the screen—hoping to find what was bothering you but alas, you glanced at bucky.
“hey, i’m gonna need you to proofread this bit for me, it sounds a little…wonky? or am i going crazy.”
he nodded, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to his own laptop. “no problem.” bucky replied, “but, uh—if i suggest something about the structure, it’s just a suggestion. nothing more.”
“suuuure, mr. suggestion guy,” the words came out a lot more gently than you expected—but still teasingly nonetheless. you tapped the edge of your laptop with a cynical grin. “i wasn’t even implying anything else.”
his cheeks flushed faintly, the skin turning into a shade of red that you’re you would’ve missed if it weren’t for the close proximity. bucky hovered his fingers over the keys, trying to push down the fluttering feeling in his chest.
"and i wasn’t implying anything either,” he muttered, almost under his breath, “maybe a little.”
you snorted softly at that, staring at his fingers a little to watch it work masterfully across the caps of letters. when you shifted your gaze from his fingers to his face—maybe just to get a little glimpse of what he looked like—he was already looking at you. you immediately went back to looking at your screen, trying to put on the facade of being absorbed in your writing just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself with explaining why you were looking at him, and that caused you to accidentally type on the keyboard a lot harder than you intended.
bucky noticed, with the room being quiet enough to hear a pin drop, he could obviously make out the fact that you’re typing a lot harder. “uh… careful there,” he whispered, voice slightly hoarse. “the keyboard’s very…. sensitive.”
“sensitive? that is a wild word to use.” you questioned, slightly appalled and smirking. “did my keyboard tell you that, james?”
james. you say it like the word has always belonged on your tongue—you say it like a melody of a song he can’t ever forget, even if he tried. he has to admit, the first time you called him by his first given name instead of his nickname, he wasn’t used to it—partially because no one really used it. apart from his mother and his friend, steve, who has always called him bucky since forever. hearing it come from an unfamiliar tongue—hearing it from you—it tugged at something familiar in his chest—like hearing a word he’d only ever read before.
bucky only shook his head in response to your teasing before shoving his glasses up his nose again—it was seemingly sliding down a lot more usual and the bridge of his nose is a lot more moist than it should be, but he chucked it up to the warm, mildly dorito-scented temperature of the air.
a few minutes of quiet typing passed, punctuated by occasional glances at each other’s screens. (looks at bucky) you caught him biting his lip when he concentrated, and it made you grin. he lifted his gaze up just in time to catch you looking, again. and this time, he had the guts to ask you why. “what?”
“nothing,” you said, laptop suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, acting like you weren’t just staring at him again and getting caught redhanded.
“mhm. nothing…” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “right…”
at one point, you looked over to skim at the main paragraph he was working on, and the art major in you caught a glimpse of a tiny, practically miniscule grammar mistake that he wasn’t bothering to correct, so you reached over his side of the laptop without thinking to fix it yourself.
he wasn’t typing anything at the time, just staring at the screen with a focused expression when you reached for the keyboard, disregarding your own laptop. and simultaneously, he reached out to type as well, causing both of you to go for the same paragraph, and your hands brushed.
bucky froze, eyes wide, then pulled back slightly. “sorry,” he said quickly.
“….it’s fine.” you replied softly, letting your hand linger just a moment longer than necessary.
the quiet slipped back into one where it stretched between the two of you comfortably, filled only by the faint clicks of your keys and the occasional scribble of notes.
every so often, a sentence would spark a small debate—him suggesting a structure, you teasing him about overthinking—and each time, the corners of his lips would twitch into a smile you caught only when he thought you weren’t looking and a small glint would spark behind the lens his eyes were hiding behind.
by the time you finished the first major section, you stretched and yawned, leaning back against the bed—his pillows that reeked of him clinged onto the fabric of your clothes. “okay, that’s done. i think i’m happy with where we’re currently at.”
bucky leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet laugh before whispering under his breath, “yeah… not bad. i think i’m more tired from, uh… trying not to get distracted by you than from all the typing.”
you blinked at him, and he immediately looked away, cheeks pink. “i—i mean, the project! typing…yep.” he stammered.
“sure, james. we can call it that.” you laughed softly, shaking your head. bucky let out a sigh when you thankfully moved on fairly quickly from what he said. “well, i’m beat. let’s call it a day?”
“uh same! me too! okay—um would i be seeing you—tomorrow? i think we can finish this within this week.”
“i can’t do tomorrow since i’m swamped the entire day, but i can do thursday! how about that?”
he jumped from his seat rather bashfully, before quickly gaining composure like he didn’t just stand up from his seat like a soldier. “totally. sounds good—“ he trailed behind you as you made your way to the door of his apartment, “i’ll see you, then?”
“yup! don’t miss me too much, ‘kay?”
you gave him one last glance and a wave goodbye as he peaked half of his body from the door frame, returning your bid farewell with one of his own. as soon as you left, bucky closed the door gently—his ears zeroing in on the soft click that came after the door handle made contact with the jamb. he then, rather dramatically, immediately slammed his forehead into the wooden surface of the entrance.
once.
twice.
three times for good measure.
quietly, as if the mere thought of anyone hearing him freak out about a group project would be the end of him—because he was trying to be normal.
“i’m more tired from trying not to get distracted by you,” who the hell says that. why did he say that.
the sun was shining brighter than usual today. the sky was charmingly blue, the birds were singing a tune straight out of a disney movie, and you’ve had your morning coffee. every jigsaw piece was falling into place—today was going to be a great day.
it was your second week working with james and you were so close to finishing the project. it was amazing how quickly the both of you got work done—and how closer you’d gotten with him compared to your first meet up at the cafe. it was a welcomed, pleasant surprise.
somehow, writing with him never felt forced. He listened when you rambled. he took your ideas seriously. sometimes, he’d look at you like your words actually meant something—but not in a strange way. in a quiet, gentle way. and compared to your first awkward cafe meeting, this version of the two of you almost felt unreal.
the leaves swaying against the wind would’ve memorized your faces by now, given that you were once more seated on the wooden chairs under the large oak tree that has seen countless other students much like you throughout the years. it has become you and emily’s usual spot when you didn’t feel like sitting inside the confides of the campus cafeteria—and you vibed with nature a lot better, anyway.
the green grass of the field crunched beneath your shoe-covered feet as you bounced your leg absently—eyes darting all over campus in search for an interesting thing to look at while emily sat beside you cross-legged with her laptop perched on the table, fingers flying across the keyboard as she brainstormed aloud for her next portfolio piece.
emily’s typing was usually a constant, like white noise you didn’t realize you depended on until it disappeared. so when her hands stilled, you noticed immediately. you lifted your head from your phone, tilting it slightly toward her. “you okay?”
she pursed her lips in deep thought, “what if i made like… a surrealism thing but it’s grocery stores instead of dreams?” she muttered. “or—maybe childhood bedrooms that aren’t right. like, familiar but uncomfortable.”
“hm,” you humored, nodding as you scrolled through your phone. “sounds a lot like liminal space. and that’s either deeply meaningful or mildly alarming.”
“both,” she replied promptly, smirking.
you smiled softly to yourself—but your head wasn’t here—not really. your thoughts—annoyingly—kept trying to drift back to james. as if it was utterly attracted to him like a magnet pulling its polar opposite into it.
the way he’d smiled at something dumb you said earlier that day, the way he pushed his glasses up when he was nervous, the way he listened like you were something worth listening to. you let out an exhale through your nose, trying to shake the thoughts of him off.
and before you know it, emily’s typing suddenly again—her fingers lingered on the keyboard just a second longer than usual, before she angled her head toward you.
“what’s your story’s word count?”
“oh,” you said, glancing down at your phone again like the answer might appear there. doomscrolling will truly be the death of you. “uh… like, nine thousand-something? james wrote a good chunk of it already, so um—i haven’t checked the exact number yet.”
“damn,” she said. “y’all are speedrunning trauma.” emily teased, her eye flicking up towards you like she was giving you a criminal side eye, and maybe she was, before humming in acknowledgment. “alright.”
why did she say it like that. you thought, there was something in the way she said it that made you look up again.
“…what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“nothing,” the words felt to light, like she didn’t sound convinced herself. her eyes lingered on you a second too long before she turned back to her screen.
that set the strangest feeling in the pit of your stomach, like she knew exactly what she was doing when she asked. you were once again pulled into your phone—your thumb working to idly open a few apps repetitively like muscle memory as if something would change if you kept opening instagram a lot of time. through your messing around with your phone, you stopped on discord—now staring at his messages.
not even a stupid meme from white wolf. not a “good morning loser.” or a pointless message that said absolutely nothing but meant everything.
you stomach dipped against your will. that shouldn’t be bothering you as much as it did now, and why did that bother you? he owed you nothing—neither of you did. but it didn’t change the fact that you were used to him being there—in the mornings, in the dead hours of the night, in that quiet in-between space when everyone else was asleep and it was just the two of you typing nonsense into the void.
there were no new messages or anything, his last text stared at you dauntingly.
whitewolf: night nerd, don’t stay up too late
you didn’t reply on purpose, thinking now would be the time to retract and leave him on last reply—thinking it would be funny.
but you certainly weren’t laughing anymore.
you stared at the screen longer than you meant to—rereading dumb jokes, scrolling through past gaming rage, past accidental confessions, past the soft moments that snuck up on you at 2 am and stayed in your chest long after you logged off.
you felt stupid for letting him dig this deep of a hole in you, deep enough where you could feel the consequences of not talking to him deep within you. you felt like you were mourning a loss that wasn’t even gone—it was still there, he was still there.
you locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket like you could physically bury the feeling.
your friend’s typing suddenly stopped again. she glanced at you sideways. “you’ve been quiet. you’re supposed to yap a lot while i use you as background noise.”
you blinked, setting your phone down after being consumed by it like a maniac. “have i?”
“yeah. like… sad quiet. not your normal quiet.”
you scoffed lightly. “what do you even mean by that, i’m always normal quiet.”
“you just checked your phone like it personally betrayed you,” she deadpanned, still focused on her laptop.
that earned a laugh out of you—weak, but real and rough around the edges, you caught her eyes looking from behind you intently, like there were words at the tip of her tongue that she needed to tell you.
“hey.”
out of nowhere, without any sounds of shoes against grass, james appeared behind you like a demon summoned from a ritual. you've been thinking of him so much you've manifested him.
he stood a decent few steps away from the bench, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly messier than usual like he’d already run his hand through it too many times today. his lips quirked into that hesitant half-smile you were starting to recognize.
oh my god. what is he doing here.
“i just wanted to say hi—since i don't have anything better to do right now.” he gestured vaguely at the bench, “is this where you casually judge people’s creative ideas in the park?”
emily beamed. “oh, you must be james—i've been hearing about you a lot. take a seat.” she gestured towards the vacant spot beside you like a mother meeting her daughter's boyfriend for the first time. james couldn't do anything but follow her instructions—not wanting to get on your friend's bad side.
james blinked. “...really?”
your hands flew from your lap and you nudged emily's shoulder, eyes widening in a silent plea to never ever say that again. she gave you a saccharine smile before raising her hands in defeat—her sign of telling you 'sure.' you didn't believe her one bit.
her lips parted again, and you felt your shoulders tense—fearing whatever embarrassing thing she's about to say next, god. “…so,” emily cut in sweetly, snapping her laptop shut, now putting all her attention towards you and james. “how’s the tragic literary power couple doing today?”
emily was your usual recipient of your daily woes and misery, she was the first and only one to hear about your constant whining—and that would also mean she's up to date with what's happening with your project. so you had zero idea as to why she's even asking that in the first place. to piss you off, perhaps? definitely.
james' face flushed instantly, taken aback by her choice of words. someone's definitely disappearing tonight, and her name starts with e.
you choked, hand once again coming into contact with her clothed muscle, slapping her shoulder. “what—emily?!”
“we’re not a—” james started, taking the invitation into the conversation as a sign to come closer, although cautiously.
“—couple,” you finished.
emily raised a slowly and judging eyebrow, eyes drifting between the two of you. “mmm.”
james cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, glasses sliding down in the process. “we’re, uh… just finishing up the last arc.”
“uh huh,” she repeated. louder this time.
for what felt like the hundredth time, you shot her a warning glare—loudly scolding her with a piercing stare. infuriatingly, she only innocently smiled back at you before leaning toward you like she was letting you in on state secrets. you wanted to shove that shit-eating grin back down her throat and-or shake her shoulders back and forth like your life depended on it, whichever you get a hold of first.
“you know,” she whispered, “if you said his name one more time like that, he might actually ascend.”
it was as if she wasn't even trying to whisper it—wasn't even trying to keep it between you, because from james' reaction, his ears were now light pinkish and he was fiddling with the strap of his bag, he heard it.
“emily i will staple your mouth shut if you dont—” you groaned.
“okay okay, i’m kidding,” she said lightly. “mmm—mostly.”
her hand momentarily propped up on the table to rest her chin for half a second, before she once more leaned into your space. now truly whispering quieter as best as she could while sitting in front of you despite james clearly being able to hear her as clear as day:
“you’re glowing when he’s here.”
your shoulders stiffened like they know she's right.
james looked up, “…you are?”
“don’t,” you said quickly. “she's crazy, she does that sometimes.”
emily tilted her head, definitely offended by what you just said. “says the girl who stays up all night gaming and sighs when her phone lights up like she’s in a romance movie montage.”
james stilled, his head tilting to the side to look at you questioningly. you wanted to melt into a puddle and maybe become one with the grass with how intently he's staring at your side profile.
“…gaming?” he echoed softly.
you swallowed, the sound giving off a comical 'gulp' before you forced your lips open to speak.
“yeah. uh-just—some dude i play with online.”
james nodded a little too quicker than he'd like, his chest involuntarily squeezing like what you just said hurt to hear—and maybe it did. “oh—cool. yeah. that’s… cool.”
you glanced to your side, catching james' smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. if anything, he almost looked dejected. and you didn’t miss it. neither did emily.
she carefully watched the way she always did when she spotted emotional carnage brewing. all she could think about while drinking in the sight in front of her—two clueless, annoyingly dense idiots who clearly have got something brewing underneath but are too cowardly to admit anything even if their life depended on it, it was honestly too sick and painful to watch.
she let out an almost tired sigh before abruptly standing up, her head snapping towards her phone with eyes wide.
“oh! crap. i forgot i told wanda i’d meet her at the studio.” she groaned dramatically as she shoved her laptop into her bag. “i hate being responsible,” she muttered defeatedly.
then, she paused—and looked between you and james. before smiling softly, her expression now devoid of any teasing. “you two finish your little novel empire. i’ll see you later.”
you watched her scurry off towards one of the campus buildings before finally, giving james all your attention, directing your body to fully face him. now that emily was gone, the gnawing feeling at the back of your head that made you feel impossibly shy was now gone. “sorry.” you sheepishly remarked.
“it’s okay,” his response came quietly, like he wasn't sure what to say to you himself. and you didn't know why, but that made your stomach churn.
the air shifted the moment emily left, and now you were silently wishing for her to suddenly reappear again so the awkward silence that stretched between you would disappear. and what made it worse was that james didn’t leave right away—though he partially looked like he wanted to so badly.
he stood there like he was debating something in his head a little too hard, fingers hooked around the strap of his bag like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“…so,” he said after a moment, voice low. this was the best small talk he could come up with without sounding like a fool. “you and emily come out here a lot?”
you shrugged. “sometimes. it’s quieter than the cafeteria.”
“yeah,” he said. then softer, like thinking out loud, “i get that. the um—the air is nice, the sky is really...blue. it—it suits you.”
your heart stumbled, giving him a small, appreciative grin. “…thanks.”
and then another pause washed over the tree-shaded table—the kind that didn’t ask for answers but demanded honesty. james shifted his weight, glancing over your shoulder at the path emily had disappeared down before dragging his gaze back to you.
“your friend,” he started—another feeble attempt at talking, then he stopped. reconsidering the words that were about to spill from his tongue before finally finding the right ones. “…she talks. like a lot.”
your eyes squinted shut as you let out a laugh, “that’s an understatement, you should see her when she's watching a movie. she needs to comment on every second of the film.”
a faint smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t last. he pushed his glasses up before starting, his slouched back straightening slightly. “she mentioned,” he went on carefully, “you play games with someone… online?”
you felt the tension instantly like thunderstruck.
“oh, yeah,” you said. “it's— just some guy i queue with sometimes. i don't know why emily makes a huge deal out of it.”
“…right.”
he stared at the ground for half a second longer than necessary. the next words to leave his lips came out breathier than he anticipated.
“do you—” you could feel the hesitation wafting off from him, you felt him physically breathed in. “do you talk to him… like, a lot?”
it shouldn't be that big of a deal, but for some reason—it weighed on him and his limbs heavy. it made him feel unnecessarily pathetic.
the question felt awfully fragile, so you trudged on your next words carefully, frowning slightly. “sometimes? we’ve been friends for a while.”
“oh.” another curt nod. “cool.”
that was not cool at all. he didn’t look at you when he said it. and the silence that followed was different from before. sharper, almost unsettled.
“…does that uh—bother you?” you asked carefully.
his head snapped up, the thought of you thinking that was the last thing he wanted to get from that question. “what? no— i just—” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry. i shouldn't have asked, it's none of my business.”
you softened. “james,” you said quietly, “you can ask.”
something flickered across his face—vulnerability, maybe. before he gave a small but guarded smile. “i’m glad it’s you,” he said suddenly.
your breath hitched. he cannot be saying that out of the blue like some cheesy heartfelt moment out of a coming-of-age 2000s movie. but you do have to admit, that did make your heart stumble and your cheeks blush.
“…what?”
“i mean—” he flushed, fingers tightening briefly on his strap. “for the project. i’m glad i got paired with you. that’s all. you… make it—really make things easier. you know, being here.”
"sure." you shook your head, smiling like an idiot, “…me too.”
he watched your face for just a second too long—almost as if he was trying to memorize it, ingrain it into the crinkles of his brain.
then his phone buzzed and ruined the moment like a cockblocker. he pulled said cockblocker out from his pocket, it was steve. of course it was steve. if it wasn't emily, it was steve.
he exhaled slowly. “i should probably go— before steve here sends a search party.”
you smiled. “tell him i’ll start the investigation.”
and that pulled a real grin from him this time, sliding out of the wooden chair to stand up.
“'s it okay if i’ll text you later?” he asked. "about the project, of course."
you nodded. “yeah. i’d like that.”
james shifted his weight.
“uh, i’m gonna—” he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “yeah. steve’s waiting on me.”
“oh. right. yeah. of course.”
he hesitated a second too long, like he wanted to say something but he didn't know what it is. he managed to give you an uncertain but kind smile before he could say anything embarrassing and turned away.
you watched him go. you didn't realize your heart was beating fast until the moment you were left all alone, left with nothing but the faint whistling of the wind now filling your ears. your brows suddenly furrowed when you came to an unforeseen revelation.
you were talking with emily before james suddenly appeared, and now both of them were gone. leaving you all alone.
on a wooden bench.
in a sunlit campus.
with too many thoughts and not enough closure.
you stared at the empty seat in front of you, before dramatically craning your head to the space where james had previously sat.
“…did they just… both leave me?”
you dropped your head back against the bench with a long groan.
“fantastic. love that for me.”
your phone buzzed faintly in your hand, causing your heart to jump. a small voice at the back of your head hoped it would be him—hoping it would be bucky. through every drive on the bumpy road you call your feelings, you still hoped it would be him. but of course, like a redundant gag on television, it wasn't. you opened your discord anyway.
because apparently…avoiding your feelings was a hobby now.
“HOLY SHIT NO WAY I JUST CLUTCHED THAT. BUCKY DID YOU SEE THAT? PLEASE TELL ME YOU SAW THAT. CLIP THAT SHI RIGHT NOW.”
“yeah, i saw that. honestly, though…i could do better. ” he teased, not like the first week you’d played together, when every word was awkward and clipped—now, it had this easy rhythm that made it hard to remember you barely knew each other.
“dead people don’t talk, by the way.”
playing until the ungodly hours with your duo, the ‘white wolf’, he says is the right way to say it, has been a reoccurring event as of lately. after finishing the pain in the ass of a project with james, you’ve finally found more time to indulge yourself in late night gaming sessions with whoever was online, and that someone always happens to be bucky.
he spilled his name a week into your late night gaming sessions during summer break, along with his discord account—after you complained about cringing whenever you had to say his username. you really did try to say it with confidence, but it only came out sarcastic and dry on your end. you, however, deemed returning the favor unnecessary. you claimed that your brilliant ign is already enough, and who was bucky if not a man you met online? he merely shrugged on the other end of his computer when you refused to give your name. he already had the privilege of hearing your pretty, pretty voice. and that was enough for him.
and since then, you’ve grown closer like two peas in a pod.
you wanted to silence the ache in your chest, even if it was just for a moment—and it only felt right for you to play the game with who else but your duo. with just one send of a gif of two men kissing, with the words ‘hop on val’ written in bold at the bottom, bucky was up and booting up his pc before you know it. after all, he’s been working his butt off on his own respective group project and he does feel guilty for not being able to play the game with you as much as he’d like. so–he planned to make it up to you.
the round starts in between your bantering, something you’ve slowly grown fond of. your team was down by three rounds, but you didn’t mind losing at all. in fact, if you did, that just meant you’d spend more time in your elo, which translates to more time with bucky. a blatantly different reaction compared to your first game with him, you still can’t digest the fact that you have struck gold and found solace in someone whose face you’ve never even met.
your laughter—the one bucky recognizes that sounds like you put your entire body and soul into it, full and unfiltered—blasted through his ears as you laughed at him whiffing a dozen amount of sheriff shots during eco round—he could feel it crawl down his neck like a warm scarf as it grazed his ears through the headphones.
“what was THAT, dude.”
“i’m muting you.”
“no but like you were throwing. you were actually throw—okay, i’m kidding. please don’t mute me.
he scoffed, as if bucky could ever do that. his lips formed into a smile he couldn’t hold back—it’s not like he wanted to anyway. his fingers grew shaky as he held the specific key to plant the spike, suddenly hyperaware of everything that’s happening in the game.
it was only you and him left, which seems to happen incredibly often—like his incompetent teammates were actively going out of their way to leave the two of you behind to clean up their mess and win the round like they were content with being deadweights. he didn’t trust his aim enough with the sheriff—which was unfortunately the only gun he could find—and he also lost his shield. bucky beckoned for you to come closer to him.
your agent bounced around the map as if you were teasing him the moment it neared the site, he laughed lowly to himself before pulling up his heal. “stay still, don’t move—i just said don’t move. i don’t want to hear you whining about me letting you die like last game.”
“you totally did, though!” you shot back, rolling your eyes at your screen. “you’re literally a sage, you need to heal. be a good boy and do as you're told. go back to staying on the sidelines and heal me—”
the enemy team suddenly swung at you from an unprecedented angle—effectively killing you with one bullet and effectively wasting bucky’s heal.
“wow.”
“SO. i can explain that.”
“if it involves you blaming me, i don't wanna hear it.”
you wheezed, a sound bucky’s slowly grown fond up the entire time you two have known each other. it sends a warm tingle up and down his spine and causes his lips to form a small smile of his own. “ok dude, shut up and play the game.”
bucky’s used to your bickering like you were an old, chronically online married couple. he leaned in, a surge of determination coursing through him as if the four cans of monster were only now suddenly taking effect.
“dead people don’t talk, by the way.” he echoed the words you spoke earlier, making you roll your eyes as he hid behind a cubby, his feet underneath the table bouncing like a spring that wouldn’t cease its actions when he heard footsteps coming from his right. there were two people left on the enemy team, all bucky had to do was kill one of them and figure out if they were faking defusing the spike or not.
“i’m locked in. i’m locked the fuck in.” he truly felt like a different person whenever he’s far from watchful eyes, confident, bold, and zero stuttering—and bucky loved the fact that he could be just that with you. even if all you knew to him was his name, he swears he’s more than that to you, though.
after winning the round like you expected, he cut through the silence by striking up a conversation. “how’s that partner of yours doing? you done with the project?”
you hummed, “he’s…alright. we spent like three weeks together for the project and he’s still a bit shy! he still talks to me like i’d laugh at him or something—and to be fair, i sometimes do, but! i think he’s warming up to me. he’s pretty cute, too.”
cute? he couldn’t exactly explain the feeling that swelled in his chest—was it envy for the person who gets to see you personally and hear your laugh in the flesh? or jealousy of the fact that you find someone else cute?
he pursed his lips into a thin line, “that’s great. my partner makes fun of me a lot, so there’s that.” bucky gave his best attempt at a chuckle—hoping you won’t be able to notice the edge he had said it with.
“that sounds like an awful lot like me, guess you’ve got a me of you’re own there with you.” you teased, “don’t replace me, okay?”
“i wouldn’t think of it.”
bucky made his own heart do a backflip the second he realized what he just said—his hands suddenly trembling while he aimed the gun at an enemy. did he mean to say that a lot softer than he intended? maybe he did, and maybe wanted you to hear the softness in his voice whenever it came to talking to you. you—who he met online and has never seen your face, who’s gotten him through the toughest of times without you even realizing, you—who gave him feelings even he’s not sure if he wants to confront.
the morning after playing with bucky for what felt like hours, your eyes burned behind your eyelids the moment you cracked them open. your vision was blurry, lashes heavy as if they’d been glued together overnight, your body still weighed down by sleep that hadn’t quite done its job. you groaned quietly into your pillow, face turning instinctively toward the darker side of the room, hoping—foolishly—that if you didn’t move, time might rewind itself a few hours.
it didn’t.
your phone buzzed somewhere near your elbow, the light searing through the thin veil of your half-closed eyes. you fumbled for it clumsily, blinking hard as the screen came into focus. notifications stacked high—missed pings, messages from bucky sent at ridiculous hours, each one more unhinged than the last.
you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.
you could still remember it all too clearly—how one round had turned into five, then ten, then okay just one more until the sky outside your window had slowly shifted from black to deep blue without you even realizing it. how his voice had grown softer as the night wore on, laughter quieter but warmer somehow. how the two of you had slipped from chaotic competition to lazy conversations in between matches, the kind that came out only when both of you were too tired to pretend you weren’t getting comfortable.
your eyes stung now as you forced yourself up onto one elbow, head pounding faintly in protest. your body complained in all the ways it could—from your stiff shoulders to the heaviness sitting right behind your eyes—but your heart felt unfairly light.
the second you heard a knock come from your bedroom door; you flipped your body towards the other side of the bed. your back now facing the entrance. you heard the knob twist open after three consecutive knocks resounded on the wooden material, figuring that emily didn't want to bother waiting for a response and just let herself in.
“did you stay up all night playing with bucky again?”
the curtains flew open before you could even manage to churn the fact that someone was in your room, the light directly stabbing your vision like you committed a crime against it.
“oh my god,” you cried, “why is it morning already?”
you felt your bed dip from emily plopping down on it as if she pays rent on your bed. you grumbled out a barely audible response, pulling your blanket over your head as you rolled over to the other side of the bed. you did, in fact. do just that. and that may or may not have cost you a year or two off of your lifespan.
“so that’s a yes.”
“can you—not—right now.” the words came out muffled through the fabric of the blanket; your irritation grew tenfold when your friend pulled them off from you.
“wake up. it’s wednesday. i’m gonna miss my morning lecture and i can’t afford to flunk this quiz.” she stole a pillow sitting comfortably under your head to softly smash it against your face, causing your dry eyes to twitch shut. “how long did you stay up? you couldn’t even be bothered to turn your computer off.”
“sullivan won’t even notice if i was gone. just—go. if i’m gonna sleep in class again, i’d rather do it in bed.”
as if on cue, your phone buzzed from where it sat beside your computer—who could possibly be messaging you now?
you guided your hand blindlessly through your desk, emily watched you with a raised eyebrow as you continued to hit multiple things before finally grabbing hold of your phone.
the screen lit up as you squinted your eyes to check who sent you a message, it was bucky.
whitewolf: u up?
a loud sound escaped your lips that could only be described as a cry for help, you were about to roll over again when emily suddenly lunged for your phone.
“does he always text you this early?”
“give that back!” you yelped, standing upright too quickly in an attempt to chase your phone back—but the room spun and your vision grew static. regret gnawing through your stomach. you clamped a hand on your forehead, moaning about going nauseous.
emily just continued to stare at the screen with a hand on her hip, “i thought you liked james from creative writings.”
“i do—i mean, i don’t want to think about it!” you pursed your lips, “it’s…complicated.”
“uhuh... you don’t even stay up this late for me, and i’ve known you longer.” she handed the phone back to you, quickly grabbing it from her.
you rolled your eyes at what emily said—scoffing it off because it was easier than thinking too hard about it. you weren’t even sure of what was going on instead, the more sensible option was to disregard your feelings for bucky and go for james instead—james was tangible, and you saw him everyday.
yet there was something that drew you in to bucky the same way it did with james, it kept you hooked onto him like an addict—and you couldn’t quite put a finger to it as to why you’re feeling that way. and the thought stayed at the back of your head anyway—ebbing, quiet, irritating, impossible to shake.
sure, you shared your secrets with bucky, he gave somewhat decent advice, and he’s always been one call away through valorant, but you’ve never seen his face—you don’t even know his last name.
however, once something you thought was impossible for you to ever do—you’d given him your sleep, your attention, your laughter, your time like it was nothing you couldn’t afford losing. like he wasn’t a stranger at all.
james felt his world turn upside down when you offered to go out and visit a cafe to celebrate, he embarrassingly stumbled over his words for five full seconds before he got his shit straight and agreed.
he went through his closet like it was an identity crisis when the day of came around, wanting to look his best in front of you despite not exactly knowing how to do just that. he was about to drown himself in steve’s perfume before he suddenly appeared at his doorway, stopping james in his tracks.
he was peacefully standing in front of the mirror, checking himself out for any flaws despite not even knowing what counts as flaws before steve, ever the hero that he is, swooped in to fix it for him the same way his mother used to.
“…you going on a date or surviving a hostage negotiation?”
james shot him a pointed look. “it’s not a date.”
“ah.” steve leaned back against the wall. “then why are you trying to seduce your reflection?”
he scowled and yanked a polo over his head. “it’s just… i'm meeting with—her, okay. and i don’t wanna look—”
“what. like you?”
james grimaced at that, the words hitting a bit too close to home.
steve laughed. “you look fine, man.” he remarked honestly, folding his arms to his chest. james thought differently though.
he swapped out his hoodie for the polo anyway; he was not going to meet up with you wearing the same hoodie he's sure is what you look for whenever you two would go out to cafes or public libraries for the project. you were going to meet up with him for something not project related for the first time, he wanted to look good. james' gave a small tug at the polo around his waist before he then stood awkwardly as steve inspected him like a mother hen.
“wow,” steve muttered, “you’re doing all this for your partner, buck?” he raised an eyebrow, fixing the crooked collar of james’ polo. “the last time you wore something this nice was high school prom. and i thought that jacket of yours,” he pulled the sleeve down, “was surgically attached.”
“i have…multiple extras.”
“of the exact same jacket…?”
james merely shrugged, padding down the fabric of the dress shirt to smooth a crinkled surface down. you proposed the idea of a small celebration for finishing the project early—a little reward squeezed in between a hectic schedule to reward the hard and earnest work the two of you had put in. and maybe he was just a tiny bit overdressed, but he wanted to look his best—just for today.
“do you wash them—”
“yes.”
“individually or as a group like a cult ritual?”
james grabbed his keys, ignoring his friend's query of concern. steve followed him to the door anyway and did that thing he used to do when james was sixteen—running a hand through his hair and fixing it without asking. james didn't stop him.
after he was finished fixing james' now sharp and suave hair, steve pressed something into his hands. cologne.
“don’t drown yourself,” steve said. “you want her to like you, not develop a headache.”
james tentatively sprayed once. then twice.
steve physically slapped the bottle out of his hand before james could even think about spraying another time. “okay romeo,” he said firmly. “go. and don’t overthink it.”
“i'll do my best."
you were already at the café when he arrived, of course you were. because the world had a sick sense of humor and of course he had to walk in and see you first.
you were laughing—probably at something stupid that came across your phone. the sunlight cascaded onto your face like a paid actor, your pretty hands wrapped around an iced drink.
he was stopped just inside the door like an idiot just for a second, it was a miracle no one asked if he needed help or if he was lost, to stare—no, mesmerize at the sight in front of him.
then, like a spider crawling up his spine, panic-set his spine on fire. he realized he looked so creepy.
get it together.
james patted down his entire frame, letting out a small sigh as if he was preparing himself for a job interview. he smelled like steve, he dressed as normal and casual as he could, his hair sat correctly on his head. he could do this. he could do this.
so he stepped forward and approached you as leisurely as he could without looking too robotic.
“hey,” he greeted.
you looked up from your phone and gave him a warm smile that almost made his knees give out.
“james!”
he slid into the booth stiffly and sat across from you, instantly becoming hyperaware of everything. from the table, the chair, to the way your knee brushed his under the table—and the way you didn’t pull away.
“did you find the place okay?” you asked, turning off and setting your phone to the side.
“yeah,” he nodded. “steve—my roommate—basically interrogated google maps before i left.”
you laughed at that, genuine and sincere.
god.
his stomach was feeling fuzzy again like some pre-pubescent teenage boy. your hands skimmed over the pages before fully opening the menu, lips pursing in thought.
“what’re you getting?” you asked.
“i—i don’t know yet.”
in all honesty, he wasn't even looking at his menu, his attention was focused on something prettier than any picture of food plastered on paper. he was utterly engrossed in you. you were studying drink options like they held the secrets of the universe.
he forced his eyes down before you could catch him staring, he hoped his glasses made his ogling less obvious.
“i think i'll get something with caffeine,” you conisdered. “i haven’t slept properly since we started writing chapter five.”
he smiled softly. “wou were way too emotionally invested in that character.”
“okay, he deserved better and you know it.”
you argued in whispers over pastries—cake verus cookies—over drinks and laughter. all the while james tried to pretend he didn't love how animated you got over tiny things.
after arguing if cookies are better gooey or well done, you managed to spew out your orders to the kind waiter that smiled as you two squabbled under your breaths like an old married couple. before sitting back onto the smooth surface of the booth.
and for a moment—neither of you spoke. the air not awkward, just comfortably, contently, quiet. the kind that doesn’t demand words.
finally, after listening to him go off about a niche indie film deserving more recognition—your drinks arrived, and you lifted it up into the air in a mock toast.
“to finishing that fuckass (affectionate) story.” you grinned
james lifted his—mirroring your movements. “to surviving you as a writing partner.”
compared to your first meet-up, james was a lot more talkative now than he’d been before. the boy who had once sat beside you with stiff shoulders and careful words now spoke like he didn’t have to think twice—like whatever came to mind was safe with you. conversation flowed easier, looser, no longer weighed down by awkward pauses or the kind of silence that begged to be filled.
"honestly, i'm so glad we're like—over this. i already have a hard time listening to his voice—it's so...slow and...i don't know—slow. like, one more sullivan lecture and i swear—i'm not surviving midterms.
he laughed at that, taking another sip of his drink with a grin, eyes eagerly watching you ramble about the professor. you talked about everything and nothing all at once.
all the little things, like how he always forgot where he left his keys. big things, like the quiet fear he had about not measuring up to the expectations everyone seemed to have for him. you rambled about your favorite shows, your worst habits, the stupid things that kept you up at night. the words came easier than they ever had before, spilling into one long, messy info-dump you didn’t bother trying to organize—half-finished thoughts, sudden laughter, unnecessary details and all.
and james ate it all up gladly.
he didn’t rush you, didn’t cut you off, didn’t look bored for even a second. If anything, he leaned in closer, eyes lighting up whenever you said something that caught his interest. he asked questions like he genuinely wanted to know the answers. his heart took note of all the smallest details—the name of a character you liked, the snack you hated, the story you hadn’t meant to tell but told anyway.
and when you finally ran out of breath, he filled in the gap like it had always been his place to do so.
james offered up his own stories in return, awkward jokes, memories from his childhood, confessions he probably wouldn’t tell anyone else. he matched your energy without trying to overshadow it, weaving his words into yours until the conversation felt less like taking turns and more like building something together.
there wasn’t a single second where it grew quiet.
and if there were, it was never uncomfortable. it was the kind of quiet that settled softly between you when you both realized talking wasn’t something you had to do—it was just something you wanted to do, as long as the other person was there to listen.
when the food arrived, you slid one of your fries onto his plate. whether it was on accident or on purpose—it didn’t matter. it felt like such a natural thing for you to do. and his chest tightened anyway before he could stop it.
“…thanks,” he mumbled, to which you gave him a small smile in response.
“you always share your ideas. it’s only fair i give you a fry back in return. just one, for your troubles.”
he stared at the fry like it came with emotional implications. his fingers coming to pinch it in between the pads of his pointer and thumb with more feeling than he anticipated.
even after the food on your respective plates have disappeared, you still stayed longer than either of you planned. the sky outside slowly dimmed into a beautiful mix of blue and orange. the cafe now playing some jazz cover of a famous r&b song.
your hand came to open your phone subconsciously, checking to see if anyone has been looking for you. the time stared back at you like a reminder of how all good things eventually come to an end.
“oh. damn,” you said. “i didn’t realize it was that late.”
he panicked immediately, “oh! yeah. i mean—you're right—we—we should—”
"it's no worries, james." you flipped your phone over to glance at your phone case, lips still holding that kind smile that made james' heart skip a beat. maybe staying for another extra hour wouldn't hurt. "i can stay a bit longer."
his ears flushed, "y-yeah, that's...i think i'll stick around for a while, too."
“can i see your notes about the previous lesson? professor sullivan’s voice made me real sleepy, almost half of his words didn’t even register to me.”
you paused in the middle of packing your bag, then nodded and pulled your notebook back out. “sure.”
emily took it from you carefully, flipping through the pages with focused little hums, scanning your handwriting like it actually made sense to her. you watched her skim… then slow, before stopping on a particular page.
“hm."
you tilted your head. “what?”
she lifted the notebook slightly, narrowing her eyes as she flipped back a page. "what do you think of this doodle you made of him during class?”
“what.” your brows furrowed.
Instead of answering you, she tilted the notebook toward herself, brow slowly furrowing as she studied something in the corner of the page.
“what do you think of this little doodle you made during class?” she murmured teasingly.
you frowned. “what—no. i didn’t doodle anything.”
emily raised a brow before turning the notebook around, revealing whatever she was talking about.
there, scribbled in the margin, was a small sketch of james. not detailed. not perfect. but unmistakably him. the familiar shape of his jaw. the slight wave in his hair. the way you’d drawn his eyes—quiet but intense, like you’d been staring at them longer than you realized.
your stomach dropped.
“…that’s not mine,” you said immediately.
emily blinked, before continuing gently: “you don’t sound convinced.”
all you could muster in response was a groan, dragging a hand down your face. how is it that emily always manages to one-up you and find all your miserable sufferings involving feelings so conveniently? “okay. i don’t remember drawing it. which is worse. that’s really worse, actually.”
she tilted her head at you. “so you’re telling me, your subconscious suddenly grabbed a pencil and said ‘surprise!’”
“emily.”
“i’m just saying.”
you shut the notebook halfway like it might disappear.
“i-i wasn’t trying to,” you muttered. “i don’t just… sit there and think ‘today i will emotionally project into art.’ it just happened!”
emily smiled a little. “aha!” she said. “so you do admit it’s him.”
you glared at her, you were caught red-handed. and you knew there was no convincing her otherwise.
she lifted her hands, waving them in the air. “no judgement here, babe. just observation.”
you sighed and leaned back against the chair. “it’s stupid.”
“yeah, that’s how feelings usually are.”
you paused before cautiously continuing, “yeah…it wouldn’t be such a big deal if it was just him.”
that seemed to make emily freeze in her tracks completely, her eyebrows raised suspiciously as she slowly turned her head toward you.
“…oh?”
“emily. don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“the tone,” you complained, “that ‘this just became a corny netflix drama’ tone.”
she grinned. “i don’t control the tone. it controls me.”
you rolled your eyes, then sighed again exasperatedly. “there’s… someone else,” you admitted. “like...online. we do some uh—talking—like actual talking, even outside of valorant. not just ‘nice shot’ talking.”
you watched emily’s grin softened into something a little more curious. “and?”
“and i like him too,” you said quietly. “i mean—i think i do? i-i don't know, it honestly feels illegal. emotionally.”
"mm. you're talking about bucky, aren't you?"
you looked to the side, silently affirming. “you already know we play together a lot,” you continued quietly. “like—super a lot. sometimes it’s just games, but sometimes it’s everything. music recommendations, stupid rants, things i don’t tell anyone else because it feels easier to type it than say it out loud. that shit." your throat tightened. “and i—i hate that i care. i hate how familiar he feels when I’ve never even heard his real voice. i hate that he knows when I’m upset just by how i type.”
emily shifted closer.
“he texts me goodnight,” you added, almost like it embarrassed you to say it. “he remembers small things, like stuff i forget about myself. and sometimes… i catch myself waiting for him to come online even when i know he’s probably just busy being a real person somewhere i can’t see.”
you exhaled hard through your nose. the feeling of pouring your heart out leaving a sickly residue on your tongue.
“i tell myself it’s stupid. that i’m projecting. that i’ve just attached feelings to a username because i was lonely during break and he was there and no one else was.” your voice wavered, but you willed yourself to continue. “but it doesn’t feel fake when we talk. it doesn’t feel like an illusion. it just feels… quiet and—and safe.”
emily didn’t say anything, just continued gazing at you understandingly. so you kept going:
“and then there’s james.”
your lips twitched with a sad little smile. “he’s real in a way that scares me more. i can see his expressions when he listens, amazingly enough, i can even tell when he’s nervous, or when he doesn’t know where to put his hands, when he hesitates before saying something because he doesn’t want to mess it up.” you swallowed. “and it’s not dramatic with him. it's subtle—it’s when he leans closer to the screen to reread something i wrote, or...waits for me to finish talking even when i ramble. or the way he looks at me like i matter just for sitting there.”
you laughed softly, breathless. "i-i just—"
“and that’s the problem.” emily finally spoke. “you don’t want to pick wrong.”
your eyes stung.
emily leaned in slightly. “so let me get this straight first, before i go ballistic real talk on you.” she ticked a finger.
“on the right corner: we have a cute writer boy you see in real life.”
another finger.
"and on the left corner: mysterious gamer emotional support man.”
you stared.
“…weird choice of words but okay.”
she cackled. “sorry. i just didn’t expect you to be starring in a rom-com and an indie heartbreak film at the same time.”
you laughed despite yourself. you always loved when emily was able to tell whenever the moment needed a light-hearted joke or not, and the situation right now certainly called for it—you needed a breather. you sighed through your nose before you replied, barely above a whisper.
“i don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “i’m scared i’ll screw it up with both of them just by—i don’t know, talking to them or—existing.”
emily studied you, you could feel her eyes watch every miniscule movement you made carefully before you felt her knee nudge against yours.
“you’re not doing anything wrong by caring. you’re just… in the middle of a mid-conflict arc.”
"haha."
she smiled teasingly.
“i don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered. “i don’t even know who i’d hurt first.” you dragged a hand down your face, groaning into your palms. “it feels so unfair that i even get to feel this much about two people at the same time when one of them doesn’t even know my real face and the other might be standing way closer than i realize.”
“that doesn’t make you evil, you’re never evil for feeling,” she said quietly.
you groaned, “i just—wish one of them would stop mattering.”
emily smiled, soft and sad. “yeah,” she said. “but if either of them did, you’d miss it. also,” she added, “if you start doodling side profiles, just accept defeat. you’re done for. seriously.”
“please don’t tell my parents i died like this.”
emily laughed and handed your notebook back. “but you know,” she added lightly, “for what it’s worth… you look happiest when you talk about him.”
“…which one?”
“that’s your problem—not mine.”
the night is supposed to feel normal, but it doesn’t.
bucky’s sitting the same way he always does—back half-slouched in his chair, headset slightly crooked because he never remembers to adjust it properly. same monitor glow. same tired eyes. same game loading, with the same girl in his ears.
you’re laughing again—that warm, full laugh that always makes his chest do something stupid and uncomfortable.
“okay, no, no—” you wheeze, still laughing. “if you die again, i’m uninstalling for you. i’m serious this time.”
“threats won’t save you,” he mutters, adjusting his grip on the mouse. “you’ll miss me too much.”
“puhlease. you’d be the one crying.”
“sure, buddy.” he smiles anyway, soft and unconscious—the kind no one sees.
the round starts and he moves across the map like muscle memory, he watched your name pop up on the side of his monitor. signaling that you have died the moment the round started.
“hold on,” you sigh. “i need caffeine.”
he hums. “didn’t you say you hated coffee? made you hershey squirt or something.”
“ok so no. i don't hershey squirt,” you reply immediately. “and i do. it tastes like regret and bad decisions. but i only drink it because there’s literally nothing else in my dorm that’ll keep me alive through professor sullivan’s lectures.”
his hand stills on the mouse.
“…your what.”
“what?”
“nothing,” he says too fast. a beat later, he adds a follow up question, but much quieter, “you said… professor sullivan?”
“yeah,” you groan. “man’s voice is like a weighted blanket. i black out every time he opens his mouth.”
to your surprise, bucky doesn't laugh. it was normal for your jokes to miss their landing sometimes, but you actually thought he'd let out a scoff or a chuckle at least.
and yeah, he knows he should’ve. but instead, something twisted violently in his chest.
james had been sitting beside you that day when you spoke those exact words under your breath.
i swear, one more Sullivan lecture and I’m not surviving midterms.
his stomach dropped.
you were still talking—going off about something trivial, about the game—but he barely heard it anymore, nothing was registering in his brain, like someone suddenly flicked off a switch and now he's far away from the confines of his room. his fingers moved on autopilot while his mind rewound the week like a broken video reel.
from the school, the stupid lectures, his dorm, the café, then to you.
sis breath felt wrong in his lungs.
“…bucky?” you questioned, suddenly worried that he's gone awfully quiet.
“hello? earth to no. 1 pocket sage?”
still nothing.
“…you there?”
you didn't like the abrupt silence that stretched between the static noise of your earphones. it sounded far for comfortable—it sounded foreign.
“…did I say something wrong?”
he swallowed hard, forcing the words running in his head into the back of his mind before he finally pushed something out past his lips. “no,” he lied. “just… distracted.”
you hesitated for a fracture of a second, heart slowly racing at the shift in atmosphere.
“…oh,” you said softly.
the tone was different now. smaller. you still played, still joked—still tried to keep things normal. but he heard the change, it was certainly there and was hard to ignore, and so did you. you ended up logging off earlier than usual. the aftermath of whatever you did—even after pondering over it all night, you still had zero idea of what you did wrong—left you with a sour taste on the buds of your tongue that stayed until the morning. leaving you daft and dim.
emily noticed before you said anything, just like she always did.
she sat cross-legged on your bed; laptop balanced on her thighs with three different tabs open and none of them holding her focus anymore. The lamp on your nightstand cast everything in a warm, sleepy glow — her messy bun, the crease between her brows, the way she kept glancing over at you when she thought you weren’t looking.
you lay on your back beside her, phone resting loosely in your hand, screen lighting up and dimming again as you unlocked it, locked it, unlocked it.
you glanced at the last message you've sent, a short 'you okay?' sent a few minutes after you left the lobby. it was still unread.
“you’ve checked your phone,” she said gently, not accusing, not amused. just… observant. “seven times in the last two minutes.”
you sighed and rolled onto your side, turning your back to her slightly like you were hiding from your own screen.
“he’s acting weird.”
emily glanced up. “james?” she asked automatically.
you shook your head. “…bucky.”
her fingers froze mid-type. the familiar clack of keys died in the air between you before she slowly turned to look at you. “weird how? what is it this time?”
you pressed your lips together like the words were too fragile to say out loud. like once you did, they’d become real.
“he just—” you exhaled through your nose, frustrated. “he goes quiet sometimes, out of nowhere. and when he talks again it’s like… like he’s forcing himself. he sounds tired. or distracted. or…” your voice dropped. “…like he’s pretending it’s fine when it isn’t.”
emily shifted so she was facing you fully now, like whatever you had to say was a whole lot interesting than whatever paper she was previously so focused on, laptop suddenly forgotten.
you stared up at the ceiling, blinking too hard trying to shoo away the ache that slowly ebbed away at your heart. “i thought maybe he was just busy,” you continued, softer. “or like—annoyed. or bored of me. or...i don't know,” Your chest tightened. “found someone else to play with.”
the laugh that left you was dry and brittle, it sounded meaner to yourself than funny. “which is just—so fucking stupid. what am i, sixteen? he doesn’t owe me anything. i don’t even know his last name.” you admitted. “i don’t know what he looks like, where he's from, or if he’s even really the person i think he is.”
emily didn’t jump in immediately, didn’t try to fix it. she instead just let the quiet sit.
“i just…” your voice wavered. “it’s messed up. it's messed up that i'm making myself feel like it's messed up. i get upset when he goes quiet and then james does the same thing and suddenly it feels like i’m being abandoned in stereo.”
her brow creased in concern. “woah…james is pulling away too?”
you nodded faintly, reaching out to grab a hold of your blanket, idly twisting the soft cloth between your fingertips, “a little. he used to text me about everything. draft ideas, dumb thoughts. stupid tiktoks that made no sense, stuff he’d complain about class, ask if i ate, send photos when he got the food i told him to try…”
your chest ached when you exhaled.
“and now he’s just polite. like i’m not… me anymore. like I turned into someone he has to talk to instead of wants to.”
emily’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “do you like him?”
you answered faster than your brain could comprehend the question.
“yeah.”
then the word echoed too loudly in your own ears. “…i think,” you added, shakier.
she studied you for a moment, searching for the right words. “and bucky?”
you closed your eyes, the follow up question certainly harder than the first. “i—i don't- i don’t know how it happened,” you whispered. “he just… fit into my days. like something that was always supposed to be there.”
you once again rolled onto your side and curled slightly toward emily without realizing you were even doing it. “sometimes it feels like he knows me better than people who’ve actually touched my hands. isn’t that crazy?”
you stared blankly at the wall. “it’s like…” you trailed off, searching.
emily waited.
“it’s like liking two versions of the same ghost,” you murmured. “one I can sit next to—one i can only hear in my head. this shit is crazy.”
heavy silence wrapped around you both. emily shifted closer until your shoulders brushed, then she leaned her head gently against yours.
“…i just want him to talk to me again,” you whispered. “either of them. i don’t even care who first. i just—” your voice broke, the emotions finally crashing through like a broken dam. “i’m so tired of feeling invisible to the people i care about.”
emily’s arm slid around you slowly, careful like you were something fragile. “i don’t think this ends without hurting you,” she said softly.
you felt your throat burn and your eyes sting, forever a feeling you're familiar with.
“i know,” you whispered.
and the worst part of all of this? you had no idea which one you were more afraid of losing.
bucky was no better either, he didn’t sleep. couldn't.
he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, headset abandoned on his desk like a guilty, plastic thing on his desk. the hum of his cpu fan was the only sound in the room, a low reminder that the world was still moving even if he wasn’t.
every word you’d ever spoken replayed in his skull—your schedule, your habits. your jokes. the café, the oak tree, the stupid ass sullivan lecture. and inevitably back to you.
the truth without a doubt felt like being skinned alive. he pressed his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind his lids, breath hitching in his throat like he was holding back something violent and fragile at the same time. the realization struck him like a meteor.
i’ve been talking to her this entire time.
not someone like her, not someone who reminded him of her—
her. in other words, you.
you who trusted him twice. once as bucky, and another as james.
he couldn't really believe it, the same laugh he's come to memorize by heart, the same voice he's found himself missing the sound of especially during the quiet nights. the same damn girl.
and now… he didn’t deserve her as either. he reached for his phone and unlocked it. your username lighting up his screen like a freshly reopened wound. he opened the message thread. scrolled through days—weeks—of inside jokes and late-night games and soft, stupid comments that meant more than either of you ever admitted out loud.
his thumb hovered over the text bar, but nothing came.
what do you even say when you’ve effectively ghosted her without a proper explanation? effectively severing the connection off?
he locked his phone again and tossed it onto the bed like it burned—like it physically pained him to hold it. he sat there, folded in on himself, and let the silence chew at him. he didn't trust himself to approach you or anything, because if he spoke now, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive what came out—wasn't sure if he trusted himself to find the right words.
across campus, the sky broke open. rain crashed down in sheets thick enough to blur the world into streaks of silver and shadow. the kind of rain that soaked through shoes in seconds, the kind that made umbrellas useless and clothes cling to skin like second regret.
in your dorm, you stood frozen in the hallway with your phone in your hand.
still unread. now it was really just pissing you off. you checked your wi-fi, refreshed your messages, and still, fricking nothing. your chest felt tight and loud at the same time, like it was echoing.
emily was again, laying behind you on your bed, which now seems to be where she likes to spend most of her time despite having one of her own—her arms crossed, watching the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing ever.
“you don’t have to go,” she said softly. "it's raining like wild right now."
you swallowed. “i… i can’t sit here anymore.” your voice fractured despite your best effort to stop the cracks from slipping through. “i don’t know if that means he’s busy or hurting or sick or just done with me and i hate not knowing. i can't just sit here and wait for something to happen. that's—not me...”
emily sat up, “you don’t even know if he wants to see you.”
okay. that stabbed deeper than you expected.
“…i know.” your fingers tightened around your phone.
you were already slipping on your shoes before emily could convince you to not drench yourself in the rain. your fingers already grabbing your jacket, already halfway to the door.
"i'll be back."
"you better be."
and you were gone with the wind without wasting a second.
the first thing to welcome you as soon as you stepped out of the building was the rain, and it hit you like punishment. cold, relentless, punishment. it soaked you in seconds—hair plastered to your cheeks, jacket heavy on your shoulders, breath coming out in shaky clouds as you ran.
fuck—i should've brought an umbrella. love fucking sucks.
your footsteps splashed against pavement too slick for running, but you didn’t slow—the lights of buildings on the street a blur as you scurried your way to his dorm. your heart pounded something desperate into your bones.
by the time you reached his building, you were drenched. utterly, completely soaked like a chick left in the rain, and by the time you climbed the stairs to his floor, you were shaking. partly from the cold, and partially from the fear of him shutting you out when you confront him for whatever wrong thing you did.
you stood outside his door—breath ragged and fingers trembling.
the knock came out wrong when your knuckles collided with the door to his dorm. it was too loud, too desperate for your liking.
please don't let steve be the one to answer it.
bucky had just finished toweling his hair when it echoed through the hallway, sharp and urgent like someone was running from something. he barely had time to grab the first dry clothes he could find before unlocking the door, annoyance already on his tongue.
“jesus, i’m coming—”
he swung the door open with a scowl on his face—clearly displeased by whoever's bothering him at this time, and to his surprise. it was you on the other side. soaked like you were forced to take a shower with your clothes on.
your hair clung to your face, your hoodie dark and heavy with water, droplets sliding down your nose like you’d just fought the weather and lost. you blinked up at him, breathing a little harder than normal, cheeks flushed from the cold.
bucky stared at you for exactly one second—then his mouth kicked into gear. “what are you—” he cleared his throat, “w-why are you this wet?” he blurts out, voice climbing half an octave. “did you swim here??”
you squinted at him. “it’s raining—”
“i can see that,” he snaps, then immediately winces. “i mean— i know it’s raining, i just—it’s literally coming down sideways out there. did you lose an umbrella or what?”
“i didn’t think it’d be that bad, it was just tiny droplets when i left the apartment." you lied through your teeth.
he grabs your wrist without thinking—not rough, just instant. desperate, even. he pulls you inside and slams the door closed behind you like the rain might chase you in.
“do you know how easy it is to get sick like this?” he scolds, already toeing off your shoes like he’s done this before. like he practiced for this if an event like now were to ever occur, “you’re freezing. you’re actually cold— why didn’t you just text me, i would’ve gone to you—”
“i didn’t want you walking in the rain—”
“which is stupid,” he says quietly, softer now. “because now you’re soaked and it should’ve been me.”
he wasn't stuttering anymore, he couldn't. not with the current state you were in. shivering and sniffling in his dorm.
“…you’re shaking,” he murmurs, horror creeping into his voice. "wait here, i'll—i'll get you some of my clothes." he disappears into his closet for two seconds and reappears with the first hoodie his hands find—it’s too big, old, soft.
“holy shit.”
bucky just came back with a fresh pair of pajamas and the smallest shirt of his he could find. after hearing you curse— his face was flooded with a wave of confusion.
“what’s wrong—“
the words died on his tongue before he could finish any form of thought in his head, his eyes widened when he saw you, sitting at his gaming setup with a wide set of eyes of your own. you were staring at valorant’s homescreen, and at the very middle—was his player card, and his player ign. it was there, as plain as day, ‘white wolf’. and directly underneath it was the same player title he’s sure you’ve memorized—“tryhard”
your head slowly craned to the side to stare at bucky, now standing dumbfounded at the door to his room. for a moment, his entire body felt like it was on fire—guilt crawling up his spine, nerves knotting in his chest, the sudden overwhelming desire to crawl under his bed and disappear with it.
he didn’t know what to say—instead, he just stood there, waiting for you to speak up first or else he’s sure his voice would crack the second he lets out a single sound.
“you’re…white wolf?” you hesitantly started, your gaze slowly turning back to the bright monitor in front of you. “did you know… it was me the whole time?”
bucky pursed his lips, this was not the time to be stuttering like a little bitch—he wanted to tell you how he felt word for word, he did not want to mess this up. “no- i just—i only found out recently.”
rain pattered faintly against the window, filling in the silence you didn’t know how to break. you looked back at the screen, his username seemingly glowing brighter the longer you eyed it like it would reveal all its secrets to you if you gawked at it longer.
“y-you…we were playing valorant—or you were playing valorant with bucky, and you said something about the professor. and it sounded familiar, like- word for word. so, i did some digging…”
you didn’t know if you should feel excited, weirded out that it felt like he’d been living two lives, and betrayed by the fact he’d known who you were while you had no idea—while you were clueless the entire time. your fingers drifted to the mouse without you realizing, clicking mindlessly through his night market like it might settle the storm in your chest. “did you ever plan on telling me?”
“i—i was! i was about to tell you- maybe after the project ended or something…” he said immediately. he took a step closer, then another—like the distance between you physically hurt. “but i was scared. i was scared you’d look at me differently. i was—scared you liked the version of me from behind the screen better than- than this.”
he glanced at himself—his clothes, his posture, the way he looked and didn’t look at you all at once. he caught your gaze again, this time—he didn’t want to let it go—your pupils stared right back into his blue dilated irises. it was your turn to be dumbfounded, nothing but a small choked out sound of understanding came from your throat.
his gaze shifted into something alluring—he looked almost ethereal despite the circumstances—even. you’re still sitting in front of his computer, fingers slightly grazing the material of his desk. and he was sitting down on his bed next to it—just a few inches away from you, and he’s gazing right through you like you’d vanish to thin air if he ever dared to glance away.
you looked at him then. really looked.
and god—he looked like he was bracing for impact.
“i don’t get to be honest like that when people can see me,” he whispered. “it’s easier when I’m just… a voice.” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “i mean—look at me. would you still hang out with me if you find out i dress like this the first time we played together?”
the question hit you harder than you expected, the words seeping through the cracks of your heart quicker than you would’ve ever thought—leaving you tongue tied. he sounded like he cared—like he’d crumble if you admitted you liked the player behind the username more than the man standing in front of you, but your feelings were clear—you knew the answer like the back of your hand.
you’d gone through so many moral dilemmas on whether you sound like a two-timer when you confessed to emily that you liked someone from college and at the same time—found yourself yearning for a person you thought you would never have met. you liked him, whether it be irl-james, or the james who sits on a chair and ragebaits players like his life depended on it.
you stood without thinking, stepping toward him, hands finding his before you could doubt yourself.
“dude.” you started, immediately wincing at your awful choice of words, “james, i- there’s nothing wrong with the way you dress—although fashion choice is a part of the “friend criteria” in my head—i couldn’t care less about how you look.”
your hands felt just right engulfing his. you weren’t able to completely envelope all ten fingers—given how bigger his hands were compared to yours; you still tentatively brushed over the warm flesh with the pads of your thumb. a quiet reassurance of your sincerity. “if you ever think i’d like you less now that i know you’re bucky, the person who’s always, somehow, one call away—made me laugh through all the hard shit i’ve been going through, who’s been there for me when i was all alone during summer break 'cause i can’t afford to go home and—and i felt lonely.”
his fingers curl tighter around yours, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear with the moment. his palms are warm. steady, but just barely. you can feel the faint tremble under your thumb.
you don’t know who leans in first.
all you know is that suddenly, he’s closer than he’s ever been before. close enough that you can see the tiny freckle near his eye. Close enough that his breath ghosts across your lips when he exhales.
“hey,” he whispers again, like saying your name would break something.
the room suddenly feels… too small—like it just closed in on itself. the rain outside grew louder, drumming against the window like it’s trying to rush you both into something neither of you know how to name yet. but no matter how hard it rained, the incessant beating of your heart was louder than any crashing of water against the window.
you felt his thumb move across your knuckle, all the words you so wanted—desperately needed to tell him, disappearing the second you felt his skin caress yours, and you broke.
you lean in without thinking—soft, unsure, barely there at first. the kiss more like a question than anything else. you felt him freeze for a split second—for a beat, he doesn’t kiss you back. causing your heart to stutter—was it the wrong thing to do?
but then he exhales, shaky and quiet, and his lips move against yours like he’s finally letting himself breathe. it’s gentle. clumsy and ragged around the edges, but its real.
he tastes like rain and mint and the kind of longing that’s been building in his chest for way too long. your hands slide up to his shoulders, hesitant, grounding yourself there. and something in him snaps—not in fear, but in relief.
when he kisses you again, it’s different. still soft—but a lot more certain. he tilts his head just a little, like he’s scared of getting it wrong and somehow getting it perfectly right at the same time, his grip tightening on you.
your chest presses against his, your breath tangling and twisting with his. and then—he pulls back again, his forehead resting against yours.
“i’ve wanted to do that,” he admits quietly. “for… longer than i should’ve.”
you laugh softly through your breath, your nose brushing his. “yeah?”
“yeah. i just—didn’t think i was allowed to.”
something in your chest aches, your fingers weaving into his shirt.
“james,” you whisper, “you don’t have to earn me.”
his breath catches at that, but you don’t give him time to spiral—you kiss him again.
and this time, he melts into it. his hands slide from yours to your waist, hesitant at first, like he’s checking for permission with every inch. When you don’t pull away—when you step closer instead—his arms tighten around you instantly. he couldn't believe it, he was kissing the girl he's been stupidly and unknowingly pining over. like an idiot.
and when deepens the kiss once more, you feel it then. the unfiltered want and relief at the same time, the way he’s been holding himself together with duct tape and prayers and the sound of your voice every night through his headset.
he presses his forehead to your jaw, breathing you in like he’s afraid he won’t remember how. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish mid-breath.
his hands are warmer on your waist now, thumbs rubbing soft little circles like he’s grounding himself through you. everything feels loud—your heart, the rain, his breathing, the way your name sounds in his mouth when he whispers it like it’s something holy. you don’t even realize you’re moving until your calves bump into the edge of his bed.
there’s a very undignified, blatant second where you both stumble.
“wait—hang on—”
james trips over the corner of the blanket, causing you to yelp in shock—and now you're suddenly falling sideways together, tangled and breathless, landing on his mattress in an awkward heap of limbs and nervous laughter and wide eyes.
the bed creaks from the weight of you both, the clothes previously in bucky's hands long forgotten and discarded. you stared at him, and he stared right back at you. you’re half on top of him, one hand braced on his chest, the other still knotted in his shirt. and through the whole ordeal, his hair was a mess; his eyes are blown wide open, chest rising fast beneath your palm.
“oh my god,” you blurt.
“i swear i’m not this clumsy on purpose.”
you laugh, breathless and a little hysterical. “you absolutely did that on purpose.”
“i swear i didn’t—!”
for a good half second, it’s just laughter. and then you looked at him. like—really looked at him. your eyes held nothing but affection and fondness as you longingly stared at him. the joking died quietly between you.
his lips are parted, his cheeks are flushed, his hands are still on your waist—like he forgot how to move them but refuses to let go. and the air trickled with tension. your hand shifts—just slightly —against his chest, feeling his heartbeat sprinting underneath your palm like it’s trying to escape him. you felt him exhale shakily.
“you’re really here,” he murmurs. “like—not headset-you. not text bubble-you. you. this feels—surreal.”
“yeah,” you whisper. “i'm not lagging or anything, am i? that would high key be embarrassing.”
a ghost of a laugh huffs out of him, before it fades and his voice drops lower. “i don’t—i just wanna say this before my brain shuts off,” he says quietly. “if you don’t want this—you can say no. if you want to stop, you say it and I stop. i—i don’t want to mess this up.”
something inside you softens in a dangerous way. “…james,” you murmur. “i’m literally on top of you.”
his ears go bright red. “i know—! i just—i needed to say it—”
you lean in and kiss him again softer this time, slower. cutting him off from his rambling. like reassurance, or a promise. he sighs into it like you just handed him something fragile and sacred.
when you pull back an inch, you whisper, “i want this.”
he closes his eyes for half a second—like that statement physically knocks the breath out of him.
“…yeah?” he asks quietly.
you nod.
his hands tremble where they rest on your sides—or maybe that’s your imagination. he leans up, barely propping himself on one elbow, face inches from yours.
“if i do something stupid,” he murmurs, “please don’t make fun of me.”
you grin. “i'll try my best.”
his mouth twitches before he kisses you again. deeper—warmer, and a whole lot less careful.
your bodies shift without thinking—not rushed, not frantic—just natural, drawn closer like gravity finally remembered you exist. your knees slide to either side of him. he inhales sharply against your lips like your weight has rewired his nervous system.
“…oh,” he breathes.
that one word carries a thousand thoughts. you hide your face in his neck for half a second, embarrassed and smiling and overwhelmed all at the same time.
“would you slap me for a million dollars,” you whisper.
“i'd do it for a cheeseburger.” he murmured, equally as soft.
you laugh softly into his shoulder—finding it amusing how he just seems to get whatever you're referencing like you're interlinked, his arms tightening around you like he might forget how.
“i don’t wanna go too fast,” he whispers. “but i don’t wanna pretend i don’t want this either.”
your forehead rests against his. “we don’t have to do anything.”
he freezes when your hands move, eyes flicking to yours like he’s checking for permission without saying a word. he pulls back just enough to breathe you in like he’s scared you’re a dream.
“we don’t have to,” he says again softer this time.
you held his cheek in the palm of your hands, filling the space of your flesh like it was always meant to end up there, “i want to,” you answer just as quietly.
the kiss was warm and tender, laced with something fervent—filled with carnal and pure yearning, just like how james—bucky had imagined for countless nights. it was filled with longing and unfiltered yearning, fueled by all the words that were left unsaid. your plump limps danced against his, already familiar with the shape of his mouth on yours. you could feel him tremble in your grasp when he licked his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for permission you gave him without a second thought.
his tongue pushed past your lips in fervour, gliding and wrestling with yours as you let out a soft moan—bucky gratefully swallowed each sound you let out with eagerness you've never seen from him before.
"y'taste so good," he muttered, snaking a hand behind your neck to cradle the flesh, gently but firmly guiding your lips back to his, the muscle of his tongue once again finding home in the warmth of your mouth. his free hand pushed your thighs open, giving him access to the heat that rested in between that was slowly getting wetter by the minute.
he slotted his knees against you clothed cunt, pressing onto it tentatively as you let out a muffled moan into his lips. you were about to thread your fingers into his hair—before he suddenly leaned back. leaving you flushed and yearning for more.
"w-why did you stop—"
you opened your eyes in confusion to look at the current state he was at, hair definitely messed and tussled, cheeks just as read as yours, and his chest was heaving. you watched him remove his glasses from his face, placing them on top of his drawer by the lamp before diving back in to capture your lips in another heated makeout session.
he paused, looking into your eyes intently with his blue irises, "they were getting in the way." bucky muttered, sliding a warm hand up your sides and down your waist almost as if you were fragile. his head tilted to kiss you impossibly deeper—bolder, this didn't feel like james at all, this was bucky. the guy you played with for months and would tease you in ways you could never see james doing.
"can—can i take these off?" he gripped the fabric of your slightly wet jeans, his eyes tracing every feature on your face; from your swollen lips to your nose, before gazing into your eyes once more. he wanted nothing more than to feel you bare against him, but he was a cultured man, he has played countless of games that require patience—he was ready to wait til forever falls apart if it meant you allowing him the pleasure to strip you bare of any clothes that stood between him and your pussy.
you nodded your head, the action moving faster than your ability to articulate thoughts into words, "yes- please—" your eyes tracked every movement he made, from sliding your clothing off of you, to him pressing a soft kiss to the temperate flesh of your neck, his lips molding against the crevice of your jaw to your collarbone. leaving red and purple marks in its wake.
bucky drank in each whine and whimper that left you like music to his ears, keen on drawing more sounds out of you. he hummed in appreciation when you leaned wider and further into him, granting him more access to your skin in desperation for more. who was he to deny you of such the opportunity?
your fingers reached downwards to tug at his sweatpants while he continued claiming territory on the skin of your throat, soundlessly asking for him to take them off—the thought of sensing him against you the only thing occupying your head. when he didn't pull away, you continued dragging his sweats down, eyes glancing below you for a second as the bright colors of his boxers peaked from the garments that now flooded your vision.
wait. are those?—
you let out a small huff of laughter you didn't know you let out, because bucky was now looking at you, confused at what you were looking at. he followed your eyes that were stuck onto his groin—were you staring at the bulge he's one hundred percent sure is there? he felt his cheeks flush a different kind of red before he looked down for himself and—
oh.
you were gawking at his boxers.
his superman skivvies, to be exact. all in its black, yellow, blue, and red glory. it was a gift from steve on his nineteenth birthday, it was meant to be a harmless gag from his friend after he found one of his superman figurines wrapped in white liquid which was "lotion", bucky defended.
you lifted your fingers to suppress the laughter that was threatening to spill from your lips.
"u—uh- these aren't mine-"
you continued to push his sweats down, swallowing in the laughter you previously wanted to let out. "you don't need to pretend anymore, bucky." you whispered, motioning him to kick off his pants which he gladly did, "i'm a huge fan of superman, anyway."
god, bucky felt like a freak—but he felt himself grow impossibly harder at that.
the pads of his fingers flattened against your chin, pulling you into another kiss, but this time, it was a lot sloppier and steamy. he couldn't get enough of you; he wanted to feel your lips against his forever if you'd let him. he felt spit dribble out from the corner of your lips with how messy he was kissing you, no longer holding back.
his other hand busied themselves on your clothed heat, rubbing the fabric that stood between his thick fingers and your pussy. the wet spot on your underwear growing more and more obvious with each slow stroke he gave you—eagerly caressing your slit. your own set of fingers clutched onto his shirt as you grinded on his hand, asking for more in unspoken words, a language bucky was now certainly fluent at.
"y'want me to put my fingers in, baby?"
his words sent shivers down your spine and another wave of slick pool into your underwear. you weren't expecting for him to be this dirty in bed, if anything—you thought you would be the one saying those words. but his presence, soft and tender, had an edge to it at the same time—his actions calculated and precise. something about how he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world—which you are to him—wanted you to just give in and fold into his arms, to just submit and feel.
you nodded, a small whispered 'kiss me' flying into the quietness of the room. hands cupping the back of his neck to pull him back into another kiss, eyeing his equally swollen lips like you were drunk off kissing him. he gave you a warm smile before leaning back down and giving in to your demands, simultaneously pulling down the clothe guarding your pussy and now granting him free reign of your cunt. he waited so long and patiently for this, he was going to take his sweet, sweet time with you.
it felt like sparks were living under your skin the second his fingers intruded into your sopping cunt, welcoming them earnestly. his thumb circled your clit while he curled his fingers upwards, pulling out a delicious moan from you.
"you went through so much, even went out in the middle of the rain just to get here, to me. d'y'know what that does to a guy, baby?" he watched each crease that came onto your face as your eyes screwed shut, his two fingers already felt full—you could only imagine how much full you'd feel from his dick.
embarrassingly enough, you were already writhing in his grasp just from his fingers, hitting that spongy spot deep within you that made your vision go blurry and sent your body into overdrive. your hips were shamelessly grinding into his fingers now, desperately chasing that building feeling at the pit of your stomach while bucky’s lips gave soft, featherlight kisses to your forehead and down your cheek.
his fingers curled into one particular spot that made your back arch into him, your hands squeezing his search in desperate search for purchase. “‘s’this the spot, baby? ‘s’this where you need me?”
you nodded eagerly, hips bucking into him more and more like your life depended on it, “oh—fuck- bucky—! don’t stop- i’m-“
“c’mon, dollface. let me have it, let me make you feel good.”
his whispers pushed you nearer towards your high, teetering dangerously close to the edge. “f-fuck! fuck— hng- ah—“ you couldn’t even recognize yourself with all the sounds you’ve been making, and he was only using his fingers.
bucky’s fingers circling your clit caused your release to crash like a train, white hot pleasure flooding your eyes as your thighs clenched around his toned arm while he fingered you through your release—all the while praising you.
you whined as he pulled his fingers out of you, now coated in your release. he brought his cum-covered fingers to his mouth before sucking on them obscenely—not once breaking eye contact with you.
he moaned around his own fingers, “knew you’d taste like heaven.”
you rolled your eyes and gave him a light tap on the shoulder, “you’re such a freak.”
his lips quipped into a boyish grin, “you like it, though. right?”
“i unfortunately do. a lot.”
he chuckled at that, hands once again finding home on your thighs as he pushed them apart to make space for his painfully, obvious rock hard dick clothed by his superman boxers that were doing an awful job at hiding his erection.
“i…is it okay if i take off your—shirt? i’ll take mine off too if-“
he’s already made you see stars with just his skilled fingers and he’s still stuttering like the day you first met him. what an absolute dork. “yes—god, please do.”
his fingers gently peeled away your clothes, his eyes now as wide as saucers as he ogled at your bare chest. “fuck,” he cursed under his breath, “you’re so pretty…”
as soon as your clothes were off, he resumed his activities of pressing his bricked up dick against your pretty, sobbing cunt.
“wait—i think i have a condom here somewhere-“
you pinched the side of his stomach before he could leave to go to his drawer, “no—wait. it’s okay, i’m on the pill.”
i’m on the pill. you were on the pill. that means—
“o-oh— i’m- i can go raw?”
“would you rather we—?”
“nah! uh-“ he cleared his throat, “as long as you’re okay with it, i’m okay with it too. that’s all i really care about.”
you leaned in close to press kisses to his jaw, lips dangerously close to his ear, “as long as it’s you, james. i’m more than okay.”
yep. i’m gonna bust a nut right here, right now.
now with newfound confidence, he pulled his boxers down to let his painful erection spring free from the confines of his underwear—-and to say you were awestruck was an understatement. you were terrified with how big he was. you weren’t even sure if it would fit.
“okay- why are you looking at me—at junior like that.” bucky asked, his previous expression of confidence quickly replaced with slight hesitation.
you shook your head, gripping his forearms as a quiet way to reassure him. “no—not- don’t call it that!i’m just…very pleasantly surprised about how…big you are.”
“oh.”
he looked divine from above you, looking like a greek statue carved from the finest marble. his hair was tussled in a scrumptious way, the veins on his forearms more visible than ever with each movement he made, and his lips now had a mischievous grin plastered on it. this was no james, this was bucky. and that excited you more than it should’ve.
“haha—d-don’t worry angel, i’ll make it fit.”
make it fit my ass.
he only managed to get barely past the tip in before you were already pushing his abdomen to tell him to wait and give you a sec. of course, bucky being the kind soul that he is, obediently obliged, wanting nothing more than to put your pleasure first before his. he waited patiently before trying to sheath himself further into your cunt—watching your face contort and twist in both pain and pleasure from the stretch.
when bucky noticed tears were starting to prick at your eyes, he couldn’t help but coo at you, “baby, shh, it’s okay. i’ll go slower, hm? jus’ wanna make you feel good, we don’t need to rush baby. just focus on me if you want.”
his right hand came to intertwine with your left one, giving you something to squeeze at while he drilled himself deeper into you—pulling never ending needy whines and whimpers from you.
and when his hips finally pressed flush against your ass, you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you'd been holding in—his praises being the only thing grounding you.
bucky admired the tiny bulge that was visible on your abdomen, fingers coming into contact with the flesh to rub small circles onto it like it was something sacred—utterly mesmerized by how full you were of him.
he started off slowly, as if memorizing the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him—each careful drag in and out of you made every vein of his dick present. and you could feel him everywhere, right there in your stomach, filling up your lungs, and taking up every crevice in your head and replacing it with thoughts of his dick. it was insane.
who would’ve thought the guy with some stupid player username—would end up being your partner, and is now railing you within an inch of your life and fucking you like it’s all he’s been waiting to do for his entire life.
“you’re doing so well, taking me so well.” he leaned down to tenderly kiss you again, “‘m so proud of you,” he carefully pulled out just halfway, before plunging back in. cooing at your whining as your hands gripped harder onto his shoulders, thighs shaking impossibly harder, “i know, i know. you’re—f-fuck- y’feel me deep inside you, d-don’t you, baby?”
the air left your lungs the second he started thrusting properly, what started off as weak, shallow now evolved into deep, meaningful thrusts, his hands gripped your hips like vice as he struggled to keep his eyes open from how tight you were squeezing him. you, on the other hand, were already mouthing off nonsense from the pleasure.
“b-b—bucky! fuck—hn—!”
“y-yeah? feels good?”
you nodded, “s-so—g-good—mm! ahh—“
he licked a long stripe from your collarbone up to your throat, tasting the sweat of your skin as he rutted into you faster, causing you to cry out. he knew he’d love you like this—all fucked out and pliant in his hands just for him.
“f-fuck—!”
tears were now filling your eyes, blurring your already bleary vision further.
“i’ve—i’ve always thought about th-this…fuck- about you, baby. you took care of me so well with that project, carrying me all the tuh-time.” he paused his relentless thrusting to quickly push your knees up against your chest, making you cry out again as he slid back in easily with all the slick your equally ruined and sobbing cunt was letting out.
his tip kissed your cervix, “i wanted to return the favor. a-am i making you feel good?”
you could barely form a thought, let alone register whatever bucky was saying with how good he was making you feel.
“aww, dollface. don’t—hah—d-don’t ignore me. c’mon, tell me how good ‘m making you feel. it feels good, right? shit.”
you loved james, you truly did, but with how condescending he was sounding and how your brain can’t even form a single thought right now except register the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of you—you wanted to kiss that smug look on his face. if only you had the energy to.
you drearily wobbled your head to give him what you think is a nod, every part of your limb nearing the stage of being utterly spent, “y-you’re—mmm! yes—oh god yes!”
bucky’s hand slid up and down your side once more, his best attempt at comforting you the minute he saw tears roll down your cheek. you were full-blown crying. his thrusting grew harder and harder and his cock twitched inside of you when he realized that he made you sob on his cock, realized trusting him enough to let him see you in this vulnerable state.
his tongue swept across your damp cheeks to have a taste at your tears, “good girl, you’re doing so well.”
you clawed at his shoulder, “hngg, j-james ‘m g’nna—“
“go on, baby.” he whispered, breath fanning against your sweat-covered flesh as he glanced down to watch his cock disappear inside of you, squelching with each thrust as he pummeled you into the mattress—a white ring forming at the base of his cock. “let go, give james all you have to offer. let me have it.”
your second release of the night hit harder than the first, your limbs going limp after your orgasm has run its course, and all the while bucky was talking you through it, rubbing calming circles onto your hip.
he let your knees fall down before leaning in closer to the crook of your neck, burying his face into it before biting down, his own release nearing. "oh— oh fucking— sh-shit! y'feel- hnn—" he couldn't even finish his own sentences with how pussy drunk he was for your cunt, it felt so much better than fucking his fist.
a burst of heat flooded your pussy, his cum coating your walls like paint. bucky let out the lewdest pornographic moan you've ever heard as his stuttering hips pushed his seed back into you, his mouth babbling praises like worship. he inclined backwards to retract himself out of you, watching his cum ooze out.
after catching your breath, you were about to reach over and try to suck his cock to return the favor before his palm came into contact with your shoulder, gently ushering you to lay back down.
“ah,” he tutted when you tried reaching for his still very much hard dick, “baby, i’m not yet done.” he sweetly smiled, giving you a quick peck on the lips before going down to come face to face with your cunt, your cum oozing out of it. “i said i’ll make you feel real good, didn’t i? i’ve just started.”
“but i want to make you feel good—“
“and you will, angel. just let me put you first, m’kay?”
he was already trailing wet open-mouth kisses against your thighs, his tongue pressing flat on slit when he got nearer to your cunt before you got the chance to protest any further—the words dying on your tongue and is instead replaced with breathy pleading.
“wan’ t’eat you out with my cum in you,” he muttered against your pussy, chest flat on his bed while he grinded onto the mattress. he stole a glance at you from below, eyes glassy, before gazing softly at your heat—like he’s about to have a very meaningful conversation with your cunt. “bet you’ll taste so good, won’t you baby?”
“are—are you talking to my—?”
“shh,” he shushed, making you roll your eyes at him. “can’t you hear she’s about to tell me something? what is it baby? hm? what's that? i should shut the pretty girl in my bed up by making out with you?”
“you’re such a dork, james. you’re real cute but—“
he abruptly thumbed over your clit, the words dying on your tongue before you could finish your sentence. he gawked and admired how your cunt fluttered and clenched around nothing—his cum seeping out of you like syrup.
“now how will i be able to hear her speak when you’re over there yapping and yapping?” he dragged his tongue up your obscenely wet cunt, moaning at the taste of you. he then darted inside of you without warning, causing your hands to fly to his hair and cuss into the air. “it’s rude to cut people off when they’re talking.”
you gripped his auburn locks tighter, “she’s not even—shit!”
bucky was too busy making out with your pussy to poke fun at you for swearing so much, eagerly lapping at the cum from your previous orgasm and all the slick you’ve been producing. his chin was already glistening when he momentarily backed away to look at your pussy, again.
“you're so greedy, angel,” he muttered, you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or her. “knew you’d taste so much better with my cum mixed in.”
oh my lord. he used to stutter over his words and now he’s talking dirty to your pussy without fail, where did the james that stumbled on his own two shoes from creative writings go?
“oh fuuck!— baby-!”
“mmm. you t-taste amazing.” your cunt clenched around his tongue involuntarily, your thighs would've already been closed shut if it weren't for bucky's head nestled comfortable in between them. his calloused fingers came to rub soothingly on your stomach, his head pressing deeper into your folds.
you had to bite down on your fingers to suppress the guttural moan that resounded from your chest, your voice shamefully going up an octave. he lapped up everything you had to give like a man starved and deprived for weeks, his cock—already leaking again—was still trapped between him and his bed and rubbing against his sheets like an animal in heat.
you were already spent from him pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, legs sore and tired from all the stretching and manhandling he's been doing. that familiar heat that coiled in your stomach building once more—brick by brick.
"james— shit- i-i can't— it’s too—"
he lifted his head just for a second to look at you, his hooded eyes boring into your gleamy ones, "gotta be strong for me, baby. 'm nowhere near done."
fuck man. fuck.
zoowee mama thanks for reading! tags :P : @prettyliittleviolets @daddysbitchybaby @luvyoupxmimi @eah-marvel-trolls @superbassbuck @kaseynsfws @emmyrietveld0 @kileyking @ri6ht6ack @alto-banshee14 @sexcworm @lanadelreybbgg
@ chipotleburritobowl – 2025 , do not plagarize or i will cry fat hot tears , you are responsible for your own media consumption twin. read responsibly and thanks for stopping by!
summary | pregnant, exhausted, and looking like a mess. somehow, your husband still can’t keep his hands to himself
tags | 18+ (MDNI!), EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, pregnancy sex, overstimulation, fingering, breeding kink, minor size kink? (I just love this bear sized man), husband!bucky, pregnant!reader, porn without plot, married couple shenanigans, pregnant wife problems, bucky will not chill, #married and horny, feral!bucky
a/n | saw a tarzan edit a couple of days ago, and thought he's DEFINITELY giving it to jane primal style. and then thought of bucky just being absolutely horny for his wife 24/7 especially after she becomes pregnant, so here we are a week later ✌️
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @uzmacchiato
You had a problem.
Not a life-threatening one—not terrorists, not aliens, not even one of those nonsense political scandals your husband occasionally dragged you into. No, this one was far smaller. More intimate. A nuisance, really. Like an irritating fly that wouldn’t leave you alone.
Or, to be more precise: your six-foot-something, metal-armed, super-soldier of a husband who refused—flat-out refused—to leave you be.
Because somewhere in the last few months, Bucky Barnes had developed the very inconvenient habit of getting unbearably, insatiably, shamelessly horny every time he looked at you. And tonight, apparently, was no exception.
Bucky had always been handsy when it came to you. Insatiable. Like he couldn’t touch you enough, couldn’t breathe unless some part of you was under his palm. And you loved that—loved the way it made you feel desirable, sexy, claimed in a way that never stopped thrilling you.
Even more so after you became pregnant. The way his eyes darkened whenever they caught on the swell of your stomach, how his hands lingered low and reverent like he was worshipping proof of what he’d given you. It was sweet, in theory. Overwhelming in practice.
Because really—and truly—it gets to a point.
Like right now, when you were just trying to read three damn pages of A Clash Of Kings before your eyelids gave out, and he was beside you in bed, shifting closer inch by inch like a stealth operation, until the heat of him was pressed against your side.
And here you were, in your natural habitat, feeling the least attractive you could possibly manage. Wearing your granny nighty—the one you swore you’d burn after the baby was born but secretly knew you’d keep forever because the cotton was just that comfortable. Hair pulled on top of your head in a messy knot, reading glasses perched precariously on your nose.
And still, for all your strength and willpower, you kept your eyes glued stubbornly to the book in your hands.
It felt almost nostalgic, like being sixteen again at some sticky-floored movie theater, pretending to be engrossed in the movie while the boy beside you shifted and fidgeted, trying to drop hints with his not-so-subtle stares and awkward brush of his arm against yours. You knew exactly what would happen the second you turned your head—a clumsy kiss, the inevitable slide of a hand where it didn’t belong.
Only now, the boy had been swapped for your husband. A husband who happened to be broad as a wall, and utterly incapable of concealing the fact that he was inching closer and closer, like he thought if he moved slow enough you wouldn’t notice.
You noticed. Of course you noticed. Just as you noticed the weight of his stare and the way your husband apparently had a libido strong enough to put entire fraternities to shame.
And you, saint that you were, focused on ignoring it.
Unfortunately that could only work right up until it didn’t. Until you felt the inevitable press of soft lips and rough stubble against your bare shoulder, warm and distracting as they trailed along your skin.
You sighed, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of a thousand repetitions. “Bucky.” A warning.
He hummed against your shoulder like he didn’t understand the tone at all, like you’d just told him he’d left a light on in the kitchen. His mouth shifted higher, dragging heat up the slope of your neck, slower this time, deliberate.
“I thought,” you managed, clamping your book a little tighter in your hands, “you were still busy going over your work packets.”
“All finished,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, lips brushing dangerously close to the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
You didn’t even have to turn your head to know he was lying. Your husband hated those government documents with a passion bordering on violent. Every thick stack of papers was another reminder he was chained to a desk instead of the field, and you’d caught him more than once glaring at them like they’d personally insulted his mother.
“Uh-huh,” you said flatly, shifting your glasses higher on your nose.
You lifted a hand without even looking, palm landing square on his forehead to shove him back like he was some overeager dog. “You’re relentless.”
“Mm,” he grunted, not so much discouraged as mildly redirected. He ducked under your arm with the kind of combat-honed agility that should’ve been reserved for battlefields, not marital warfare. His lips landed lower this time, along the hollow of your collarbone, and he had the nerve to grin against your skin.
“James,” you warned again, a little sharper, the way a parent might address a child about to touch a hot stove.
He only hummed, like you’d just praised him.
You pressed your palm flat against his chest, trying to put an inch of air between your body and his. All you managed was to feel the slow, steady thud of his heart, unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.
“I’m serious,” you muttered, though your thumb betrayed you, brushing over the soft cotton of his vest, the edge of his clavicle. God, he was warm. He was always warm.
He leaned in closer, bracing a metal hand on the mattress by your hip so he could cage you in without crushing you, his other hand smoothing down your arm like he was calming you. Calming you while actively harassing you.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him over the rim of your glasses.
“Nope,” he said simply, eyes fixed on your mouth like it was the only place on Earth worth being.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” you said, firm now, using his full name like you were about to call him into a parent–teacher conference. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?”
He didn’t even blink. “Not when you’re in front of me.”
You snorted, finally dragging your eyes from the page to give him a look. “I’m in a nighty older than both of us put together, wearing reading glasses, with my hair in something that could be classified as a bird’s nest. And you’re telling me this is sexy?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Deadly.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you half-expected to see your own brain. “You’re sick.”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning in, brushing his stubble against your jaw, his voice gravel-low. “And you’re my medicine.”
You shoved at his shoulder again, more out of principle than actual resistance. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
He grinned, absolutely unashamed. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress you. You’re already married to me.”
You tilted your head a fraction, just enough to glare at him from the corner of your eye. “You know, some husbands come home from work and just…go to sleep. Normal married-people stuff. Ever heard of it?”
“Mm. Doesn’t sound like me,” he murmured, lips dragging lazily across your shoulder blade. The gentleness in his voice was maddening, like he was lulling you into something instead of blatantly pestering you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme take care of you.”
You snorted, trying to turn back to your book. “You’re not slick. You sound like a car salesman.”
“Yeah?” His tone dipped even lower, honeyed and amused, his mouth pressing another kiss higher up, dangerously close to your throat. “Then consider this a test drive.”
You opened your mouth to fire back—except your voice caught the second you felt it. His hand slipping under the covers, big and warm, skimming over your thigh. Slow. Patient. Like he had all night to map every inch of skin.
“Bucky,” you warned again, though it came out thinner, less sharp than you’d meant.
“Relax,” he cooed, kissing the side of your neck like he was innocent, like his fingers weren’t drifting higher, tracing lazy circles against the soft inside of your leg. “Just touchin’ my wife.”
Your breath hitched despite yourself. Of course he’d weaponize the word wife. You snapped your book shut a little too hard, glasses sliding down your nose.
The sigh that slipped out of you wasn’t voluntary. You told yourself it was just a reflex, the inevitable result of his fingers finally sliding higher, brushing where you were already warm for him. But Bucky caught it, of course he did, and you felt the smile curve against your neck.
“See? Knew you’d like it,” he rasped, voice low, like you were a secret he didn’t want anyone else to overhear. His fingers teased through your folds, maddeningly light, not giving you the pressure you wanted. “God, you’re soaked. All for me, huh?”
You rolled your eyes even as your hips shifted against his hand. “You’re unbearable.”
“Maybe, but you love me anyway,” he countered easily, kissing under your ear. He missed the spot you actually wanted him at by half an inch, deliberately, dragging slow circles that had your thighs tightening under the covers.
You made a noise in your throat, somewhere between annoyance and need. “If you’re gonna touch me, then touch me, Bucky.”
He chuckled, low and satisfied, lips moving against your shoulder like he was humming. “Patience, baby. Wanna make you feel good.”
His metal arm stayed braced around your waist, anchoring you against him, while the flesh one slipped lower, two fingers finally dipping inside, slow and deliberate. He murmured again, words soft but filthy, every line more coaxing than the last.
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about this, sweetheart. How tight you get for me. How good you’re gonna feel ridin’ me with my kid inside you.”
You clenched around him involuntarily, biting back a gasp. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d use that.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.
“Nah,” he breathed, curling his fingers just right, making your hips jerk. “Just your husband.”
His fingers started slow, lazy thrusts that made your thighs twitch, more teasing than satisfying. Every time you shifted, silently begging for more, he pretended not to notice—dragging it out, savoring the way your breath hitched.
Then he curled them deeper, harder. His pace picked up until you were clenching around him, wet and messy, his palm pressing down on your clit each time he bottomed out.
“Fuck,” he rasped against your neck, stubble scraping your skin. “That’s it. God, listen to you—soaked for me already.”
You barely managed to turn your head, snapping back, “Congratulations, honey, you figured out how anatomy works—”
But then his mouth was on yours, cutting you off. No gentleness. Just heat and want and tongue, pushing deep into your mouth like he was claiming every inch. You met him just as sharp, teeth clashing, your lips slick with his spit.
Your book slid forgotten onto the floor. One of his hands pinned your hip while the other worked between your legs, fingers pounding faster, wetter, until you couldn’t keep your hips still. The obscene sound of it filled the room, sloppy and loud, your breath catching against his tongue.
“God, pretty girl,” he groaned into your mouth, lips dragging back to your jaw as his fingers fucked you harder. “So tight on my hand—gonna choke me to death when I finally slide in, huh?”
You wanted to roll your eyes, you wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up—but all you managed was a broken gasp, nails digging into his arm as he shoved you closer to the edge.
The tempo of his fingers shifted again, finding that ruthless rhythm that made your thighs tremble. Deeper, faster, his knuckles brushing against your swollen pussy lips with every thrust. The wet sounds of it were obscene, filling the quiet bedroom louder than the TV still playing in the background.
Your head fell back against the pillow, glasses askew, your mouth falling open around a sound you hadn’t meant to let out.
“That’s it,” Bucky muttered against your jaw, his lips hot and insistent, stubble dragging as he worked his way back down your throat. “Take it, sweetheart. Look at you, already fallin’ apart for me. Haven’t even given you my cock yet.”
“Shut—fuck—” you hissed, but your voice cracked into a moan when he pressed his palm harder against your clit.
He huffed, smug and breathless, kissing you again before you could come up with another barb. His tongue slid against yours, messy and consuming, and the pace of his hand never faltered. If anything, he doubled down—curling his fingers inside you with every thrust until you were grinding helplessly against his palm, chasing the friction.
The pressure coiled tight, unbearable, every nerve lighting up like a live wire. You tried to hold it off, tried to cling to some shred of composure, but he knew. Of course he knew—the way your cunt clenched around him gave you away.
“Gonna cum for me, huh?” he mumbled into your mouth, every word vibrating through you. “Fuckin’ do it. Let go on my fingers. Wanna feel it.”
Your whole body snapped tight, shaking as you came around him, messy and hot, his hand dragging you through it without mercy. He kept going, relentless, thrusting his fingers deeper, grinding his palm into your clit until your thighs spasmed and you were whimpering into his mouth.
“That’s my girl,” he rasped, finally easing up just enough to let you breathe, but not pulling out entirely. “God, you make such a mess on me.”
He slid his fingers out slow, dragging every last inch from you, and then—because of course he did—shoved them straight into his mouth. Sucking them down with a filthy groan like he was tasting dessert.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “You fucking pervert.”
He smirked around his fingers, licking them clean with a satisfied hum, eyes locked on you the whole time like he wanted you to see him enjoying it.
You sighed, more exasperated than scandalized, tugging your glasses off and dropping them onto the nightstand. Enough pretending. Enough half-assed resistance. You lay back fully, shoulders sinking into the pillows, watching him with narrowed eyes.
Then you smacked his shoulder. “Just get on top of me already.”
His grin broke wide, triumphant, as if you hadn’t already been writhing on his fingers two minutes ago. “Thank you, baby,” he murmured, kissing you again like he was claiming his prize. His mouth was hot and dirty against yours, tasting like you, his tongue sweeping in to remind you exactly what you’d just let him do.
He shifted, sheets rustling, climbing over you with practiced ease, one knee braced on either side of your hips. The mattress dipped under his weight, the heat of him swallowing you whole. His cock pressed heavy against your thigh through the thin cotton of your nighty, hard and straining, proof of how far gone he already was.
“Been thinkin’ about this all goddamn day,” he said against your lips, kissing you again, deeper this time, like he couldn’t get close enough. His metal hand slid under your nighty, pushing it up roughly, until the fabric bunched at your waist. “Walked into the house, saw you sittin’ there lookin’ all sweet and fuckin’—” another kiss, teeth clashing, “—knew I wasn’t gonna make it through the night without bein’ inside you.”
His cock, thick and hot through the thin barrier of his boxers, ground against your soaked pussy, dragging along your folds with every roll of his hips.
You gasped into his mouth, your protest catching somewhere in your throat as his tongue pressed past your lips again, messy and consuming. Every thrust was sloppy, wet, the friction building just from him rutting against you like he couldn’t even wait to get inside.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough, needy. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re drivin’ me crazy. Glowin’, all full of me—look at you.”
You let out a half-groan, half-laugh, breaking the kiss just long enough to bite, “You’re so goddamn feral.”
“Yeah?” he rasped, grinding harder, the head of his cock catching perfectly against your clit through the damp fabric. “Only for you. Only when I see you like this, carryin’ my baby. Makes me wanna fuck you all the time.”
Your hips betrayed you, jerking up to meet his rhythm, the friction sharp and relentless. His mouth caught yours again, his teeth clashing with yours, tongues tangling, spit slicking the kiss until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.
He broke just enough to mouth down your cheek, stubble scraping, words hot against your ear. “Gorgeous. Fuckin’ gorgeous like this. My wife, my baby, my pussy—mine.”
The way he said it had your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate, your hands clutching at his shoulders. You wanted to roll your eyes again, maybe call him insane—but all that came out was a breathless, “Bucky—”
You’d had enough. Absolutely done with his rutting and growling and whispering filth in your ear like he wasn’t two seconds from cumming in his boxers.
Your hand shoved between you, pushing at the waistband of his boxers until they slid low on his hips. His cock sprang free, hot and heavy against your palm. You wrapped your fingers around him without a second thought, tugging him down to where you needed him most.
Bucky let out a rough grunt, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the sound had been punched out of him.
“Fuck—” his voice cracked, hips jerking forward helplessly into your grip. His chest heaved against yours, sweat already slick at the base of his throat. “Jesus, sweetheart, you’re killin’ me.”
“Yeah, well,” you muttered, guiding the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds, dragging it across your clit until your thighs shook. “Consider this a mercy.”
“Mercy,” he repeated, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, even as his voice broke again on another groan when you angled him lower, closer. His metal hand slammed against the headboard above your head, bracing, while the other clutched your hip hard enough to bruise.
The tip of him nudged against your entrance, slick and insistent, and he cursed under his breath, teeth sinking into your shoulder to ground himself.
“God—can’t wait anymore,” he rasped, his breath hot and desperate against your skin. “Need you. Need this tight fuckin’ pussy wrapped around me now.”
He didn’t ease in. Didn’t give you time to brace, didn’t draw it out like he sometimes liked to torture you with. One hard thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open, hot and full in a way that made your eyes roll back.
Your uppity, unbothered facade shattered in a single second. A strangled sound tore out of your throat as your back arched, nails clawing at his shoulders. All that stubborn ignoring, all that pretending you weren’t just as wound up as him—it burned away the second his cock split you wide, filling you deep.
And wasn’t that the story of your marriage?
You’d lied to yourselves. Swore you were going to wait a few years before kids. Swore you’d take your time, be responsible. And yet—six months after tying the knot, after all those rabbit-like rounds you’d convinced yourselves were “just the honeymoon phase,” you were staring at a positive test.
Now here you were: five months pregnant, belly firm between you, and your husband still couldn’t get enough. If anything, he was worse now. Like knocking you up had awakened something animal in him. Some feral urge to keep you swollen, stretched, full of him.
He groaned above you, teeth gritted, forehead pressed to yours as his hips rolled again, grinding deep. “Fuck, baby—you’re tighter than ever. Squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to milk me.”
Your head tipped back, lips falling open around a moan you couldn’t stifle if you tried. “God, Bucky—”
He groaned low in his chest, hips snapping harder, fucking you with the kind of single-minded intensity that made the headboard thud against the wall. His mouth slanted over yours again, hot and messy, spit and tongue and teeth, consuming you like he couldn’t breathe without it.
The pace he set was brutal, no hesitation, no finesse. Just raw, fast, hungry thrusts that rocked the mattress and drove every last bit of air out of your lungs. You barely had to do anything—your body pinned beneath his, legs parted, belly firm between you, while your husband used every ounce of muscle and want to fuck into you like an animal.
His grunts were ragged and hot in your ear, each one vibrating down your spine. His breath caught, uneven, as if he was burning through oxygen too fast just trying to keep up with how badly he needed you.
You tipped your head back into the pillow, giving in, letting him work you. Because why fight it? Why pretend you didn’t love the way he lost control with you, the way his hips slammed into yours like he was trying to put you through the mattress?
The slap of skin, the wet drag of your cunt milking him with every thrust—it was filthy, obscene. He didn’t even try to quiet himself, groaning against your throat, jaw working over your skin between curses.
“Jesus—fuck—so tight, so fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, voice breaking as he pistoned into you. His hand slipped under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to angle deeper, grinding hard against the spot that made your eyes flutter back.
“Bucky—” you gasped, nails scraping down his back.
He snapped his hips harder, teeth nipping at your jaw. “Take it, baby. C’mon, take your husband’s cock. This is mine—all fuckin’ mine.”
He shifted, grinding deeper, faster, until you swore your body couldn’t take another second without snapping. Then his hand slid between you, rough fingers finding your clit with unerring precision.
The sound you made was half a sob, half a moan, sharp enough to cut through even his haze. He latched onto it, snarling low in your ear, “That’s it. That’s the sound I want. Keep makin’ it for me.”
Your hips bucked, helpless, chasing the pressure as his thrusts grew harder, dirtier, his hand ruthless on your clit.
“Look at you,” he rasped, lifting his head just enough to watch your face. His blue eyes burned, locked on every twitch of your mouth, every flicker in your eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ close. I can feel it. Pussy squeezin’ me already, beggin’ to let go.”
“Bucky—” You gasped his name, broken, like it was the only word you remembered.
“Yeah, darlin’. Cum for me. Right now.” His voice cracked, deep and rough, a command that rolled down your spine like electricity. His thumb circled harder, faster, each thrust hitting you dead-on until there was nothing left to hold back.
Your orgasm tore through you sudden and vicious, ripping a cry from your throat as your walls clamped around him. Your whole body shook, vision sparking, and still he fucked you through it, hand relentless until your cunt gushed around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, watching your face like it was the most important thing he’d ever see. “Look at you—look so pretty when you fall apart for me. My favorite girl. My perfect fuckin’ wife.”
Your head tipped back, mouth open around a moan you couldn’t swallow, every nerve sparking with the overload. You barely had time to come down before he was rutting into you harder, faster, every thrust dragging another shudder from your overstimulated body.
Your cunt spasmed around him, still clenching through the aftershocks, and he groaned, raw and broken, “God—fuck—can’t stop. Gonna cum, baby, can’t hold it.”
Your nails raked at his back, breathless whimpers spilling out as the friction on your throbbing clit tipped you into that sharp edge of pleasure and pain.
Then his hand fisted in your nightgown, tugging it down rough until your breasts spilled free. His mouth latched onto one immediately, sucking hard, teeth scraping, groaning into your skin like he was starving.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped between wet kisses, switching from one nipple to the other, greedy and messy. “Can’t wait till they’re makin’ milk for me. For our baby. Gonna drink from you every day, sweetheart—fuck.”
The filth of it had your cunt clenching around him so tight he almost lost it right there. He groaned against your chest, hips slamming harder, messy kisses smeared across the swell of your breast, up your collarbone, up your neck.
“Mine,” he snarled, pumping into you fast and ruthless, cock throbbing. “All mine. Gonna fill you up—fuck—take it, baby, take all of me.”
Your legs locked around his hips instinctively, dragging him deeper just as his thrusts grew wild, sloppy. He buried his face in your throat, teeth catching on your skin, and with one last brutal drive he spilled into you, hot and thick, his groan muffled against your pulse.
He didn’t stop right away either, hips jerking through it, grinding deep like he needed to leave himself inside you forever.
“Jesus,” he gasped against your neck, chest heaving, still sucking a bruise into your skin even as his cock pulsed inside you. “Can’t get enough of you. Never gonna get enough.”
Eventually he collapsed onto you like a felled tree, all heat and weight and sweat. His cock was still buried inside, softening but not quite out, keeping you full as his chest heaved against yours. The sheets stuck to your skin, damp with sweat, and his stubble scraped your jaw as he groaned something incoherent into your neck.
“Christ,” you muttered, voice hoarse, one hand smacking weakly at his back. “You’re a furnace. Get off before I suffocate.”
“Mmm.” It wasn’t a word so much as a grunt, his arms tightening around you like he meant to glue you in place. “Comfy here.”
“Comfy?” you scoffed, still trying to wriggle even as his cock gave a lazy twitch inside you that made your breath catch. “You’re crushing me, James. I’m literally pregnant. Get your giant bear body off before we both overheat.”
He lifted his head just enough to smirk down at you, hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen and red. “You love it.”
“Yeah,” you muttered dryly, brushing damp strands of hair out of his face. “Nothing sexier than drowning in my husband’s sweat.”
He hummed, unbothered, and bent to mouth at your tits again like he hadn’t just emptied himself inside you. Lazy, wet kisses that made you groan and shove half-heartedly at his head.
“Bucky.”
“Just cleanin’ up my mess,” he said with that infuriating smirk, even as he smeared spit and sweat across your skin.
You sighed, dropping your head back into the pillow. “You’re disgusting.”
“Agree to disagree,” he murmured, pressing another kiss against your collarbone, voice ragged but smug.
And then he settled all his weight back down on you again, satisfied as a wolf with a kill, leaving you overheated, pinned, and reluctantly too sated to fight him off.
His breathing slowed against your throat, heavy but evening out, the sharp edge of urgency bleeding into something slower, lazier. Just heavy, ragged breaths and the slow drag of his lips against your skin like he couldn’t stop touching, even half-asleep. His cock was still inside you, softening inch by inch, but he refused to pull out, hips pressed flush like he needed to stay plugged in.
One big hand pawed lazily at your breast, squeezing without finesse, thumb brushing over your nipple just to keep you twitching under him. The other cradled your side, careful, protective, his thumb tracing thoughtless circles just above the swell of your stomach. Even half-gone, drunk on you, he made damn sure not to press too much weight there.
“Mm,” he hummed, voice gravelly, face buried in your neck. His stubble scratched, his lips dragged, but his whole body was soft now, pliant in a way James Buchanan Barnes rarely let himself be. All soldier’s edges melted into your skin, replaced with something you could only call… cuddly.
“God, you’re a mess,” you muttered, though your hand betrayed you, sliding into his sweat-damp hair, combing through it slow. He melted under it, grumbling like a dog getting scratched in the right spot.
You sighed, letting your other hand trace the line of his spine, feeling the knots of muscle relax one by one. Begrudging, sure, but not enough to stop. Not when he was like this.
“Love you like this,” he slurred against your throat, words muffled, almost shy if not for the way his cock gave a sleepy twitch inside you. “All soft. All warm. Full’a me.”
You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, though your fingers kept threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered back, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.
He only hummed again, pressing his mouth to your skin, and you realized he was halfway to sleep like this—inside you, on top of you, arms wound tight as if letting go wasn’t an option.
And you let him. Because this was your husband. Your big, broody congressman with the super-soldier stamina and the mouth that wouldn’t quit. No one else got to have him like this. No one else got these kind of perks. Other bitches weren’t getting this dick every night.
So you lay there, fingers still in his hair, smug and exhausted, letting him sleep on top of you because—honestly—why wouldn’t you?
