DAY EIGHT // OBJECT INSERTION - 𝑭𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔
cw: 18+,smut, black widow!reader, inappropriate use of Bucky's arm (you use it as a vibrator <3), multiple orgasms, 'fingering', civil war!Bucky , forced proximity, banter, frenemies, ex-fwb!bucky (1.9k wc)
"I'm not doing this."
Outrageous, humiliating, risky was what you'd call this latest stunt of Captain America's. One stupid favour, owed, parked for a non-disclosed date.
Steve Rogers cashed in his blank chit. And the favour in question?
Babysitting a rogue ex-Soviet Super-Soldier.
For the most part, he was behaving. Patiently seated on the other side of the cell. Well, something adjacent to one. Regular bars would've been flicked open with ease by him, laser beams? Not so easy to get out of.
The better half of your day was spent with you rustling Bucky into the safe house. Not without a fight, of course. A cold pack sat on your shoulders, from where he'd swung you onto the ground like a rag doll. Over and over.
"No."
"You know that you're the only one I can ask."
"He almost killed me."
"Really."
"Obviously not. I can handle myself just fine. It's semantics."
"Once and done. That was the deal," you retreat into the corner of the room, glancing over to the man you held captive. "You don't get to pull more out of your ass. I'm not your favour genie. I'm not your babysitter."
Steve's exasperation was heard from the other end of the line. You were far too alike a certain billionaire when you were off-tangent like this.
"What would it take?"
You pause.
"My non-friend rate. Doubled."
"I can't do that."
Worth a shot.
"Goodbye, Steve."
"Wait, wait! I—…I'll let you borrow the shield. A week."
"A month."
"Two weeks."
"Two months."
"….One month."
"Pleasure doing business with you, cap."
You twirl around with a flourish, walking over with a pep in your steps.
"Alright, bionic-barbie. You're up."
Bucky lifts his head, lolled to the side at your sudden change in demeanour.
"Need I remind you what would happen if you decide to pull something?"
He doesn't answer you, standing up and thudding over to you, glancing over at the crackle of electricity retreating back into the ground.
The smaller device closes in on itself — Stark Tech, useful for makeshift detention. But that's not what Bucky was fixated on.
It's the bend of your hips as you picked it up. Black leather tensing around your waist. Wasn't not too long ago his palms spanned the width of it. He follows the sight of lace that peeks out where the denim gapes.
"You didn't have to go this far." He suddenly says as a segue.
Bucky doesn't acknowledge the threat of your knuckles stopping him from crossing the doorframes. It buzzes with a taser.
"…I'm fine." He brushes your wrist away from his face.
"I prefer not to get smited after someone whispers affirmations of love into your ears."
He raises a brow with a tinge of a mocking head tilt, "thought you could handle yourself just fine."
A breathless scoff leaves you when you're knocked backwards, stumbling when he shoulders past you.
You catch up to Bucky with a slow jog, long strides matching his pace. "What does Hydra still have on you? Why is Steve telling me to play your sober-companion?"
"They don't have anything."
"Bullshit. You did something. They wouldn't have sent me unless you didn't."
"They don't have anything." He repeats. Letting you come to your own conclusions.
"Oh, Barbs," you muttered in exasperation. Stopping to look up at him. "What did you do?"
Bucky looks over his shoulder, something reminiscent of an eyeroll catches your sight before he continues ahead.
"I'm being framed." Was all he offers.
You groan, chasing his tail. "So I'm accompanying a criminal. Great."
"Which part of being framed isn't getting into your thick head? I need to —….”
"Where is it."
You pause. Staring at him. "Where's what?"
"My bike."
"Towed. Impounded. I don't know."
You whisk out a keychain, slotting it into the ignition, and it growls awake. Bucky catches a helmet you toss his way without warning.
There was no way in hell that he'd ride pillon. Until now, that is.
Because suddenly, he was a fan. From the second you'd swung your legs over the seat, learning forward to rev the bike — a view worth reconsidering, enough for him to change his stance.
He slides his helmet on without argument.
There was a tenseness surrounding Bucky from the second you pulled into the Embassy. From the second your boots hit the ground. It wasn't the threat of being thrown into a cell — but rather, the faces.
"We made it all the way here. What's with the constipated look on your face?"
Bucky's walking with his head down, manoeuvring you off the path.
"James," his gaze snaps to you. Not liking that one bit. It wasn't the time for it now.
"To your right," it's barely above a whisper, but you catch it. "Those aren't senators. They're Hydra."
You stiffen up, following his line of sight. A smile graces your features, the flirty one you'd throw to men who would just feel flattered by attention and not probe further.
"They're NSA. High-level clearance, red tags. A.K.A vetted personnel."
His jaw ticks. "I know what I'm looking at."
"Keep. Walking."
Thinking you'd listen was his first mistake. Bucky catches your wrists to steer you off the path. A faux calmness was held when he picked up speed, suits following closely behind.
It'd confirmed his suspicions.
By the time they'd caught wind, Bucky swerved through the crowd. You see them in your peripherals. Shit.
"Bucky —"
It wasn't a dead end ahead, save for a door marked MAINTENANCE. He tugs you inside with him, slamming the door shut.
"This is insane," you tried, words delivered in hushed anger. The dusty air in the room lingered, further amplifying the stuffiness.
"You're being paranoid!"
A breath knocks out of you when cool metal twists around your wrist. Yanking you back to his chest, keeping you in place with a firm grip around your chest.
"Would you rather be unconscious?"
Your eyes twitch, "I know you aren't threatening me."
Outside, thuds of oxfords linger. A string of coded language being spoken. Bucky had his back pressed up against the door. The side of his head pressed against the shed wood.
"Fuck. Fuck."
That was new. Bucky, unnerved?
Your footing shifts, attempting to get a better shot at listening, but it only serves to stumble back further onto him.
"Oh for —" The roughness of denim parts your thigh uncomfortably. Simply put, you were stuck to him. With vibranium strapped to your chest in a suffocating intensity.
He takes your name in warning, jerking you once and hard into him.
"Stay, still."
"I am," you grit.
Or at least, you were trying to. As well as anyone could've in your situation with that thing pressed onto your chest, thrumming like it has a pulse.
You tried to ignore it, but it made it worse. The steady vibrations seep through your clothes, reverberating into your skin. Making you feel sensitive.
"Bucky."
A non-committal hum ghosts the side of your head.
"Bucks."
He grumbles into your ears with a 'what?'
"Is it…supposed to be tweaking?"
"Is — what?"
"Your arm!" You hiss, "It's — I don't know. Thrumming."
He lets out a long exhale. "Are you joking?"
You frown, looking over your shoulder. "You electrocuted me barely an hour ago."
"Metal does that."
"Then move it."
It takes a moment for it to register in his mind. And god help him, he was going to relish it.
"Yeah?"
You frown into the darkness at the smugness in his tone.
"Move it where?" He hums, and his hold finally loosens. You relax into him.
Then, he slides his hand lower.
"Here?"
A smile quirks at the corner of his lips at the broken gasp you let out. He doesn't move it. Doesn't have to.
You feel it entirely. The vibrations — persistent. Right above your clit.
"Fuck you."
"Should I stop, then?"
"Fuck. You."
Bucky had always known you were prideful. Couldn't be broken. You'd never do a single thing unless you wanted to.
And you wanted this.
He lets you hold onto him, pressing him onto you.
"That's it. Wouldn't listen to a damn word I said, but this is what gets you to bend over backwards for me?"
Your eyes flutter shut. Cancelling his voice out like it was white noise. Every one of your senses was attuned. Clenching, unclenching to the thrums.
Oh fuck. You were really gonna get off like this.
"Filthy girl."
A guttural groan tears through you, and you squeeze your thighs. His mouth offers dirtied whispers down the side of your jaw.
A pop.
Your hips jump, his thigh hiking you further up the same time the buttons of your jeans come undone.
It slides beneath your panties, quickly warming from the warmth of your cunt. He's still fucking with you. Not moving a goddamn finger.
Subjecting you to mental torture. You attempt to tiptoe, feeling the brush of it higher, deeper. But he tuts.
"Ask me nicely."
"I'm going to kill you."
You whine, sharply at the pressure on your clit. Head lolled forward at the overwhelming sensation, trying to force away a force that doesn't relent.
"Nicely."
"F-Fuck! Oh fuck," you groan, then louder, damn the moles out there, even if they were still around to hear you.
"Don't — n-not that."
"Where then?"
"Fucks sake, oh for fucks sake." He leans back into the door when your head tips back in deep, heavy pants.
"Bucky, please, I-I need them in me."
"Them?"
"Fingers," damn it all. "Need your fingers in me. Please."
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
He stays true to his promise, slotting a finger knuckle deep into you and your eyes roll back.
"Bucky —"
"Feel good? Using me like this?"
You shake your head, palms blindly snapping to find his hand. Stabilising yourself. It quickly interlocks with your own.
He doesn't tease you for thrusting your hips into his fingers like a bitch in heat. Fucking his finger like it was just some glorified sex toy.
Bucky lived to make you feel good, with him the one doing it? He'd let you enjoy it.
"Gonna put 'nother in."
You nod quickly. Groaning louder. One finger was bad enough. But two? Two felt like someone was fucking you with a dildo.
"S-Shit, Bucks —"
It comes out breathless, and you're nosing at his chest. Panting. His palm lies flat over your clit, two fingers deep into you.
He nudges, in a slow rhythmic tempo. The vibrations were doing the rest for him.
Bucky lowers his head, and you moan brokenly, lips parted in gasps. Each one growing more urgent.
It's only until you whisper, something so sickly sweet that he's begun to grind lazily into you. Letting you grind back into his erection
"M'gonna — c-cum. God. Bucky, I'm gonna fucking cum!"
