It's too damn hot, the AC is broken, and your boyfriend is a furnace. But there are solutions.
Bucky Masterlist
word count: 1.1k
warnings: pussy slapping, Bucky's vibranium hand, fingering... just a bit of heatwave filth, really. Encouraged by the gif above, darling @sunday-bug ☀️ and my other feral beauties in the gc.
There was sweat in places you couldn't even begin to imagine.
It pooled in the small of your back, in the valley of your breasts, the crook of your elbow, the backs of your knees, behind your ear.
“Engineers said next week,” Bob huffed, flopping down on the floor. Even the marble tiles were hot to the touch.
“I'll be dead by next week,” Lena groaned.
“Think I'm dead now.” You sighed. You shifted an inch to the left, peeling your leg off the one next to you.
The leg moved an inch closer.
You moved another inch away.
When it went to move again, you slapped your palm down hard on their bare leg.
“Ow! Shit!”
“Buck, you're like a furnace. Stop putting your leg against me,” you whined.
“How is every engineer in City busy?” Alexei demanded. “I fix it!”
“No!” Half a dozen voices rang out in unison.
“I'll fix it,” Bucky announced, standing up.
For you, the relief was immediate.
“You?” Ava asked, highly skeptical.
“Me. Fixed Sam's boat. What's an AC unit gonna do?”
“Blow up?” You shrugged.
“Better come with me then, in case it explodes.”
“No way.”
“It'll be cooler in the basement?”
“Deal.”
Across the room, John nudged Ava and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Have fun!”
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”
“In this heat?” Lena grimaced. “Disgusting.”
“Fuck you, Walker!” You gave him the middle finger as you followed Bucky out of the room and into the elevator.
“You've gotta stop touching me in front of them,” you said as soon as the doors were closed. “They're gonna know.”
“They already do, babe.” He shrugged.
The basement was cooler, barely.
You found the hopeless AC unit wheezing and whirring. Bucky looked around it, his eyebrows pinched together.
Whatever this was, it hadn't been going on for long. Weeks and months of tense sparring sessions, flirty comments, and open ogling had culminated in him turning up at your door one night and barely putting you down since.
You hopped up to sit on a crate while he ‘worked’. In reality, it was a chance to ogle.
“Can feel you watching me, sweetheart. Something you need?”
“In this heat? Come near me and I'll bite you.”
“Promise?” As he turned to ask the question, he yanked a hose out of the unit.
With a violent hiss, a plume of freezing mist streamed out. “Oh. Shit.” He turned back to the unit.
“Want me to hold anything?” You peered around the unit. While you were distracted, he placed his left palm on the back of your neck.
The vibranium was ice cold against your hot, sticky skin. “Ohh fuck -” you breathed.
“Yeah?” He stepped behind you, replacing his hand with his mouth. His hand, still cold, pulled the neck of your cami down and pinched your quickly pebbling nipple.
Your head fell back onto his shoulder, giving him a perfect view down your body. Your back arched into his touch.
“Still too hot?” He murmured against your neck.
“Mmm, why? You gonna cool me down?”
“Gonna try,” he removed his hand, warmed by your skin, and put it back in the path of the freezing steam.
“S'too hot, Buck,” you insisted, moving out of his hold. Your body was on fire.
“C'mon, I'll do that thing?” He held you tighter, his voice pleading. “Need to touch you, baby.”
The fog hissed, curling around his wrist.
He dragged the cold vibranium fingers back along your collarbone, then lower, tracing the swell of your breast until you gasped. The contrast made your skin pebble under his touch - hot and flushed, meeting ice cold metal.
“That better?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.
You didn’t answer. Not with words, just a low, breathy moan.
He circled your nipple with the very tips of his fingers, letting the cold settle in, sharp enough to make you shiver - then cupped your breast in full. A soft whimper escaped you, hips twitching as heat pooled low in your belly.
“Still too warm,” he said, almost to himself.
His hand slipped lower. Past your stomach. Down between your thighs.
The first brush of cold fingers against your slick heat made your whole body jolt.
“Fuck,” you hissed, breath catching.
“That’s it,” he murmured, dragging the metal through your folds again - slower this time, letting you feel the contrast between hot and cold.
Then - a sharp, deliberate slap.
It wasn’t hard, just sudden - a stinging smack of cold against the wet heat of your pussy, and your hips bucked instinctively, a broken moan tearing from your throat.
“Jesus,” you gasped, “do that again.”
He chuckled low in your ear. “Told you.”
Another slap, a little firmer this time. The sound of it, sharp and obscene, sent a shockwave straight through your gut. Then his fingers were between your folds, stroking with slow, steady pressure - cool vibranium rubbing where you needed it most.
“You’re soaking,” he growled. “All that heat getting to you?”
“You,” you whispered, grinding into his hand. “It’s you, Bucky, fuck -”
One finger slid inside - impossibly cold, your body clenching around him eagerly, greedy for it. Then another. He moved them in slow, curling thrusts while his thumb circled your clit in soft, frosty sweeps.
His teeth grazed your neck, his right hand held your hip steady while his left had you seeing god.
It was overwhelming. Heat and cold, sharp slaps and gentle strokes - your nerves couldn’t tell which was coming next.
When he smacked you again, right against your clit this time, your whole body jerked, your thighs trembling. He held you up against him, your back slicked with sweat against his broad chest.
“Oh my god,” you whimpered, hips grinding helplessly against him, pressing hard against your ass. “Don’t stop, please -”
“Not planning to, sweetheart.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the heel of his hand pressing just right. And when he slapped you again, just once more, timed perfectly, it tipped you over the edge.
You came hard, body arching, a cry caught in your throat as everything clenched and broke open.
He held you through it, murmuring something against your neck you couldn’t even hear over the rush of blood in your ears.
“Oh god,” you breathed heavily.
With an obscene pop, he removed his hand from your aching pussy. He brought his digits to your mouth and you licked them clean.
He turned you gently, leaning you against the AC unit, pulled your top back up, and placed the softest kiss to your lips.
He weaved his hand through the freezing steam one more time and placed it between your shoulder blades. The cool relief made you sigh, the memory of his cold touch made your hips jerk against him, still hard.
“You not done, baby?”
Despite the heat, you arched into him, winding your arms around his neck.
“Not even close. Come take a cold shower with me?”
“Shower?” he grinned, gripping your thighs. “Nah, I want to make you sweat harder first.”
- Alice is so excited about the outside world and getting to explore what little part of it she can that whenever some insect comes in through the window–be it a fly, a bee, a butterfly, a beetle, a wasp or whatever else–she immediately tries to catch it without considering the possible danger in that. She is not afraid that any of those animals may try to hurt her. Her papa definitely is, though. So he resorts to chasing them away but after the first few times that that ended up in Alice crying and being upset about it for days, he figured that that isn’t a viable strategy. So he allowed her to watch and study them on condition that she won’t touch them. She still managed to get her hands on some of them, though, when he was busy doing some chores or was out of the tower. He was super scared for her because if something happened that would require medical attention, he wouldn’t be able to get help for her since she was trapped in the tower. But the insects never seemed to try to harm Alice since she was always gentle and loving towards them.
- Killian decided that he had to teach Alice very well what is dangerous and what isn’t. And not just in her immediate surroundings. He dreaded the thought of Alice finally being free only for her to run into an ogre or try to cuddle into a bear because it’s fluffy. So he made sure to explain to her which things were dangerous and why from a very early age. Alice knew so much about the world that sometimes that knowledge just frustrated her because it made her prison seem even smaller. She just wanted to get out there and explore. However, she didn’t want her papa to worry about her so she always diligently tried to remember everything he taught her.
- Alice was never really afraid of the dark. She said that it is true that hostile creatures may lurk in the shadows. But there was always the chance that they are even more afraid of you than you are of them. So she was willing to offer a hand to any “beast” she might meet in the darkness. But the one thing that truly scared her was loneliness. She’d prefer to meet a monster than spend eternity all alone. And sometimes after she woke from a nightmare, she’d cling to her papa to the point where he’d have to spend the night in her bed if he wanted her to be able to go back to sleep.
- When Alice becomes older and starts seeing Gothel in her dreams, the witch is added to her short list of fears. Even if in most of her dreams she doesn’t do anything. Alice is really scared of her, of the threatening presence that’s always there and that she can’t free herself of. She even refused to sleep at one time because she was afraid of seeing the witch in her dreams since that always put her so on edge. Killian had to put off one of his trips to the outside world because he couldn’t leave her alone. He had to make her some tea to help with her nerves and convince her that sleeping is the only way for her to see the sea in her dreams. But he promised that he’d soon change that. Even if one of his biggest fears was that he’d fail to keep that promise. His starfish’s comfort was more important and he knew that for her he’d find a way to do anything.
You would think as the sole mod to Knight Rook: A History, I would have a really cool fic or meta to start off this project!
...You would be wrong.
My writing abilities for anything other than my rewatch reviews have rendered me to write diddly shit as of late.
So why am I writing a post about all of this, you may ask?
Well, if I’m not gonna write a fic (and trust me when I say NO ONE in their right mind would want to see me do art), I figured for today, I’d develop fun headcannons about life in the tower. Maybe a fun conversation about that time period will develop from these headcannons. You never know!
I might keep this up for the rest of the week if the muse doesn’t improve and people like them, but for now here’s ten headcannons about tower life for Killian and Alice for you to enjoy!
1. Killian and Alice played a game where they’d sneak up on the other to boop them on the nose. It made for a welcome distraction when they got bored, and taught Alice about patience and the need for a strategy when Alice needed exercise.
2. Alice leaned against the barrier that held her in the tower like the back of a chair. That way, she could feel a little bit of wind on her back. Even though Killian knew the barrier wouldn’t give way thanks to Alice’s curse, seeing her lean against what looked like nothing never ceased to freak him out. He swears that a good deal of his gray hairs came from it.
3. Alice has had her moody days -- they happen when you’re trapped in a freakin’ tower for potentially your whole life -- but one the day when her Papa kept making pirate puns, she actually wanted to throw herself off of it.
4. The first girl Alice ever had a crush on was the Enchanted Forest 2.0’s equivalent of Snow White. The story of Snow White was one of the books that was already in the tower and her and that Charming finished up their story decades before Alice was born.
5. Alice loved seeing her Papa return to the tower from supply runs on days where the weather was crazy. There would be leaves in his hair on windy ones, droplets of rain all over him during storms, and snow heaved over his shoulders in the winter. Killian actually makes sure he has even more effects of the weather on him before climbing up the tower so Alice has more to play with and feel.
6. One time, Alice and Killian made a birdhouse together so that Alice could have some more spontaneous animal friends. For a while, it worked and held together very nicely. Alice got to see bluebirds and robins up close. However, a particularly nasty storm flung it off the tower. Alice was about five when this happened and was so distraught because of all the time she put into that first one that Killian knew she’d never want a replacement.
7. By the time Killian’s heart was cursed, Alice was reading at a college level. Some of the books Killian brought back were about advanced anatomy. Alice dug deep into them, asking Killian a million little questions a day so she could understand them. It kept her occupied like nothing else and while never practicing it, she could feasibly talk someone through some surgeries.
8. For one of Alice’s birthdays, Killian got her a small violin. He actually had no idea how to play it so he actually learned as Alice taught him. She wasn’t that good at it, but she played serviceably well.
9. Alice’s magic showed itself in little ways from time to time, but neither she nor Killian knew it at the time. Sometimes, when Alice really didn’t want to clean up her toys, as her back was turned, one or two of them would put themselves away. Once, when she was sick, a bit of sugar was added to her medicine to make it tastier. The most powerful display was once when her magic pushed a huge gust of wind into the tower, showing Alice a fun and crazy time.
10. Killian had to learn how to cook more land-based foods like chicken and pork so that he could keep both himself and Alice adequately fed. Through this, he learned that land actually had its own cool adventures to it.
Bucky and the Thunderbolts go to a burlesque show, not realising they know one of the performers.
Bucky Barnes x f!curvyQueen Reader
Warnings: burlesque, stripping, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v, Bucky breaks the bed (see gif)
Word Count: 5.2k
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
He had no idea how Yelena had found the place - he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was not his scene, he knew that much.
“You never seen a bunch of strippers before, Buck?” Walker had asked with a snigger.
Yelena sighed, about to interject.
Alexei slammed a hand on the table. “No! This is classy joint, with classy ladies -”
“Who are still strippers.”
“It's an art, Walker, something you know shit all about.” Ava rolled her eyes.
The host leaned into the mic, grinning at the dimly lit round tables like he had a secret.
“There's a funny thing about live shows… sometimes we’re a performer short. But lucky for us, a very dear friend of mine was willing to slip into something… inappropriate,” he let that linger with a lascivious wink, “and help us out tonight.”
The crowd whooped, the lights dimmed, and an expectant hush settled over the room.
Bucky didn’t think twice - he sipped his drink, half-distracted by Alexei’s running commentary about the high end establishments he'd been to. And then the spotlight hit the stage.
And his whole body stopped.
Stopped thinking, stopped everything.
Because that was absolutely not the same woman who had spent the afternoon in sweatpants, trying to lick chocolate off the inside of her elbow.
The same woman who'd raced Bob down the hallway, sliding on the polished floor in her socks to see who could skid the furthest (and had nearly broken her wrist in the process).
This version of her? This was glitter and silk and confidence. A coy smile painted across her ruby red lips, a huge feather fan in each hand.
The music swelled behind her. She looked like she owned the stage.
Bucky couldn’t breathe.
The fans fluttered, he could feel the breeze from the movement.
He stole a glance at Yelena, hardly daring to look away for longer than necessary.
“Lena-”
“I know, right?!” She breathed.
“You knew?”
“I found the flyer in her room. Ssh!”
The crowd leaned forward as she sashayed to the center of the stage, the feathers hiding most of her body. She peeked over them, mock-shy, then snapped them open with a flourish for the quickest second of his life before closing them again.
The sequins on her bejeweled corset caught every light in the room.
Legs wrapped in stockings and garters, the curve of her waist pulled tight, and the swell of her breasts peeking out over the top of the corset. The mould of an hourglass.
Bucky’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t look away.
She strutted toward the front of the stage on what were potentially the highest heels he'd ever seen.
The centre of the stage gave way to a few steps and she teetered down them, still holding the strategically placed feathers. With each step, she exaggerated the swing and sway of her hips, plush, soft flesh occasionally peeping out through the fans.
Her curves weren’t something the costume tried to disguise - they were the act itself, deliberate and dazzling, the kind of body that didn’t ask for attention so much as demanded it.
She extended one arm, and used the other to shield her body giving a table at a time a glimpse of what was underneath - sand slipping through everyone’s fingers, not just his.
At their table, heard before they'd been seen thanks to Alexei, she did the same, giving no indication that she'd been caught off guard by them being there.
The music curled around her like smoke, sultry and playful in turns. She fluttered the fans, letting them slip just far enough apart to flash a glittering edge of sequins before snapping them shut again with a cheeky grin.
A wolf-whistle rose from the crowd. She pretended to scowl, wagging a finger, before giving the smallest shimmy of her hips that shook the feathers. Laughter rippled through the room, easy and delighted.
She held the fans open with Yelena trapped in between, the only one able to see the corset up close. Yelena whooped loud enough to make the next table jump.
And then she turned back, covering herself up, her gaze sweeping the room - until it landed right on him.
Bucky went stock-still.
She sauntered closer, one fan in front, one behind, teasing the crowd with little half-turns, never quite revealing more than she wanted. Every sway of her hips hit like a bullet. She was in absolute command, the kind of control he had never seen her wield - not in training, not in battle, not in the Tower hallways.
Every movement seemed to celebrate the fullness of her - the curve of her thighs, the generous line of her hips, the soft strength of a body that owned every inch of itself.
When she reached his side of the table, she paused deliberately. Smiled down at him like he was just another face in the crowd.
She turned her back on him, lowering the fan to reveal the ribbons lacing the corset to her back. At the bottom, they formed a wide bow - a gift begging to be opened. With a flick of her wrist, she moved the fan completely revealing the full effect of what was left of her costume.
His hands curled into fists on his thighs.
She peeked over her shoulder, faking exasperation, then shimmied her ass in front of him, the bow flicking against her skin.
It wasn’t dainty; it was deliciously decadent - the kind of shimmy that could stop hearts and start trouble.
The audience giggled. “Get over here, honey, I’ll take it off with my teeth!” A voice shouted.
She frowned in mock disapproval, placing a finger in front of her pouting red lips to quiet the heckler - then turned back toward Bucky, her lashes low. She was close enough that he caught a whiff of her perfume and dangled the ribbon between her fingers, cocking her head. An invitation.
“Be a doll,” she purred, pressing the end into his hand like it was nothing at all. “Hold this for me.”
The crowd roared as she spun away, but Bucky didn’t hear them. He only felt the weight of the word slam into his chest, the satin sliding through his fingers as she tugged the ribbon loose with every swinging step.
The word cracked through him like a gunshot. Doll. His word, his habit, thrown back at him like it was a private joke.
He didn’t breathe as she turned away, sashaying back to the stage with one feather fan behind her back and one in front while the ribbon unfurled, loop by loop, tug by tug.
The ribbon slipped free with the last tug, the corset collapsing in a glittering heap at her heels.
She froze mid-step, eyes going wide, feather fans clutched to her chest in an exaggerated gasp. A perfectly over-the-top oh no! expression spread across her face.
The crowd howled.
She shuffled back and carefully took a step away from the structured garment, fanning herself as though scandalized, then peeked coyly over the plumes. And just when the laughter peaked, she dropped the act with a wicked little grin.
The fans snapped open, then lowered - just enough to reveal the gleam of jeweled nipple tassels. She gave a playful shimmy, once, twice, enough for the sequins to catch the spotlight.
The movement made her curves ripple like silk - full, soft, and gloriously alive - and the audience couldn’t get enough. They erupted in cheers.
She leaned into it, biting her lip in feigned surprise at the reaction, then winked as if to say oh, you like that?
Bucky’s knuckles were white around the ribbon still trapped in his hand. He could barely process the noise of the room - all he could see was the line of her smile, the tease in her eyes, the impossible, intoxicating way she made the whole stage her own.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Because she wasn’t just the woman he’d been trying not to want since the day she'd moved in - she was fire, control, comedy, sex, everything.
And she’d just called him doll.
She was as good as naked in front of him - and he’d been the one to unwrap her.
The crowd was still laughing, still clapping, when she shifted again. The fans rose, fluttering higher this time, then, with a flick of her wrists, she tossed them aside.
The spotlight kissed every jeweled edge of what little remained. Gilded knickers glittering at her hips, stockings held tight with delicate garters, the swell of her breasts crowned with glittering tassels that winked like they had secrets of their own.
The light traced the lines of her body - the generous slope of her waist, the plush curve of her thighs, every contour catching gold. She wasn’t sculpted thin; she was carved soft, radiant, utterly woman.
She dragged one finger slowly down the curve of her body, from the dip of her throat to the sparkle of her waistband. A sharp snap followed - her garter tugged and released, the sound cutting through the roar of the room.
Bucky’s throat went dry.
She turned slowly and deliberately bent at the hip to touch her toes. The line of her back, the endless stretch of her legs in those impossible heels, the curve of her ass - everything about her wrapped in silk and sequins set his skin alight.
There was nothing fragile about her beauty - it was lush, powerful, and real, the kind that made restraint feel impossible.
She could topple empires. She was so perfect that he don’t know whether to get on his knees for her or bend her over until she forgot her own name.
And then, just like that, it was over.
She straightened, blew a kiss toward the ceiling, and shimmied offstage with a grin that said she’d known exactly what she was doing the whole time.
The host bounded back into the spotlight, beaming. “God, I love that corset trick. Gets me every time. Ladies and gentlemen, wasn’t she incredible?”
The room erupted, the noise thundering in his ears.
But Bucky barely heard it. His pulse was still stuck back there - at the ribbon in his hand, at her voice purring doll, at the moment she’d looked right at him and burned the floor out from under his feet.
He sat frozen, the roar of the crowd nothing but static. Wanting everything.
Wanting her.
~~~~
She reappeared shortly after the interval clutching amber liquid over ice in a glass and fully dressed - a total contrast of jeans and a hoodie combined with the glamorous make-up and hair.
“Girl!”
She tsked at Yelena’s excitement. “Don’t girl me, what the hell are you doing here?!”
“I saw the flyer in your room, I thought it could be a fun night out -”
“It is, when I'm not the one performing!”
“I am happy for our mistake!” Alexei beamed proudly.
John’s jaw shifted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You offered to do that?” he asked, and there was a sparkle in his eye this time. “Well… you really killed it out there.”
She settled at the table, sliding into the chair between Ava and Bucky.
“Ok,” Alexei declared, “first, we need details. How you did not tell anyone you were such magnificent performer?!”
“I… It was as past life,” she said innocently. “I didn’t think it would ever come up.”
“A past life!” Ava laughed, “until you offered to give it another go, you mean!”
Yelena clapped her hands, eyes shining. “I knew! I knew there was something in your past! And you were amazing, like… like a queen of feathers and sparkles!”
She laughed, rolling her eyes, but the warmth in her chest couldn’t be denied. “Yelena, you’re ridiculous. I just covered for tonight, that’s all. It was a favour for a friend.”
Bucky shifted slightly in his seat, just enough to be noticed if she looked his way. She didn’t - and he let her not see, even as his fists tightened around his glass. His jaw flexed; the sight of her on stage still burned behind his eyelids.
“Well, I’m converted.” John said suddenly, smiling. “Not that I was judging, but… wow. You were… completely in control. Commanded the stage.”
She shot him a glance, eyebrows raised. “Thanks, I think?”
“Yeah, don’t let him fool you,” Yelena teased. “He was definitely judging at first but now he’s acting all proud.”
Ava turned her attention, leaning over, her elbows on the table. “So, Bucky, what did you think?”
He didn’t answer immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly. His jaw tensed, a shadow of that earlier fire behind his gaze.
Ava pursed her lips. “Guess you’re not a fan.”
She met his stare for the briefest instant before looking away, he heard her heart stuttering. “Uh… it’s fine, you’re quiet. I see how it is.”
Bucky’s attention snapped back to his drink. Not a word escaped his mouth, but every line of his posture, every narrowed gaze toward the stage earlier, screamed the truth.
Ava nudged her gently, sweetly raising her spirits again.
Silence hung heavy between them, full of words neither dared speak. The rest of the table erupted into chatter and teasing, but he stayed still, just watching her, simmering, contained - but the electricity between them practically crackled through the table.
~~~~
He could tell she’d expected him to say something by now. Anything. A joke. A tease. Hell, even voice his disapproval. Instead, he’d walked beside her in silence all the way back to the Tower.
When the others peeled off toward their rooms, she finally snapped. “Alright, Barnes. Out with it.”
He stopped and turned. His face unreadable in the dim hallway light. “Out with what?”
She folded her arms. Defensively. Protecting herself from whatever she thought he was about to say.
“The judging. The moral high ground. Whatever it is you’ve been brooding about since the show.”
That got a reaction. His jaw flexed and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You think I’m judging you?”
“Aren’t you?” She shot back. Heat crept up his neck. “You didn’t say a word when Ava asked. I saw your face, Barnes. You didn’t laugh, you didn’t clap - you didn’t even blink. I get it, ok? It’s not your thing.”
She turned to go, but his hand closed gently around her wrist. Not pulling - just holding her there.
“Not my thing?” He asked. His voice was low, rough. Dangerous. “Doll, I’ve been trying not to touch you since the second those lights hit you.”
He heard the catch in her breath.
“You wanna know why I didn’t say anything back there?” His eyes burned into her, unflinching. “Because I couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth in front of them, I would’ve told the whole fuckin’ table how hard it was just to sit there while you -” His hand flexed against her wrist, restrained. “While you looked like that. Like every fucking thing I’ve been trying not to want.”
The air between them pulsed, hot and unsteady.
“Bucky…”
He stepped closer, his voice dropped, ragged and rough. “You called me doll. You have any idea what that did to me?”
She didn’t answer.
“I don’t think you do.” His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, feather-light.
One second he was hovering, the next his mouth was on hers, hard and desperate, months of control snapping like a frayed wire.
She gasped, startled, and he swallowed it, tilted his head and deepened the kiss like he’d been waiting his whole life. His hands framed her face, careful even as his chest pressed into hers, even as he crowded her back against the wall.
And Christ - when she kissed him back, soft at first, then fierce and greedy - it nearly undid him.
The taste of her, the little noise she made in her throat, the way her fingers fisted in his shirt - he’d imagined it, dreamed it, but nothing had ever come close to this.
“Been driving me crazy,” he rasped against her mouth. “Ever since - hell, since day one. But tonight…” His hand slid down, caressing her waist, her hip. “You on that stage - sweetheart, I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind.”
She tugged at his collar and pulled him back in, insistent.
He groaned, low and broken. His metal hand braced the wall beside her head, vibrating with the effort not to just lift her, pin her, take everything he wanted.
“Tell me to stop,” he muttered, forehead pressed to hers. His chest heaved like he’d just sprinted a mile. “If this isn’t what you -”
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered back, breathless, her eyes blazing.
That was it. The permission he needed, the dam breaking.
He caught her mouth again, kissed her deeper, harder, hands finally roaming - down her back, over her curves, memorising every inch. She arched into him, and he nearly groaned out loud at the feel of her body pressed flush to his.
She reached behind, fumbling with the door handle. When it pushed open, he held her upright, pulling her tightly against him.
“Can't believe I had to take my clothes off on stage for you to finally do something,” she muttered against his mouth.
“Would you believe me if I told you I preferred you like this?” He asked, letting her go only to reach for the hem of her hoodie.
She lifted it over her head. “That so?”
The tassels she still wore glittered under the lamplight of her room as she gave a little wiggle.
“You didn't like these then?”
Her wicked grin felt like a challenge. He swallowed hard, his eyes dragging down to the remnants of her costume.
“I liked them,” he said hoarsely. “Didn’t like not touching you while you were wearing them.”
He reached out, finally, tracing the circular outline with the back of his knuckle, slowly enough to make her shiver. His other hand stayed planted on her hip.
“Bucky…” she whispered, half a plea, half a dare.
He bent, his mouth finding her throat, her collarbone, nipping lightly, then soothing the spot with his tongue. Her breath hitched, and he felt her fingers slide under his t-shirt, twisting into his belt loops and tugging him closer.
He lost a ragged sound against her skin. “Christ, doll.”
She arched against him, the tassels brushing his chest. “Stop holding back.”
Something in him cracked. His hands circled her hips, lifting her with ease and hauling her toward the bed. She stumbled a little, laughing breathlessly, but he caught her, lifting her high enough to lay her back on the mattress without breaking the kiss.
Her thighs framed his. Her hoodie was gone, her tassels glittered, her grin dared him to keep up.
He groaned, head falling to her shoulder for a second, trying to remember every reason he’d told himself to wait. All gone now. Just her, real and writhing under him.
Warm skin met warm skin once she’d dragged his t-shirt over his head. He skipped over the gift wrapping of her breasts and moved further down, pulling her jeans with him.
The plain black lace panties were a stark contrast to the sequined underwear she'd been wearing on stage, but were no less of an invitation.
He swallowed hard, letting his palm skim along her thigh, every nerve ending on fire at the heat and softness of her skin under his hand.
She caught his wrist. “Still holding back?”
His laugh was rough and breathless. “Trying to remember how.”
She looked at him with absolute certainty. “I don't want you to.”
Her fingers slid up his arm, encouraging him closer, he ran his hand over the threads of one of the tassels, taking it into his fist and pulling it taut.
The swell of her breast rose away from her body.
“Will it hurt when I pull these off?”
She grinned. “Like pulling off a band-aid.”
He pulled harder, the sensitive skin around her nipple stretching against the adhesive on the tassels before it started to give.
The sting made her hiss, but with each press of his mouth tracing a line from the underneath of her breast towards the peak, the hiss gave way to sighs.
With a soft pop of skin, the first tassel came away in his hand and his tongue wrapped around her finally uncovered nipple.
And with it, a helpless sigh that melted his brain. He needed to hear it again, the tower could burn to the ground as long as she was making those sounds because of him.
Bucky hadn’t meant to lose control.
He’d promised himself - if it ever happened, if she ever wanted him like this - he’d be gentle, careful.
He'd lay her out and take his time with her, slowly learning every delicious curve and dip of her body.
He’d hold back the way he always did, keep the soldier caged so he wouldn’t break the only person who made him feel like this.
But the moment she gasped his name in his ear, nails digging into his shoulders, all of the restraint burned away.
The second tassel came off far more quickly in his eagerness to taste every inch of her. With each hitch of her breath, he buried deeper into her softness, his stubble scratching down the valley of her breasts until her fingers threaded through his hair and she arched into him.
Slow down, Barnes. Don’t hurt her. He told himself over and over, even as every sound she made dragged him closer to the edge of reason.
“So soft,” he whispered against her hips, his teeth scraping the waistband of her underwear. “Christ, you're so fuckin’ soft everywhere.”
His tongue pressed against the already damp spot of the black lace, dragging the material insistently against her clit. Her hands gripped tighter in his hair, pulling hard. It sent a shockwave through his body straight to his cock, still straining against the seam of his jeans.
He ground his hips into the bed, rutting into the mattress to the sound of her cries and moans. Unable to stand it any longer, he tore the lace from where they clung to her hips and pushed her thighs wider apart.
“God, Bucky -” her voice broke on another cry as she rocked against his mouth with the force of her orgasm. He savoured every drop, sucking until he felt her keening again, hands restlessly twisting in the sheets.
“So soft, sweetheart,” his voice rumbled through her core, vice like hands holding her firmly to his mouth.
“Wanted it to be you,” she murmured breathlessly. “Needed it to be you.”
He couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop learning the shape of every sound she made. Each sigh drew him closer, every tremor a thread he wanted to follow until he knew her by heart.
He let go of her thighs, only the imprints from his fingertips left behind, and traced two long fingers through her slit, following the same path his tongue had already taken.
They sank into her wet heat, her back arching off the bed to meet his hand, trying to find friction on her clit.
“You need more, sweetheart?” he whispered against her thighs, his teeth dragging on the sensitive skin.
“Bucky, please -” she begged beautifully.
Her hands found him blindly - shoulder, hair, anything she could hold on to - and every time she whispered his name it sank a little deeper under his skin.
She was heat and heartbeat and the taste of trust, and he couldn’t tell where control ended and need began.
He circled and flicked at her clit with his tongue while his fingers drove into her slick cunt.
Her voice broke on his name, half a plea, half disbelief that she was coming again so soon.
He lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. There was nothing playful left in it now; just want, open and unguarded.
“C'mon beautiful girl, I want to hear you.”
She clenched around his fingers, the repetition of his name giving way to a jumbling stream of curses and praise.
The grip on his shoulder loosened and she sank boneless into the mattress.
He pushed his jeans down and crawled back up the bed to her.
His thumb brushed along her jaw, lingering until her breath evened, until he felt her relax against him again.
“Wanted it to be you,” she repeated softly, almost like a secret she hadn’t meant to share, as if she wasn't sure he'd heard her the first time. “Needed it to be you.”
Something in him stilled. For all the months of teasing and restraint, her words undid him more than anything else could have.
He bent his forehead to hers, breathing her in, the world narrowing to the space between them - the quiet, the warmth, the way she fit against him like she’d been made for it.
For a long moment neither of them moved.
He stayed close, letting his touch soften, steadying her as the tremors faded. She caught his wrist, anchoring him there, her thumb drawing slow circles against his wrist.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, roughened by everything they hadn’t said. “You ok?”
Her laugh was breathless but sure. “More than ok.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tracing the corner of her smile with the back of his fingers.
She caught them in her mouth, holding his eye as she licked them clean.
The air between them changed again, giving way to something inevitable. What had been care turned into pull, what had been gentleness sparked back into want.
The look she gave him said everything - that she wasn’t finished, that neither of them were.
Easy, he told himself. Don’t lose it now.
He’d spent months pretending control was the same thing as peace. If he just kept his hands still, his voice quiet, nothing inside him would come apart.
But she moved again, a slow drag of her fingers through his hair, and the sound she made - soft, content and trusting - undid every careful knot he’d tied himself into.
He felt it hit low in his chest, that quiet knowing that she wanted him. That in handing him the end of the ribbon, she was telling him to undress her. Telling him to take her.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist, trying to slow the tremor that had started there. Don’t rush her.
But when she curled her fingers around his jaw and guided his mouth to hers, there was no mistaking the message: stop holding back.
His hands took purchase again, kneading her thighs, spreading her legs.
She let her hand drift down between them, her knuckles running up the length of him. He felt his breath shudder with anticipation, amazed he hadn't already spilled into the sheets just from being able to touch her, taste her.
His pulse thundered, his breath came rough, and somewhere between restraint and need, the lines blurred completely.
She curled her hand around him, leaking and hard, and gripped gently.
“Need more, Buck,” She breathed against the shell of his ear, “please -”
It was enough, the pleading, her hand stroking his cock.
He batted her hand away, making her giggle, and lined himself up. His blunt head nudged through her aching core, splitting her open an inch at a time.
She bared down, trying to rush him but he resisted, each inch dragging another pretty whine from her throat, higher and higher.
When he'd filled her completely, he stilled, letting the heat of her cunt surround him.
“You feel so good, sweetheart - made for me,” he groaned into the base of her throat.
Her skin was soft against his palms, her legs locked tight around his waist, and finally, finally when he moved, every roll of her hips drove him deeper into the fire. His vision tunneled, breath ragged, caught between worship and hunger.
“Bucky - harder,” she whispered, voice hoarse, daring.
He froze. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it. But then she tugged his hair, dragged his mouth back to hers, and moaned into the kiss like she wanted him to ruin her.
Something snapped inside him.
He slammed into her, harder than he meant to, and the headboard creaked against the wall. She cried out - not in pain, never pain - but in pure, desperate pleasure, and he couldn’t stop himself. His right hand shot up, bracing against the wooden bedframe for leverage -
CRACK.
The headboard splintered under his grip.
He froze instantly, heart plummeting. “Shit. Doll -” His voice was raw, panicked, already pulling back like he’d done something unforgivable.
But her hands fisted in his hair, her thighs squeezed him closer, and her laugh was ragged, breathless, wrecked. “Bucky, please don’t fucking stop.”
His chest squeezed tight. “I could hurt you -”
“You won’t,” she cut in, dragging her nails down his back. “Bucky. Don’t you dare stop.”
And just like that, every last barrier fell.
He drove into her with everything he’d been denying himself - raw, desperate, his. The bedframe groaned, splinters of wood littered her hair. Her body arched up to meet his again and again.
She wasn’t afraid. She was pulling him deeper, whispering his name like a prayer, like she wanted all of him - man, soldier, monster, everything.
And for the first time in forever, he gave it, pistoning into her, harder each time. She hooked her ankles around his thighs, a litany of curses tumbling from her mouth.
“Fuck, Bucky - oh, god -” Her walls fluttered around him, tightening until she pulled him as close to the edge as she was.
The muscles in his thighs tensed as he shattered with her name on his lips, spilling into her with a guttural moan.
She stilled underneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Only the sound of their breathing filled the room - uneven and hot.
Bucky stayed above her, still buried inside her, his head bowed, his chest brushing hers with every stuttering inhale.
He hadn’t realised he was trembling until she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing along the edge of his stubble.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Still with me?”
He nodded, barely, his lips brushing her palm. “Didn’t mean to -”
She shook her head before he could finish. “Don’t. I wanted it. Every second.”
He lowered himself until their foreheads met, letting the weight of him settle, the heat of her skin grounding him.
When they finally eased apart, he collapsed beside her, lining his body up alongside hers, his eyes and hands still wandering.
He plucked splintered shards of wood from her hair and glanced up at the headboard behind her.
“Guess we’re gonna need a new bed,” she murmured with a smile.
Bucky looked a little guilty, “I'm sorry, I -”
“Don't be. I'm not.”
On the pillow, tangled in her hair he spotted one of the nipple tassels. He picked it up between two fingers, twirling it so it caught the light. “I should’ve known these’d be nothing but trouble.”
She smirked, rolling onto her side to face him. “Oh, I’m keeping them. For private performances.”
His grin was pure joy, his eyes lit up. “I’ll start clearing my schedule.”
Bucky needs to borrow a phone charger and accidentally sees more than he expected.
Warnings: nudity, Bucky teasing
Word count: 620
Bucky Masterlist
Reluctantly, you shut off the water.
There were six other Thunderbolts in the tower and you weren’t sure you were ready to handle Walker’s wrath over hot water without killing him.
You’d spent twenty minutes watching dirt and blood run down your body and into the drain. You’d washed flora and fauna out of your hair. But now the bruises were coming out, your muscles were aching and the little scratches and cuts you’d sustained stung like a bitch.
Yelena had been talking about movies and popcorn and pizza but all you wanted was to collapse into your bed and sleep for a thousand years.
You slid the shower screen across and reached for the towel on the back of your bathroom door.
Which wasn’t there.
Shit.
You’d thrown it in the laundry that morning on your way to meet the others.
You hadn’t been to the linen cupboard for a replacement.
Shivering from the contrast of coming out of the hot shower and into the cool bathroom you looked for an alternative.
Nothing.
There had to be one in your room.
With a sigh, you pulled open the bathroom door with more force than strictly necessary and marched out into your room.
“Oh holy shit!”
For the longest of seconds, you didn’t marry up the sound of his voice as being in your room.
Horror. Pure horror crept across your face.
You, totally naked and dripping water all over your bedroom floor.
Bucky, in your room fully clothed and staring.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” Your brain finally decided to engage, you flung an arm across your chest and your other hand further down to try and hide your body.
“I - uhh - I…”
“Bucky! What the fuck?!” You backed out of the room, walked yourself all the way backwards and into the bathroom where you slammed the door.
You hovered with your palm against the wood, listening for his retreating footsteps. Which you didn’t hear, because that was the whole point. Instead, you heard the soft clearing of his throat and your door deliberately click louder than normal.
A very clear message from him to you that you were safe.
Finally you moved, into your room, finding the spare towel, pulling on some clothes.
When you ventured out into the living area, you could still feel the heat in your cheeks.
He was on the couch like nothing had happened. His eyes met yours the second you appeared.
“I didn’t see anything,” he said - too quickly.
You froze. “You absolutely did.”
“Ava’s stolen mine. Again,” he held up his phone as proof, plugged in with your charger, “I did knock.”
“Uhuh.”
“Didn’t think I’d get that kinda view though,” a slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth that he didn’t seem to be doing anything to hide.
“Please stop talking,” you groaned, dragging your hand over your face.
He laughed, low and warm. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Been through a lot of missions, seen a lot of things… that’s definitely gonna haunt me in the best way.”
You peeked through your fingers, trying to see if he was being genuine or not. “You’re the worst.”
“Nah,” he said, a little softer this time, trying to hold your eye through your discomfort. “Just very lucky.”
Heat crept up your neck again, if it had ever really gone away. “Drop it,” you warned.
He let free the smirk he’d barely been holding back.
“Sure thing, doll.” He shrugged.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding - of relief, of frustration, of disappointment… you weren’t entirely sure which.
Then you heard him mutter as he reached past you for the remote.
Allll the tropes - you can never have too much cake, friends! There's only one bed, injured on a mission, friends to lovers...
I am still under the influence of a heatwave 🫣 I also now appear to be writing sex acts I've never written before. It's like an unofficial mini-series 😂
Bucky Masterlist
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: face-sitting, oral (f receiving).
Alexei was going to pay for this. You weren't sure how just yet, but you'd think of something. Some suitable punishment for accidentally giving you enough explosive to level a whole building rather than just get you in the door.
You dug through your bag until your fingers closed around what you needed. An ancient tub of moisturiser. Picked up in a gas station more than a year ago, a totally unknown brand - probably banned from sale in the US. Probably not containing even a milligram of aloe.
Luckily it still smelled cool and fresh, still looked usable. Behind you, the bathroom door opened.
“How's the shower?”
“About as good as you'd expect.” Bucky grimaced.
You spun around with a wide grin just as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Your grin disappeared, taking your bravado with it.
“There was me hoping for a huge walk-in with one of those rainfall things,” you muttered.
“Afraid not. I wouldn't even touch anything if I were you.”
Your expression must have said it all because he followed up awfully quickly, “I just mean, like, the walls, not yourse-”
His low voice petered off, the tips of his ears went pink.
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” you scoffed, filling the awkward silence.
The whole place was gross.
You hadn’t planned on a motel.
It was just a quick job - plant the charges, blow the door.
Instead, half the bunker went up in flames.
The burn on your shoulder said enough.
Bucky had dragged you clear of the fire, complaining the whole way to the motel about you not wearing your suit.
“If I’d been wearing my suit, I’d be peeling melted polyester off my skin right now,” you snapped.
He didn’t say another word.
Not until you got to the motel and found, befitting your terrible luck, one full-size bed. Not even a queen.
You passed him as you headed for the bathroom, and you could swear his eyes flicked to your shoulder, just for a second.
You closed the door firmly behind you.
You were friends. Kind of.
There was no need for this to be so… awkward.
You showered fast, following his advice and keeping your hands to yourself, and in the short time you'd been gone, he'd found the spare blanket and lay it on the floor.
“You can't sleep there,” you said before you were even fully back in the room. “It's disgusting. There's probably roaches.”
He didn’t look up. “I’ve slept on worse.”
You hesitated.
“The bed’s not that big,” you muttered. “Just don’t, like, spread out.”
He eyed the bed, then your shoulder.
“You should take that side. You’ll roll onto it otherwise.”
You arched a brow. “Since when are you the burn expert?”
“Since I carried your crispy ass out of a fire.”
You choked on a laugh. “My crispy ass? That’s what we’re calling it?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at you for a second too long, then said, “get in the bed.”
You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it.
You took the side he pointed to and climbed in first, turning onto your side. He followed a second later, back to you, a careful few inches of air between your bodies.
The silence was too quiet. Too full.
He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean don’t touch yourself earlier.”
You sniggered in the dark.
“Goodnight, Bucky.”
He didn’t reply.
You lay still, hyper-aware of his presence a few inches behind you. His warmth. The shift of the mattress every time he moved.
Eventually, his breathing evened out.
Yours didn’t.
You didn’t know when you drifted off. Only that when you stirred again, it was still dark - just the faintest sliver of morning pushing at the curtains.
You didn’t move, you kept your breathing steady, even as you felt the bed shift slightly behind you.
His arm reached across you, slowly and carefully, for something on the nightstand. He was trying not to wake you. A soft scrape of something plastic. A quiet lid twisting open.
Then the slow slide of your top strap down your arm.
The cream felt cool. Soothing on your angry skin. His fingers worked it into your skin, gentler than they had any right to be.
He was being careful. Methodical.
But he lingered.
His thumb dragged lightly just below the edge of the injury. Too low to be part of the job. Too light to be innocent.
You kept your eyes closed, imagining his hands moving further down. It was all you could do to keep your breath steady, let alone your hips.
And then, as if you weren't already in pieces, you felt him blow lightly over the burn. Your skin cooled and tingled and you couldn't help the sigh of relief that fell from your mouth.
Even to your own ear, it sounded like a broken moan of pleasure.
You clamped your mouth shut, eyes pinching closed with embarrassment.
His hand froze.
You could feel the way his body went still behind you.
“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Strained.
You didn't move. “Do what?”
“Make that sound.”
You could’ve died.
He drew in a slow breath, his fingers still resting lightly on your shoulder.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” You paused. “But then you started touching me.”
“I shouldn’t have,” he said softly.
“Shouldn't you?”
You rolled onto your back to look at him, the burn smarting against the rough bedsheets.
“I’ve thought about it,” you admitted quietly.
“Fuck. Me too.”
“So,” you said finally, but trailing off into nothing.
“So if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna kiss you.”
You snorted, “no you're not -”
He dipped down quickly and caught your mouth with his.
You gasped, surprised by his boldness, and felt him go still above you. Before he had time to doubt himself, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him down onto you.
He resisted, just a little, and pulled back.
“Your burn,” he muttered against your mouth.
“‘s fine.” You leaned up to kiss him again, but he twisted away from you.
“Not like this,” he said roughly. Then, after a breath, “c’mere.”
He shifted, rolling to his back, hands guiding your hips as he pulled you with him.
You could feel how hard he was beneath you, the restraint in every movement.
“You sure?” you whispered.
He huffed a laugh, one hand skimming your thigh.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been sure since Berlin.”
You sank into his kiss, half sprawled on top of him, your hands buried in his hair, his mouth hot and hungry against yours.
There was a quiet urgency in the way he kissed you - like he’d been holding back for months and now didn’t know how to stop.
The kiss deepened, his hands everywhere and yet careful to avoid hurting you. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.
He looked at you, really looked at you. His voice dropped.
“How’s is it?”
“Better than in my head,” you smirked. He rolled his eyes and gestured to your shoulder. “It’s fine. It's nothing.”
His fingers brushed down your arm gently. “I want this to be good for you. Easy.”
You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening. “Are you saying I’m lazy?”
“No,” he said, leaning in, his mouth just by your ear. “I’m saying I want you above me. Comfortable.”
He lay back slowly, still watching you.
“Sit on my face.”
It wasn’t a question.
You blinked, heat licking up your neck - and not from the burn. “Bucky, I -”
“You don’t have to move. You don’t have to do anything.” His voice dropped, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let me make you fall apart.”
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time,” you laughed nervously, trying to reach for another kiss.
“No?” he grinned, pulling out of your reach. “Because I’ve definitely pictured it. Just relax, I've got you.”
His hand trailed down your thigh to the back of your knee, pulling your leg further over him. You shifted, your knees bracketing his hips, and sat up, peeling off your thin cami.
His eyes drank you in, dark and focused, but he didn’t reach for you.
“I could just stay right here,” you teased, rolling your hips against him. “Ohh, fuck -” you sighed. “Please, Bucky.”
His hands skimmed up your thighs, slow and steady. “Then lose the rest for me, sweetheart.”
You bit your lip, wriggling out of your underwear as his grip tightened, guiding you higher up his chest.
You hesitated again, your breath shallow and heart pounding. His eyes were locked on yours - not teasing, just openly wanting.
“I’ve never…” you started, then couldn't finish.
“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I want you to.”
He didn’t rush you. He just waited with all his quiet intensity focused entirely on you.
You moved up his chest slowly, his hands steady on your thighs, guiding. When you reached him, hovering just above his mouth, he looked up at you like you were something sacred.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.
He lay back expectantly. “Not even a little. I knew you'd look perfect up there. Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”
He hooked his hands around your thighs and pulled you down. You reached out to grip the thin wooden headboard to steady yourself.
As his broad tongue dragged a long, slow stripe through your pussy, your thighs clamped around his head, half in shock, half instinct.
“What if I fucking suffocate you?” You asked, horrified.
He rolled his eyes, and in them, you knew he was grinning into you.
“Do your worst, baby,” he said, muffled against you. His voice sent vibrations through your body, he held you a little tighter.
His tongue worked you open with a pressure that had you throwing your head back. By the time he swept it over your clit, your hands had given up clinging to the headboard for dear life, and were palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between your thumb and index finger.
“God, Bucky -” you rolled your hips, willing yourself to look at him.
He reached one hand up to cover yours, you swapped them so that yours covered his, kneading your soft curves.
He moaned into you, the sound enough to make you grind down against his tongue.
You reached behind and wrapped a hand around his thick cock, weeping and aching. He fucked up into your fist, each thrust in time with the flick of his tongue inside you.
When his lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked, your legs shook and your vision went white, his name tumbling from your mouth.
Your grip on his cock tightened as you writhed against his mouth.
Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted your back, your ass - he came hard in your hand, roaring into your cunt.
“Holy fuck,” you breathed, shifting back on unsteady knees.
He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making you tremble again.
Still catching your breath, you lifted your hand - slick with his release - and brought your fingers to your lips. Bucky groaned low in his chest, watching as you licked the taste of him from your skin with deliberate, languid strokes.
“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes blazing.
He surged up suddenly, sitting against the headboard and dragging you down with him, hands firm at your hips. You slid easily down the broad plane of his chest, letting your legs fall to either side of his thighs until you were straddling him again, skin sticking to skin.
His mouth found yours in a messy kiss, all hunger, no restraint - tasting himself on your tongue.
You rocked your hips without thinking, still pulsing around the aftershocks, still needing.
“Bucky…” you breathed against his jaw, your voice raw. “I want more.”
His hand slid up your spine and he blew lightly over the warm skin on your shoulder. “Yeah?”
You nodded, pressing your lips to his cheek. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
He stilled, grip tightening just slightly.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, low in your ear. “Gonna need you to say it again.”
You smiled against his skin, grinding your hips against the hard line of him. “Please. I need you inside me. Want you to fill me up.”
A rough sound left his throat.
“God,” he muttered. “Thought you’d never ask.”
When he finally pushed inside you, you knew you’d never need to ask again.
You'd left the barn at first light, still damp and caked in mud, your skin still carried the smell of rain, hay and half a farmyard.
The flight back to the Tower was silent, too silent - not the comfortable kind you usually shared, but a silence filled with everything you’d almost said. Every time your elbow brushed his in the jet’s narrow aisle, you felt him tense, then force himself to relax.
He’d looked at you once, a quick flicker of blue eyes, and it was all there: the question he hadn’t asked, the answer you hadn’t given.
By the time you landed, Ava and Walker had peeled off with excuses, leaving the two of you trailing behind. It should have been a relief. Instead, the air between you buzzed like static.
He was walking just close enough that your sleeves brushed, but not close enough to touch. You didn’t dare break the spell. Not yet.
So when the elevator doors closed and it was only the two of you, the hum of the machinery felt louder than it should. The box felt too small. And every inch of tension from the barn came with you.
In the background, the hum of the elevator was steady until it wasn’t.
It juddered and lurched - then stopped.
The lights blinked once before dropping into red emergency glow.
You swore under your breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Bucky didn’t answer.
He’d gone very still, his hand braced against the wall and his jaw tight. The muscles in his forearm flexed. A sheen of sweat gathered at his temple despite the cool air.
“Hey,” you said softly. “Looks like a power cut. Probably maintenance again.”
He nodded, too quick. “Yeah. Sure.”
But his breathing was already different - too fast.
You took a step closer. “Bucky…”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t. His eyes were locked on the seam of the elevator doors, his chest rising too fast.
You moved instinctively, sliding into his eyeline until you could feel the heat radiating from him. “It’s ok. We’re not stuck-stuck. They’ll get it running again.”
He gave a harsh laugh that didn’t sound like him. “You ever been trapped before, doll?”
The question cut through you but you didn’t answer, just stepped closer until your shoulder brushed his arm. “Look at me.”
He tried, eyes flicking toward you before darting back to the doors.
Then he twisted and his fist came into contact with the wall, buckling the metal with a hollow crack.
You didn’t flinch.
Without thinking, you stepped into the narrow gap between him and the dented panel, hand raised. “Woah, no, no -”
“I gotta get out of here -”
“I know. We will. You’re ok, you’re not back there, you’re here.”
He grimaced, his knuckles white and his hands balled at his sides to stop himself from striking again.
“I know. I just… I don’t like being… trapped -”
“You’re not.” You reached for both of his hands and wrapped your fingers them. “This isn’t a cage, Buck. You’re right where you need to be, because I’m here too, right?”
For a second his body was stone. Then his thumb twitched against yours, the smallest movement, but it loosened something in the air.
“Breathe for me. That’s it. Just match me, ok?”
You exaggerated each breath until his chest started to follow the same rhythm.
“See?” you murmured. “Still breathing. Still here.”
His jaw unclenched a fraction. “You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have to calm me down.”
“I want to.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavy.
That made him look at you - really look. The flicker of panic faded, replaced by something rawer. Gratitude, maybe. Want.
“This isn’t a cage, baby. You’re not trapped, and you’re not alone,” you breathed, words tumbling out without any filter. “You’re not gonna be alone again. I’m here - we’re here - all of us.”
You traced slow circles over his knuckles, grounding him in each touch. The elevator’s red emergency light painted everything in muted warmth, and neither of you moved.
After a long while he said, quieter, “About last night -”
You shook your head gently. “Not now. One thing at a time.”
He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You always know how to handle me, huh?”
“Someone’s gotta keep you from punching the walls.”
His smile was faint but real. “You make it sound like a full-time job.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should apply.”
“Reckon you’re in with a shot, sweetheart.”
The elevator jolted again and the lights flickered back to white.
You let out a shaky laugh, still clutching both of his hands.
“See? Told you they’d fix it.”
He didn’t let go right away. “Yeah.” His thumb brushed once over your pulse. “Guess we’ll… finish that talk later.”
The doors slid open before you could answer.
Yelena’s voice cut through the corridor: “Great, you’re here! Grab your gear - we’re wheels-up again in ten.”
Just like that, the spell broke.
But as he followed her out, Bucky’s hand hovered a fraction from her back, like muscle memory refusing to forget what calm felt like.
