Fade to Love: II
Fade to Love I
Summary: You and Bucky go way back. Way back to when you acted together 20 years ago. You had a crush on him then, but you were too young. You were best friends who shared a night. How's that working for you?
Word count: 5.3 K
Pairing: Actor!Director!Producer! Bucky Barnes x Reader
A/N: This is the sequel to Fade To Love. As always, I crave feedback, so please let me know how you feel in asks, comments, reblogs and likes. TIA! ❤️
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Best friends to lovers. AAANGST!, Referece to tragedy. Morning after thoughts, Mutual pining, argument, paparazzi, possessive Bucky, Director Bucky, nipple play, mirror sex, raw p-in v, bukkake, praise/degredation kink.
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----
You woke tangled in crisp white sheets that smelled like Bucky Barnes. Cedarwood and musk invaded your senses, dragging you back to the night before.
Memories of his lips and hands on you, tracing, worshipping, eating you out and eating you up, made heat rush to your cheeks. His voice, rough and commanding as he murmured your name and spilled his filthy thoughts, echoed in your mind.
The satisfying ache between your thighs was undeniable proof of just how thoroughly he’d fucked you. You stretched, your fingers grazing the cool edge of an unfamiliar bed.
Bucky’s bed.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, softening the room’s edges with a dreamy glow, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Doubts crept in.
Was he regretting it?
You shook your head, pushing the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time to spiral.
Spotting his dress shirt draped over a chair, you pulled it on, rolling the sleeves up your arms. His scent clung to the fabric, comforting and overwhelming all at once.
The man you’d crushed on when you were fifteen had been yours last night. Yours. Now it was 20 years later and you were a grown woman.
You were the envy of millions of women. And yet, the same man might not feel the same way now that the sun was up.
Padding down the hallway, you followed the sound of humming and the smell of coffee.
The sight that greeted you stole your breath.
Bucky stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of ease that seemed to define him.
Barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, he was the picture of domesticity. Damp curls clung to his forehead, still unruly from a recent shower.
“You’re up,” he said without turning, his voice warm and teasing.
“Thought you’d sleep in after last night. I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed.”
A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
“You could’ve woken me.”
Bucky turned then, his blue eyes sweeping over you in his shirt. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips before they curled into a slow, mischievous grin.
“Didn’t have the heart to. You looked... peaceful.”
You snorted softly, your irrational happiness bubbling over.
“Peaceful, huh?”
His grin widened, a smug, teasing glint lighting his eyes.
“Well, you were a little turned up last night.”
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands found your hips, his grip possessive yet gentle, and his expression softened.
“You okay?”
You nodded, meeting his gaze.
“Yeah, just... processing.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.
“Me too,” he murmured. “But I’m glad it happened.”
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled in your throat, too intense to voice. So you just nodded.
“Breakfast first,” he said, rubbing slow circles into your back.
“Then we’ll talk, okay?”
Seated at the kitchen island, a warm mug of coffee in your hands, you felt steady for a moment. The morning felt almost perfect.
Until your phone buzzed.
You glanced at the screen, and your stomach dropped.
TMZ: Idol’s Ridge Reunion? Bucky Barnes and Y/N Spotted Together Outside Studio.
Your hands trembled as you opened the article: Bucky brushing something from your eye, his hand lingering on your face, the way you looked at each other. The photos were painfully intimate.
“Everything okay?”
His voice jolted you from your thoughts. You flipped the phone face down, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Yeah.”
Bucky frowned, reaching for the phone. His expression darkened as he read the headline.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding in your chest.
Memories of relentless tabloid scrutiny rushed back, your whirlwind romance with Steve, the endless rumors, and the tragedy.
Bucky set the phone down, his jaw tightening.
“Star... I’ve got to tell you something.”
“What?”
His hesitation was a warning.
“I called them.”
“What?”
“It was for the show,” he explained quickly.
“The studio wanted buzz. This was the easiest way.”
“You called the paparazzi?”
Your voice rose, disbelief giving way to anger.
“Without telling me?”
“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal,” he defended.
“Not a big deal?” A bitter laugh escaped you.
“Bucky, you know what the tabloids did to me and Steve. How could you?”
“Don’t bring Steve into this,” he snapped, guilt and frustration coloring his tone.
Your chest tightened, and Bucky instantly knew that he messed up.
“He was my husband,” you said, your voice trembling as tears welled in your eyes.
“I only had him for five years, and I don’t talk about him if I can help it. So when I do, you better fucking listen.”
“Star, I…”
Bucky reached for you, regret etched into his features, but you stepped back.
“I need air,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and shoes before slamming the door behind you, shattering your heart into pieces.
—---
In the car, you drove aimlessly, your thoughts drifting back to Steve.
You could still remember the first time he told you he loved you on the rooftop of his and Bucky’s first apartment in Brooklyn, looking up at the night sky.
“I never thought I’d have this,” he’d said, his voice low and a little shy. “Someone like you. Someone who makes me feel like... home. I love you, Star.”
Your heart had felt like it might burst. You kissed him, tears in your eyes, and whispered the words back to him.
“I love you, too, Steve.”
Steve was such a force, brilliant, focused, and endlessly talented. But there was always an ache in him, something raw he kept hidden from everyone, including you.
You and Steve ran away and got married in Vegas, and when you got pregnant, Steve was over the moon. But then you lost the baby, and something in him broke. He retreated, pouring himself into work until it consumed him.
“I don’t know how to fix him,” you told your friend and co star Carol Danvers, or Carrie as you called her, one night, after one of Steve’s binges of self-destruction.
“You can’t fix him. That’s not your job. He has to want to fix himself.”
But he didn’t. Not really. And no matter how much you loved him, you couldn’t save him from himself.
And then he was gone.
Now, sitting in your driveway, tears streaming down your face, you sobbed into the steering wheel.
One night of forgetting had let you imagine, however briefly, that you could be happy again. But deep down, you knew better.
You and Bucky couldn’t happen. Because you’d only destroy him too.
—--
In the days that followed, the writer’s room buzzed with activity, but the vibe between you and Bucky was tense and cold.
You avoided him, throwing yourself into brainstorming sessions for the reboot of Idol’s Ridge with Sam and anyone else but Bucky, and worked very hard to get the show produced.
You spoke to him when you had to, but you weren’t giving him any more of yourself.
Even your friendship.
From across the room, Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He’d spent the last few days replaying every missed opportunity to tell you the truth about how he felt over the years, not just about the paparazzi, but about everything.
“You’re gonna lose her,” Sam said, his voice low enough that only Bucky could hear.
Bucky clenched his jaw.
“I’m giving her space.”
“You’re making it worse,” Sam countered.
“She’s gonna think you don’t care. She only has two more weeks until she goes on location for the movie. She won’t be back until it’s time for production on the show. You think she’ll wait forever?”
Bucky’s eyes lingered on you, your laughter floating across the room as you spoke with a studio exec. You didn’t even glance his way, and it gutted him.
Sam leaned forward, his voice softening.
“Sometimes the hardest things are the ones you need to say. I’ve seen how she looks at you, Buck. And how you look at her. You’ve been patient long enough. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”
Bucky swallowed hard, his heart pounding. The distance between you felt unbearable, but the fear of losing you felt worse.
He glanced at the script in front of him, the scene marked where your characters, Jack and Sophie, finally confessed their feelings after decades of missed chances. He silently made a plan to talk to you before you left for Vancouver.
Then he glanced up and your eyes met across the room.
Everything else disappeared.
He could feel the weight of the past few days in that glance, the frustration, the longing, the hope that you would see past the hurt and talk to him.
But then, before he could even get up from his chair, you turned away from him. It was a simple gesture, but it hit him like a punch to the gut. You were still angry. Still hurt.
And Bucky knew that he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to make things right.
—---
When you went to Vancouver to film, you felt a weight lifted. The pressure to hold yourself in around Bucky was lifted, and you were able to immerse yourself into the role.
You would be away for about six weeks of filming, and then traveling for two to promote the film you completed the year before. Your mood lightened and communicating with Bucky became easier since there was no danger of being in the same room with him.
But in your apartment late at night, the memories of that night would haunt your mind. And your body.
Bucky was restless as hell with you gone. The show was keeping him busy, as well as his other projects, but without you in LA, he felt unmoored.
He ate up every post on both your public and private instagrams, and mostly lurked in the years-old group chat that the OG Idol’s Ridge group had established, glad to see you joke around with the crew.
Until one day, Carrie dropped a grenade there.
The group chat, aptly named Day Ones buzzed with new messages as you stepped out of a meeting, your phone vibrating in your pocket.
Carrie: 📸💋 Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: our very own Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover star!!
The attached images loaded, one by one, and your stomach twisted at the sight of yourself. Your publicist had convinced you to do the photoshoot. SI had decided to feature over 30 models for their yearly iconic swimsuit edition.
You just got word that you would be the cover.
You were nervous as hell when you shared the pics, but you gave Carrie permission to drop them in the group chat.
There you were.
Sun-kissed skin, waves crashing behind you, barely-there bikini hugging your curves in a way that felt almost too intimate. The golden hour glow made everything seem unreal, but all you could see were the flaws, at least, the ones you were convinced were there.
Sam: Damn, Star. You out here making people weak in the knees. And by people, I mean Barnes.
You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes as more notifications poured in.
Carrie: Oh, he’s definitely not surviving this.
Bucky:
The message bubble popped up, then disappeared.
Then popped up again.
Then disappeared again.
Your brows furrowed as you waited, and finally, a single response came through.
Bucky: Holy. Shit.
That was it. Just two words, but they held a weight that had your breath catching in your throat.
Carrie: THAT’S IT?! That’s all you have to say?! Our girl is a goddamn goddess and all you can muster is Holy Shit?!
Sam: Pretty sure that’s his brain short-circuiting.
You: Don’t zoom in on my thighs. I swear to God.
Carrie: Too late.
Sam: Enhancing...
Bucky: No need. Already perfect.
You groaned, rolling your eyes before finally typing out a response.
You: You guys are ridiculous. It’s just a photoshoot. With strategic lighting. And Photoshop.
Bucky: Bullshit.
Your heart did a weird little flip at that.
Bucky: That’s all you. No Photoshop could ever do that justice.
Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Before you could think of a witty comeback, a new message appeared.
Bucky: I need a minute.
Sam: Oh, we know.
Carrie: 😈😈😈 Bucky Barnes, down BAD.
Sam: No, no, let him cook. I wanna see where this goes.
You: Y’all need to stop.
Heat flooded your cheeks as you locked your phone, but the warmth wasn’t just embarrassment. It was something else entirely.
And if you were honest with yourself, it was something you weren’t ready to deal with.
So, instead, you buried the feeling and headed back to set, pretending that Bucky Barnes hadn’t completely unraveled you with just a few simple words.
—--
Bucky sat at his desk, staring at his phone with his mouth open.
His heart was pounding and his throat was dry. He’d been trying to keep things controlled and professional, but he had absolutely no idea how to recover from this.
He just stared at the PA who asked for his coffee order, his ability to string together a coherent sentence gone.
Bucky had seen you in every possible light, laughing over late-night drinks, tearing into a script with that determined fire, wrapped up in nothing but his sheets.
But this? This was different.
This was you, untouchable, stunning, and completely unaware of the effect you had on him. And now millions of other men.
And the worst part? You didn’t even see it.
Good lighting and Photoshop?
Bullshit.
His hands flexed against his thighs as he dragged a palm down his face, exhaling sharply. The image of you, all beautiful curves and confidence for the camera, was burned into his brain, and no amount of self-discipline was going to erase it.
Then came the group chat’s relentless teasing. Sam and Carrie were enjoying his suffering way too much.
No, no, let him cook. I wanna see where this goes.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.
No, Sam didn’t want to know “where this goes,” because if Bucky had his way, you’d be in his lap right now, feeling exactly how undone he was and making a scene on Sam's desk.
He opened his laptop and poured all of his emotion into a script because he needed to do something.
Preferably something that didn’t end with him jumping on a plane to Canada.
—--
When you came back to LA to begin filming the series, you found a different man waiting for you.
Bucky Barnes, the director, wasn’t the same Bucky you tried to avoid before you left.
This version of him carried an edge of authority, and it was infuriatingly, irresistibly sexy. He wasn’t just directing a story; he was shaping the energy in the room, controlling every glance, every movement, every breath.
Especially yours.
You could see it in the way his eyes scanned the set, razor-sharp and calculated, ensuring every detail was in place, every piece of the puzzle aligned.
But when his gaze locked on yours, all that precision seemed to falter. Just for a moment. Just long enough for the tension between you to spark, and almost ignite.
It was erotic as hell.
“Alright, let’s set up for the next scene.”
Bucky’s voice cut through the set, steady and commanding, as he moved into position. He wasn’t just giving instructions now; he was stepping into the role opposite you, directing himself alongside you.
The weight of that hit you hard, a collision of the personal and professional that you weren’t sure you could handle.
You tried to focus on the lights, your marks, the lines you’d rehearsed a hundred times. Anything to avoid the way he overwhelmed you.
But it was impossible.
Every word he spoke, every glance he threw your way, was like an unraveling. The heat between you wasn’t just a distraction; it was dangerous.
“Closer,” Bucky said, his voice quieter now, meant only for you.
He stood just a few feet away, his blue eyes locked on yours, and that fact made it hard to breathe.
“We need the emotion to hit, to feel real. If the audience doesn’t believe this moment, none of it works.”
You nodded, your throat dry, trying to concentrate on the performance. But the way he looked at you, so intense, so raw, it cut through all your defenses.
He stepped closer, his movements careful, testing the tension between you.
“This has to feel authentic,” he murmured.
Another step, and he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.
“Closer,” he said again, and this time, it wasn’t just a direction.
“The kiss. It’s the turning point. It can’t feel forced. Let it feel real.”
His tone stayed professional, but his eyes told a different story. They burned with conflict, frustration, and something else you didn’t want to name.
You swallowed hard as he closed the distance between you, his proximity enough to make your heart race.
“Trust me,” he said, his tone softer now and his gaze softer still. He was asking for more than your performance.
The cameras rolled.
“Action!”
You fell into the rhythm of the scene, the dialogue, the choreography. But with every word, every movement, the line between acting and reality blurred. His direction, always precise, always clear, made the emotions feel far too real.
And then came the kiss.
Bucky didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, his touch firm but careful, and his lips met yours in a way that was supposed to be calculated and rehearsed.
But it wasn’t.
The kiss wasn’t just for the camera.
It was real. Achingly, undeniably real. His grip on your waist, the way his lips pressed against yours, the slight hitch in his breath; it was all Bucky.
And it was everything you hadn’t wanted to admit.
When he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, and you couldn’t meet his eyes. Not when everything you’d been trying to bury was now out in the open, raw and exposed.
For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing unsteady.
The camera captured every second of it.
“Cut,” Bucky said as though he just remembered what was happening.
His voice was rough, and the cracks in his control were showing.
The crew reset for another take, their chatter and movement distant, irrelevant. You stayed where you were, barely an inch apart, your heart pounding against your ribs.
“You’re doing great,” Bucky said softly, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear.
Those blue eyes searched yours.
“But we need to go deeper. You have to trust me.”
His words lingered in the air, heavy with double meaning. You couldn’t tell if he was talking about the scene or something between you, but it didn’t matter.
“Let’s go again,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, his gaze never leaving yours.
Your knees were weak at the request.
And in that moment, the lines between the director and the man disappeared completely.
—-
Moments later, Bucky prowled the length of his trailer, restless. Physical distance hadn’t helped a damn bit.
He wanted you. And want was too tame a word for what he was feeling.
The kiss had been real, and now the slow burn of his feelings had erupted into an uncontrollable inferno. And if there hadn’t been an entire soundstage full of people, he would’ve done something about it.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he realized his fingers were trembling.
This had to stop.
—---
Bucky knocked on the door of your trailer, his chest heaving, his mind a whirlwind. He couldn’t shake what had happened in that scene. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that.
It wasn’t supposed to feel so real.
But it had.
And now, he was standing outside your door, hands unsteady, wondering if he’d completely lost his grip on what was professional and what was personal.
Inside, you still felt the ghost of his lips on yours, his voice in your ear. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pretend it hadn’t affected you. Couldn’t pretend it hadn’t torn down all the walls you’d built.
The knock came. Your heart flipped. You knew who it was.
But you hesitated.
You told yourself opening that door was a bad idea. That letting him in would only complicate things. But the truth was, the door had been open for a long time.
So, you let him in.
Bucky stepped inside, and suddenly, the space felt too small. He lingered by the door, and you could see the tension in his body, and the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself.
The weight of his gaze fell on you.
And you shifted, your thighs pressing together for relief, and fuck, if that wasn’t a mistake. Because Bucky’s eyes caught the movement. His breath hitched, and for the briefest second, his lips parted like he was imagining something filthy.
Like he was remembering the taste of you.
You took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Not when he was looking at you like that.
"I--" His voice faltered.
He swallowed hard.
"That scene… was too much."
You stared at him.
"What do you mean, too much?"
His jaw clenched.
"You were too good. Too real. I didn’t mean for it to be like that."
Your heart was going a mile a minute. He wasn't making any sense.
“What do you mean, too good? You didn’t mean for what to happen, Bucky?”
He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And in that moment, you knew.
It was written all over his face.
He loved you.
And he had for a long time.
"You’re a fucking amazing actress. You sold that kiss back there. I…"
He licked his lips, gaze dropping to your mouth, his voice going rough.
"But I think you’ll never give me another chance at it. Not outside of a production set.”
His words made your stomach flip, but before you could respond, he stepped closer to you.
"I can’t stand this anymore. This distance. Dammit, Star, I want my friend back."
You cocked your head at him, playful.
"I thought you said you weren’t my fucking friend."
A slow, knowing smile pulled at Bucky’s lips, his charm breaking through the tension. He remembered that he’d said that while inside you.
"I did say that, didn’t I?"
He moved even closer, testing the waters, drinking in the way you didn’t move away.
"You remember that night?"
Your breath caught.
"Yes. I do."
"Good." His voice dropped, low and rough. "Because it’s all I fucking think about."
A shiver ran down your spine.
"How we had a few hours of bliss before… I fucked it up. I think about that and so much more."
His voice was raw with regret.
“What else do you think about, Buck?”
He let out a shaky breath.
"I think about how I told you my fantasies. About how I said a lot of dirty things to you, but not the dirtiest secret in my heart."
He reached up, fingers skimming the length of your arm, curling around your shoulder, finally cradling your face in his hand. His thumb brushed against your cheek.
"You’re so damn beautiful, Starlight."
Your lips parted. “Is that the secret?”
You were scared, but still cracked a joke.
Bucky huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
"Nah. That’s not a secret. That’s something the whole damn world knows."
He looked at you like he was memorizing you.
"My secret is that I love you, Star."
His voice was barely above a whisper, but it crashed over you like a tidal wave.
"I’ve loved you for years."
The air was sucked out of the room.
"I fell in love with you when you were 20 and I was 25."
He nodded when your mouth fell open.
"I remember the first time I really saw that you had grown into a full grown woman. I was visiting your set set with Steve, and you were just… talking, laughing. Your hair was short then, and it suited you so well.
You were so full of life, so damn beautiful. But I knew that you were off-limits, Steve wanted you. So I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make things complicated. But, fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I still can’t."
The way he said it made your heart ache.
"You didn’t tell me," you whispered. My 21st birthday… you let Steve..."
"Yeah." Bucky exhaled, his voice thick with regret.
"I let Steve buy you that first drink. And I stood there across the room, watching him hand it to you, and it felt like I’d been punched in the chest."
His voice dropped to barely a whisper.
"I was going to tell you that night. But then... you looked at him like you’d never looked at me. And I thought... maybe you were better off with him."
Your breath caught in your throat.
“But that was then. You and I are here. Right now. And I don’t want to hold back any more.”
“Then don’t,” you whispered, stepping closer, your hand reaching out, brushing against his chest.
The feel of his body under your fingers made your pulse race. You realized that happiness wasn’t conditional, and that you weren’t in control of love. You decided to let yourself believe in him and in the possibility of what could come next.
“I love you too, Bucky.”
His face transformed with joy, his smile was huge.
“Really?”
You nodded, grinning back.
“Really really.”
Bucky laughed a little, then his mouth found yours, the kiss deepening with every movement, every breath. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall of the trailer.
The space between you was gone, and all that was left was this moment, this undeniable pull that had always been there, waiting for the right time.
You couldn’t resist him.
You didn’t want to.
“Definitely not your friend anymore.”
You laughed and then your mouths devoured each other, tongues licking, caressing, tasting. Your hands grabbed, pushed clothes off, tore at buttons, and ripped at fabric. Wardrobe be damned.
Your heavy breaths mingled, and you exchanged incoherent confessions.
“Missed you so much…”
“Not more than I did.”
“Oh My God, you feel so good!”
“No, you do!”
“Felt like forever.”
You ended up in your underwear, straddling Bucky’s lap. One of his hands pulled your bra cups down to pinch and roll your nipples, while the other one slid your underwear to the side and started rubbing along your wet slit.
“Feel so fucking good, Starlight. So fucking hot.”
You grabbed on to his broad shoulders, still covered by a shirt that had lost most of its buttons. But his eyes were on your nipples, tongue moistening his lips.
"I want to taste them."
"So do that," you whispered.
Those now navy blue eyes flicked up to yours.
"I wasn't asking your permission."
You gasped when he circled his finger around a nipple and flicked it over the tight bud.
"Bucky…" you moaned and squirmed on his lap.
"It's a mouthful, isn't it?" he murmured as if to himself as he bent and swirled his tongue around the bud before pulling it into his mouth.
"Oh."
Bucky gorged himself on the nipple and realized he couldn't get enough. He switched to the other nipple, his tongue flicking over the bud before giving it the same treatment he'd given the other one. All the while the hand on your pussy rolled your clit with the pad of his thumb, and you were so fucking close to heaven.
“Bucky’… I… I want you, baby. Inside…”
He held you in place by the waist with one arm, and pulled down his pants and underwear with the other, exposing your long lost best friend. At the sight of the drop of precum adorning the engorged head, your mouth watered, and Bucky caught the hungry look on your face.
“Later, Star. Right now, I need to see you to cum all over my dick. Been dreaming of this since the last time you were in my arms.”
Bucky lifted you off his lap and set you on your unsteady feet, rising behind you and kicking off his clothes. He moved you in front of the floor length mirror near your wardrobe rack and loomed over your shorter frame in the mirror.
You shamelessly rubbed yourself on his hard, erect cock after your remaining clothes were discarded.
“Look at us.”
When you do, you were assaulted by the sensuality of your reflections. The contrast of his golden skin and your complexion, of his large, hard body and your smaller, curvy form. His long fingers massaged your sensitive breasts. His dark curls pointed every which way, and your careful hair and makeup were completely undone.
Bucky locked his eyes on yours as he pumped the head of his cock at your entrance and rubbed it between your sleek folds. He traced a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, raising goosebumps all over your skin.
“I want us both to watch you cum,” he whispered before nipping at your earlobe.
At his dirty words, a spasm ran through your body. You squeezed your thighs together, making the fit around his cock even tighter.
“Fuuuuck…” Bucky dragged out, low and gravelly.
Bucky lifted you by the bottom of your thighs, the head of his dick still at your opening, and he started to fill you nice and slow, inch by delicious inch.
You saw your exposed labia in the mirror: glistening, pink, engorged, and stretched. You didn’t know if you were going to come from the pleasure building through your body or the erotic image in the mirror.
When he was seated deep inside you, Bucky let your legs slide down your bodies, and grabbed your waist.
“Hold on,” was his only warning, before two of his fingers reached for your clit, pinching it, as he started pistoning inside you, slamming you back into him with the hand at your hip.
You felt your orgasm building towards its explosion, and closed your eyes, lost in the sensation.
“No…” Bucky growled
“Look at me. This is mine. You’re mine. Look at me when you cum.”
You forced your eyes open and gasped out an impossible breath. The sounds of flesh against flesh, the wet noises, the smell of sex… so many sensations combined to push you over the edge.
You came undone, desperately fighting to maintain eye contact with Bucky, and feeling him start to come undone himself.
He pulled out of you and you watched him grab the base of his cock, staving off his own end.
You slid down to your knees.
“We watched my show, Buck, now it’s time for us to watch you cum. All over my face.”
“Oh, my dirty little girl. My naughty queen. So fucking good for me.”
Bucky started stroking his cock, his hand blurring as you opened your mouth wide and stuck out your tongue, your hands clutching his thighs as he jerked for you.
“Mmmmmph… Fuckkkk, Starrrrr.”
It didn’t take long for Bucky to spray his hot, white cum all over your tongue and the rest of your face.
Bucky huffed and almost doubled over at the intensity of his orgasm. He gave you a filthy cum filled kiss before you went to wash your face.
You wound up in the shower making up for lost time, standing wrapped up in Bucky, firmly in the present.
———
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