xev ☆ @thet1ntedmoon - Tumblr Blog

Darling Mine

Your deep-rooted feelings for Bucky Barnes — beautiful and untouchable — were never meant to surface. However, when he kindly invites you to spend Valentine's Day with him, you also don't expect yourself to hope for more.

▸ PAIRING: 40s!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, penetration without protection (pull out method), breeding kink, doll as pet name, bucky calls her a slut in a sexy way once (1), oral (m!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), finger sucking, pussyjob, bucky is possessive and jealous (my guilty pleasure), reader manipulates bucky's jealousy to convince him to fuck her (help), virgin!bucky who talks like a porn star ▸ WORD COUNT: 13.4K ▸ A/N: thank you @salty-tang for organizing this wonderful fic exchange! so excited to share this with my match @winnichu173 <3 i hope you enjoy this story! based very loosely on the prompt: "making fun of Valentine’s Day but still celebrating it anyways." excuse the smut (i was going through a freak filth phase) and historical inaccuracies (pretending this is before the war fully happened and people can date whoever they want in the open)!!! if you enjoyed this, please like / reblog / comment, i appreciate every single one heheh <33

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When you first met Bucky Barnes, the first thought that crossed your mind was: why the hell is Steve hanging out with a fella like this? Steve Rogers is the blonde, all-American true believer with a big heart and a greater sense of responsibility to match. Even as the little guy, he’s always protecting everyone else, the people that deserved it, even when he wound up with a battered face in a back alley dumpster.

Bucky, on the other hand, is smooth lines and charming smiles. Based on their childhood pictures, he had grown out of his awkward, gangly teenager self into a man made of muscle formed in the hours spent working in construction on the buildings downtown. He is broad and tall and terribly handsome. All of the neighborhood ladies — even those some boroughs over — love him.

Including you.

You are no more than a fool when it comes to Bucky Barnes. The man could captivate the pants off anyone he met. He’s sweetly polite with the mothers, humbly self-deprecating with the fathers, delightfully hilarious with the children, and devilishly tempting to the ladies.

It’s easy to fall in love with a man like him.

He knows all the right things to say, even when you know he doesn’t mean them.

Bucky’s always been a bit of a player. You don’t judge him for it — of course not. Everyone knows how gorgeous the man is, how deliciously addicting his words are. But you also knew Bucky better than most.

Steve is a good judge of character and Bucky has been his friend longer than most people have known what New York tastes like in this decade. If Steve is still friends with him, then that is a testament to his character. The man is confident with a sharp tongue. He keeps Steve on his toes — both in the way he constantly challenges him, but also holding him up, especially when Steve chooses to pick fights with people much, much bigger than him. He defends the little guys as much as Steve does.

You quickly learn that he is a great friend to anyone he deems one. He walks you home at night after a late movie with the two of them. When he swings by your place as you’re bringing home bags full of groceries, he swiftly takes over, arms around the paper bags as he asks you about your day. It’s an act that comes so naturally, a kindness as easy as breathing.

But that’s Bucky for you — irresistible and untouchable.

You don’t stand a chance with him. You’ve seen the girls he goes on dates with, the pretty ones. Even the wealthy girls can’t help but swoon over him when he knows exactly how to play their hearts.

Bucky flirts with you too, romantic little quips that have you ducking your head and Steve scolding him for embarrassing you. He just laughs it off, tells Steve that he likes seeing you shy around him like that.

You figure it’s all a game to him. See how many girls he can woo in a day and you don’t think you can count the number on one hand. Ladies walking down the street are mesmerized by a simple nod of his head in their direction.

So with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, you realize you’ve doomed yourself to another February spent alone. Another year of pining over Bucky means another year of you eschewing every other man in sight. You hope your mother has stocked up on sweets at home because that’s all you’ll be eating once the day arrives. Alone.

Steve has already decided to spend the day with his mother, treating her to a lovely mother-son day that they haven’t had since he was a teenager. Your parents had plans and so did most of your friends, because they hadn’t been busy chasing after a man they could never get. Not like you.

“What’re you doin’ for Valentine’s Day?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s one of the rare occasions that Steve isn’t around when Bucky drops by for an impromptu visit. You’re busy mixing together a batch of muffins for your mother’s church fundraiser when you look up to find Bucky peering into the mixture curiously.

You almost think you dreamt up the question until Bucky looks up at you expectantly with those beautiful baby blues.

Opening your mouth, you’re ready to tell him absolutely nothing only to realize that it may be an embarrassing answer to have no plans for a day dedicated to romance. Bucky is probably fully aware of your life in singledom and he himself probably has a date — or two — lined up. You try not to be too disappointed.

Instead, you put on an air of indifference. “Nothing. It’s a silly day. Why would you only have one day to celebrate love? Love should be celebrated all the time. I don’t really believe in a frivolous holiday like that.”

The words sound painfully phony even to your ears. You keep your eyes glued on your batter as you finally set the bowl down. When your eyes finally lift, you find Bucky looking contemplatively at your counter. There’s a pinch between his brows that you have the strong urge to smooth out with the gentle press of your thumb. Your fingers twitch, so you grab hold of your ladle instead.

“Why?” You clear your throat. “Have any fun plans? A date perhaps?” Or two, you think bitterly.

Bucky smiles at you, but it looks more frail than usual. Feigned joy plagued with concern. You’re about to ask him when he shakes his head. “No, you’re right. That whole day is a joke anyway.”

For some reason, your heart sinks with his words. A part of you was hoping Bucky would deny your cynicism, that there would be a deeper meaning beneath his question, asking you if you had a plan for that specific day. A part of you was hoping Bucky would ask you to be his Valentine; however, that’s a silly, naive thought. Bucky could ask anyone else, why would he ask you?

“If you’re not doing anythin’ anyway, want to spend the day together? Stevie’s busy with his mom.”

You nearly drop the batter as you pour it into the mold. “Oh, uhm, are you sure? I figured you’d have someone special you would want to spend it with.”

Bucky’s lips quirk up in the corners, like he’s in on a joke you’re not part of. “No plans right now. I’d like to spend it with you if you don’t mind.”

Comfortable silence settles between you as you contemplate his offer for a moment. It doesn’t really make sense to you, why he would want to spend arguably the most romantic time of year with you — someone whose friendship was thrust upon him by association with Steve. But you decide to be brave for once. When else would you get Bucky Barnes all to yourself?

As worried as you are about who he is, you’re also touched that you’re the first person he thought of after Steve to spend time with him.

“I’m interested,” you nod and his face brightens, “what do you have in mind?”

The six o’clock call time should be outlawed. Bucky tells you that he’ll swing by to pick you up and whisk you away into the city. This means that you’ve been up for two hours trying to get yourself ready as best as you can. With him asking you so close to d-day and your closet looking less and less enticing, you simply have to pick out your Sunday best.

In this case, it’s a little pinstriped pale pink dress that your mother has handwashed over and over again, evidenced in the loose threads that have begun to show and the material worn from the stress of chemicals. You quietly nick a belt from your mother’s closet while she’s fast asleep and slip it around your waist for a bit of flair. After wrestling with your face and your hair for a bit, using tools and makeup you aren’t too familiar with, you finally feel you look decently presentable.

Well, as presentable as you can be at this hour.

You had told your mother the previous day that Bucky would be taking you out. She had teased you relentlessly for it but also worried over how early he plans to take you.

“It’s Bucky, Mom. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s the part I’m worried about,” she gave you a look.

She has met Bucky before. In fact, he has helped her with chores around the house countless times. Being the handyman that he is, your mother puts his free and capable labor to work, particularly when things need fixing in your leaky, creaky home.

“I’ll be fine, promise,” you smile, kissing her quickly on the cheek.

She only sighs. Mothers always know and she is more than aware of your ridiculous crush on Bucky. She doesn’t discourage it but you can see the worry and sympathy in her gaze whenever she sees the two of you together.

Steve is none the wiser. That man is too busy being patriotic, keeping track of the news and the war to pay attention to such trivial things like romance. Plus, Bucky is a renowned romancer, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

But now, you’re left looking in your mirror in the dim lighting of your bedroom. You don’t look so bad, a far cry from your usual drab attire that blends in with the rest of the city. For once — or for the first time in a while, you feel… pretty.

Bucky doesn’t ring. Instead, when you peek outside at approximately 5:57 to check if he is there, he’s already standing by your door, fidgeting almost anxiously. You watch him for a bit through the peephole, observing as he rocks on the balls of his feet, as he looks up to the ceiling and mutters silent words to himself, as he bites his bottom lip with a glance at the door.

You finally put him out of his misery and swivel the door open. He’s even more gorgeous in full form. With a casual collared shirt and slacks that stretch down his long legs, Bucky looks positively scrumptious. Not to mention, he’s even done his hair a bit, giving it that effortless coif.

“Morning,” you say, a little breathless.

“G’mornin’,” he murmurs, eyes tracking over the length of you. He appraises you so openly. Shamelessly. His lips twist and your heart drops. It must show on your expression because Bucky instantly softens. “You look beautiful. Too beautiful, in fact. Might have to bat off other men today.”

Heat crawls up your neck at his words as you duck your head. “Don’t be silly. That won’t happen.”

“You have no idea,” Bucky mutters.

“No idea about what?”

With a sigh, he simply shakes his head. “Nothing. Shall we?”

He guides you to the subway that takes you all the way to the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn Bridge. The normally bustling stretch of the bridge is quiet with the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Bucky guides you along the path quietly, the two of you strolling in comfortable silence with the occasional vehicle on the lower road cruising through or the whisper of the wind in your ear.

The two of you pause in the middle to watch as the sun rises, the purplish pink sky melting into hues of orange and yellow. Bucky pops open his bag and pulls out a sketchbook, flipping it open as his pencil begins to scrape over the page. You stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder as you look out into the open waters.

Occasionally, you’d peek to the side to get a glimpse of his drawing, finding him layering lines of lead into a recreation of the bridge and the skyline.

“I didn’t know you drew,” you say quietly, as if speaking any louder would disturb the peace.

Bucky pinks but you can’t tell if it’s the sunrise coloring his cheeks. “I dabble,” he clears his throat.

“Well, you’re very good. Steve does too, have you seen his work?”

A laugh rises from his chest as he flips the book closed. “I taught him how to draw. We started off scribbling on each other’s notebooks growing up until I started sketching a little more seriously. Then I had to teach him because he needed at least one skill to impress the ladies.”

“He drew my portrait for my last birthday,” you smile, thinking to the picture you have pinned up above your desk. It was such a simple gift but one you treasure dearly. Sweet to think that Bucky had something to do with it, even if indirectly.

When you turn to look at Bucky, his mouth is curled into a small, sour frown.

“What?” You ask as Bucky purses his lips. “Why are you making that face?”

“You and Steve,” he starts then trails off, seeming to ponder his next words, “you’re both really close, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion. “We were friends first. We met through Steve, remember?”

“I remember,” he says a little too quickly.

“Is that— I don’t know, a problem? If you’re worried about Steve, I won’t do anything to hurt him. I know he tends to be too trusting.”

Bucky’s irritation thaws into an expression that has his blue eyes catching the sunlight, sparkling like the ocean before the two of you. “I’m not worried about Steve.” He shakes his head. “Forget about it. Come on.”

The two of you make small talk as you complete the walk up the bridge. Bucky leads you past the state’s legal courts, up through Chinatown, winding through small and large streets. Wherever you’re going, he seems to be taking many detours, opting for the long way there.

You don’t mind. It’s more time spent by his side as he tucks in close to you to fight the bristling wind and the crowds. There are occasions in which people bump into you and Bucky keeps a steady arm around your waist. When he lets his grasp fall away, the sense of loss is immediate.

Bucky keeps the conversation flowing without the need for any liquid courage. Sometimes you forget how easy it is to talk to him. While Steve can be overly focused on geopolitics and serious topics, Bucky shares anecdotes from his life, silly stories that have you giggling and snorting. He seems to take pride in making you laugh, lips stretching just an inch wider every time you have to pause to take a breath after a particularly funny story.

The more you laugh, the more animated he becomes. His hands fly around in exaggeration, painting the story in big, bold strokes that threaten to wipe out anyone in his path.

“Bucky Barnes, you did not say that to your high school teacher.”

He holds his hand to his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a Boy Scout in your life,” you tease.

“You don’t know that.”

Rolling your eyes, you let a small smile dance on your lips. “I know you.”

“Do you really?”

“‘Course I do,” you challenge right back.

“Tell me about me then.”

That catches you off guard. Your steps falter briefly before you right yourself, exuding an air of feigned confidence. “What do you want to know?”

“My favorite color.”

“Red. You’re going to say something cheesy like it’s the color of a girl’s heart, but it’s really because your mom’s favorite flowers are roses.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to trip over the sidewalk, catching himself before he can fully face-plant. He whips around to face you, eyes wide. “How do you know that?”

“We talked about it once. You said some cheesy line about the color red and Steve corrected you, said it was because of your mom.”

“Steve,” he grunts under his breath.

“Aw, don’t be upset with him,” you coo, “I think it’s very sweet.”

“I’m not sweet. I’m tough,” Bucky slaps on a smug look on his face, puffing out his chest and straightening his shoulders as he walks.

A laugh bubbles up your throat. “You’re sweet through and through, Bucky Barnes. No matter how much you deny it.”

“Alright, since you know me so well, what’s my middle name?”

“That’s too easy! Buchanan.”

“My first?”

“James.”

“Yes?”

You give him a look. He gives you a charming smile, which you’ll never admit has your heart skipping a beat.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I just like hearin’ you say my name.”

“Again, ridiculous,” you roll your eyes but turn away to hide the shameful glee that warms your cheeks.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a crush on me.”

You definitely almost trip and destroy your face on the pavement when Bucky catches you before you can do so, hand whipping out to catch you by the waist, the other on your hand to steady you.

“Careful there,” he whispers, soft in your ear.

You don’t realize how close he is until you look up to thank him and find him only inches away from your face. Bucky’s blue eyes appear a little darker up close, the cerulean swallowed up by his dark pupils as his gaze assesses you with genuine concern.

“Thanks,” you cough shyly.

“Now, about that crush on me.”

Quick to snap out of it, you immediately protest, “As if!”

A look flickers across his eyes. “Why? You got a crush on Stevie instead?”

“What?” You sputter, “What makes you say that?”

That doesn’t seem to be the right answer because Bucky’s lips curl downwards again into a displeased pout. “Whatever,” he grumbles, “come on.”

By the time you realize how far the two of you have traveled, you find yourself at a park. A great white arch stands tall in the distance but Bucky intertwines your fingers to tug you towards the open fields. It’s a surprisingly warm day in February and you suddenly feel tall crisp grass tickling your ankles.

Before you can ask Bucky what the two of you are doing there, he’s pulling out a plaid sheet from his bag and spreading it onto the ground. He gestures for you to sit before the wind can whisk it away. So you kneel onto the cloth and sit with your legs tucked to the side.

Bucky joins you shortly after, pulling out more things from his bag.

“Thought you’d be hungry since it’s lunchtime,” he says. “Mom packed us sandwiches, hope that’s okay.”

You look mildly surprised. “That’s very thoughtful of her. It’s more than okay.”

He splits the two sandwiches in half so you can get a taste of each — egg salad and the other is one with slices of cold cuts and cheese. The two of you nibble on the food silently, enjoying the cool winter-spring breeze weaving through the city.

With it being a nicer day and Valentine’s Day, there are more than a handful of people out and about. Couples speckle the lawn, nuzzling into each other and feeding each other bites like a scene straight out of the big screen.

Looking at Bucky scarfing down his own sandwich across from you, you can’t help but wonder if that’s how the two of you appear to everyone else. Two more strangers in the crowd. On a date. On Valentine’s Day.

It’s terribly wishful thinking, one created under false pretenses, and you chide yourself internally for surrendering yourself to such far-fetched dreams.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He couldn’t pay you a thousand dollars to confess.

“It wouldn’t be worth your money. I was just thinking it’s such a lovely day and I’m glad you invited me out.” The lie comes out smooth, but it’s worth it to see the way he lights up.

His lips curl into a wide grin as he scooches closer to you. “Yeah? You havin’ a good time, doll?”

Doll? Your eyebrow raises in question but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Yes, Bucky, I’m having a good time.”

“Good. I aim to please.”

The question that’s been nagging at you since he first asked you continues to tug on your thoughts, begging to be freed. So you let it out.

“Why’d you invite me out today, Bucky?”

“I can’t ask you to hang out with me? I’m hurt.”

You give him a knowing look. “Come on, it’s Valentine’s Day. You’d be the type to have a date, I doubt nobody’s asked you.”

“I am on a date!”

“Bucky,” you whine, and he only chuckles.

“Doll, I think you’re overthinking this.”

Your heart sinks. There’s one answer that rests in the forefront of your mind, one that plagues you with visceral guilt.

“If you feel bad that I was going to spend it alone, I can assure you that you didn’t have to.”

A cloud forms in Bucky’s eyes as his brows pinch lightly. “You think I asked you to spend time with me out of pity?”

You only manage a shrug. It’s the only logical explanation.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want to spend today with you? Of all days,” he says quietly.

It’s the most thoughtful you’ve seen Bucky. You’re seeing many sides of him today; your greed consumes you and you can’t help but want more now that you’ve had a taste.

“I just think your time could’ve been better spent elsewhere,” you pause, “or with someone else.”

“Let me make it clear to you then,” he begins, voice gravely earnest, “I asked you out today because I wanted to spend time with you. Yes, today specifically and yes, with you specifically. It’s not out of pity, I would never even consider that. I’m more selfish than you think.”

His smile is wry when you look up to face him.

“Would you have preferred someone else ask you to spend time together today?”

Would you? The answer comes easy.

“No,” you murmur, “I’m glad it was you.”

“Good,” he nods, “can’t believe you’d think that low of me.”

“I felt terrible!”

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m here because I want to be, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Now, we never really finished our conversation from earlier. You got a crush on anyone?”

Yes, you. It’s always been you. You’re once again at a loss for words; instead of answering, you say, “Oh. Uhm, why are you asking?”

“Curious,” he murmurs but the weight of his gaze seems to betray the forced airiness of his voice.

You swallow, smoothing out your skirt to avoid his gaze. “What about you?”

“I do.”

That has you jerking back, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh.”

Before you can ask who it is, Bucky continues. “I have an idea,” he says with a wicked little twinkle in his eye. You stare at him once again with deep concern. “How about this — we write a letter to them. A simple letter. You can write whatever you want. The only rule is that you have to be honest.”

“Honest?”

He hums in confirmation. “Honest. Whether it’s your feelings or the weather today, you simply have to be truthful. Once you’re done, we just… never send it.”

Your brows kiss in the middle. “What’s the point of doing that?”

“Dunno. Might be nice to put those feelings to paper. Like a manifestation method.”

For a second, you just stare at him, waiting for him to yell gotcha. But that moment doesn’t come so you do the only thing you always do with Bucky — you give in to him.

“Alright, fine.”

Bucky’s smile could light up a town. He grabs his book from his bag and rips out a page, handing it over to you along with a pen. The two of you sit in silence for a while.

You think about all the words you could say to Bucky. All the things you wish he knew.

Your hands rough and calloused from the work that wears you down, but toughens you to protect those dearest to you. Bruised knuckles and split skin as evidence of your love.

Your heart that is larger than the world ever taught it to be. Vast enough to shelter those you love, weathering the tumultuous storms until you reach calmer seas.

Your eyes are the blue of summer skies, the kind that stretch endlessly. The blue of the rivers that kiss the edges of this island, whispering of a world far larger than our own.

These are all the words you can never say out loud. It’ll be a betrayal of your feelings, ones you wish to keep buried to save your dignity.

Because Bucky Barnes is a good man, but he is a good man who doesn’t love you the same way you do him. He simply has a heart that was built for love and he doles out that affection generously to those around him. You are another planet — no, perhaps a star — in his orbit. Tiny, insignificant, and incomparable to the rest.

But you made a promise that you would be honest so you pour your feelings that have simmered and festered in your mind for months. Feelings you never allowed yourself to feel, a denial that persisted strong. Until today. Until Bucky allowed you some room to hope.

You don’t know how long you sit there, your handwriting growing smaller and smaller as you fill the page with combinations of the alphabet that string together what you think are coherent thoughts.

You remind yourself that it doesn’t matter if it’s coherent because Bucky will never see this. Like he said, it’s a manifestation. A silent confession to the wind.

The only thing that gives you comfort is that — it’s perfectly okay that he will never know how you feel because there are enough people out there who will surely love him enough for you.

When you finally dot that last period on the paper, your fingers aching from its warpath across the page, you look up to find Bucky sneaking glances at you. His hand glides across his book in long strokes.

Strokes that do not look like a letter.

“What are you—”

He cuts you off, “Don’t worry about it.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as you slowly say his name. Bucky only offers a cheeky grin. You lean towards him to get a glimpse but he’s quick to pull the paper back.

“Not doing anything nefarious, doll.”

“Then show me.”

“Nu-uh, it’s mine.”

Huffing, you purse your lips. “Don’t be childish. Come on. Let me see.”

“I’ll show you if you show me your letter.”

A gasp rises from your throat, warmth creeping up your neck. “Bucky Barnes, that is not fair. You said I wouldn’t have to show anyone.”

“Yeah, but it’s me. You trust me, don’t you? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Bucky,” you whine, “you’re not even writing a letter.”

“I finished my letter. Now I’m doin’ other things.”

“You’re being mean on purpose.”

His smile tips up higher. “Well, it’s the only way I can get more than two words out of you.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

Before you can finish your question, you’re interrupted by a shrill Hey, Bucky! The two of you whip towards the source of the sound.

Sheryl Jones.

Sheryl Jones who lives in the nicer part of town where the houses are tall and the fences are white. Sheryl Jones who is the talk of the town as the most eligible bachelorette with the heftiest pockets. Sheryl Jones who has been obsessed with Bucky for as long as you can remember.

The two of you certainly don’t run in the same social circles, you don’t even think she knows you exist, but you’ve heard of her. If not from whispers around town, then it’s from Bucky who constantly tells Steve how Sheryl’s been showering him with gifts.

The same Sheryl Jones who is now scuttling towards the two of you with two of her friends hot on her heels.

Sheryl who looks like she came straight out of a magazine with her pristine, bold-colored dress. Flowers are stitched to the length of a fabric that looks more expensive than your entire closet. The clack of her wedges clear against the path before she approaches the two of you seated on the grass.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sheryl smiles, saccharine sweet.

“Hey, Sheryl,” Bucky says, flipping his book closed and redirecting that smile towards her instead.

“You’re not on a date, are you?” She asks, a mockery posed as an innocent question. She doesn’t even spare you a glance.

You feel yourself shrink again, a built-in response to make yourself smaller and hopefully fade into the background. Unlike Steve, you’re not one to square up when posed with a challenge. You instead make yourself invisible, hoping the threat would disappear.

Bucky’s eyes flick over to you for a moment, looking almost conflicted before he says tightly, “No, nothin’ like that.”

If it wasn’t confirmation before, it sure is now.

This is Bucky being a good friend to you. Yes, he wants to be here — but as a friend. You were the one who twisted it all up in your head into something you thought you could have.

Sheryl’s eyes light up even more as she lifts the bag in her hand. The neat cursive of that new, fancy patisserie down the street printed on the front. “Great! I wanted to give you these chocolates. We sampled some in-store and I picked out my favorites for you.”

Bucky rises to his feet to accept the gift. “Thank you, Sheryl. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“How about you and me get some ice cream? It’s a nice day for it. I know the perfect place.”

If your heart had sunk to your stomach before, it plummets to the ground now. That fearful despair claws at your chest, poking holes in your lungs until you feel as though you can’t breathe.

You need to go.

Bucky’s gaze flies to you, as if he’s asking for your permission. Of course, he’d want to spend the day with Sheryl instead. Maybe he was waiting for her to ask.

Quickly, you fold your letter into a small square before tucking it into your purse. Bucky watches the movement with a frown. You scramble to your feet before plastering on a smile that feels too frail on your lips.

“You should go, Buck. I should probably head home. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, I can find my way back. Thanks for today,” you blurt out. Your eyes are on him but you don’t see him. Not really. Your mind is already far away, tracking down a path on how you could get back to the safety of your home.

The home where you plan to eat all of the sweets your mom has tucked away. Alone.

“Wait, hold on. No, we’re—”

You’re already moving off the field and onto the sidewalk again, your worn loafers taking you as fast as you can go away from that humiliating situation. You’re a big girl. You can handle rejection. Bucky’s a friend. A good friend.

Blood is rushing in your ears as you brush past other pedestrians. The faster you get to the subway, the faster you can breathe. As long as you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you, you don’t think—

A hold on your hand.

Your footsteps halt almost immediately, you nearly toppling over again but a hand steadies you. You look up to find Bucky staring at you with the deepest befuddled sulk on his face. “What— what happened? Where are you going? I still have a few things planned.”

“Oh,” you sheepishly glance past his shoulder to see Sheryl glaring at you before she whirls around and stomps away.

You realize that don’t actually make it very far. The blanket is crumpled up in Bucky’s arms, bag haphazardly closed in his rush to catch you.

“I just thought— you and Sheryl,” you mutter. “You don’t have to spend the rest of the day with me, Buck. I’m sure ice cream with her would be fun too. I can find my own way home.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Sheryl,” Bucky says, sounding almost frustrated, “I promise. Nothing at all, doll. I’m all yours today.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” you say with your best attempt not to wince, “you probably want to spend it with, I don’t know, whoever your crush is. Or someone like Sheryl. You don’t have to keep me company all day.”

Bucky licks his lips as he looks up at the sky, a strangely pleading look in his eyes like he’s turning to some higher power for an answer. “Let’s just—” he stops himself with a sigh, “Come on. How about you and me get some ice cream?”

You’re still a little doubtful but Bucky’s already tugging you down the street.

That’s when you realize — he never let go of your hand.

Down the street, past the shops selling tricks and trinkets, you find a little sweets shop. It’s beautifully decorated with bright blue walls, white countertops holding all sorts of equipment, and red barstools that look like ripe cherries.

Your eyes roam around the place, you haven’t been to one in a while, your wallet scarcely allows you to treat yourself to such trivial niceties. It’s something you simply cannot afford with your meagre salary as a secretary in a small family office.

Bucky squeezes your hand. “What do you want, doll? Tell me. Anythin’ you want.”

“Anything?” You tease, “Playing a dangerous game, Bucky Barnes.”

His eyes soften as the two of you slide onto the stools. The shop isn’t too terribly crowded, so you manage to get seated almost immediately. “How about a banana split?”

You nod eagerly.

“One banana split, good sir,” Bucky tells the waiter who looks far too tired to be working a joyous day like today.

The waiter rattles off the price and Bucky begins to count the change in his pocket, paling when he seemingly realizes he doesn’t have enough. His hands busy themselves with digging around his bag for a miracle.

You instead turn back to the waiter with a polite smile. “Actually, I’m still full from lunch. I don’t think I can finish an entire banana split. Can we just get a scoop of vanilla?”

Thankfully, the waiter doesn’t seem to give it a second thought before he shares your new total. Bucky’s shoulders slump as he picks up a nickel to give to the waiter. He smiles at you gratefully.

“Next time,” Bucky promises.

“I make a mean banana split so next time, you can come over and we can share one.” An unidentifiable emotion crosses his eyes and you mistake it for displeasure. Maybe he doesn’t want to just share it with you. “And Steve!” You throw out in panic, “We can make it at home and eat it all together.”

The brightness of his baby blues appears to dim slightly. “Right, yeah. With Steve too.”

You don’t have a moment to think about it too much before Bucky entertains you with stories. Stories from work. Stories from his past. Stories about Steve. You find yourself laughing as you spoon the sugar that melts on your tongue. You don’t miss how Bucky takes smaller bites to encourage you to eat more of it.

Always so thoughtful.

Your heart is on high when Bucky guides you to the train. Your fingers itch with the urge to hold his hand again, but you don’t think that would be very appropriate.

This isn’t a date, after all.

As the train crosses over the bridge, the two of you get a view of the sunset over the water. The river ripples with glimmers of copper and gold. The light casts a warm glow across Bucky’s face as he regards you with the sort of gentleness that could so easily break.

Bucky asks you more questions on the long ride home, forcing you to speak about yourself more than you have the entire period of time you’ve known him.

“I’m talking too much,” you let slip in embarrassment.

“No, you’re not. I like hearin’ you talk, especially about yourself.”

“That just makes me seem narcissistic,” you laugh.

Bucky hums with a shake of his head. “No, that makes me curious. Don’t know much about you, doll.”

“There’s not much to know.”

“Proved to me today that that is incredibly untrue.”

The streets are dark and deserted on your walk home. Cast iron lamps dot the street and bathe the pavement with enough light as your quiet footsteps echo down the street.

“I hope you had a good day today?”

“It was a good day,” you agree with a smile.

By the time you walk up to your front porch, your heart is itching to say more. The words are practically hanging off the tip of your tongue. The words that could jeopardize this entire friendship.

You want to tell him that you love him. Tell him that you want him more than anything. Tell him that you want him to stay.

But you don’t.

You don’t have the courage to say these words out loud, not so clearly in front of him. Instead, you swallow them down and let them settle somewhere you cannot reach.

Bucky, with his hands buried in his pockets, searches your eyes for a moment. He’s quiet, a slight, serious pinch to his lips as he looks at you.

He shovels through his bag again before he pulls out a couple of folded pages, taking your hand and pressing them into it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll.”

Then he is taking a step back, and more steps back, until he is slowly walking down the stairs of your porch and onto the sidewalk.

Your hand still tingles where he touched you. You’re numb, brain buzzing with the kind of white noise that goes nowhere. Your trembling hands slowly unfurl the pages in your hand. The first sight that greets you is… you.

It’s you. Bucky had drawn you. It’s you but you’re… beautiful — beautiful in a way that you never really saw yourself. Beautiful in the way that only someone who adores you would see you. The sketch is simple but leaves you breathless all the same. He captured the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the twinkle in your eye. This is proof that Bucky sees you. He really sees you.

The second page contains words. Words that he said he would never send, but he has now hand-delivered to you. Your eyes skip over the paper, greedily taking in each word as if your heart depends on them. You swallow each one, digesting it with great care before your brain can catch up.

And then you’re moving, wind catching in your dress as you rush down the sidewalk. Your skirt billows in the air, swirling behind you as you search for him in the night. His name leaves your lips in countless, breathless pleas.

Bucky stops and turns right on time to catch you in his arms before you can propel too far forward. “What—”

“You have terribly long legs,” you wheeze out, finding your footing with Bucky’s arms still around you, his frown directed towards you. “I— I didn’t think— I never thought—”

“Deep breaths, doll,” Bucky chuckles low. “I’m here. Not goin’ anywhere.”

“I had… a fantastic time with you today. I just— I was embarrassed to not have plans but I’m glad because that gave me you and you gave me today and today was… amazing.”

Light flickers across his face as his lips quirk up into a pleased grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you beam and, for the first time in your life, you tell yourself to be brave. Brave in a way you haven’t been before. Brave in a way that only Bucky can make you. “And I love you too.”

The smile wipes off his face in an instant. For a moment, you worry you read his letter wrong. You worry that your mind conjured up words you wanted to see. A hallucination from a drug that you never consumed. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve absolutely, completely humiliated yourself and shattered what little exists between you and Bucky.

It’s evident in the way you stiffen, your body slowly extracting away from him. Bucky catches you, taking your hand and clasping it against his chest. Even through the layers of clothes, you can feel the firm rhythm beneath your fingertips. An erratic thudding against his ribcage.

“No, hold on,” he chokes out, “I need you to say it again. Maybe slap me while you’re at it too. Just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

A giggle bubbles up your throat as you look at him. “You’re being mean now. You’re really going to make me say it again?”

“Say it again. Please, doll. Beggin’ you here.”

“You’re such a pain,” you smile and find more of your courage to lean forward and press your lips against him. You swallow his surprised gasp, feel him wrangle his arms around you to hold you close to him. His arms around your waist as you wrap your own around his neck to tug him towards you. “Love you, Buck.”

Then you’re airborne. His hands on you as he picks you up and twirls you around, laughter spilling from his lips like music to your ears. “You’re not lyin’ to me, are you? This isn’t some kind of prank. Because it’s February, not April, you know.”

“Buck!”

“Best day of my life,” Bucky grins as he sets you back down, kissing you again and again and again until you’re laughing against his lips.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” You poke him in the chest.

Bucky doesn’t cease his kisses, peppering them across your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw, before dangerously venturing south down your neck. A sinful moan slithers past your lips as he does so. His fingers tighten on your waist.

With your swollen lips, you peer up at Bucky with a request in your gaze.

“My parents are going to be out late. They have dinner and a show and then dancing. Nobody’s home. If, you know, you wanted to come over…”

It’s the last chance for you to be a bit more dauntless, a bit more reckless. It’s the last dose of courage that you manage to muster up as Bucky holds you close.

His eyes gloss over with the kind of desire that has your stomach flipping. They drop to your lips again, to the soft, moist spot on your neck, before rising back to meet yours.

“Doll, I— I wanna treat you right. Take you out on a proper date before we—” he stops his words there, flushing beet red beneath the warm lamps. “I wanna do this right. Do right by you.”

“You already took me on a date, Buck,” you whisper, “let’s be real. Today was one.” You pry his hands from your waist and use them to tug his dazed state down the street back to your house. He’s stumbling after you, looking all sorts of flustered.

It’s satisfying to see Bucky so affected by you. You always thought he was this smooth and suave man, untouchable to the everyday person. Seeing him like this, pink and shy, trailing after you like an eager pup with those awed blue eyes, you realize that maybe you’re not the everyday person to him.

You’re you and he’s the sweet loverboy who simply loves you.

“Don’t get shy on me now, we don’t have time for that,” you tease as you unlock your front door.

His hands land on your hips again as he turns you around to press you up against the surface. His mouth slants over yours, a groan vibrating off his chest. “Don’t worry, I won’t take that long.”

He drinks in your bright laughter as you quickly spin to open and spill through the door.

With his hand in yours, you guide him up the steps of your quiet house. Your room sits on the far end of the hall and you momentarily panic, wondering if you’ve cleaned. This is the last thing you expected to do from your outing.

However, before you can think too hard about it, you push open the door.

Bucky’s gaze flits around the room, absorbing every inch of it with his lips quirked in a small smile. The photos that hang on your wall, ones of your family, ones of you and friends, ones of you and Steve and Bucky. The childish pink sheets that your mom purchased so long ago but you never cared to change.

Now, you’re starting to think you probably could’ve put in some effort into your room. You just never expected to bring a boy here.

“Cute,” Bucky murmurs. “It’s very… you.”

“How so?”

“Sweet,” he smiles, settling his hands on your waist again to pull you forward towards him. Bucky leans down to kiss you again, slower this time. His lips move languidly against yours as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. “Taste so good, doll.”

“It’s the ice cream,” you grin.

“Just you,” he replies between kisses.

He cautiously walks you back against the bed, gently easing you to sit before laying you down along the length of it. He presses you back into the mattress, propping himself up by his forearms as he looks at you with a gaze so tender you could melt. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing his warm lips along your jaw, firm as he kisses each spot on your skin like he’s tracing a path with his mouth.

He runs his mouth along the column of your tongue, tongue scraping to taset that sweetness of your smooth skin as his teeth temporarily tattoo blooming prints in a trail. His hand cups the back of your neck to tilt your head up to face him. His lips find yours again, soft and steady, as he exhalest moans that match yours.

“Bucky,” you hum quietly.

Hesitation clouds his gaze for a moment.

“Ever been with anyone before?”

You look embarrassed for a second, shifting your gaze away. “Once.” It’s not that you’re ashamed of your inexperience; you just wish you had more to reference to make sure this is as good for Bucky as it will undoubtedly be for you.

Regardless of what he does, you’re almost a hundred percent certain that you’ll be happy — as long as it’s with him.

“Who?” Bucky grits out.

The sternness of his voice has you stiffening in surprise. “I-It was just someone from the neighborhood. Summer last year.”

His jaw clenches, a tick as his hand slides to cup your chin, turning you back to him. “Don’t let him near me, doll. Never want to imagine you with anyone else.”

“You’re one to talk,” you pout right back, “how about you?”

Bucky’s gaze flickers away for a second before returning to you. A worried tinge to his expression.

There’s no way— it can’t be. Bucky of all people?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky flushes.

“You haven’t— I mean, you’re you.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean, you could have your pick, Bucky. With anyone. I’m just… surprised, I suppose.”

Bucky sighs, leaning his forehead down against yours again. His breath ghosts your skin. “I couldn’t think of anyone else once I met you. Couldn’t even look at anyone else.”

“That’s just silly,” you mutter.

“Why’s that silly?”

You’ve known Bucky for a couple of years now, starting after high school when Steve first introduced you the summer after graduation, all three of you growing up together into full-fleshed, working adults who barely have time for the better things in life. In that time, you could picture Bucky going on dates, meeting one gal after another who catches his fancy.

But the two of you have never been more than friends, and even then, the term is a bit of a stretch. While you’re comfortable with Steve, Bucky’s charm has always intimidated you. You don’t how to interact with someone who’s so calm, so confident. You’re a bundle of nervous, jittery energy while Bucky always engages you with such cool charisma.

“I don’t know, I just— you’ve been out on dates. I assumed you would have… at some point.”

“Didn’t care about those dates, doll. Only went along with it to help a couple of friends. I never thought about those girls.”

“I see how everyone looks at you, you know.”

“Well, I only see you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, butterflies ripple in your stomach like the first flight of spring.

“We’ve known each other a while.”

Bucky confirms, “I know.”

“So how long have you— I mean, why haven’t you said anything?”

His eyes trace your face again.

“You were always so quiet with me. Not like how you are with Stevie. I thought you didn’t like me that much.”

You blink at him, a mix of confusion and astonishment. “I like you, Bucky. Of course, I do.”

“You barely say anything to me most of the time. Even when I come over, you’re always so shy. Like you’re scared of me. When I asked you to go out today, I wanted to throw it out there — it’s the first time Steve’s been busy on this day. I didn’t think you’d agree to come.”

“I wasn’t… scared of you. You’re just out of my league.”

His brows furrow in a deep frown that mars his beautiful face. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re just cool and sweet and you have all the ladies clamoring to be with you. I didn’t think you’d see me in that way, not when you have so many others.”

“No one else. There’s been no one else for me.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, your lips morphing into a surprised smile. “I should’ve said something too.”

“Glad you came after me today,” Bucky smiles, a little weak. “I was worried you’d tell me — or Stevie — that you never wanted to see me again. Tell me to take a hike.”

You laugh. “That would be crazy.”

“I thought you’d tell me that you’ve had a crush on Stevie all this time.”

“Me? A crush on Steve?” Bucky nods almost shyly. “He’s just a good friend.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“A great guy more in love with justice and his country than anything else. No, I couldn’t ever see Steve in that light. You, on the other hand…”

Bucky’s lips twitch as he leans forward, kissing your cheek. “What about me?” He whispers.

“You’re everything.”

“God, you’re perfect,” Bucky professes earnestly. “Be patient with me, doll. I’ll learn how to take real good care of you. Promise you I’ll make you feel good.”

You don’t doubt him.

You can feel the fragile touch of his fingertips on your skin, quivering slightly as a sign of his nerves. For once, with confirmation of his affection, you feel bolder. Stronger. You take his hands and pry them off you. He looks at you with a combination of confusion and wary. He looks as if he’s about to ask you if he’s done something wrong.

Before he can question you, you nudge him back gently onto his back. Sapphire eyes staring up at you in awed surprise. It’s your turn to duck your head and kiss him firmly on the lips, leaving him dazed and distracted as you slowly work off his shirt buttons one at a time, revealing more of his chest to you.

His very chiseled chest.

He’s unbelievable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whine. “How are you built like this?”

Bucky flushes, red to his beautiful pecs. “It’s because of work.”

“You’re gorgeous,” you utter with admiration dripping in every syllable.

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Do you practice these lines with anyone else or do they come naturally?” You tease, finger tracing the lines of his chest and down to his abs. You feel him tighten, shadows deepening as his stomach clenches.

“I mean every word when it comes to you, doll.”

With a bashful smile, you begin to venture south. Your lips press against his skin, warm and wet as you sketch the shape of him with your tongue.

“Shit,” Bucky jerks nervously, “sorry. I’ve never— um, I haven’t done this.”

“Ever or in a while?” The anxious shift of his gaze is answer enough. “Hey, it’s just me, Buck.”

“I know,” he flinches, “I want it to be good for you. You don’t have to do this.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you look at him coyly. “Trust me, this is as good for you as it is for me.”

“How—” His words fizzle out as you press your lips against his navel, lowering until you reach that sharp angle that disappears beneath his pants.

Your fingers are far from stable as they pop open his pants, reaching for the waistband to draw them down. From this angle, with his hooded eyes staring at you, the sight of his sculpted body before you, you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation. Your mouth is practically salivating, begging to be put on him.

You tug his briefs down too, leaving him with only his shirt splayed open. He’s beautiful. While you’ve been with another before this, he doesn’t even come close to Bucky. His length stands tall and proud, the head flushed a desperate red as it twitches with need.

The power is almost intoxicating. Knowing how vulnerable Bucky is beneath your fingertips. The tables have turned and now you’re the one who has Bucky glowing bright red.

You’re on your knees, fully dressed still, as you position yourself before him. Your hand reaches out to grasp him, a gasp immediately ripping out of his chest as he slams his head back against the pillow.

Your thumb brushes over the tip. He jerks again, legs jumping. “So sensitive,” you murmur.

“Doll, you’re killin’ me,” he pants, sealing the seam of his lips in a firm, determined line.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“That’s the worst part,” he gripes tightly.

You lean forward with a giggle, the puffs of air from your lips touching his cock leaking with moisture. Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as you begin slow strokes with your hand, your eyes drinking in how he twists and fruitlessly forces himself to stay still on the bed.

When you bend even closer, your lips finally close in around the head. You taste a hint of him on your tongue as Bucky heaves a deep breath again. You’ve overheard conversations from other girls before, what makes this a good experience for men. You’re putting your knowledge to the test now.

Your tongue circles the head as your fingers keep a firm grip around the base. With your other hand, you flatten it against his hip bone to steady him against your mattress. As you begin to dip your head down, taking more of his length into your mouth, he begins to writhe against you.

The weight of his cock is grounding on your tongue, you find yourself laving at his length, trying to find all of the spots that have him releasing those delicious little moans. You drag your tongue along the underside of his cock and earn a guttural groan. You suckle on the tip over and over until he’s arching slightly off the bed in search of more. Your hand moves in tandem with your mouth as you stroke what you cannot swallow, and Bucky slides his hand into your hair.

Then you feel him yank you back, releasing him with a pop.

Bucky grips his cock, squeezing it as his face is tinted the same color as those cherry-red stools. He gasps as the vein in his neck pulses. “Shit. Doll, you’re too good— I can’t last like this.”

“You can cum in my mouth.”

His eyes roll to the back of his head before he lets out another pained groan. “Keep sayin’ things like that and I might cum all over your sheets before you touch me again.”

You bite back your smile. “Let me take care of you a bit longer.”

“Doll, I need you to feel good too. Need you to finish with me.”

“I feel good when you feel good,” you say honestly.

Just seeing Bucky like this — coming apart, undone by your touch — is enough to satisfy that eager little devil inside you. The one that pushes you to relentlessly tease him until he’s whining and spilling those pearls from his cock.

Bucky shakes his head and pries your hands off him before he flips you over again. His eyes have darkened with hunger, pupils wide as they wolf down your surprise. He holds your hands up above your head as he kisses you again, deep and ravenous. His tongue licks inside your mouth when you gasp, tangling against yours and drawing out those pretty, breathless moans that cling to the back of his mind.

He’s going to hear you for days. He wants to taste you for days.

As one hand cups your cheek, the other slides down to undo your belt, casting it aside, before moving behind your back to draw down the zipper. It’s delectable how he doesn’t seem so timid anymore, confident in his actions. He mouths down your neck, catching your skin between his teeth with a firmer grip. You whimper as you feel each sting, his attempt to map out constellations that will linger for all to marvel.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day.”

“To have your way with me?” You raise an eyebrow.

“To kiss you,” Bucky grins, “couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it. I wanted to do it when I first saw you in this dress this morning. I wanted to do it when the sun rose upon your face. I wanted to do it when you were giggling at the park. Desperately wanted to do it when I left you on your porch earlier.”

“You should’ve been bolder, Bucky Barnes.”

His eyes glaze over with a molten look that melts you. “I love the way you say my name.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hearin’ you say it over and over today, I wanted to kiss you until you can’t think of anythin’ else but me.”

You smile up at him, mellow and soft. “I already think of nothing else but you.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking over you like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he can’t believe he gets to have this. Gets to have you. His lips are back on you as he traces down your neck, as he slips the thick fabric of your dress down to your legs before he pushes it away. Then he’s leaning back, his eyes roaming over you, trailing over the shape of you like he’s committing it to memory.

“I want to draw you someday,” Bucky purrs, “just like this. Open. Vulnerable. For me.”

A shiver snakes up your spine at the thought. Your legs squeezing together.

“Going to have this picture tucked away with me at all times. Keep you in my wallet. You with your beautiful tits, and these curves,” he mumbles as his hand reaches up to your face again, his thumb dragging along your plump bottom lip. “Whenever I want to jerk off, I’ll have this to remind me of you. A picture of you for me to ruin.”

Your eyes slide shut as a moan crawls its way up your throat. The thought of Bucky at home or at work, his strong hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself to the sketch of you with your tits out, legs wide open, until he splatters cum that stains the pages and destroys his hard work, has you wet between your legs.

Then you just have to do it for him all over again. Another pose, another position. Bent over, spread open, or maybe even just your face for him to paint — in more ways than one.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Bucky grins wide, “My perfect, dirty girl.” His other hand slides down between your legs and holds you there, feeling the dampness and humidity of the flimsy fabric. “So wet for me already.”

“Bucky, please.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he echoes your words mischievously.

“You’re mean.” You stick your bottom lip out at him.

He chuckles. “I can see the appeal, why you liked seein’ me feel good. All I can think about is how I can make you feel the same way. How do you want me, doll? Tell me what you like.”

“I-I don’t know. I’ve only done this once before.”

“I can teach you what you’ll like. We’ll learn together. I’ll know for next time how to make you squirm, make you cry, make you moan my name.”

His fingers begin to rub slow circles over your panties. The pressure has your hips lifting to meet his touch. Bucky’s eyes are fixated on you, glued to the way your expression morphs from incredulity to pleasure to pain. He doesn’t even blink, making sure that he catches every change in your emotion, collecting all of the things that make you tick.

When his fingers finally slip beneath the fabric and feel the sticky mess between your legs, your hands fly to catch his wrist.

“You’re leakin’, doll. So messy between these pretty legs. This all for me?”

You’re in utter disbelief at how quickly Bucky has flipped the situation on its head. You can’t believe that Bucky’s never done this before, not with how skillful his fingers are in delivering a divine sort of punishment — or reward. His fingers push between your slick folds, gathering your juices until they glide all the way in. There’s barely any resistance with how wet you are, but his fingers are thick and you can still feel the stretch as he curls them inside you with a cocky grin.

“So sweet for me. I love seeing you like this, doll. I want your scent on my fingers, want to be able smell you when I’m at work. None of those guys will ever know how beautiful you are like this, wrecked and open for me. I’ll think about how fuckin’ wet you are for me. Drippin’ for me.”

“Bucky, oh god, please. It feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “that’s it. Who’s making you feel good, hm? Who’s got you squirming and leakin’ all over my fingers?”

“You, only you.”

He scissors his fingers open inside you, stroking your walls with a friction that sparks another wave of heat through you. It’s like your brain has melted completely, smoothed out until only one thought remains in your mind. Bucky and his talented hands and his delicious lips.

With your eyes closed, you miss how Bucky leans forward to capture one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. The heat engulfs your sensitive bud as his tongue swirls around it, wet and hot. “Taste so good,” Bucky mumbles, his deep timbre resonating through your chest to your core. “Perfect fuckin’ tits on my perfect fuckin’ girl.”

“Your girl?” You gasp as he nips you gently.

“You think I’ll share you with anyone else after today?” Bucky laughs, but amusement is the last thing you hear in his voice. “You’re mine. I’ll fight any guy who tries anything with you. Even Stevie, doll.”

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, squeezing his digits at that promise of possession. You hate to admit how much you enjoy the thought of it. How much Bucky wants you, how much he loves you. How selfish he is with you.

“You’re mine,” Bucky repeats in a growl as he burrows his fingers deeper inside you, drawing out a whimper from your lips.

“I’m yours,” you nod breathlessly.

“Good girl,” he hums, pleased. “I want you to cum around my fingers, doll. I want to feel you squeeze me.”

To that, you shake your head as you try to pull him out of you. Bucky’s much stronger though, his biceps flexing as he fights to keep his fingers buried inside. “I want you. Want your cock. Want you inside me.”

He pales for a second. “Doll, I didn’t bring— I mean, I don’t have… a condom.”

“S’okay,” you moan drunkenly, inebriated from the addicting sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers, the high of the day. “You can just pull out.”

“Doll.”

“Bucky, please.”

His eyes betray the war in his mind. You can see the conflict behind those irises, the need to consume you battling against his strong sense of responsibility. His cock and his heart driving his mind in two different directions.

With him partially preoccupied, you manage to get his fingers out before you’re lifting it to your lips. You run his wet fingers along your lips, his eyes snagging on the sight of the streak. Then you open your mouth and take his fingers onto your tongue.

If possible, Bucky’s eyes darken even further, the ring of blue swallowed by the desire that devours him.

You taste yourself and something uniquely him on his fingers. Your eyes stay on him, watching how a lustful fog rolls across his gaze at the sight of you sucking on his fingers. Your tongue slips and slides between his fingers, over his knuckles until they’re clean.

Then you drag him down to meet your lips, your tongue sliding over his.

You drink his moans and let them settle deep in your gut. “Fuck, look at you. I can taste you,” Bucky groans.

“Mmm, will you please fuck me, Bucky? Pretty please,” you bat your eyes at him, a tantalizing look that has his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“You’re going to kill me,” he groans. “S’not safe, doll.”

He is surprisingly resilient, more stubborn than you thought. You should’ve known better than to think you could get Bucky to cave in to your whims with your sexual wiles. What you need is to use his own weakness, his Kryptonite, against him.

With a sigh, you release your hold on him. “Alright, fine.”

“I’ll still take care of you. Make sure you finish.”

You glance at the door with lips pressed together. “You think Stevie’s done with his mom?”

Bucky freezes. Limbs going stock still as his jaw drops open. “What— you never call him Stevie.”

“Well, maybe I’ll start. Maybe Stevie will give me what I want.”

Bucky growls, baring his teeth as he pins you down on the bed again, wrists above your head. “You tryin’ to piss me off, doll?”

“I’m trying to get fucked, Buck.”

“Then you ask me. You don’t fuckin’ ask — hell, you don’t even think about Steve.”

“I’ve been asking!”

“Such a brat,” Bucky shakes his head, realizing now what you’ve done. His eyes sparkle with that knowing look. “I’m goin’ to pull out. As much as I’d love to knock you up, get you full of my babies, I want to do right by you — and now is not the time.”

You bite the corner of your lip again at the thought of Bucky breeding you. It wouldn’t be so bad.

“Don’t even think about it,” he mutters, “you devious little minx. If I knew you were this manipulative, I would’ve come prepared.”

A sweet smile up at him, you tilt your head in mock innocence. “You think I wouldn’t slice right through that determination of yours?”

Bucky inhales deeply, breathing out through his nose. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. Just you wait.” He uses his knee to nudge your legs open and you do so easily, knees falling apart automatically to grant him access.

Sliding off the bed, Bucky drags you to the edge of the mattress and uses one hand to keep you restrained. His palms are large enough to hold them together, grip tight enough for the burn to warm your belly and your pussy squeezing. There’s a damp spot in your panties that has Bucky swallowing thickly before he hooks his fingers on the hem and pulls your underwear down and off you.

He brings the small piece to his nose, breathing in your scent as a grunt makes its way up his throat. Then he’s shoving it into his back pocket. “Mine now.”

Before you can protest the loss of your favorite underwear, he positions his cock at your entrance, testing the head along your lips and letting you leak onto his length. He presses his cock against you, your folds molding around him as he grinds his hips into you. Moans tumble from his lips as he soaks in the feeling of you wet and warm around him. The friction is enough to have you whining — pleasure sinking into your bones while your body begs for more.

The intensity of this intimacy has you wriggling against him. It’s not enough, yet too much, all at once. His tip brushes over your clit, rubbing that delicate spot over again until you’re mewling into your sheets.

“God, you feel like a dream, doll. So fuckin’ wet for me. Have you thought about my cock before?”

“Mhmm,” you hum absentmindedly.

“Touched yourself to me?”

“Mhmm,” you admit again.

Bucky hisses as the thick head of his cock catches onto your gaping cunt. You’re practically begging for him to fuck you at this point, pussy opening up every time his cock comes close. You’re dripping all over him like honey. He tugs it out again with a groan. “Yeah, tell me what you think about.”

His name spills from your lips in protest. You scoot lower in the hopes of getting another feel of his cock inside you.

“Tell me,” he says as he stills his hips.

“I-I don’t know. I just think about you and your cock. I imagine myself on my knees as you push your cock into my mouth, as you fuck my throat and tell me to take it like a good girl.”

“Jesus.” Bucky’s hips jerk against you, giving you that mind-numbing traction you so desperately crave.

Eager now that you’ve seen what your words can do to him, you keep going. “I think about you thrusting into my mouth until my throat is raw. Think about you moaning my name and spilling down my throat. I think about you forcing my jaw open to prove to you that I swallowed every single drop.”

“Fuck, doll. You’re a goddamn dream come true.” Bucky begins to rut against you again. Sweat beads his forehead, not from the exertion of his effort, but from the force of his self-restraint. “Tell me more. Keep talkin’.”

The words flow from your lips so easily. Eagerly. “I think about you fucking me. I think about you making me spread my legs, you making me put my fingers between them to keep my pussy open for you.” A curse falls from his mouth. “I think about you sliding your cock inside me, stretching me out as you tell me how good my cunt feels around you. How my pussy belongs to you.”

His chuckle is deep and devilish as he finally sheathes himself inside you. His cock dragging against your insides as a choked gasp falls from your lips. He’s bigger than you thought, your juices barely easing the ache as he stretches you open.

“Like that?” He breathes, “Your cunt feels like heaven. Feels like where I’ve always belonged.”

“Just like that,” you swallow as he slides himself all the way out only to bury himself back in again to the base.

The movement is unhurried, prolonging the burn as he enters you again. “Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. This cunt is mine, doll. Nobody else is gonna even think about touching you. I’m gonna have you smellin’ like me, imprint myself on you. Gonna leave you with so many hickeys, all the housewives down this fuckin’ block are gonna blush every time they see you. Gonna make sure my fingers bruise your fuckin’ wrists so the men can see that you’re mine. Cuffed to me with my own handprints.”

“Bucky, oh god, please,” you arch off the bed, struggling against his grasp.

He only laughs, low and dark. “Try all you want, you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He rolls his hips slowly at first, torturing you in methods that are criminal to mankind. His cock fills you up before leaving you gaping, empty, clenching around air again. He pushes back in with emphasis, his length reaching the deepest parts of you until you’re left gasping.

True to his word, only his name forms on your tongue. Only his name leaves your lips again and again in breathless moans, in wretched whines.

“Never knew I could feel like this. All those nights, been using my own hand while thinkin’ of you, thinkin’ about your sweet pussy wrapped around my cock, and I could’ve had you.”

“You thought of me?”

“Every night.” His answer is swift and honest. “Every time you wore those pretty little dresses, I’d fuck my fist that night thinkin’ about what it would be like to bend you over a counter somewhere, flippin’ your skirt up, and buryin’ myself in this pretty pussy.”

“Hnnng, Buck, please. Need you.”

Bucky picks up the pace of his thrusts, jerking his hips harder against you until his balls are slapping against your cunt. The slick sounds of his cock inside you, the smacking of skin against skin bouncing off the four walls of the room. Bucky inhales deeply, smelling the musky scent of sex that wafts through the room. The rousing scent of your desire leaking between your legs, the smell of sweat as he drills into you with a persistence that steals the air from your lungs.

“Always imagined you needy for me like this. Didn’t matter that I never fucked anyone before. I knew I’d have you, doll. I wasn’t ever going to let anyone else touch you,” he bites out then bitterly adds, “again.”

“Yours, Buck. I’m yours.”

Bucky grits his teeth as he sinks himself into you again, his hand moving from your hips to your clit as he digs his thumb into the mess of stimulated nerves. You whine and clamp your legs around him, drawing him in closer.

“That’s my good girl. Do you wanna cum on my cock? Wanna soak my fat cock with your pussy, doll?”

You nod, drool practically dribbling from your lips as your mind fizzles into nothing but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yes, Buck. Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanna cum on your cock,” you moan, stomach tightening with a desperation that squeezes your chest.

“You gonna let me cum in you?”

You don’t even have to think twice before you nod. “Yes, yes. Whatever you want.”

“Fuck, doll, you’re such a desperate little slut. You don’t even care if I knock you up, do you? You want my babies, doll? Wanna be pregnant, tits full of milk, and carrying my kids?”

“Yeah, yeah, please. Anything.”

Bucky groans as his movements stutter, knees weakening with your words. Chest heavy with the weight of your desperation, how easily you give in to him. Bucky leans forward to kiss you again, pressing your legs back as he fucks into you, your own hips tilting back like he’s preparing you to take his cum.

“Good girl, gonna breed you so good, doll.”

“Please,” you pant. “Please, Bucky.”

“So sweet for me. Beggin’ me like this,” Bucky grunts.

You can feel your pleasure cresting, climbing and climbing until there’s no oxygen left in your lungs. Your legs tighten around him, pussy clamping around his cock.

All you need is his permission.

“Bucky, please— please let me cum.”

“Cum for me, doll. Cum around my cock.”

And you’re nothing if not obedient. Your orgasm crashes over you in rolling tides, a gasp wrenching from your lips as your fingers dig into your palm. Bucky’s grip secures firmly around your wrists as he watches you come apart underneath him. Your hair now a mess, light streaks of mascara on your cheeks.

Stunning.

Bucky growls at the delicious sight of you absolutely wrecked, pumping in and out faster to chase his own climax. When he feels it coming, he quickly pulls himself out of you, chest rising and falling as he paints white across your stomach, your chest. The streaks are an abstract work of art that he registers vaguely through his hazy eyes.

His hips are still jerking as he spurts the last of his cum across your body. He huffs with a satisfied sort of exhaustion as he looks down at the work he’s created. He releases his hold around your wrists as he ducks his head to kiss you again.

Slow and sweet.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “I don’t know how you’re real, but I’m not about to start questioning God for bringing you into my life.”

Your embarrassment with his words is swift, warmth creeping up your cheeks. “You’re too sweet with me.”

“Deserve all of it, doll. Love you. Never said it out loud.”

You giggle against his lips. “Love you too, Buck.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up before—”

The sound of the front door creaking open has both of you stunned. Bucky scrambles off you, searching around for his pants as he buttons up his shirt again. You reach for the napkins on your bedside table and wipe yourself down.

You hear your parents’ footsteps ascend the stairs. They always, always check on you before they go to sleep.

On cue, just as you’re holding your dress up to cover your body, you hear the knock on your door. “Honey?” Your mom’s voice calls out from the other side.

Your eyes fly to the clock, indicating that it’s much too late for you to be awake anyway. So you bring your finger to your lips to tell Bucky to be quiet. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe.

“Guess she’s asleep already.” You hear your mom say before their footsteps recede down the hall again.

You finally let out a deep sigh of relief, letting the dress pool on the floor again. “That would’ve been bad.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Bucky flinches. “This is not how I want to face your mother for the first time as your boyfriend.”

You perk up, lips tugging into a smile. “Boyfriend?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “Yeah, doll. Boyfriend. I didn’t make that clear enough?”

“You never asked, Bucky Barnes,” you challenge.

“Feisty,” he grins, hands snapping out to grab you and draw you close. He presses a kiss against your temple. “You’re right. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you brighten.

Bucky holds you at arm’s length, admiring the sight of you still deliciously naked and sticky. “Should’ve drawn you with my cum all over you earlier,” he murmurs, finger tracing down your stomach where your skin is still damp.

“Bucky,” you protest shyly.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, to which Bucky grins. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Good. Let me take you out again. Properly this time. A real date.”

You smile, “You already did, Buck.”

“Mmm, don’t think so. I think tomorrow will be our official first date.”

“You cumming on me doesn’t count?”

Bucky groans, leaning forward to press your foreheads together. “I wanted to be a gentleman with you,” he grouses, more so to himself.

“Well, you did pull out,” you tease.

“Cute,” he laughs. “I’m serious, doll. About this. About you. Need you to know that.”

“I know.”

His lips twitch again into a smile as he kisses you, light and sweet. “Good. Now, I’m going to climb out the window like a teenager sneaking out of your parents’ home.”

Laughter rises from your chest again. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

After kissing you senselessly for a few more minutes — he really is far too easy to distract, Bucky swings over the ledge and hops onto the tree outside. He blows you one last kiss before jogging down the street, glancing back long enough to flash you another smile.

Maybe — just maybe — you won’t have to spend Valentine’s Day alone ever again.

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