So I had a request idea.. I know theyâre on pause for you right now so feel free to ignore this until you feel like it or even if you hate it feel free to ignore it completely!! No pressure whatsoever đ
We see sunshine reader and grumpy Bucky a whole lot. But I was thinking what about a grumpy reader?? Like maybe Bucky is head over heels for her like to the point where heâs so stupid in love and he tries to flirt with her all the time and she kinda just blows him off all the time. But it never deters him from her, if anything it makes him fall for her even more đđ but eventually through his goofiness and his chest pick up lines she starts to slowly fall for him and she finally says yes to him đđ and all the avengers are going crazy for them because itâs been a long time coming and poor Bucky has been rejected so many times đ of course the usual smut for Bucky to show reader how bad he has it for her đ
Again no pressure to actually write this whatsoever!! Itâs just been in my head for days and I absolutely love your work, everything you write is truly amazing! Much love to you sweetie!! đ„°đ
18+ Sunshine Bucky x Grumpy reader
I need this, all the soft sweet love stuck Bucky and all the needy possessive sex and I love this so much because give me all the Golden retriever Bucky pining after his sweet lil black cat.
On another note, please forgive me for taking forever to get to this and I mean forever. On another unrelated note, if you haven't already, please go read literally everything @thevillainswhore has written. It's everything and more, go NOW.
-
"Did you fall from heaven?"
...(blank stare)
"Wait no, did it hurt?"
...(brows furrow)
"No, I forgot to add fall, did it hurt when you fell?"
...(scowl begins to take place)
"From heaven?"
...(eyes roll)
"Cause you're an angel" Bucky practically giggled to himself from the kitchen stool he was perched on, warm and fuzzy on the inside. He was not the least bit bothered he bunglged his most recent attempt at talking to his crush. He watched her with heart eyes, his cheeks tinged pink with his tongue tied.
And she? She stared daggers into him and if looks could kill he'd be dead. Probably happy in heaven because a scowl on her was a thing of beauty and the her irritated grumbling as she walked off to go train was music to Bucky's ears.
"Damn terminator, you got it bad" Sam shook his head at Bucky's antics as he walked in from a morning run, overhearing the last bit of the soldiers flirting followed by you calling him a dingbat. "Or you have a death wish, saw her sharpening her knives last night"
"Jesus" Bucky buried his face into his hands with a groan, not because he was disheartened that you'd walked away yet again but because the mental image of you sitting on your bed while skilfully perfecting your weapons stirred something in him, "I can't help it, she's so-so-fuck"
"Alright, keep it in your pants" Sam said with a mix of disgust but mostly sympathy having watched this cycle of Bucky flirting (if you'd call it that) with you just to get rejected go on for months now. As a matter of fact, everyone had seen it.
Ever since you'd joined the team, the former assassin went from a suave, charismatic gentleman to a bright eyed love struck puppy. All his charm and laid back attitude went out the door replaced with the giddy butterflies of a school boy crush.
Tony was the first to see it when he introduced you to everyone, having already briefed them on your background and skill set. No nonsense. Lethal. Highly qualified. Attractive. Bucky was the first to meet you from where he was hunched over at the coffee table, polishing his precious knives as he did every evening.
"...and over there is Barnes, Barnes, this is y/n, she'll be joining missions in a couple of weeks"
Bucky looked up, eyes landing at your feet first from where he was seated, a jolt of something zapping through his body when his gaze then travelled to the knife in your thigh holster. A beautiful Gerber Mark II was strapped against you, the very same one he was an avid fan of, another push dagger sitting along your hip.
His breath caught in his throat when his blue eyes finally met yours, his heart skipping a beat at the pretty thing that stood in front of him.
"H-Hi...-shit-" He fumbled the knife had been cleaning, not bothered by the warmth that crept to his cheeks while you cocked an eyebrow at who you thought would be the put together Sergeant James Barnes. "That's a nice thigh you got strapped to your Gerber- no, I mean-you have great knives, we should polish them together sometime-that's terrible-"
"He's usually more put together than this..." Tony scrunched his nose at the toothy grin that was stretched across the soldiers face, a contrast to his signature flirty smirk. "Christ. Let me uh-introduce you to the others..." He ushered you away from the blushing soldier, that interaction being the first of Bucky's pining.
Steve and Sam saw it next while they were in the kitchen along with Bucky who was making soup.
"I didn't know assassins could cook" Sam teased, grabbing himself a snack while Steve nursed his tea, still recovering from a runny nose, "I also didn't know the very Captain America could get taken down by the common cold"
"From what I remember, his ma's chicken soup always did have special powers" Steve half wheezed between a sneeze.
"Shut up, punk" Bucky chuckled at the warm memory of helping out a sick, skinny Steve, warm tea in his cup and hot soup on the stove.
Some things never changed...sort of...
"Hey y/n" Steve greeted you as you passed by for some water, the mention of your name grabbing someone's attention immediately.
"H-hi" Bucky smiled, his heart doing jumping jacks while stirring the pot and adding a dash of salt to the broth like he had done countless times before. - "Shit-" A loud clang had all eyes on him while he cursed at the salt shaker he dropped in the soup, the pink on his cheeks spreading to his ears.
"Is he having a stroke" Sam whispered to Steve while you gave Bucky a confused nod, staring at whatever it was he was doing, cooking apparently, before leaving the kitchen.
"Bucky, get your hand out of the pot" Steve shook his head while his best friend looked down to find his metal hand still swishing around the bubbling water.
Nat and Clint saw during training. Your hard gaze didn't waver as you caught one of the daggers mid air, throwing it back and hitting the target without flinching. You jumped before Nat could sweep her leg under you, the two of you having gone at it for the last hour. You twirled another knife in your hands, the handle dancing between your fingers before throwing it again and Bucky's knee nearly buckled ready to propose.
Who the hell were you and where had you been all his life?!
You finished up, dabbing the sweat of your brow as you made your way to shower off.
"Close your mouth, you're gonna drool on the damn floor" Nat called from across the gym having noticed her teammates shameless admiring since she'd started sparring with you.
"I think I'm in love" Bucky breathed to himself really though Clint was within earshot, snorting at the remark.
"Yeah you haven't exactly been hiding it well" Nat shook her head, "Better drop it anyway, she doesn't date teammates"
"I can quit" Bucky said in a heartbeat, the team was strong enough on their own, he could use his strength for better things, sweeping you off your feet, carrying you across the threshold, what was your ring size wtf was wrong with him
"One would normally feel some shame, Barnes" Nat snorted at the dreamy gaze still plastered on Bucky's face, simply smitten and nothing else.
"I don't think he realizes he's drooling"
-
"So uh, how come y'don't date teammates" Bucky asked casually, his voice crackling through your com as he casually strolled down the hall of the base they broke into, a hallway of half broken bodies behind him.
"Really? You want to have this conversation now?" You hissed, grunting as you threw the target over you, just missing a knife that nearly sliced your side. "If you must know-fuck-I don't-because it can get messy"
"I'll leave and take up a job as a cat farmer n'milk pigs if that's what it takes"
"Did-did you say cat farmer?!" You froze mid punch wondering if you heard correctly before groaning, this couldn't be the same man a variety of other agents constantly swooned over, had he been concussed. For someone so handsome, he was so odd. But still cute. So very cute. Nope. No.
It didn't help that the sassy roll of your eyes made his heart beat faster. The sway of your hips as you always walked off made his knees weak. He noticed everything about you except he didn't catch the way your eyes would scan the room to see if he was there before entering. The uptick of your brows when you'd spot him. The tiniest slump of your shoulders when he wasn't to be found. You may have rejected him 101 times but...you certainly never asked him to stop. Was there really any harm in saying yes...?
-
"If you were a bug, you'd be a cuterpillar" Bucky said with a proud smile, throwing you a wink while stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his pants as he plopped down onto the sofa beside you, joining everyone else in the common room.
"S'there another word for shameless?" Sam snorted while everyone else watched with a mix of hope and pity, the current scene before them now far more interesting than the movie they had been watching.
"Did you search up corny pick up lines?" You huffed, annoyed that your lip twitched into a near smile of amusement.
"Maybe" Bucky shrugged as if he didn't have three tabs open on his phone, "I have others, here, kiss me if I'm wrong but-
You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you cupped his face in your hands before he could continue, smashing your lips to his, stifling a giggle at the surprised squeak he let out. The pin drop silence followed by a bunch of gasps and near shrieks were missed by the both of you, the pink on Bucky's cheeks spreading to his neck and ears.
"Oh my god-did she just-she did-"
"He's blushing. Look, terminator's blushing"
"They kissed. She kissed him. SHE KISSED HIM"
"She's such a black cat, look at em'"
"He was too until she came around"
"Pinch me-ow, you stabbed me with a fork!"
"I-you-I didn't finish my line- Bucky stuttered, did you actually-
"Yeah well whatever it was, you were probably wrong" You placed another peck to his lips, the room erupting again, the soldier still very much frozen on the spot, really, did you really just-
"I've never been so happy to be wrong in my entire life" Bucky whispered, still dazed, the feeling of your lips pressing onto his again breaking him out of his trance, "Fuck, I never wanna be right" His hands found your waist, trailing down to your hips, pulling you onto his lap, still in disbelief of what was happening.
You relaxed into his hold, letting him nuzzle into you with a grin, "Think m'havin a heart attack" his heart was beating a million miles per minute, hands reaching for every bit of you before reaching for your face, blue eyes gazing into yours.
"Finally. Also no tinman sperm on the couch-
"Tony!!"
"What, don't you guys produce like double the amount, it''ll shoot everywhere, you want the room to be a Barnes frosting special?"
"What the hell's wrong with you"
"I'm just saying, with the way he's lookin' at her-"
"YES, Okay, let's give them a minute"
Everyone removed themselves, giving the both of you heart eyes first, all the pieces falling together perfectly; a very happy Bucky with a woman who'd kill you just for looking at him the wrong way? Who'd protect him with her entire being. Everything he deserved. A man who was a complete pile of soft cotton and kittens at the mere sight of you? A man who would certainly never break your heart, worshipping the ground you walked on? Everything you deserved.
They couldn't have been happier.
"I got it bad f'you baby" Bucky groaned, a smirk playing on your lips while he pawed at your hips as if he couldn't get enough of you. His pulse jumped at the brief feeling of your bareskin against his fingertips as he skimmed along the hem of your tshirt, moving them away immediately, he wouldn't push anything unless you-
"Show me how bad" You whispered, eyes growing wide at the growl that emitted from his chest, his hands moving to grip your thighs, moving them to wrap around his waist.
"Don't need to tell me twice"
You bit your lip as he stood up with no effort, your breath catching in your throat feeling the growing hardness in his jeans pressed against you as he made his way over to the elevator and straight to his room.
"Just-just wanna feel you" He laid you on his bed, his hands slipping up your shirt, shuddering at the feeling of your warm skin against his palm, "Can I?"
"You don't need to ask, handsome, m'all yours" You cooed at his trembling fingers, those words alone making his eyes nearly roll back. He tossed your shirt off, followed by the rest of all the clothing until you were both bare, his eyes drinking in every bit of you while you admired right back.
Bucky was handsome, there was never any doubt there, but seeing him like this was different. You'd seen him shirtless when he trained; seeing him in his all naked glory? Beautiful. Beautiful and yours. His thick thighs were splayed apart as he kneeled over you with the prettiest pink cock, hard between his legs, balls achingly full. His flushed tip glistened with a dainty drop of precum, just begging to be licked off-
"Wanna see all of you" Bucky murmured, his hands resting on your knees, spreading them apart, your slick folds now sticky with your arousal. You couldn't be asked to care at how shamelessly soaked you were, hardly touched and already making a mess on the sheets.
"Fuck baby- There were things left Bucky stunned and but you naked on his bed, resting against his pillows, your sweet throbbing clit, your fluttering hole, your heavy breaths, were at the top of the list. "Wanna taste you" You could only nod while he made his way down, laying right in front of your cunt, his cold metal fingers spreading you apart further.
"The thing's I do to this pussy- He placed a sloppy wet kiss right onto your sensitive bud sending shivers down your spine, moaning and licking his lips at your taste that clung onto him, "You have no idea sweet girl, I'd nurse of that little clit of yours" He groaned, flicking his tongue out again, your body jolting at the sensation, one taste and already addicted. He was a menace, his thick arm splaying across your hip to hold you down while he licked right up before sealing his lips around where you were most sensitive.
"Fuck-oh my god" Your words died on your tongue as he suckled faster, gentle and with purpose, feeling each twitch and shudder of your body under his, responding so well.
"Swear I could cum like this" His pressed his cock against the mattress for some relief making a mess of his own, your hand tugging at the roots of his hair making it harder for him to contain his erection without exploding. You could feel the band in your belly tighten, your thighs squeezing around him with your orgasm already barreling towards you.
"Fuck!!" You squirmed, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, "I-Im gonna-"
"I know baby, let go, c'mon, make a mess on me" He slipped his two fingers inside, curling them at just the right angle making you see starts, a silent scream ripping from your throat, back bowing off the bed, "That's it, give it to me. Did so good f'me baby, you feel okay?"
You could hardly move as Bucky came up to you, your soul floating on clouds while his cool fingers brushing against your warm forehead. The sight of you finishing, your clit throbbing against his tongue, your wetness covering his beard, all of your pleasure releasing because of him should have been enough for one night, it really should have but it hardly quenched his thirst.
"You're the prettiest thing when you cum" He whispered, shaking his head when you looked away, with a self-conscious giggle, still catching your breath, tilting your head to meet his eyes again, "I mean it. Wanna feel it again baby, around my cock, can I?"
"Anything you want soldier" your body moved on its own as he slotted himself between your legs, hissing at the feeling of his length nudging against your sopping cunt. "Told you, m'all yours"
The sound that left Bucky's lips made your heart skip a beat, a deep primal groan that he was trying to hush without sounding too unhinged.
"Tell me you're mine again" His hips shifted enough, his tip now pressed against your entrance, the both of you gasping at the feeling. His hands came up to lace with yours, pinning you against the bed before letting just the tip slip in, already stretching you.
"M'yours, all yours-F-fuckk-it's-s'big-
"Shh, I know precious, I won't hurt you, breathe for me," He cooed as he started to stretch you out, moaning with you at the feeling fluttering walls already trying to milk him, "Fuck, you're made for me, so perfect when you're full of my dick"
Your orgasm was already a gorgeous sight; Bucky was not prepared for the way you'd look under him, filled and stretched with him inside, chewing your lip raw trying to keep quiet, eyes unable to focus, he almost blew his load again-
"Please-move" Your ankles locked around his hips urging him to do something, his hips slowly starting to rock, getting you used to him, before moving faster.
"More Bucky, please" You begged, feeling him hold back with controlled movements, his cock throbbing inside you. You squeezed your cunt around him making him gasp with a hard thrust making you moan loudly and that was a sound he wanted to hear over and over again.
"All mine pretty girl, fuck-hng-mine" He drove his hips in deeper, his cock splitting you in half, plowing you into the mattress.
"Fuck Bucky, feels-s-so good" You loved the feeling of him all over you, his lips, his scent blanketing you all while feeling him in your stomach. You weren't exactly one to moan your partners name in bed but if anyone had earned it, he certainly did, tears prickling the corners of you eyes with your second high already building.
"Say-say my name again" Bucky practically whined, face tucked in your neck, his hips faltering feeling his cock dribble, "Please, need it, don't stop-
"Bucky-Buck-fuck, m'so close!" Your words melted into a sob, clinging onto him, letting him rail you like a doll.
"Fuck yes, who do you belong to, whose cock is stretching you out baby, who makes you cum" He let go of your hand, digging his hand into the sheet, tearing it trying to star off the way his balls were ready to burst, his cock aching to fill you. "You gotta cum, can't-fuck, can't hold it, gonna cum for you-need itt"
"Y-you Bucky" You nearly hicciped, overwhelmed with pleasure, you weren't going to last, the final band snapping as his fingers snaked down to brush your clit, each circle he rubbed matching his strokes, "Bucky please-I-FUCCCKK" Your cunt nearly pushed him out, sucking him right back in, throbbing and pulsing, the feeling too much for Bucky.
"That's it baby, cum, scream n'make a mess right on my cock, let everyone know, go on, make a mess on my bed" Between his filthy mouth, words nearly slurring and cock driving into you like it's only purpose was to fuck you soul deep, you squirted on him, body pulled taught, nails clawing at his shoulders.
"Shit-did you-oh fuck yes, mmph, m'cumming-" Bucky clung onto you, hips stuttering with each pump of his spend, silencing his groans, waves of ecstacy washing over him again and again.
"Think y'broke me, it won't even stop" He continued to rut into you, still hard milking out every single last drop.
"Let it all out soldier" You whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair and down his back making him whine again, every part of him sensitive, hips still grinding.
"I think Tony was right"
After a warm bath and cleaning you up, he stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while you laid against his chest, a goofy smile tugging at his lips, nuzzling you extra close.
"So..."
"Hm?" You mumbled, half asleep still in a post sex haze, muscles turned into jelly, your heart full.
"Is it hot in here or is it just you"
"Fucks sake Barnes, I already said yes, you can drop it now" You tried to sound annoyed with a fake roll of your eyes, sighing contently when he wrapped his arms around you tighter.
"Not a chance"
-
If anyone was going to pamper you like a princess, it was going to be him. You were a skilled agent out on the field but in his room, you weren't going to lift a finger and your feet wouldn't touch the floor. Whenever chokehold you had on Bucky just became 10 times worse after you agreed to go out with him. The team is happy, more than happy for the both of you. That doesn't mean you both don't make them absolutely sick.
"Can't you ever keep your hands off her?"
"No"
"He's drooling again"
"I miss the days where there wasn't suspicious white glazes on the couch"
"That was ONE time and I told you, that was from a cinnamon roll"
"You people are far too comfortable about Bucky's....little soldiers"
you canât just leave us hanging after that last chapter of Violation of Terms!! im respectfully BEGGING for Part 6. Iâll be good. Or bad. Whatever gets me the next part faster đđ€
Violation of Terms: CLAUSE SIX â No Coming Without Him
----------
You thought he was asleep.
And really, it was his fault.
Heâd gone down on you earlierâlazy, distracted, half-asleep in the dark with one arm slung over your thighâbut never finished the job. Youâd come close, twice, and then he mumbled something like âI got you, baby, just give me a secâŠâ and promptly fell back against the pillow and passed out.
So now it was 2:43 in the morning.
And you were left aching.
He was still sleeping beside you, chest rising in a steady rhythm, mouth parted just slightly, bare torso rising and falling with each breath. Soft. Vulnerable. Unaware.
So you reached for the toy in your nightstand drawer. Quietly.
So quietly.
You rolled onto your side, slid a pillow between your legs, and pressed the vibrator to your clit.
Just enough.
Just until you could finish this time.
You muffled your whimpers in the blanket.
You thought you were being careful.
You thought he wouldnât notice.
You were wrong.
He didnât say anything until morning.
Didnât let on when you curled against him after. Didnât mention it when he kissed your forehead and rubbed your back, just like always.
You really thought you got away with it.
Until breakfast.
He poured your coffee. Set it on the counter. Then leaned in close and murmuredâ
âWhat do you think the punishment is for coming without me?â
You froze.
Your stomach dropped.
Your thighs clenched.
ââŠBuckyââ
He tilted your chin up with one finger.
âNo, sweetheart. Not Bucky.â
You swallowed.
âSergeant.â
He smiled.
âGood girl.â
You didnât speak much for the rest of the morning.
Not while you got dressed.
Not while he packed a small bag.
Not even when he told youâcalmly, evenlyâto get in the car.
You didnât ask where you were going.
You knew better.
You ended up at a cabin.
Secluded. Quiet. Familiar.
The moment you stepped through the door, he locked it behind you and turned.
His eyes were dark.
Hungry.
âYou didnât think Iâd wake up,â he said quietly.
You shook your head.
âI always wake up when youâre not next to me.â
You looked down. âI didnât mean to break the rules.â
He stepped forward, closing the distance.
âYou mean you didnât think Iâd catch you.â
Your breath hitched.
He cupped your cheek gently.
âYou came without me.â
You nodded.
âI asked you not to.â
âI know.â
He kissed your forehead.
Then turned you toward the bedroom.
The blindfold came first.
Soft black satin.
He tied it with precision, covering your eyes completely. The world went dark. Your other senses lit up.
You felt the shift in the air when he moved behind you.
Felt the heat of his body without seeing it.
You sucked in a breath.
He kissed your neck.
âYou remember the rule?â
âYes, Sergeant.â
âSay it.â
âNo coming without you.â
âGood.â
The next sound was the silk ties being unspooled from his bag.
He tied your wrists to the headboardânot tight, but firm. Controlled.
âYouâre going to listen,â he murmured, brushing a kiss to your jaw. âYouâre going to obey. And you will not come until Iâm inside you.â
Your stomach clenched.
âYes, Sergeant.â
The vibrator hummed to life.
You didnât know which one it was. Not until he pressed it to your clit and you nearly screamed.
The strongest one.
The one that could make you cry in under sixty seconds.
He used it lightly at first.
Circling.
Brushing.
Letting you feel every slow, sinful wave.
You squirmed. Moaned. Begged.
But he never relented.
You got close once.
Then twice.
Both times, he pulled it away at the last second.
You sobbed into the sheets.
âPleaseâplease, Iâll wait, I swearââ
âYou already didnât,â he said calmly. âNow youâre learning how to earn it back.â
He edged you five times.
By the sixth, your thighs were shaking uncontrollably and your voice was hoarse from begging.
Your hips kept lifting off the bed without meaning to. You were so wet it had soaked down your thighs.
Every time he pulled the toy away, your body wept.
Every time he brought it back, you whimpered.
âToo much,â you choked. âPleaseâIâm tryingââ
âI know,â he said softly. âThatâs why youâre still here.â
You sobbed.
He moved between your legs and kissed your inner thigh.
âYou think I like making you cry, baby?â
You nodded.
He chuckled against your skin.
âOnly a little.â
Then the bed shifted.
He kissed your collarbone.
You felt the heat of him, thick and hard, drag across your folds.
And thenâ
Thenâ
He pushed inside you.
You shattered.
The orgasm tore through you before he was even fully buried.
Your back arched.
Your wrists pulled tight.
You screamed into the sheets as your cunt clamped down around him and your body let go all at onceârelief and punishment and ecstasy in a single tidal wave.
âFuck,â Bucky groaned, burying himself to the hilt. âThatâs it. Thatâs what I needed.â
You sobbed his name.
He fucked you slow.
Deliberate.
Keeping you full, making you feel every inch.
He held your face as you came again around him, whispered mine into your mouth, kissed you until your sobs turned to gasps.
He didnât let you stop.
Didnât let you close your legs.
Not until you begged.
Not until your voice broke.
Only then did he untie your wrists and pull off the blindfold.
Your eyes blinked against the light.
You looked up at him, tear-streaked and trembling.
He kissed your cheek.
âYouâll tell me next time.â
You nodded.
He kissed your forehead.
âAnd Iâll take care of you.â
You collapsed into his arms.
âAlready do.â
That night, after the bath and the food and the water, he curled around you under the blankets and whispered against your temple.
âYou didnât do it because you wanted to defy me.â
âNo,â you mumbled. âI just needed you.â
He nodded.
âIâll do better.â
You smiled.
âYou always do.â
ââ-
I think itâs only fair the đ« anon finish this off for us. So, đ«, where you at babe?!?
ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY YES? YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES ONE HUNDRED TIMES YES MINI SERIES FOR THE WIN!!
also, because you said that itâs okay to ask, are you okay with writing phone sex? Lmk I totally donât mind if youâre not lmao
-đ«
ooooh, let the mini series begin! Thank you for asking; yes, I'm down to write phone sex!
Violation of Terms: CLAUSE THREE â No Public Risk
Warnings: public play, remote-controlled vibrator, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, whispered threats, overstimulation, nearly getting caught, filthy undercurrents in a classy setting, Bucky struggling to function, soft power exchange, slight aftercare.
----------
You told him thereâd be no public risk.
You even said it while zipping up your dress. All smug and sweet like you werenât the most dangerous thing heâd ever encountered in a backless black gown. You kissed him on the cheek, straightened his tie, and promised, âTonight? We behave.â
And he believed you.
Like a goddamn idiot.
The gala was elegant. Classy. One of those full-production Stark-hosted nightmares where half the guests were reporters and the other half were drinking for sport. Bucky was tense as usual, eyes scanning, jaw set. You were smiling, sipping champagne, chatting with Natasha like nothing was out of the ordinary.
And then it happened.
It was subtleâbarely a twitch. But Bucky stiffened just slightly beside you, the muscles in his thighs going tight.
You took another sip.
He turned toward you slowly. His voice was low. âTell me you didnât.â
You arched a brow. âDidnât what?â
The vibrator youâd placed inside yourself before you left the apartment buzzed to life againâlevel one. Barely a hum. Nothing that would show on your face unless someone was watching closely.
Bucky was watching closely.
He leaned in. His mouth brushed your ear. âYou are going to pay for this.â
âPublic play isnât against the rules,â you murmured. âRisk is.â
âThere are cameras here.â
âThen I guess you better not react, baby.â
He let out a soft, strangled sound and stepped slightly closer, like maybe his proximity could stop the twitch in his pants.
It couldnât.
Level two hit just as Sam joined your group.
âHey,â he said casually, reaching for a drink from the tray. âGlad you guys made it. Thought Bucky might bolt halfway here.â
You smiled. âHeâs being very well-behaved tonight.â
âSurprisingly,â Sam muttered.
Buckyâs jaw clenched.
He wasnât doing great. His cheeks were flushed now, and he was shifting more than he shouldâve been. His hand flexed uselessly by his side, like he wanted to grab youâanchor himselfâbut couldnât.
You raised the intensity to level three.
His breath caught. Sam looked over, concerned. âYou good?â
âIâm fine,â Bucky bit out.
âYou look like youâre gonna pass out.â
âHot in here,â he muttered. âMight step out.â
You turned, giving Bucky your most innocent smile as he met your eyes with a murderous stare. His pupils were blown wide, sweat beading at the edge of his hairline. His voice was rough when he leaned in close enough for only you to hear.
âTurn it off. Now.â
You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his cheek. âWhy would I do that when you look so pretty like this?â
He made a low soundâhalf groan, half growlâand gripped your wrist, hard enough that the pressure grounded you. It was his only way to respond. His only way to warn you.
But he didnât make a scene.
Didnât drag you away.
Didnât even tell Sam.
And God, that made you wetter.
By level four, Bucky had white-knuckled the edge of the bar.
You were pretending to check your lipstick in the mirrored column beside you, but really, you were watching him. Watching his hips press against the edge of the marble in an attempt to hide the bulge straining against the front of his pants.
You took a sip of water and toggled the setting one notch higher.
He nearly dropped his glass.
You were going to hell. And you were giddy about it.
He came up behind you in the quietest corner he could find. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear like he was about to kiss you.
âOff,â he whispered.
âNo.â
âI swearââ
âYou could bend me over the bar if you wanted.â You arched slightly back against him, grinding just enough to feel the outline of him pressing firm and desperate through his dress pants. âBut that might make headlines.â
His breath hissed between his teeth.
âYou are playing with fire.â
You just smiled.
âI love when you beg with your body.â
He held out as long as he could.
And honestly? You were impressed. He didnât crack in front of Tony. Didnât even flinch during a photo op. But when you bumped the vibrator to level six during dinner, his fork clattered to the table and he stood so fast he nearly knocked over a chair.
You barely had time to rise before he grabbed your hand and hauled you out of the ballroom.
The hallway was empty. Dark. Lit only by overhead sconces and the glow of the exit sign at the far end. He slammed you against the wall with more control than it felt like he had.
His voice was a low snarl.
âRemote. Now.â
You slid it from your clutch and held it up like bait.
âSay please.â
His jaw ticked.
âYouâre lucky I donât drag you back in there and make you sit in my lap for the rest of the night.â
âSounds like a threat.â
âIt is a threat.â
You cocked your head. âThen donât beg.â
He reached for the remote and you yanked it back.
âAh. Say it.â
His nostrils flared. He was panting now, his entire body vibrating with restraintâand not the kind you'd programmed into the toy.
ââŠPlease,â he bit out.
Your smile was slow and smug as you finally clicked the button and powered it off. You felt the sudden absence of stimulation like a void. Bucky exhaled hard, arms braced against the wall on either side of your head.
âYouâre evil.â
You lifted your chin and kissed the corner of his mouth.
âYou love it.â
His hand dropped to your thigh. âWeâre not going back in there.â
âOkay.â
âIâm going to fuck you in the backseat of the car.â
You hummed. âJust like I planned.â
His laugh was quiet. Dangerous. âYou think this is over.â
âOh, no, baby,â you whispered, kissing the edge of his jaw. âI think you havenât even started."
The ride home was a blur of threats and promises whispered through clenched teeth. You sat beside him in the backseat like you hadnât made him suffer for over two hours. He kept his hand on your thigh the entire drive.
Not moving.
Just waiting.
When the door finally closed behind you both, he spoke without looking back.
âUpstairs. Now.â
You started up the stairs with a smirk.
âWant me on the bed or the desk?â
âYouâre not making it past the hallway.â
And you didnât.
He bent you over the console table just inside the bedroom, your dress shoved up around your hips and panties torn off in one hard yank.
âIâm not being sweet tonight,â he warned, undoing his belt with a click that made you shiver. âYou donât get to come first.â
You smiled, breathless.
âI know.â
He didnât prep you.
Didnât tease.
He slid inside you with one slow, brutal stroke and held you thereâstuffed full, spread open, your cheek pressed to the wood as you gasped. You could feel how pent up he was, how close heâd been to breaking for the past two hours.
âYou donât make the rules anymore,â he muttered, fucking into you hard enough that the console shook against the wall.
âI never did,â you whispered.
And it was true.
Because when he fucked you like that, when he lost himself completely inside the need youâd built, the game stopped being about who was in charge. It became something else.
Something electric.
Something theirs.
You came once around him anyway, and he cursed, slamming in deeper like he could carve himself into your bones. He didnât stop. Not even after he finished. Not even after your legs gave out.
He just pulled you up against his chest, kissed your temple, and murmured, âThat for the remote stunt.â
You giggled weakly. âAnd the vibrator?â
He smirked against your neck.
âOh, sweetheart. That was just foreplay.â
---
who's going to ask for part 4đ the fun has only just begun!
oooh.. if itâs alr with you, can we get a part 2 of my request with readers payback?? Thanks for writing my first one.
-đ«
its so alright...omfg
Violation of Terms: CLAUSE TWO â No Revenge
Warnings: explicit sexual content, bondage use, edging, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, reader is an absolute menace
-----------
You waited three full days.
Three long, aching days of pretending you hadnât planned every second of your revenge. You let your body recover firstâyour thighs, your voice, your poor overstimulated brain that still short-circuited anytime Bucky so much as looked at you the wrong way.
And during those three days, he played the perfect boyfriend.
He rubbed your sore calves, brought you takeout, watched rom-coms without complaint. He even helped clean your desk.
Not once did he mention what happened the night heâd knelt between your legs for what felt like hours, wrecking you slowly, deliberately, with that smug little smile.
He thought heâd gotten away with it.
And that was his first mistake.
His second?
Letting you tie him up.
âYou trust me, donât you?â you asked that night, your voice soft, fingers trailing gently down his bare chest as he sprawled across the bed in nothing but his briefs.
He blinked up at you, pink-cheeked, already warm with want. His voice came out low, a little rough around the edges. âOf course I do.â
You leaned down, brushing a kiss over his jaw, then whispered, âGood. Then let me take care of you.â
His eyes darkened. He didnât hesitate as you reached for the soft black restraints in the drawer beside the bed. Just lifted his arms above his head and smiledâcocky, hopeful, already anticipating your mouth, your hands, your mercy.
He had no idea what was coming.
You straddled his hips and smiled down at him, watching the smugness slowly melt into something sweeter. Needier.
âYou look good like this,â you murmured. âAll tied up. All mine.â
He chuckled, gaze playful. âNot so different from last time.â
Your lips brushed his. âNo, sweetheart. Very different.â
And then you climbed off him⊠and walked away.
âWhat are you doing?â Bucky called, craning his neck as you padded across the room in just a tank top and panties. You sat down at your desk, opening your laptop without so much as a glance back.
âWorking,â you replied simply.
His brows furrowed. âWorking?â
âMhm.â You scrolled casually through your notes, adjusting the screen. âThought Iâd make a dent in that grant report now that youâre⊠conveniently out of the way.â
The disbelief in his voice was almost comical. âYouâre kidding.â
You glanced back at him, eyes cool and patient. âWas I kidding when you crawled under my desk and ruined my deadline?â
âThat was different.â
âYou made me come five times.â
âMissed it by six minutes!â
âAnd how many orgasms did I have in those six minutes?â
That shut him up.
You turned back to your screen and pressed play on a slow, sultry playlist. Something quiet. Something that would drive him insane.
By the time you started typing, he was already shifting on the bed, arms flexing slightly against the restraints.
Seventeen minutes. Thatâs how long it took for him to start squirming.
âSweetheart.â
You ignored him.
âBaby, pleaseââ
You hummed, eyes still on the screen. âHmm?â
âYouâre not even touching me.â
âThat wasnât part of the deal.â
âYou didnât say thatââ
âI didnât say I would, either.â
He groaned, hips twitching upward in frustration. You took a moment to glance at him. His cock was straining against his briefs, damp at the tip, and he looked like he might lose his mind.
âYou look uncomfortable,â you said lightly. âSomething I can help with?â
âYou know exactly what youâre doing,â he muttered.
âIâm just trying to get through a few pages.â You tapped a key for emphasis. âYou should be grateful I havenât gagged you.â
âYouâre evil.â
You smirked. âIâm even.â
You let it drag on. Forty minutes of restraint. Of him watching you click away at your laptop while his cock throbbed beneath fabric, untouched.
When you finally stood and made your way over, his eyes were already glassy with need, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. He looked like heâd been edged for hours.
And you hadnât laid a single finger on him.
âColor?â you asked softly as you climbed back onto the bed.
âGreen,â he said instantly, almost breathless. âSo fucking green.â
You smiled, straddling him once more, the heat of your center barely brushing his hard length. He let out a strangled moan.
âYou want my mouth, donât you?â you asked, brushing your lips against his cheek.
He whimpered. Actually whimpered. âYes.â
âWant me to take my time? Edge you slow?â
âPlease,â he begged. âPlease, baby, Iâll do anything.â
You leaned back and finally tugged down his briefs, watching his cock spring free, flushed and twitching.
But you didnât touch him.
Instead, you licked a long, lazy stripe up the inside of his thigh. He hissed.
You moved to the other side and kissed the sharp bone of his hip. Then blew softly across his shaft.
He cursed violently, tugging at the restraints.
âSay please,â you whispered.
âPlease,â he gasped. âPlease, baby, I need itââ
You wrapped a hand around him, slow and firm. His whole body arched.
âSay youâre sorry for distracting me.â
He gritted his teeth. âIâm sorry.â
âFor?â
âFor distracting you.â
âSay youâll never do it again.â
ââŠIâll never do it again.â
âLiar,â you murmured.
And then you took him into your mouth.
You edged him four times.
Every time he got closeâhis hips bucking, breath catching, his voice cracking with needâyou pulled away, cooing something soft while he swore and whimpered. By the time you finally let him come, he was wrecked.
His orgasm was messy, overwhelming. He sobbed your name as he spilled down your throat, muscles trembling, entire body shaking beneath you.
You swallowed every drop and kissed his hip, slow and sweet, before untying his wrists.
He collapsed back against the pillows, dazed.
You curled into his side, stroking your fingers along his ribs.
âYou okay, baby?â
He laughed, hoarse and weak. âMarry me.â
You grinned. âYou say that every time I ruin you.â
âAnd Iâll keep saying it,â he whispered. âEspecially if you keep doing that.â
You pressed a kiss to his chest, smug and satisfied.
âThat,â you said, curling into him, âwas for the deadline.â
hear me out.. Bucky eating reader out under the desk whilst sheâs trying to work for hours.
-đ«
this started as âhaha what if Bucky was under the desk :)â and ended with him ruining your entire night and every single deadline youâve ever had. productivity? gone. legs? also gone.
Violation of Terms: CLAUSE ONE â No Distractions
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), oral sex (female receiving), sub!Bucky, overstimulation, praise kink, orgasm control, consensual power play, soft aftercare, language.
----------
You told him not to distract you.
And to be fair⊠he didnât.
Not at first.
He brought you coffee like a good boy, placed it gently on the coaster beside your laptop. He kissed the top of your head and mumbled something about needing you to âhurry up and finish,â which was fairâyou had been buried in grant reports all day. Then he knelt down, pressed one more kiss to your thighâŠ
âŠand just didnât get up.
âBuck?â you murmured, peeking under the desk.
He blinked at you with wide, innocent eyes, like he didnât have any idea how this was going to go. But that smug little smirk gave him away.
âWhat are you doing?â
âHelping you focus.â
âBy hiding under the desk?â
He shrugged. âSeemed like a good place to be.â
âBuckyâŠâ
âI wonât do anything unless you ask me to.â
That made you hesitate.
Because you should have told him to get up. To go watch TV. To leave you alone for the next three hours so you could hammer out the last three pages of this nightmare proposal and meet the midnight deadline.
But he looked so pretty down there.
Messy hair. Soft hoodie. Bright, patient eyes.
Like heâd wait forever if you let him.
ââŠFine,â you said, warily. âJust donâtââ
Your words cut off the second he shifted closer and pressed a kiss over your clothed core. Gentle. Barely there.
âBUCKâ!â
âYou didnât ask me to stop.â
You clapped a hand over your mouth. He grinned.
This was going to be a long night.
You made it nine minutes.
Nine.
Thatâs how long you lasted before his hands slipped under your thighs, settled on your hips, and pulled you forwardâjust a little. Just enough.
Your legs shook around his shoulders.
You bit the inside of your cheek and refused to look down at him, fingers trembling as you tried to type the next paragraph, your brain white-noise static as he mouthed at you slowly through your panties. He didnât even try to speed it up.
No. Bucky was methodical.
Heâd press slow, wet kisses into you until the fabric was soaked through. Lick along the seam, tongue teasing, brushing, never quite enough. Then heâd pause. Just rest his chin on your thigh and watch you.
And God, you were trying. You were.
But the second he slid the fabric aside and exhaled directly against your bare heat, you choked on your breath and slammed the laptop shut.
âFocus,â he murmured, lips brushing your skin. âDonât stop working on my account.â
You glared down at him.
âDonât act all smug just because youâre the reason Iâm falling apart.â
âYouâre the one who let me stay under here.â
âAnd you said you wouldnât do anything unless I asked!â
âYou didnât ask me to stop, either.â
Then his mouth was on you.
All smugness vanished.
It was like heâd been starved.
He dragged his tongue through your folds and groaned like heâd been aching for it all day, and maybe he had. Maybe the entire time you were hunched over that spreadsheet, he was staring at the way your thighs shifted in the chair and counting down the hours.
He licked you slow and deep, then again. Not fast. Not yet.
But hungry.
Desperate.
Languid strokes like he wanted to memorize the shape of you with his mouth.
You gasped and gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
âFuckingâBuckyââ
He didnât stop.
Didnât even look up.
Just wrapped his arms around your thighs and held you thereâkept you open for himâand took his time licking you like you were the only thing heâd ever need again.
Time stopped mattering after that.
You couldnât tell if it had been ten minutes or an hour. All you knew was that he kept switching it upâjust when your thighs started to tremble and your hips started to lift, heâd pause. Ease off. Press a kiss to your hip and let you breathe.
Then start again.
He was ruining you.
And it wasnât even mean.
He was soft about itâgentle licks, careful hands. Whispered praise every time you whimpered. He mumbled things like so fucking sweet and canât get enough of you and need to taste you come again, baby, please, and he meant it.
He made you come once without warning.
Then again, slowly.
Then a third time with your hand in his hair and your other fist stuffed in your mouth to stop the scream.
You were crying by the fourth.
âToo much,â you whispered, shaking. âBucky, pleaseââ
He finally looked up at that.
But he didnât move away.
Didnât crawl out or let you close your legs or press a stop to it.
He kissed your inner thigh, soft and slow.
Then he nuzzled your center.
âLet me give you one more,â he murmured. âJust one. You can handle that, right, sweetheart?â
You were already nodding before you even realized you agreed.
And thatâs how it always went with Bucky.
You lost your mind somewhere around orgasm five.
Your shirt was stuck to your skin. Your laptop was crooked and forgotten beside you. The only thing you could do was try to keep your voice down as he licked into you like he owned youâlike your pleasure was his to earn, to chase, to devour.
You didnât remember moving your hands to his hair. Didnât remember dragging him in. All you knew was that he was moaning against your cunt and it was the filthiest thing youâd ever heard. Every sound he made turned you to molten heat.
You tugged on his hair.
His mouth growled against you.
âKeep tugging,â he muttered, not even lifting his head. âLike when youâre close. Thatâs it.â
âI c-canâtââ
âYes, you can.â
Your body trembled violently, your stomach clenching, toes curling. You came again on his tongueâhelpless, breathless, wreckedâand he groaned like he was getting off on it.
You were too far gone to care.
You felt lips on your thigh. A whisper of a kiss.
âYouâre doing so good for me.â
Then another.
âLet me have one more. Just one more, honey. Please. You taste like heaven.â
You couldnât say no.
You just couldnât.
So he kept going.
You didnât know how long it had been. Time no longer had rules. It couldâve been 9pm. It couldâve been 1am. Your deadline was gone. Forgotten. Erased by the tongue that had slowly and deliberately driven you past every coherent thought youâd ever had.
You tried to sit up and ended up keeling sideways in the chair with a whimper.
âBuckâfuckâI canâtââ
âYes you can, sweetheart. One more. Thatâs it.â
âYou said that three ago!â
His tongue flicked right against your clit.
You sobbed.
Your legs jerked, but he just wrapped his arms tighter, keeping you open, firm and unrelenting like it was his jobâlike he lived to keep you falling apart.
You were babbling now. Just fragments.
âBuckyâfuckâtoo muchâpleaseâdonât stopâI hate youâfuckââ
He smiled against you.
âI know, baby. I know.â
When he finallyâfinallyâcrawled out from under the desk, your thighs were still twitching and your eyes were glassy.
He looked fucking smug.
His mouth was swollen. Chin soaked. Hair a mess.
You hated how good he looked like that.
âHey, sweet girl,â he whispered, brushing hair back from your face. âStill with me?â
You whimpered something that mightâve been a yes.
He helped you out of the chair and into his lap, carrying you to the couch like your legs didnât work anymore (because they didnât). He curled you into his chest and wrapped a blanket around your shaking frame.
He kissed your forehead.
Held you tighter.
âI love watching you fall apart,â he whispered.
You huffed a laugh against his neck. âYouâre sick.â
He laughed too. âMmm. But you let me stay.â
ââŠNext time,â you muttered, âyouâre the one under the desk.â
this is kind of embarrassing, but i just ordered my first vibrator and iâm just imagining bucky exploring it with me and being a little mean and condescending but so turned on? and after he uses it to wring a few orgasms out of me he fucks me because nothing feels as good as his cock?
no this is so not embarrassing.this is everything
----------
You were embarrassed when you told him. Even more embarrassed when you pulled the little box out of the shipping bag and pushed it across the coffee table toward him.
Bucky leaned back on the couch, arm thrown over the backrest like he was settling in for a movie. His smile was downright cocky, and you hated how hot your face felt under it.
âWell, well,â he murmured, dragging out the words like he was savoring them. âDollâs been holding out on me. You finally ordered yourself a toy, huh?â
You wanted the floor to swallow you. âItâsâdonât make it a big deal, Bucky.â
âSweetheart, itâs adorable.â He flicked the corner of the box with his finger, eyes glittering. âCouldnât help yourself, could you? Thought about me not being here, thought about how bad you wanted to get off⊠figured this would do the trick.â
You crossed your arms, huffing, but the smirk on his face told you he wasnât buying your faux-defiance for a second.
He tore the box open without waiting for permission. The little vibrator rolled into his palm, sleek and purple, innocent compared to the wicked glint in his eyes.
âThis?â he chuckled, holding it up like evidence. âThis is what you thought could compete with me?â
âItâs not about competing,â you muttered, mortified.
âOh, baby,â he said, low and mocking. âEverythingâs about competing.â
He leaned forward, catching your chin between his fingers. âBet you couldnât wait to try it. Bet you were gonna sneak off into bed, all shy, spread those pretty thighs and see if it made you scream.â His smirk grew. âBut you told me instead. My good girl, always wanting Daddy involved.â
Heat flared low in your belly. You hated how easily he read you, how quickly he had you melting with nothing more than his voice and that condescending tilt of his mouth.
âGet undressed,â he ordered, setting the toy on the couch cushion beside him. âOn the bed. I wanna see how much this thing can do before I ruin you properly.â
Your whole body buzzed as you climbed onto the mattress, tugging your clothes off under his gaze. He moved slow, deliberate, stripping out of his henley but leaving his jeans on, making a show of palming the bulge pressing against the denim.
When he finally joined you, the vibrator in his hand looked even smaller against the width of his palm.
âSpread wide for me,â he said. âLetâs see what this cute little thing can manage.â
You obeyed, heart pounding as he pressed the head of it to your clit. The first vibration made your hips jolt, the sensation startling in its intensity.
âAw, look at that,â Bucky cooed, his tone dripping with amusement. âSo sensitive already. Barely touched you.â
Your fingers curled into the sheets as he held it there, just the faintest pressure, letting the steady hum pulse through you until your thighs trembled.
âFeels good, doesnât it?â he murmured. âI can tell. Youâre wet as fuck.â He dragged the toy down your slit, collecting slick before circling back up to your clit. âPretty little pussy canât resist.â
A whimper escaped you.
âDonât be shy, doll. Thatâs what you wanted, right? Wanted me to watch you fall apart on this cheap little thing?â
Your hips rolled helplessly, chasing more, and his laugh was low and mean.
âThatâs it. Use it. Show me how desperate you are.â
The vibrations built too fast, the steady rhythm pulling you higher until your back arched and your moans filled the room. Buckyâs hand never wavered, holding it against you with cruel precision until the first orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he pressed it back to your clit, ignoring your startled gasp.
âBuckyâwaitââ
âNo waiting,â he said firmly. âWeâre just getting started.â
The second orgasm came harder, your body twitching as the toy buzzed mercilessly against oversensitive nerves. Tears pricked your eyes as he hummed in approval.
âFuck, youâre gorgeous like this,â he said, eyes dark as he watched you writhe. âAll dumb and ruined already, and itâs not even my cock doing it.â
By the third orgasm, you were gasping, sobbing, the sheets tangled under your fists. Bucky finally clicked the toy off, tossing it to the side with disdain.
âPathetic,â he said softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your wet lashes. âCrying from a toy. Thought you could handle more than that.â
You barely had the strength to whimper when he shoved his jeans down, his cock thick and heavy in his fist.
âBut you know whatâs better than that piece of plastic?â he growled, lining himself up and pushing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. âMe. Always me.â
The stretch of him made you cry out, your whole body clenching as he sank deep. The toy had left you sensitive, trembling, but nothing compared to the fullness of him, the raw drag of his cock inside you.
âFuck, yeah,â Bucky groaned, bottoming out. âThatâs what you needed. Not batteries. Not some little buzz. My cock splitting you open.â
His thrusts were deep, relentless, his chest pressed to your back when he dragged you onto your hands and knees. One hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he fucked you rough.
âYouâll remember this next time you think about ordering a toy,â he snarled into your ear. âYouâll remember how fast it made you comeâand how much better I fucked you after. Nothing compares, doll. Nothing.â
Your moans broke into sobs as he pounded you through another orgasm, your cunt clenching around him so tight he cursed.
âGod, youâre milking me,â he groaned. âYou want my come, donât you? Want Daddy to fill you up so you donât forget who owns this pussy?â
âYes,â you gasped. âPlease, Buckyââ
âThatâs my girl.â His thrusts turned frantic, sloppy, and then he was coming deep inside you, grinding his hips tight to yours as warmth spilled and you shattered around him.
When he finally pulled out, his come leaked down your thighs, your body limp and wrecked. He kissed your temple, brushing sweaty hair from your face.
âSee, sweetheart?â he murmured, softer now, though still smug. âTold you nothing feels as good as me.â
You nodded weakly, and his smirk returned.
âGood girl. Now get some rest. Tomorrow, weâll see how many times I can make you cry without that toy.â
AHHHHHHHHH! I'M ADDICTED TO YOUR VIOLATION OF TERMS!
when you have time can we get part 5?? Thank youđ€đ€đ€
Violation of Terms: CLAUSE FIVE â No Toys Without Permission
Warnings: punishment kink, use of vibrator and clit suction toy, restraints (wrist ties), orgasm control (forced orgasms, multiple), overstimulation, begging, soft humiliation/degradation, possessive dom!Bucky, emotional undercurrent, aftercare, established secret dom/sub dynamic
----------
It wasnât even about defiance.
Not really.
It was about need.
Heâd been gone two days. A short recon missionâlow risk, low contact, something Sam insisted would âbarely countâ as field work. But heâd left you high and dry on the heels of a weekâs worth of unresolved tension, two skipped scenes, and one filthy recorded session that had you aching for more.
And he hadnât touched you since.
So you broke the rule.
You thought you could be subtle about it. Just once. Just enough to take the edge off. You figured he wouldnât mindânot when he got home hours later, not when he was probably too tired to care.
You figured wrong.
Because Bucky walked through the door with his duffel slung over one shoulder, caught the scent of your slick still faint in the air, and froze halfway into the apartment.
You were curled up on the couch, freshly showered, hoodie-swaddled, pretending to watch Netflix.
He dropped the bag.
âYou touch yourself?â
You didnât look up. âHi, baby. Welcome home.â
He was in front of you in two seconds flat.
âAnswer me.â
You blinked, batting wide eyes up at him. âLittle rude for a greeting, donât you think?â
He grabbed your chin.
âDonât make me ask twice.â
The heat between your legs reawakened like a struck match.
ââŠYes,â you said quietly. âI used the toy.â
His jaw clenched.
âDid I give you permission?â
âNo, Sergeant.â
âDid I say you could come without me?â
ââŠNo.â
âThen get your ass in the bedroom.â
You hesitated.
And that was all it took.
His voice dropped to a growl.
âNow.â
You stood at the foot of the bed, bare beneath his hoodie, hands laced behind your back. He stalked the room in silence, slow and deliberate, unzipping his jacket with the kind of tension that made your mouth dry.
âI leave for forty-eight hours,â he said, not looking at you, âand you decide the rules donât apply anymore.â
You didnât answer.
âIs that it?â
âNo, Sergeant.â
âYou think you can come without me now?â
You bit your lip. âI didnât mean toââ
âYou meant to.â He turned, eyes sharp and dark and unyielding. âYou just thought I wouldnât do anything about it.â
You inhaled softly.
He stepped closer.
âYou thought I wouldnât notice. That Iâd walk in, kiss your cheek, and pretend I couldnât smell what you did.â
Your face burned.
He reached into the nightstand and pulled out the silk ties. Two of them.
âOn the bed,â he said.
You climbed up.
âFace down.â
Your heart raced. You settled onto your stomach, arms stretched above your head, cheek pressed to the cool sheets.
He tied each wrist to the headboard with practiced ease, just tight enough to restrict, loose enough for comfort.
âYou want to act like a brat?â he murmured, ghosting his lips across the back of your neck. âThen Iâll treat you like one.â
He left you there.
For twenty minutes.
He sat in the chair across the room, legs spread, watching you squirm while your breath quickened with every tick of the clock. The cold air teased between your thighs. You were already damp again, humiliatingly fast.
He cocked his head.
âYouâre wet.â
You didnât speak.
âAnswer me.â
âYes, Sergeant.â
âYou that desperate to come again?â
âYes, Sergeant.â
âEven though you already did?â
ââŠYes.â
He stood and walked to the side of the bed.
You could feel the heat of him before he even touched you.
Then the sound.
Buzz.
You stiffened.
The vibrator.
He dragged it along your thigh. Soft. Taunting.
âYou like this one, donât you?â
You whimpered.
âYou liked it enough to come all over it without permission.â
âBuckyââ
âDonât whine.â
The toy pressed against your clit.
You gasped.
He held it there for three secondsâthen pulled it away.
âNo,â you panted.
âNo?â he echoed, mockingly. âYou donât get to say no, sweetheart. Not after you broke the rules.â
He turned the intensity up.
Pressed it back.
You moaned, arching into it. He kept it steady, cruelly patient, letting it vibrate against you without rhythm. Your toes curled. Your fingers fisted uselessly against the ties.
You were so close already. Shamefully close.
âSergeant, pleaseââ
âDid you beg before?â
You shook your head.
âThen you donât beg now.â
Your thighs trembled.
âI should make you wait all night.â
âI canâtââ
âYou can.â
He pulled the toy away again.
You screamed into the pillow.
âNot until I say,â he growled. âAnd youâre not even close to earning it.â
It went on like that.
Toy to clit.
Just enough pressure to bring you to the edge.
Then nothing.
He edged you five times.
By the sixth, you were crying.
Not from pain.
From desperation.
âPlease,â you whispered.
He turned your face toward him, his fingers gently curling around your jaw.
âSay it.â
âPlease let me come, Sergeant.â
He kissed your forehead.
âNot yet.â
You didnât even realize heâd retrieved the clit sucker until you heard it buzz to life.
You shook your head instantly, panicked.
âNoâno, Iâll breakââ
âGood.â
He settled it against you.
And didnât move.
Didnât speak.
Just let it pulse in slow, devastating rhythm until your body jolted like it was trying to escape itself.
You screamed.
Came once.
Twice.
Bucky didnât stop.
âToo muchâBucky, fuck, pleaseââ
His voice was soft. Almost sweet.
âYou shouldâve waited for me.â
A third orgasm tore through you with ragged sobs.
You collapsed, trembling.
The toy finally lifted.
He crawled onto the bed behind you, pulled you into his lap, and untied your wrists one at a time.
You clung to him.
Boneless. Spent.
He kissed your temple.
âNever again,â he murmured.
âI wonât,â you whispered. âI promise.â
His fingers brushed over your wrist where the silk had kissed your skin.
âYouâre mine.â
âYes, Sergeant.â
âSay it again.â
âIâm yours.â
He pulled the blanket up around you both and held you close.
âThatâs better.â
You woke two hours later in his arms.
Sore. Safe.
Loved.
You traced your fingers along his chest.
âYouâre scary when youâre mad.â
He huffed a laugh.
âI was scared for you,â he murmured.
You looked up.
âI donât want you to think you ever have to do this alone,â he said. âYour body. Your pleasure. Itâs ours.â
love your writing and would love to make a request for bucky setting reader up with a fuck machine! bonus points if he did one of those dick cloning things and just lets it pound at her while he works or something, maybe she distracted him till he had to pull out the big guns. and oooh maybe he has a vibrator just torturing her little clit, warming jelly on it so sheâs just gushing and dripping while he works and watches her. đ« đ«
holy guacamole....you want to talk about dripping!
----------
Bucky shouldâve known the second you crawled onto his lap, all wide eyes and bare thighs, that you werenât going to let him get his work done tonight. Heâd been halfway through repairing a metal plate in his arm when you straddled him, pressing needy kisses along his jawline, whining against his mouth about how long it had been since heâd touched you.
âYouâre worse than a kitten,â he muttered, though his hands still found your hips, thumbs sliding under the hem of his shirt youâd stolen. âAlways climbing all over me, scratching for attention.â
You only smirked, grinding your hips just once against his thigh before he caught your ass in his palm, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.
âAlright, doll,â he sighed, setting his tools down. His smile curved slow and dangerous. âIf you want my attention that bad, youâre gonna get it. But donât blame me when you canât walk tomorrow.â
You thought he was bluffing.
Turns out, Bucky Barnes had been preparing for just this kind of distraction.
The fuck machine gleamed obscenely in the low light of the workshop, the attached silicone cock shining wet with lube. Not just any cock. His cock. Heâd laughed wickedly when he strapped you down, spreading your thighs wide and showing you the clone kit heâd ordered weeks ago.
âYou always cry about how you canât get enough of me,â he teased, angling the tip of his replicated length against your slick entrance. âSo I figured Iâd give you something to keep you busy while I work. Thoughtful, huh?â
Your protests melted into a broken moan as he switched it on, the piston driving forward and burying the thick, perfect replica of him inside your cunt with a smooth, ruthless thrust.
âBucky!â
âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he praised, brushing hair off your sweaty forehead. âTake it. Take me nice and deep.â
It was humiliating, the way your body welcomed it instantly, back arching as the machine pounded into you at a steady rhythm. Every vein, every curve, every inch of the cock inside you was hisâand yet not hisâwhich only made you cry harder.
Worse still, he wasnât satisfied with just the toy. He reached for a small wand vibrator, coating it with a warming jelly that tingled hot the second it touched your skin. He pressed it lightly to your clit, smirking at the way your entire body jolted.
âOh, you feel that?â he cooed, voice mocking-soft. âThat little burn under the buzz? Gonna make this pretty pussy gush for me, doll. Keep you dripping all over my workbench.â
You whimpered, tugging against the restraints heâd secured around your wrists. âBucky, itâs too muchââ
âItâs never too much.â His metal hand pinched your nipple through the thin cotton of his shirt you still wore. âNot for my greedy girl.â
The combination was brutal. Each piston thrust shoved you further up the bench, the cloned cock slamming deep enough to make your eyes roll, while the vibrator never let up, constant pressure against your swollen clit until you couldnât think straight.
Bucky sat back in his chair, half-working on his arm, half-watching you come undone. He adjusted dials with the same precision he used on weapons: faster, deeper, harder. Every adjustment wrung a new scream out of your throat.
âFuck, look at you,â he rasped, jaw clenched as he palmed himself through his sweats. âHands tied, tits bouncing, drooling all over my cock like it was made for you. Which, by the wayââ he smirked darkly, âit was.â
Your legs trembled violently, slick gushing down your thighs. The wet slap of the machine filled the air, obscene and unrelenting.
âPlease, Bucky, I canâtââ
âYou will,â he cut you off sharply, the bite in his tone making you shudder. âYou wanted to distract me? Then you better put on a show. Come for me. Drown my cock, sweetheart. Now.â
The orgasm ripped through you so violently you screamed his name, body convulsing under the relentless pounding. The vibrator never eased, pushing you over into another climax before the first had even ended.
Buckyâs eyes went dark and hungry, watching your soaked cunt gush around the toy. âGood girl,â he growled. âMy perfect, messy girl.â
When you sobbed and begged for mercy, he only leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. âNot done yet. Youâll take as many as I want.â
He left you shaking under the machineâs assault while he finished tightening the last screws on his arm, glancing up every so often just to admire how ruined you looked: thighs spread, chest heaving, voice breaking on his name.
By the time he finally switched it off, your body was trembling, pussy fluttering around the toy even as it stilled.
Bucky pulled it free with a wet pop and immediately slid two thick fingers inside you, just to feel the mess. He whistled low. âLook at that. Soaked clean through. Didnât even need me to touch you.â
He smirked when you whimpered, too sensitive to take even his fingers.
âDonât worry, doll. Iâll give you the real thing later.â He kissed your swollen lips, slow and teasing. âBut for now? Consider this a lesson. Next time you try to distract me, rememberââ he slid his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan, ââI always finish my work. And I always finish you.â
hi ken! can i get a bucky x reader, where reader actually buys a vibrator thinking itâs a massager. and bucky actually gets fake mad and punishes her with the vibrator?
can you make it hot and steamy?
can i make it hot and steamy? omg yes...
-----------
You swear on everything holy that it was supposed to be a massager.
Thatâs what the ad said. Deep tissue relief, ergonomic handle, multiple speeds. The reviews talked about easing sore muscles and tight shoulders. So you hit buy now on impulse, your back screaming from hours at your desk, never realizing your definition of âmassagerâ and everyone elseâs were two very different things.
Until today.
The box arrived, sleek and discreetânothing suspicious. You ripped it open, plugged it in, and hit the little button near the base. The thing whirred to life, low and powerful, and your eyes went wide.
âUh oh.â
Because that wasnât a gentle hum meant for knotted shoulders. That was the buzz of sin itself, deep and sinful and vibrating with one clear purpose.
You shouldâve hidden it. Shouldâve thrown it in a drawer and never spoken of it again.
But curiosity was a dangerous thing, and youâclueless, curious, catastrophically naĂŻveâleft it charging on your nightstand when Bucky came home.
He walked into your room with his usual easy swagger, wiping grease from his metal hand after tinkering with his bike.
And then he saw it.
âSweetheart,â he said slowly, pausing in the doorway. âWhatâs this?â
You froze halfway through folding laundry, your eyes snapping up like youâd been caught stealing the crown jewels.
âOh! Thatâsâitâs, umââ you stammered, cheeks going pink. âItâs a massager.â
Bucky tilted his head, stepping closer. âMassager, huh?â His tone was too calm.
âYeah! You knowâlikeâfor muscles and stuff?â
He picked it up, turning it over in his hand, pressing the button just once. The low hum filled the air, vibrating through his palm, and his eyebrow arched.
âFor muscles,â he repeated flatly, eyes glinting.
You nodded far too fast. âMhmm.â
âBaby doll,â he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching as he set it back down with exaggerated care. âYou bought yourself a vibrator.â
âI did not!â
He laughed, soft and slow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the dresser. âYou did. You bought yourself a goddamn vibrator and called it a shoulder massager. How innocent do you think I am, doll?â
Your face was on fire. âIt said massager on the listing!â
âOh, I believe you,â he said, his voice dropping low, lazy, dangerous. âI believe you didnât mean to. But now youâve got this pretty little thing sittinâ here, humminâ like itâs begginâ to be used, and you expect me not to do anything about it?â
âBuckyââ
âShh.â He stepped closer, slow as honey dripping from a spoon. His metal fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his. âYou got somethinâ you wanna tell me, sweetheart?â
You swallowed hard. âItâs a misunderstanding.â
âHmm,â he hummed, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear. âYou accidentally bought a toy that makes you come. Thatâs one hell of a misunderstanding.â
Your breath hitched. His warm hand cupped your waist, thumb stroking the edge of your shirt. âTell me the truth,â he murmured. âYou tried it yet?â
You shook your head quickly, too embarrassed to lie, too flustered to breathe.
His grin was wicked. âGood girl.â
He kissed your neck, slow and deliberate, his stubble scraping your skin just enough to make you shiver. âSince you havenât used it yet,â he whispered, âhow âbout I show you how itâs done?â
You froze. âWhat?â
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. âYou thought it was a massager. Guess Iâll massage you, huh?â
Your heart kicked into a sprint. âBuckyââ
âLay down,â he said, voice turning sharpâcommand wrapped in velvet.
You obeyed before you even realized you were moving, sinking back into the sheets, pulse thundering in your ears.
Bucky grabbed the vibrator from the nightstand, clicking it on to the lowest setting. The sound alone made your thighs press together.
âRelax,â he murmured, sliding a hand up your leg. âIf youâre gonna buy toys, doll, youâre gonna learn how to use âem right.â
He dragged the buzzing head along your thigh first, the vibration humming through muscle. âSee? Nice little massager,â he teased. âFor all those sore spots.â
You exhaled shakily. âThatâs not what itâs for.â
âSure it is,â he said, guiding the toy higher until it hovered over the soft curve where your leg met your hip. âFeels good, doesnât it?â
A whimper slipped out before you could stop it.
âOh, I bet it does.â His smile was slow, indulgent, as he nudged the vibrator just a little higher. The first touch against your panties made you jump.
âBuckyââ
âShh, baby. You said itâs for sore muscles. Just treatinâ you, like any good boyfriend would.â
Your words tangled in your throat as he pressed it firmer, the hum vibrating through the thin fabric. âFeels like youâre sore right here, huh?â
You arched up helplessly, hands clutching at his forearm. He was relentless, teasing you through the barrier until your hips started rolling without permission.
âBucky, pleaseââ
He chuckled, low and dark. âOh, now youâre begginâ? Thought this was a misunderstanding, doll. Thought you didnât know what it did.â
Your moan was caught halfway between frustration and need. âYouâre so mean.â
His mouth brushed your ear. âMean?â he echoed, dropping his voice to a whisper. âSweetheart, Iâm teachinâ you a lesson.â
He slid your panties aside in one slow motion, and the air hit you, cool and sharp. You barely had time to gasp before he pressed the vibrator against your bare skin.
The jolt ripped through youâpure electricity.
Your head fell back, a broken sound leaving your lips as your body arched, legs trembling.
âEasy,â Bucky murmured, watching you with something like awe. âGod, look at you. You didnât even know what you were buyinâ, and now lookâalready fallinâ apart.â
He adjusted the speed just a little, enough to make your breath stutter. âThatâs it, baby. Let it happen. Let me take care of you.â
The tension built fastâtoo fastâand you grabbed at his arm, voice shaking. âBucky, itâsâtoo muchââ
He smirked, lowering his mouth to your neck. âYou can handle it. My good girl can always handle it.â
You came undone with a sharp cry, body tightening under his touch as waves rolled through you, trembling and breathless.
Bucky didnât stopânot right away. He eased the vibrator down to a low hum, running it gently along your thigh as you gasped for air.
âSee?â he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. âTold you itâs a massager. Loosens you right up.â
You let out a weak laugh, burying your face in his chest. âYouâre the worst.â
He chuckled, tossing the toy aside and pulling you into his lap. âNah. Iâm the best thing that ever happened to your Amazon history.â
You smacked his arm lightly, but he just kissed you againâslow and lazy, his hand warm on your back.
âNext time,â he whispered against your lips, âmaybe buy two. One for your shoulders⊠and one for when you wanna misbehave.â
Thoughts...Bucky using a vibrator on quiet reader for the first time who almost never speaks, and is very soft spoken when she does, who gets super loud and whiny as he uses it on her. He would be thriving, I fear đ
i fear im thriving right now....omg this was hot!
---------
Bucky had always been obsessed with the way you spoke.
Orâreallyâthe way you didnât.
Your voice was a rare thing, a quiet thing, something he learned to treasure because he hardly ever heard it. Youâd answer him in nods, soft hums, gentle squeezes of his hand. And the few times you did speak, it was with that tiny, fragile voice that made him feel like he needed to wrap himself around you and never let go.
So he never pushed.
Never asked for more.
But oh, did he fantasize.
And tonight?
Tonight, he finally learns what happens when that quiet little voice breaks.
Youâre already panting by the time he settles between your legs, thighs trembling, eyes wide and pleading as he holds the little vibrator in his hand like itâs something holy.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, brushing his knuckles down the inside of your thigh, âyou donât have to be nervous.â
You shake your head. Youâre not nervous.
Youâre anticipatory.
Already needy.
Already wet, slick pooling beneath you.
He smirks because he reads you too well.
âColor?â he asks softly.
âG-green.â
A breath, barely a whisper.
His cock twitches at the sound of itâat the way your voice comes so thin and shy.
God, he loves you.
âGood girl,â he praises, kissing your knee before lowering himself between your thighs. âIf anythingâs too much, you tap me twice. Say my name if you can, but I know youâso tappingâs fine.â
You nod quickly, chest rising a little too fast.
He turns the vibrator on.
A low, humming buzz fills the room.
Your eyes widen.
Bucky grins.
âOh, doll. Youâre gonna ruin me.â
He starts slow.
Barely brushes the toy along your folds, just enough to feel the shiver run through you like a snapped wire.
Your breath catchesâquiet, soft, broken.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, watching the way your thighs twitch. âFeel that?â
You nod again, a quick, helpless motionâyour fingers curling in the sheets.
He presses the vibrator properly against your clit.
Your back arches.
A noise falls out of youâsharp, high, startled.
Bucky freezes because holy fuck.
Youâve never made that sound before.
Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, embarrassed, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed.
Bucky gently pulls your hand away, laces his fingers with yours, and puts it right back down on the bed.
âNo,â he breathes, voice gone dark and thick. âLet me hear you.â
The vibrator pulses again against you.
You whine.
High and thin and sweet and needyânothing like the shy little whispers you give him day to day.
This is raw.
Unrestrained.
You.
Your hips jerk upward, chasing the pressure, a helpless little, âB-Buckyâohââ slipping out before you can stop it.
Buckyâs vision actually blurs for a second.
âJesus Christ,â he groans, leaning down to kiss the inside of your thigh. âYou soundâbaby, you sound unreal.â
You shake your head, mortified, but the way you keep bucking into the vibrator gives you away.
âToo loud?â he teases, eyes flicking up to your face. âYou worried I canât handle it?â
âN-notââ You gasp. âNotâloudââ
âOh, sweetheart.â His smile is wicked. Tender. Ruinous. âYou have no idea what loud is.â
He turns the vibrator up one setting.
Your body jolts.
A broken scream tears out of your throatâso loud it echoes off the bedroom walls.
Buckyâs cock throbs so hard it hurts.
âAttagirl,â he growls, guiding your hips down, holding the toy steady against your clit as you writhe. âThatâs it. Give it to me. Give me all those pretty sounds you never let anyone hear.â
Youâre babbling nowânonsense words, shaky breaths, desperate little cries that spill out of you like you donât even know how to control them anymore.
âBuckyâBuckyâoh my godâfeelsâfeelsââ
He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, then another, eyes locked on your face like heâs watching something sacred unfold.
âYouâre so loud for me, doll,â he praises, voice low and reverent. âDidnât know you had this in you.â
Your legs clamp around his shoulders when he nudges the vibrator in tiny circlesâbarely a shift, barely any pressure, and youâre screaming again.
Actually screaming.
The quiet girl who usually speaks in whispers, who blushes when she has to answer a question out loudâscreaming.
Buckyâs brain short-circuits.
âThatâs it,â he pants, grinding his hips into the bed, needing something, anything, because seeing you like this is going to end him. âLet go. Let it all out. Donât hold back on me.â
Youâre shaking.
Your hands are in his hair, gripping tight enough to sting.
Your voiceâgod, your voiceâitâs wrecked, ruined, spilling out moans and sobs and broken pleas that make Bucky feel feral.
âSo loud,â he murmurs, kissing your stomach as your thighs tremble around his head. âMy quiet girlâs so loud for me.â
âC-canâtâBuckyâtooâtoo muchâ!â
âTap?â he asks immediately, grounding you with both hands.
You shake your head violentlyâno, no, moreâyour voice strangled on another cry.
âGood girl,â he whispers, and turns the vibrator up one more notch.
You come apart instantly.
Your whole body bows.
A raw, shaking moan rips out of your chestâloud enough that Buckyâs pretty sure the neighbors hear itâbut you donât care. You canât. Youâre lost in itâhead thrown back, lips parted, voice breaking again and again as the orgasm tears through you.
Bucky holds you the whole time.
Holds the vibrator steady.
Holds your hips down.
Holds your thigh against his cheek as you sob his name.
He turns the toy off only after your body finally collapses, trembling and boneless.
And godâif he thought he adored you before?
Heâs obsessed now.
He crawls up your body slowly, reverent, kissing your shaking knee, your thigh, your belly, your chest, until heâs hovering over you, brushing hair from your swollen lips.
Your eyes flutter open, dazed.
âYou good?â he murmurs.
You nod weakly.
Thenâvoice hoarse, barely thereâyou whisper:
âDo it again.â
Bucky actually groansâloud, rough, helplessâas his forehead drops to your chest.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, laughing breathlessly, âif you keep talking like that⊠Iâm gonna need to buy a backup vibrator.â
You flush, shy again, hiding your face in your handsâ
But he pulls them gently away.
âNo hiding,â he whispers, kissing your cheek. âNot after tonight.â
He kisses you again, slow and worshipful.
âYouâre loud for me now,â he murmurs against your lips. âAnd Iâm never getting over it.â
bucky x reader whoâs always burning herself out and constantly stressed about deadlines so bucky overstimulates her with her vibrator to make her forgetđ
You donât hear him at firstâtoo busy murdering your keyboard, another caffeine-shaky hour closer to Mondayâs drop-dead. But the soft click of your laptop snapping shut slices through the room like mercy.
âSweetheart,â Bucky murmurs, the word a gentle reprimand, âitâs after midnight.â
You open your mouth to protest. He silences you with the back-of-the-neck kiss that melts every argument to wax. âDeadlines,â you mumble, even as your shoulders sag.
âThe only line youâre crossing tonight is mine.â He presses your favorite wand into your palm, thumb sweeping over the power button. The threat of pleasure sends heat sweeping up your spine.
âTrust me?â His voice is ritualâalways asking, never assuming.
âYes,â you breathe. The laptop is forgotten, planners and sticky notes sliding to the floor as he nudges you toward the bed.
Clothes vanish: shirt, bra, leggings, stressâeach peeled away by sure hands, metal and flesh working in perfect tandem until cool air licks every inch of you. He settles you against pillows, silver hand cupping your cheek.
âColor?â
âGreen.â
The wand hums to life, first setting low, teasing zigzags along your inner thigh while his mouth maps slow, reverent kisses down your torso. Your hips chase every pass, nerves sparking like live wires.
âEasy,â he coaxes, anchoring your quiver with a palm spread across your belly. âWeâve got all the time your planner stole.â
When the rounded head finally lands on your clit, pleasure detonates, sharp and so beautiful. You arch, a cry spilling free. He merely smiles against your skin and clicks the toy up a notchâsteady, relentless.
âBuckyâtoo fast,â you gasp, but the way your hips grind betrays you.
âLet it happen,â he whispers, alternating tongue and vibration until the world narrows to pulses of white-hot soundlessness.
The first climax crashes fast. He eases the wand but never leaves, mouth peppering soft kisses while your body quakes. âBreathe for me,â he soothes, rocking you through aftershocks.
You barely resettle before the vibration climbs again. The second wave is fiercer, tearing a raw sob from your throat. He hums praise, lips brushing every tremor. âGood girl. Give it to me.â
Tears springârelief, release, you canât tell. He pauses long enough to thumb them away, then sets the wand to its highest hum. By the third orgasm youâre floating, deadlines atomized, mind blissfully blank.
Only then does he click the toy off, scooping you into the cradle of his body. Metal fingers trace your spine in lazy loops. Your breathing slows; the room smells of sweat and safety.
âThere she is,â he murmurs against your hair. âEmpty head, full heart.â
A soft laugh shakes you. âI could sleep for a week.â
âPerfect,â he says, drawing the comforter up. âTomorrow we tackle the list together. Tonight, your only job is rest.â
Somewhere, your muted laptop pings another reminder. You donât understand a single word of it. All you know is the steady thump of his heart and the hum still echoing in your bones.
reader who is a huge cuddle bug but is constantly shy to ask bucky if he wants to cuddle with her. and bucky who, every single time, just melts when she stumbles through asking him for cuddles.
Youâve been thinking about it for the past ten minutes.
Well, thinking about it, circling it, building it up into something much bigger than it actually is. Because itâs just cuddling. Just asking your boyfriend if he wants to hold you for a little while. Thatâs normal. People do that all the time.
But your brain doesnât really care about ânormal.â
Your fingers twist in the hem of your sleeve as you sit on the couch, angled just slightly toward him. Buckyâs sprawled beside you, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked over the back of the couch like he owns the space without even trying. Thereâs a quiet movie playing on the TV, something neither of you are really paying attention to. His attention keeps drifting back to you anywayâlittle glances, soft and curious.
You notice every single one of them.
You always do.
Your knee bumps his accidentally and your heart jumps like youâve done something wrong. He doesnât pull away, though. If anything, his leg shifts just a little closer, pressing more firmly against yours.
God.
You swallow.
âBuck?â you try, and immediately want to hide.
His head turns toward you instantly. âYeah, doll?â His voice is soft, warm in that way that always makes your chest feel too tight.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because suddenly the words feel embarrassing. Too needy. Too much. What if he doesnât want to? What if heâs comfortable like this and you mess it up? What ifâ
You shake your head quickly. âNothing. Sorry.â
You turn your attention back to the TV like you didnât just implode right next to him.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Then, quieter, closerââHey.â
His hand finds your wrist. Not grabbing, not forcing. Just there. Thumb brushing gently over your pulse like heâs checking in.
âYou sure?â he asks.
You nod too fast. âMhm.â
Another pause.
His thumb keeps moving.
âBecause,â he says slowly, like heâs choosing his words with care, âyouâve been fidgeting for the last ten minutes. And you keep lookinâ at me like youâve got somethinâ to say.â
Your face burns.
âIâno, I havenât.â
Bucky huffs out a quiet, amused breath; eyes twinkling in fondness.
âDoll.â
And thatâs it. That one word, all warm and coaxing, and you crumble.
âI justââ you start, and your voice immediately gets smaller. âI was just wondering if, umâif you maybe wanted toâlike, if youâre not busy or anythingââ
His brows pull together, not in frustration, just confusion. âNot busy,â he repeats gently.
âRight, yeah, I know, I just meanâif you didnât want to, thatâs totally fine, I justââ
âHey.â His hand slides up from your wrist to your arm, grounding. âSlow down. Whatâre you askinâ me, sweetheart?â
Sweetheart.
You might actually pass away.
You take a breath, staring determinedly at a spot on the couch instead of at him.
âCan we⊠cuddle?â you mumble, so quiet it barely counts as sound. âJust for a little bit. If thatâs okay.â
Silence.
Oh God.
You knew it. You knew you shouldnât have asked. You start to pull back, already preparing to laugh it off, to say you didnât mean it, to pretendâ
âOh.â
Itâs soft. Almost breathless.
You risk a glance up.
Bucky looks like you just handed him something precious.
His expression has completely melted. Thereâs no other word for it. The sharp lines of his face have gone soft, eyes wide and warm and a little bit awed, like he canât believe you just asked him that.
âYeah,â he says immediately. Then, a little stronger, like he needs to make sure you hear him properly, âYeah, of course we can.â
Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. âReally?â
âReally?â he echoes, almost incredulous. âDoll, you never gotta ask like itâs a big favor.â
âI just didnât wanna bother you,â you admit, voice small again.
That does something to him.
You see it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly.
âYou could never bother me,â he says, quiet but firm.
Before you can overthink it again, heâs already moving.
His arm drops from the back of the couch, sliding around your shoulders, guiding you gently into him. Like heâs giving you every chance to change your mind, even though you never would.
You go easily, curling into his side.
And the second you settle against him, itâs like something in him gives.
He exhales, long and slow, like heâs been holding that breath all day. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until youâre practically draped over him. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.
âThere we go,â he murmurs, more to himself than anything.
You can hear his heartbeat. Feel it under your cheekâsteady, strong.
Safe.
Your hand curls against his shirt, bunching the fabric lightly as you relax into him. The earlier nerves start to fade, replaced by something warm and soft that spreads through your chest.
âYou okay?â he asks after a moment, voice low.
âMhm,â you hum. âSorry I made it weird.â
He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you.
âYou didnât make it weird,â he says. âYou made my day.â
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. âI did?â
âYeah.â His thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your arm. âYou askinâ for this? Means you want me close.â A small pause. âI like that.â
Your face heats again, but itâs softer this time. Less panic, more⊠something shy and happy.
âI always want you close,â you admit.
That completely ruins him.
You feel it in the way his hold on you tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there. Like heâs not letting go anytime soon.
âThen câmere whenever you want,â he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. âDonât make yourself nervous over it, alright?â
You nod against his chest.
âOkay.â
His fingers drift through your hair, slow and careful, and the movie continues playing in the background, forgotten.
You stay tucked against him, warm and quiet, listening to his heartbeat.
You'd managed to keep your breakfast down, your energy was surprisingly decent for twenty-two weeks pregnant, and after spending the last few weekends hiding at home because morning sickness refused to understand the word morning, you finally felt human again.
Human enough to convince Bucky that the two of you could tackle your errand list.
"It'll be fun," you'd insisted while pulling on your sneakers. "We need groceries, I want to stop by the bookstore, and I promised my mom I'd pick up those candles."
Bucky had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug, unconvinced.
"You sure, doll?"
You'd nodded eagerly. "I'm good."
He'd smiled, unable to deny you anything. "Okay. But we're taking it slow."
Now, three stores later, you were beginning to regret every ounce of confidence you'd possessed that morning.
The grocery cart rattled quietly over the polished floor as Bucky pushed it beside you, humming absentmindedly while comparing two jars of pasta sauce. You'd wandered a few feet away to grab cereal when it hit you suddenly.
One second you were debating between cheerios and cinnomon toast crunch.
The next, your stomach rolled so violently your mouth filled with saliva.
"Oh."
Your hand immediately flew to your lips.
Bucky looked up before you'd even said his name.
"What is it?"
"I..." You swallowed hard. "I don't feel very good."
The pasta sauce was forgotten instantly and his entire attention shifted to you.
"Nauseous?"
You nodded once.
His expression softened with immediate concern.
"Come here."
He abandoned the cart right where it sat and gently guided you toward the edge of the aisle, away from the bright lights and the stream of people passing by. One large hand settled against your lower back while the other brushed loose strands of hair away from your face.
"Need to throw up?"
"I don't know."
Your voice came out embarrassingly shaky.
"I think maybe."
"Okay."
Bucky didn't panic or look frustrated. His calm eased you in the moment.
"The bathroom's up front. Can you walk?"
You nodded again.
He slipped one arm securely around your shoulders, keeping you tucked against his side as he slowly led you through the store.
"You don't have to apologize," he murmured when you started opening your mouth.
"I wasn'tâ"
"You were about to."
"...maybe."
His lips twitched.
"I know you."
Your eyes stung unexpectedly.
"I'm sorry we came."
Bucky suddenly stopped walking before he turned you toward him, both hands cradling your face.
"Hey."
You looked up reluctantly.
"Don't apologize for being pregnant with our baby."
A watery laugh escaped you.
"I know, butâ"
"No buts."
He kissed your forehead.
"Your body's working overtime growing our little one. If it decides grocery shopping is offensive today, then grocery shopping can take it personally."
Despite the nausea clawing at your stomach, you laughed.
"There she is," he whispered warmly. "That's my girl."
The bathroom was thankfully empty.
Bucky waited just outside the door while you leaned over the sink, breathing through another wave that never quite became sickness.
When you emerged a few minutes later looking pale and exhausted, he was exactly where you'd left him.
Holding a bottle of water.
Crackers.
Peppermint gum.
And one of those tiny ginger chews you'd become mildly obsessed with during the first trimester.
You blinked.
"When did youâ"
"I multitasked."
"You were gone for, like, thirty seconds."
He shrugged.
"Super soldier."
You couldn't help smiling.
He unscrewed the water bottle before handing it to you.
"Small sips."
You obediently took one.
"Better?"
"A little."
"Good."
He unwrapped one cracker and held it out.
You gave him an amused look.
"I can feed myself."
"I know."
"So..."
"So let me take care of my wife."
Your heart melted before you opened your mouth, letting him feed you the cracker.
"There," he said proudly after you'd managed half of it. "Progress."
"You look way too happy about me eating a saltine."
"I am."
With more nibbles of the saltine and a few sips of water, the color slowly returned to your cheeks.
"You wanna head home?" he asked quietly.
You sighed.
"We still have so much to do."
"Doll."
"I know."
He rested his forehead against yours.
"Nothing on that list matters more than you."
"Butâ"
"I'll come back later."
"You've already spent your whole morning with me."
His eyebrows furrowed.
"That's exactly how I wanted to spend it."
Your eyes filled again.
Pregnancy hormones really were something.
"Oh, sweetheart."
He immediately gathered you into his arms.
You buried your face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and clean laundry.
"I keep ruining things," you mumbled.
His hand rubbed slow circles over your back.
"You haven't ruined a single thing."
"I wanted today to be normal."
"I know."
"I hate feeling sick all the time."
"I know."
"I just wanted one day where I felt like myself."
He held you tighter.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you are yourself."
You frowned against his shirt.
"You laugh at my terrible jokes."
A kiss landed in your hair.
"You still steal my hoodies."
Another kiss.
"You still reach for my hand every time we walk somewhere."
His thumb brushed gently across your shoulder.
"The only difference is now you're carrying our baby while you do all those things."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"You don't think I'm... different?"
"Oh, you're different."
You looked up.
"You've somehow gotten even prettier."
"Bucky."
"You have."
"I have pregnancy acne."
"I don't care."
"My ankles swell."
"I know."
"I threw up brushing my teeth yesterday."
"You sure did."
You groaned which led to him grinning.
"And I have never loved you more."
The sincerity in his voice stole every remaining argument.
"I wish I could fix this for you," he admitted softly.
"If I could take every second of nausea so you never had to feel it again, I would."
"I know you would."
"I hate watching you hurt."
You reached up to cradle his face this time.
"I'm okay."
"I know."
"I've got you."
His eyes softened impossibly.
"You do."
"And our little bean."
His metal hand immediately found your stomach.
Right on cue, a tiny kick pressed against his palm.
Both of you froze.
"There they are," Bucky whispered.
Another little kick.
He laughed quietly, his entire face lighting up.
"I think that's their way of telling us to go home."
You smiled.
"Probably."
"Maybe they're craving ice cream."
"They're definitely your kid if they're interrupting errands for dessert."
"My kid?"
"Our kid."
He corrected himself instantly.
"Our perfect little troublemaker."
You intertwined your fingers with his.
"So..."
"So?"
"Can we go home?"
He smiled like you'd offered him the greatest gift imaginable.
"I thought you'd never ask."
The abandoned grocery cart could wait.
The bookstore would still be there tomorrow.
The candles could be picked up another day.
Right now, all that mattered was getting his wife home, tucked beneath her favorite blanket on the couch with ginger tea, crackers, and whatever strange pregnancy craving appeared next.
Bucky Barnes always comes home smelling like smoke.
Not the harsh, suffocating kind that burns your lungs, but the faint scent that lingers in the heavy fabric of his turnout jacket even after it's been washed twice. It mixes with cedarwood soap, fresh laundry detergent, and something that's simply him. Somewhere along the way, it became your favorite smell in the world because it always means the same thing.
He's home.
The apartment door swings open just after eight in the morning, and before Bucky can even get both boots inside, Duke is barreling across the hardwood floors. Your golden retriever practically launches himself into Bucky's chest with enough force to knock over most people, but your husband barely rocks back on his heels. He laughs, catching the oversized dog with one arm while struggling to shut the door behind him.
The dog answers with an excited whine and a frantic wag of his tail.
"Yeah," Bucky grins. "Missed you too."
You watch the reunion from the kitchen, coffee warming your hands as you lean against the island. It's unfair how good he looks after a twenty-four-hour shift. His navy station shirt clings to his broad chest, the department logo stretched slightly over muscles earned through years of carrying hoses, ladders, and people to safety. His turnout pants still hang low on his hips with the suspenders pushed down, soot smudges streak one cheek, and flattened curls peek out from where his helmet had been sitting all night.
He looks exhausted.
He also looks ridiculously handsome.
The second his blue eyes find yours, every bit of fatigue softens into something warmer.
"Hi, sweetheart."
Your smile comes without thinking.
"Hi, firefighter."
The sleepy grin that spreads across his face could melt glaciers.
"Come here."
You abandon your coffee immediately, crossing the room until he opens an arm for you. You fit yourself against his chest as naturally as breathing, wrapping your arms around his waist while he buries his face against the top of your head. His embrace is heavy, warm, and familiar, the kind that always makes the rest of the world disappear.
"You smell," you mumble into his shirt.
"I know."
"You smell really bad."
"I know."
You wrinkle your nose dramatically before smiling against his chest. "...I kinda like it."
His laugh rumbles beneath your cheek, shaking both of you.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
His metal hand drifts slowly up and down your back while his flesh one cradles the back of your head, holding you close as though he hasn't seen you in weeks instead of one shift. These moments have become sacred over the years. No matter how exhausting the calls were or how little sleep he managed to steal between alarms, he always comes home and finds you first.
Bucky loves being a firefighter. He loves the chaos that somehow feels organized inside the station, loves cooking meals with his crew between calls, loves teaching fire safety to elementary school kids who stare at him like he's stepped straight out of a comic book. Helping people gives him a purpose he'd spent decades believing he'd never deserve.
You love that he found that purpose.
You just hate everything that comes with it.
Every news alert about a structure fire makes your stomach twist before you can stop it. Every siren echoing through Brooklyn has you glancing instinctively toward your phone. You never tell him how often you check the department's incident reports or how your heart pounds whenever his shift runs longer than expected. He already carries enough weight on those impossibly broad shoulders. He doesn't need yours too.
A week later, you're halfway through making dinner when your phone buzzes across the counter.
The screen lights up with one word.
James.
Your stomach immediately sinks.
He never calls during a shift.
"Bucky?" you answer, already abandoning the cutting board.
"Hey, doll."
His voice is calm.
Too calm.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Liar."
He sighs softly, and you hear voices in the background before he speaks again.
"We had a warehouse fire."
Every muscle in your body locks.
"I'm okay," he says quickly. "Before you ask, I'm okay."
"You got hurt."
"A little."
"Bucky."
"It's smoke inhalation."
Your knees nearly buckle beneath you as you grip the counter.
"Bucky..."
"They're just making me get checked out."
"You sound awful."
"I probably do."
Your voice softens into something dangerously quiet.
"Which hospital?"
Silence.
"...James."
Another sigh.
"Brooklyn Methodist."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"You really don't have toâ"
The call ends before he can finish the sentence.
You find him sitting on the edge of an emergency room bed looking deeply irritated by the entire situation. A pulse oximeter clips onto one finger, oxygen rests beneath his nose, and someone has convinced him to trade his smoke-soaked shirt for a hospital gown that's hanging open across his broad shoulders. Despite all of it, he still looks more embarrassed than injured.
The second he sees you, his expression softens.
"Oh, honey."
"I told you I'm fine."
"You have oxygen in your nose."
"It's precautionary."
You don't bother arguing. Instead, you walk straight over, cup his soot-streaked face between your hands, and search every inch of him for something worse than he's admitting. His skin is warm beneath your palms. His breathing is steady. His eyes are bright.
He's here.
The tears hit before you can stop them.
"I'm mad at you," you whisper.
"I know."
"You scared me."
"I know."
"You always tell me to answer your texts because you worry, and then you call me from the emergency room like that's somehow less terrifying?"
His mouth twitches despite himself.
"I didn't think that one through."
"No."
"You gonna keep yelling at me?"
"I might."
"I think you'd look pretty cute doing it."
A watery laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
"You're impossible."
He reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together carefully.
"I'm okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I promise."
The doctor tells you exactly the same thing a few minutes later. Minor smoke inhalation. A few hours of oxygen. Plenty of water, plenty of rest, and no lasting damage.
You believe the doctor.
But hearing Bucky promise he'll be okay somehow settles your heart in a way nothing else can.
Three days later, he's on mandatory leave.
Which sounds relaxing in theory.
In reality, it's driving you insane.
By lunchtime, he's reorganized the spice cabinet, fixed the squeaky bathroom door, vacuumed twice, folded every towel in the apartment, alphabetized your tea collection, and somehow decided the pantry shelves were inefficient.
"Bucky."
"Hm?"
"Sit down."
"I am sitting down."
"You're reorganizing paprika."
"It was next to the cinnamon."
"So?"
He looks at you as though you've committed an actual crime.
"So?"
You blink.
"...They're spices."
"They're completely different spices."
You dissolve into laughter.
"You spend your days running into burning buildings and somehow this is what bothers you?"
"Organization is important."
"You climbed onto the roof yesterday."
"The gutters needed cleaning."
"We live on the third floor."
"I borrowed a ladder."
"You borrowed a ladder because you couldn't sit still for one afternoon."
He can't even argue with that.
Instead, he simply smiles sheepishly as you walk over until you're standing between his knees. His hands settle instinctively on your hips, thumbs rubbing absent circles through your shirt.
"You spend every day taking care of everyone else," you murmur. "You save people. You carry seventy pounds of gear into burning buildings. You deserve to rest."
For the first time all week, he doesn't immediately come up with another project.
Instead, he lowers his forehead against yours and quietly admits, "I don't really know how."
Your heart aches.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smile softly before brushing your nose against his.
"Then let me teach you."
His blue eyes lift to meet yours.
"How?"
"By reminding you that you don't always have to be everyone's hero."
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"What if I only wanna be yours?"
You kiss him before he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, slow and lingering, pouring every unspoken feeling into the gentle press of your lips. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his once more and smile.
"You already are."
For perhaps the first time since the warehouse fire, Bucky Barnes lets himself stop trying to save the world for just a little whileâand allows someone else to take care of him.
Youâre elbow-deep in gingerbread dough behind the counter, Christmas playlist humming through the bakery speakers, when the bell over your door jingles. You call out a distracted, âBe right with you!â and keep kneading, trying not to think about the fact that youâre already two catering orders behind and the display case looks like itâs been pillaged by sugar gremlins.
âDelivery for⊠Sugar Street Bakery,â a voice says.
You glance up, breathless. A kid in a red beanie is standing at the counter, cheeks pink from the cold, hugging a square foil-wrapped pot to his chest. Bright red petals spill over the sides, dark green leaves glossy and perfect.
A poinsettia.
âFor me?â you ask, wiping your hands on your apron.
The kid shrugs. âIt says your bakery, so. From Bloom & Buck, next door.â He jerks his chin in the direction of the flower shop. âGuy with the long hair told me not to drop it, like, fifty times.â
You try not to smile too hard. âThat sounds like him.â
James Buchanan BarnesâBucky to every old lady in a five-block radiusâowns the flower shop next to your bakery. He opened Bloom & Buck a year before you took over Sugar Street. Youâve spent the last two years trading early-morning hellos, borrowed cups of sugar, and the occasional shared lunch in the alley out back when your breaks overlap. You know he likes his coffee black, sings off-key to Motown when heâs cleaning buckets, and always hangs a wreath on your door before you can get around to ordering one.
You also know you have a massive crush on him and absolutely no time to do anything about it.
You step around the counter. The poinsettia is lush and symmetrical, the bracts a perfect, velvety red. Thereâs a tiny envelope stuck into the soil on one of those little plastic card holders, printed with your bakeryâs name.
Your chest squeezes. Of course heâd send something festive.
âWow,â you murmur. âTell Bucky I said thank you?â
The kid salutes with two fingers. âSure thing.â Then heâs gone, bell jingling behind him.
You carry the poinsettia carefully to the front window. The old building has wide sills that collect dust and crumbs; you swipe them clean with your sleeve and set the plant in the corner, turning it until the best side faces the street. It looks like it belongs there, glowing against the frost-rimmed glass, a little beacon of holiday cheer.
You notice the envelope again and pluck it free. Itâs one of those floral shop cards, small and cream with a delicate border. Probably something like Happy Holidays or Thanks for being a great neighbor.
You really should get back to the dough.
You tuck the card back into the soil. Youâll read it later, you tell yourself. After the gingerbread. After the sugar cookies. After you wrestle the temperamental oven into baking the peppermint brownies evenly for once.
By closing time, your feet ache, youâve got powdered sugar in your hair, and the little envelope is completely forgotten.
The second poinsettia shows up two days later.
Youâre sliding trays of cinnamon rolls into the display case, warmth blooming in your face from the ovens, when the bell jingles again.
âSpecial delivery for my favorite sugar dealer,â a familiar voice calls.
You straighten so fast you nearly slam your head on the glass. âBucky.â
Heâs standing by the counter, cradling another poinsettia like itâs made of spun glass. Heâs got his hair pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, a knit beanie shoved over his ears. Thereâs a smudge of green on his cheekboneâpollen, or maybe leaf dustâthat somehow just makes him more unfairly attractive.
âHey, doll,â he says, mouth quirking. âBrought you something.â
You wipe your hands again, like thereâs somehow a world where you greet him without flour on your fingers. âYou didnât have to. The first one was already way too much.â
He shrugs, stepping closer. The plant between you smells faintly of damp soil and something clean and green underneath the bakeryâs sugar fog. âWindow looked a little lonely on the other side. Thought Iâd give it a friend.â
âThatâs what the gingerbread men are for,â you tease.
âThey keep losing their heads,â he counters, eyes flicking toward the display case. âSeems like theyâve got bigger problems.â
You huff a laugh, heat pricking your cheeks that has nothing to do with the ovens. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âCompliment accepted.â
He carries the new poinsettia to the window like heâs staging an exhibit, setting it a few inches from the first. His fingers gentle the leaves apart, nudging the pot until both plants line up in a perfect crimson duo.
Thereâs another tiny envelope in this one. You clock it, the white paper tucked among the red bracts.
âAre these⊠like a promotion?â you ask, leaning your hip against the counter. âCross-branding for Christmas? Because we can totally put a little âCourtesy of Bloom & Buckâ sign in the window if you want. Or I can pay you for them. Seriously, Bucky, I know these arenât cheap.â
He glances over his shoulder, something quick and unreadable flashing across his face. âYeah,â he says after a beat. âSomething like that.â
Your stomach does a little flip, but before you can parse it, a customer bustles in behind him, shaking snow off her scarf and demanding six dozen iced sugar cookies by Saturday.
By the time you look back at the window, Bucky is gone.
The little envelope winks up at you and you think, again, Iâll read it later.
You do not, in fact, read it later.
It becomes a thing.
Every few days, another poinsettia appearsâsometimes delivered by the red-beanie kid, sometimes carried in by Bucky himself, sometimes inexplicably already sitting in your window when you arrive, condensation fogging the glass behind them.
Your sill turns into a mini forest of red and green. Customers gush over them, noses pressed to the glass while they debate between peppermint bark and cranberry crumble bars. You answer questions about care like youâre the one who knows how not to kill plants that arenât made of sugar and butter.
You text Bucky midafternoon one day when youâre particularly buried in dough.
you: okay poinsettia king. people keep asking how i havenât murdered the window yet. iâm sending them all to you.
bucky: theyâre in good hands
bucky: besides i check on them every night
You stare at that last line for a second, a weird flutter in your chest.
you: you break into my bakery to water my plants??
bucky: breaking in is a serious accusation, doll
bucky: i have a key
Right. The key in the back hallway, on the hook between your two doors, for emergencies or shared deliveries. Rational. Boring. Safe.
It doesnât explain why your heart is pounding.
you: still sounds like breaking in
bucky: guess youâll have to arrest me
bucky: officer
Heat creeps up your neck. You send back a bakery-themed gif and then force yourself to go back to piping snowflakes onto sugar cookies, telling yourself itâs just banter. Bucky flirts with everyone. Thatâs his thing. Flower guy charm, built into the job description.
You ignore the tiny envelopes tucked into each pot like itâs part of the packaging, the way a pastry box comes with string. Youâre busy. Youâre tired. Youâll read them when you have five minutes alone that arenât immediately filled with sleep.
Somehow, those five minutes never come.
The day everything changes, itâs snowing.
Not the sprinkling youâve had the last week, but proper, thick flakes, the kind that muffle the city noise and turn the streetlights into glowing halos. Business has slowed to a trickle. People come in with pink cheeks, buy hot chocolate and a cookie or two, then hurry back into the swirling white. You find yourself watching the snow more than the batter.
Itâs late afternoon when your best friend barges in.
âYouâre a criminal,â she announces, shaking snow into your already-messy entryway. âAn actual criminal. I should report you to someone.â
You blink at her from behind the espresso machine. âHi to you too?â
She stomps her boots, then slides behind the counter like she owns the place, stealing a sip of your hot chocolate before you can protest. âI just came from Buckyâs. Do you know what he looks like out there? Like a sexy Christmas lumberjack in an apron.â
âYou think everyone looks like a sexy Christmas lumberjack,â you mutter, cheeks warming.
âIncorrect. I think everyone looks like a mess. Bucky looks like a very specific, very sinful mess, and youââshe pokes your shoulderââare committing a felony by not doing anything about it.â
âIâm busy,â you protest weakly, gesturing around. âAlso, thatâs a dramatic overstatement.â
She ignores you, wandering toward the window. âHoly shit, the poinsettias multiplied.â
âI know. I told him he doesnât have to keep sending them, but heâs⊠persistent.â You try to sound casual. âI think itâs, like, a marketing thing.â
âUh-huh,â she says.
You go back to fussing with the hot chocolate machine. âWeâre doing that charity display next week, remember? He probably wants to make sure his stuff is front and center. Which is totally fine. It helps both of us, actually, andââ
âOh my God.â
Something in her voice makes you look up.
Sheâs crouched by the window, peering at one of the poinsettias like itâs revealed state secrets. Her fingers pluck the tiny envelope card free. She flips it open, then whips around to gape at you.
âWhat?â you ask, unease crawling up your spine. âWhat?â
âYou havenât read these?â she demands, waving the card.
âIâve been busy,â you say, defensive now. âHoliday rush? My oven hates me? Yesterday I had a lady cry because we ran out of yule logs? Why are you looking at me like that?â
She strides behind the counter, thrusts the card into your flour-dusted hands. âRead.â
You glance down. The card is small, your bakery name printed in neat script at the topâBloom & Buckâs stationary, you realize. Underneath, in Buckyâs messy, looping handwriting, are four words.
For the girl next door,
who always smells like sugar.
Your heart stops.
Itâs⊠sweet. Cheesy, even. You swallow, mouth dry. âItâs just, like⊠branding. Sugar Street Bakery, girl next door, smells like sugar, they all do, thatâs the pointââ
âUh-huh.â Sheâs already snatched another card from another plant, ripping it open. âLetâs see what the second marketing slogan says.â
âMaybe donâtââ
âFor the baker who feeds the neighborhood,â she reads aloud, âand the florist whoâs starving for her attention.â
Your brain bluescreens.
âYouâve gotta be kidding me,â you whisper.
She grins like the devil. âOh, this is good. This is so much better than I imagined.â
Panic surges. You grab the card. Itâs real. The ink smudges a little under your thumb, like he wrote it in a hurry.
âNope,â you say, voice a little too high. âNope, absolutely not, this isâthereâs no way these areââ
Sheâs already moving, raiding the entire sill, pulling out envelope after envelope. Some are crammed deep between leaves, some half-visible. She piles them on the counter like evidence.
âRead,â she orders. âOr I will. Loudly. Maybe into the street with a megaphone.â
You stare at the small stack. Your heartbeat is so loud itâs making you dizzy.
The bell over the door jingles. Buckyâs voice carries in with the cold air.
âHey, doll, you got a sec? I broughtââ
He stops halfway to the counter.
You freeze. Your friend, for once, has the decency to look mildly abashed.
The three of you stare at each other. The stack of opened envelopes sits between you like a small, incriminating mountain.
âOh,â Bucky says.
His voice is different. Less easy drawl, more⊠oh God.
âHi,â you say weakly. You wish the floor would open and swallow you whole. âUm. We were justâŠâ
âReading,â your friend supplies helpfully. âYour very subtle marketing materials.â
Buckyâs Adamâs apple bobs. The tips of his ears are pinkânot from the cold anymore, you realize. âRight. Those.â
You canât look at him. You canât not look at him. His jaw flexes, his hand tightening briefly on the door handle like heâs considering a tactical retreat.
Your friend clears her throat. âWell, this has been deeply satisfying, but I suddenly remembered I have to go⊠uh⊠stand somewhere else.â
âTraitor,â you hiss under your breath.
She leans in, stage-whispers, âRead them,â into your ear, then escapes in a swirl of wool and snowflakes.
The bell jingles, then itâs just you, Bucky, the hum of the fridge, and the stack of tiny cards.
You pick one up because doing nothing feels worse. Your hands shake.
For the woman whose laugh blooms louder than my shop on Valentineâs Day.
Your throat tightens. You grab another, swallowing hard.
For the baker who dusts her nose with powdered sugar and doesnât know itâs the cutest thing Iâve ever seen.
âBucky,â you croak.
âYeah,â he says hoarsely.
âYeah,â he says hoarsely.
You look up. His eyes are dark, lashes tipped with melted snow, jaw tight. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets like heâs afraid of what theyâll do if he lets them hang loose.
âThese areâŠâ You search for a word that isnât you wrote love notes and I ignored them. âNot marketing slogans.â
He huffs out a weak laugh. âNo. No, theyâre not.â
You stare down at the cards. There are more. So many more. You shuffle them, the words blurring.
For the girl whose smile makes the lights on this street look dim.
For the woman who keeps me up at night wondering if she knows Iâd cross a blizzard for her hot chocolate.
For the neighbor I thought would read these the first day and hasnât, which is either the meanest thing anyoneâs ever done to me or the funniest.
You choke on a startled laugh at that last one. âYouâwhy didnât you say anything?â
Bucky shifts his weight. Snowflakes cling to his coat, melting into darker spots. âKinda hard to bring up, doll. âHey, did you get my very smooth romantic plant confessions?â Not exactly cool.â
âI thought they were for my window display,â you burst out. âLike, for the bakery. For customers. I didnât know they were⊠me things.â
He looks at the sill, then back at you. âYou didnât read a single one?â
âI was going to,â you say defensively, then wince. âEventually. Weâve been so busy and Iâd tell myself Iâd read them after I cleaned up, and then Iâd pass out on my couch, and then another one would show up and Iâd just⊠put it in the window.â
He presses his lips together, like heâs fighting a smile or something else. âSo my grand romantic gesture turned into an accidental seasonal merch drop.â
âI am an idiot,â you groan, dropping your head into your hands. Flour dusts the backs of your fingers, streaks across your cheeks when you drag your hands down. âBucky, I am so sorry. I didnât mean to ignore youâthis, any of thisâI just thoughtâŠâ
âThat I was drumming up business.â He shrugs one shoulder. âCanât blame you. I mean, I was kinda doing that too. If people come to look at my plants and accidentally buy your pecan pie, thatâs a win as far as Iâm concerned.â
âThis is not funny,â you protest, even as a laugh bubbles up.
âA little funny,â he says, mouth twitching.
You meet his gaze. Thereâs humor there, yeah, but something else, too. Something softer. Something that makes your stomach swoop.
âHow many are there?â you ask quietly, fingers skimming the stack.
He exhales, a white puff between you. âUh. One for each plant.â
You glance at the sill. There are eleven poinsettias lining it now, in various sizes and shades of red and creamy white. Eleven plants. Eleven tiny confessions you didnât know were yours to read.
Your chest feels tight.
âWhy poinsettias?â you ask.
He looks down at his boots, then up again. âTheyâre stubborn,â he says finally. âPeople think theyâre delicate, but they hang on. All winter if you let âem. And they remember.â His fingers curl in his pockets. âYou treat âem right, theyâll come back next year. Stronger.â
Thereâs something raw about the way he says it. You swallow.
âAlso,â he adds, a little sheepish, âtheyâre pretty. And they match your apron.â
You glance down at your red-spattered apron, then back up, a breathless laugh escaping. âThatâs your criteria? Matches my apron?â
âAnd your cheeks,â he says lightly.
Your face goes hot. Youâre pretty sure the poinsettias have competition now.
Silence stretches between you, thick with things unsaid.
âSoâŠâ you manage. âThese little notes. Theyâre all⊠love confessions?â
His jaw ticks. For all his easy charm, youâve seen him nervous exactly twice: when the city inspector came by to check his shop, and right now.
âYeah,â he says. âGuess they are.â
Your heart does something ridiculous. âFor⊠me.â
âUnless thereâs another gorgeous baker on this street who smells like vanilla and works herself half to death,â he says softly. âYeah. For you.â
Your eyes sting.
You liked him before this. You liked his crooked smile and his flower trivia and the way heâd lean in your doorway at the end of the day, trading stories about nightmare customers and suppliers who lied about delivery times. You liked the way heâd show up with a single rose when he heard youâd had a bad week, or a bunch of daisies âjust becauseâ on a Tuesday that had nothing special about it.
But this? This is a different kind of liking. This is your chest flipping inside out, your bones suddenly too small for your heart.
âHow long?â you ask, voice small. âHow long have you⊠liked me?â
He huffs a laugh that sounds more self-conscious than anything youâve heard from him. âSince you came over my first Valentineâs Day and helped me wrap bouquets until midnight when my staff bailed.â His gaze drops to your hands, then back to your face. âYou had glitter in your hair and you refused to let me pay you and you kept stealing the chocolate from the gift baskets. I was a goner.â
âThat was two years ago,â you whisper.
He nods, eyes steady. âYeah.â
Your head spins. âAnd you never said anything?â
âWasnât exactly a secret,â he mutters, half under his breath.
You think of the way he always saves you the first wreath of the season, of how he shows up with your coffee order before youâve unlocked the door, of the handwritten notes youâve been obliviously watering.
âMaybe not for you,â you murmur.
He smiles, small and lopsided. âI didnât want to make things weird. Youâre my neighbor. My friend. You work too hard. You donât need your florist creeping you out with⊠feelings.â
âBucky,â you say, startled. âYou could never creep me out.â
He raises an eyebrow. âPretty sure right now Iâm creeping myself out.â
You laugh, breathless. The sound is shaky, but real. âIâm just⊠Iâm processing.â
âTake your time,â he says softly. âIâve had two years, you can have at least two minutes.â
You stare at him. At the way the snow melting on his shoulders darkens the fabric. At the vein that jumps in his throat when he swallows. At the way his eyesâblue, deep as a winter skyâwatch you like heâs braced for impact.
âRead one more,â he says suddenly.
You blink. âWhat?â
âPick the one from today.â He nods toward the line of plants. âI brought a new one in this morning. Before you opened. Itâs the one with the little gold bow.â
You glance at the sill. The last poinsettia on the right has a small gold ribbon tied around the pot, just above the foil. Your stomach flips again.
You walk over on autopilot, fingers numb. The envelope is tucked deep, almost hidden under the red bracts. You pull it free, the stationary smooth against your flour-rough skin.
You open it.
For the woman Iâm terrified to ask out,
because if she says no, this street goes dark.
Your chest caves in.
You turn. Heâs closer than before, like he stepped in without realizing it. Snowmelt drips from the edge of his beanie onto his cheek. His lashes flutter once, like heâs bracing for you to laugh.
You donât laugh.
You cross the space between you, the card still in your hand. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.
âJames,â you say, and his eyes flick up, startled.
No one calls him that. Not customers. Not nosy neighbors. Not even your friend, who insists his name is âFlirty Flower Guy.â
His throat works. âYeah?â
You hold up the card, voice shaking. âYouâre terrified?â
He huffs out a breath, humorless. âHave you met you? Youâre⊠you.â His gaze flicks over your face like itâs memorizing. âYou could do better than some guy who talks to plants for a living.â
Your indignation punches through the panic. âHey. You do a lot more than talk to plants.â
âOh yeah?â His mouth hints at a smile. âName three things.â
âYou know how to make my shop smell like a pine forest without giving anyone allergies,â you say immediately. âYou fixed my leaky sink last month when the plumber bailed. And you bring me coffee exactly the way I like it without ever asking me to write it down.â
He stares at you, something open and raw bleeding through his eyes.
âAlso,â you add, a little recklessly, âyou write stupidly sweet notes to a girl too frazzled to notice, and you keep giving her plants even when she doesnât read them. That seems⊠kind of important.â
He lets out a breath that sounds like itâs been stuck in his chest for a long time.
âSo,â he says, slow, careful, âif I⊠if I asked youâproperlyâsometime that isnât smack in the middle of your shift, with frosting on your apron and a line of hungry people behind youâŠâ His gaze flicks around the empty shop. âWhich you donât have right now, by the wayâŠâ
You laugh, nerves trying to crawl out of your skin.
ââŠif I asked you if you wanted to maybe go somewhere that isnât this block,â he finishes, âwould you⊠say no?â
Your heart feels like itâs sitting in your mouth.
You look at him. Really look. At the man whoâs spent two winters making your life easier, who knows the exact number of marshmallows you like in your hot chocolate. At the man whoâs lined your windowsill with red and green promises and been quietly hoping youâd see him.
You think about the way your stomach flips when he leans in your doorway. About the fact that youâve imagined what his hand would feel like in yours more times than youâd admit. About how just reading his messy handwriting makes your knees weak.
âI think,â you say slowly, âI might throw a cupcake at you for not asking sooner.â
His eyes go wide. âIs⊠is that a yes?â
You step closer. Close enough to see the exact shade of his irises. Close enough to smell the faint mix of pine and soil clinging to his coat.
âThatâs a yes,â you whisper.
His smile breaks over his face like sunrise.
âYeah?â he breathes.
âYeah.â You swallow, nerves and excitement tangling. âBut I have one condition.â
He would give you the moon right now, you can see it in the set of his shoulders. âAnything.â
âYou say it out loud,â you say. âYou ask me. Properly. No floral cards to hide behind.â
He huffs a laugh, some of the tension bleeding out of his jaw. âBossy.â
âAccurate.â
He takes a breath, like heâs centering himself. Stands a little straighter.
âOkay.â He clears his throat. âWill you⊠go out with me, doll? Dinner. Or ice skating, if you wanna laugh at me falling on my ass. Or we can just walk around and look at Christmas lights while I try very hard not to beg you to hold my hand.â
You donât realize youâre smiling until your cheeks ache.
âYes,â you say. âIâd love to.â
Relief floods his features, so strong you could almost feel it from across the room. He laughs, disbelieving, and for a second he just stands there, like his body hasnât gotten the message yet.
Then he moves.
He steps closer in one smooth stride, one hand lifting like heâs going to touch your arm and then hesitating. âCan IâŠ?â
You nod before he finishes. âYeah.â
His fingers brush your cheek, warm and careful. He swipes a thumb over a streak of flour, eyes flicking to your mouth.
âIf Iâd known all I had to do was guilt-trip your best friend into coming in here and forcing you to read my stuff, Iâd have done it months ago,â he murmurs.
âI am going to kill her,â you mutter, but it comes out breathless.
His gaze drops to your lips again. âCan IâŠ?â
He doesnât finish the sentence, but you know what heâs asking this time.
âYes,â you whisper.
His mouth meets yours like an exhale.
He tastes like mint and winter air, like the chocolate chips you know he steals when he thinks youâre not looking. His lips are warm, moving over yours slow at first, testing, then firmer when you sigh and lean in. One of his hands slides into your hair, the other dropping to your hip, fingers resting lightly, like heâs giving you plenty of room to pull back if you want.
You very much do not want.
You tilt your head, chasing him, and he makes a quiet sound in his throat that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb strokes your jaw, his nose nudging yours in a clumsy little bump that makes you both smile into the kiss.
The bell over the door jingles.
You jump back, cheeks flaming. An elderly man in a flat cap peers in, then does a double-take.
âOh,â he says, loudly delighted. âAbout time.â
âHi, Mr. Kline,â you squeak.
He shuffles toward the display case, pretending he didnât just see you devouring your neighbor. âDonât mind me. Just here for my usual. And maybe one of those chocolate tarts.â He squints. âAnd youââ he points a trembling finger at Bucky ââyou remember what I told you about poinsettias, son?â
Bucky clears his throat, ears bright red. âUh, keep âem away from drafts?â
âWater âem when the soilâs dry,â Mr. Kline says. âAnd donât wait too long to repot âem when they outgrow where they are.â
He winks at you.
Youâre pretty sure thatâs not actually about plants.
Buckyâs hand brushes yours as you ring up Mr. Klineâs order. Your fingers twist together, tentative then sure.
They all call it before you do.
Your morning regulars, who start âaccidentallyâ leaving tips for the âflower fund.â The red-beanie kid, who delivers an order with the note âfor my favorite coupleâ scrawled in Sharpie across the box. Even your friend, who sends you a text that just says I TOLD YOU SO in all caps, followed by seventeen poinsettia emojis.
You and Bucky try to play it cool. You fail spectacularly.
He brings you coffee every morning now, lingering in your doorway a little longer. You catch him staring at you through the front windows when he thinks youâre not looking, his expression soft and disbelieving.
You start ending your nights not collapsed on the couch, but in the alley between your shops, sharing leftover pastries and leftover roses. Sometimes you sit on upside-down crates, knees touching. Sometimes you lean against the brick wall, his shoulder warm against yours.
He kisses you in the alley one night when the snow is falling so thick it feels like youâre in a snow globe. Youâre both half-frozen, breath puffing between you, but his hands are warm on your waist, his nose pink, his smile pressed against your mouth.
âYou realize,â you murmur, âyou have to keep up the poinsettias now.â
He groans. âYouâre gonna bankrupt me, doll.â
âYou started it,â you point out.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes bright despite the cold. âI know.â
On Christmas Eve, your bakery stays open late. People stream in for last-minute pies and emergency cookie platters, hands full of shopping bags, cheeks flushed. The poinsettias in your window are huge now, leaves lush and bracts still glowing red.
Youâre closing up around eleven when someone knocks on the door.
You look up to see Bucky on the other side, bundled in his coat and scarf, a plant cradled in his arms.
âPlease tell me that isnât another poinsettia,â you say as you unlock the door.
He grins as he steps inside. âRelax. I brought reinforcements.â
Itâs not a poinsettia. Itâs a small evergreen tree in a pot, maybe three feet tall, decorated with tiny gingerbread-shaped ornaments and little paper flowers.
âYou made it,â you breathe.
He shrugs, suddenly shy. âFigured your apartment might need a tree. One that wonât make a mess when you inevitably drop frosting on it.â
Your chest swells.
âYouâre ridiculous,â you whisper.
âCompliment accepted,â he says, echoing your words from that second poinsettia delivery.
You lean up and kiss him before he can say anything else. He sets the tree down only after a second, like his hands canât quite decide which is more important.
When you break apart, breathless, you notice thereâs a tiny envelope tucked into the soil at the base of the tree.
âYouâre incorrigible,â you say, but youâre already reaching for it.
âI know,â he says. âRead it this time, yeah?â
You smile, running your thumb over the flap, then open it.
For the woman who thought my poinsettias were for her window, when really, they were always for her heart.
Your eyes sting.
âYou heading somewhere with that?â he asks gently, nodding toward the card.
âYeah,â you say, stepping into his space again. âStraight to my favorites.â
He laughs softly. âFavorites, huh?â
You nod. âRight next to the one about crossing a blizzard for my hot chocolate.â
He groans. âI knew that one was too much.â
âIt was perfect,â you say. âThey all were.â
His expression shifts, something deep and quiet settling there. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you whisper. âThey just⊠took me a minute to get to.â
His hand finds yours, fingers lacing. âI can wait,â he says simply. âTold you. Iâm stubborn like that.â
You glance over his shoulder at the window. At the line of red and green thatâs become part of your December, at the plants you water every morning now with a kind of reverence.
âGood,â you say. âBecause I was thinking⊠this thing? With us?â You squeeze his fingers. âI want it to last longer than poinsettia season.â
His mouth curves slowly. âCareful, doll. Sounds like youâre making me a promise.â
You look back at him. At the man who turned your sill into a garden of confessions, who kept sending pieces of his heart even when you werenât ready to read them.
âYeah,â you say. âI think I am.â
Outside, snow swirls under the streetlights, the world quiet and soft. Inside, in the warmth of the bakery, surrounded by sugar and flowers and the lingering scent of cinnamon, Bucky leans in and seals your poinsettia promises with a kiss.
you said spreader bar in your piece with bucky being obsessed with metal ⊠and i low key fuck with the head canon that beckyâs vibranium fingers can vibrate. and i also fuck with bucky being obsessed with overstimulation. timmie the filth of this idea all put together cause the worms in my brain CRAVE ITTTT
oh hello new york!!
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Bucky knew he shouldnât be this turned on by metal.
Shouldnât get hard at the sound of a latch sliding, a hinge locking, a bar clicking into place.
But then againâhe shouldnât want you the way he wants you either.
On your back, naked, trembling, thighs held wide open with the gleaming silver spreader bar heâd custom-built because, in his words, âIf Iâm gonna ruin you, doll, I need full access.â
Youâd laughed when he said it.
Youâre not laughing now.
âAtta girl,â he murmurs, kneeling between your forced-apart thighs like a man kneeling at an altar. His fingertips trace the polished steel connecting your ankles, and the way his voice dropsâlow, reverent, darkâmakes your stomach flip. âMy two favorite things in one place. Metal⊠and you.â
Your breath catches. He grins because he hears it.
âAnd you know what metal does, donât you, sweetheart?â
Your eyes widen. âBuckyââ
He hushes you with a kiss to your knee.
Then your inner thigh.
Then the wet heat right where youâre already dripping for him.
âNah, baby. Donât worry.â He smiles against your skin. âNot yet.â
You feel the shift in the mattress a second before his vibranium hand settles on your hipâcool, heavy, unyielding. And thenâ
whirrrr.
The fingers hum.
Vibrate.
Buzz with a deep, bone-melting frequency that shoots straight through you.
âJesusâBucky!â you gasp, jerking, but the spreader bar keeps you open, helpless, offered.
âMm,â he purrs, sliding that metal hand up your inner thigh, slow as sin. âThere it is. The sound I wanted. You like that? That little trick?â
Youâre shaking. âI didnât know you couldââ
âYou didnât ask,â he smirks, eyes darkening as the fingers pulse again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your whole body. âAnd I like surprising my girl.â
Your hips strain against the bar. He fucking loves it.
âLook at you,â he murmurs, spreading you open with his flesh hand while the vibranium one drifts closer⊠closer⊠âAlready so wet. Already making a mess for me.â
âBuckyâpleaseââ
âOh, sweet girl.â He kisses your clit, soft and slow, as if heâs greeting an old friend. âYouâre gonna be begging a lot tonight.â
The metal fingers slide along your slit and your entire body jolts, back arching, hands flying to the sheets.
âToo much?â he asks, absolutely knowing it isnât.
âNoâno, Iââ
He grins against your inner thigh, wicked and proud. âYeah. Thatâs my girl.â
And then he doesnât ease you into it.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
He presses the vibrating fingers right to your clit.
Your cry rips from youâraw, helpless, electric.
Your thighs try to snap shut but the bar stops you, and Bucky moans like the tortured sound you just made is better than sex.
âGod, I fucking love this thing,â he groans, giving the bar an appreciative tap. âKeeps you nice and open while I wreck you.â
âBuckyâBucky, I canâtââ
âYes you can,â he murmurs, kissing your shaking stomach without lifting the pressure on your clit. âAnd you will. Iâm not close to done.â
Youâre already climbingâtoo fast, too sharp, pleasure spiraling uncontrollably, your whole body trembling as he holds you exactly where he wants you.
âCome for me,â he orders softly.
You do.
Hard.
Immediate.
You scream his name as your orgasm fractures youâwhite-hot, overwhelmingâand he doesnât move his hand at all, just rides it out with you, vibrating deep, relentless.
You collapse back, panting.
âGood girl,â he praises, kissing your knee. âOne.â
âOne?!â you squeak.
He looks up at you with the slow, devastating smile of a man who built a weapon specifically to overstimulate you.
âOh, baby. That was just to warm you up.â
His vibranium fingers glide lower.
You grab his wrist instinctively. âBuckyâIâm sensitiveââ
âYes,â he purrs, kissing your thigh while curling his fingers inside you. âThatâs the point.â
The vibration inside your already-throbbing walls is brutalâdeep, rhythmic, devastating. Your breath comes in sharp little gasps as your back bows off the mattress.
He doesnât stop.
Doesnât slow.
Doesnât even pretend heâs giving you mercy.
And God, you love him for it.
âBuckyâtoo muchâtoo muchâ!â
He groans, fucking groans, at your broken voice. âYou can take it. You always take what I give you.â
He thrusts the metal fingers deeper, finding that spot he owns, and your vision goes blurry.
âBuckâBuckyâoh my godââ
âCome again,â he commands, mouth brushing your clit. âRight now.â
You shatter.
Your whole body convulses, legs fighting the spreader bar, tears streaming down your temples as your orgasm hits like a shockwave.
Two.
He doesnât let you breathe.
The vibrations intensify.
Your overstimulated nerves scream.
Youâre sobbing, shaking, beggingâbut your hips still rock helplessly against him.
Bucky looks blissed out. Like this is heaven.
âFuck, look at you,â he groans. âSo sensitive youâre running from meâand youâre still opening up like the perfect little slut you are.â
Your cry is half a moan, half a plea.
He kisses your clit again and your body just⊠breaks. Another orgasm tears through you without warningâfast, violent, unstoppable.
Three.
Bucky moans, deep and wrecked. âThere. Thatâs it. Thatâs what I wanted.â
âBuckyâpleaseâpleaseâpleaseââ
He finally pulls back just enough to look at you. Your thighs trembling, chest heaving, pussy soaked and fluttering around nothing.
Youâre wrecked.
Destroyed.
Beautiful.
He drags his fingersâstill hummingâup your slit, and your whole body jerks like youâve been shocked.
âNo more?â he asks gently, tone soft but eyes hot.
You nod desperately.
He smiles.
Slow.
Predatory.
âThen youâd better safeword, doll,â he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your overstimulated clit, âbecause Iâm not stopping until Iâm satisfied.â
And then he licks you.
His metal hand vibrates inside you while his tongue circles your clit in that maddening pattern he always uses when he wants you ruined.
Your scream is wordless.
Your thighs shake violently.
Your hands claw at the sheets.
âGood girl,â he groans into you. âGive me one more.â
You sob as your body clenchesâhelpless, involuntary, overstimulated to the edge of agonyâbefore you explode again, harder than all three before.
Four.
Your vision whites out.
You hear your name, his name, the sound of metal buzzingâblended, dizzying, too much and perfect.
When you come back to yourself, Bucky is kissing your shaking thighs, murmuring soft praises, easing off the vibration, unfastening the spreader bar.
He gathers you into his arms, voice low and proud and warm against your throat.
âGood girl. My perfect girl. Did so fucking well.â
You breathe shakily against his chest. âYouâre insane.â
He laughs softly, kissing your forehead.
âYeah,â he says, tipping your chin up to kiss your swollen lips. âBut youâre the one who let me near you with vibranium fingers and a spreader bar. That makes you just as crazy, sweetheart.â
inquiring minds would like to know....how do you feel about bucky setting you up on a sybian and jerking off while watching you on it???
how do i feel? HOW DO I FEEL? I FEEL SO STRONGLY RNNNNNN!
also i refuse to apologize about writing your exact request into the dialogue bc listen it was so fucking hot im dead
---------
You shift nervously on the edge of the bed, the low hum of the machine already vibrating through the floorboards, crawling up your spine before you have even touched it.
Bucky stands in front of you, shirtless, dog tags catching the dim lamplight. His blue eyes are darker than usual, heavy with intent, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouthâthe one that always means he is already five steps ahead of you.
âInquiring minds want to know,â he murmurs, voice rough and gravelly, âhow you feel about me setting you up on this thing⊠and watching.â
His metal fingers drag slowly down your bare thigh, cool and unyielding, and the contrast makes you shiver.
âWhile I take care of myself.â
Heat floods your cheeks instantly.
The Sybian sits in the center of the room like some obscene throneâsleek, black, already prepped, the thick ridged attachment glistening under the light. You had joked about something like this once, half-laughing into his chest after a long mission, safe in the idea that it would never actually happen.
But Bucky remembers everything.
And now he is looking at you like this has been sitting in his head for weeks.
âI⊠I donât know,â you whisper, even as your body betrays you completelyâyour nipples tightening, slick already pooling between your thighs.
He notices. He always notices.
âLiar,â he says softly, stepping closer.
His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and the way his gaze drops to your mouth makes your breath hitch.
âYou are soaked just thinking about it.â His voice lowers, gentler but no less certain. âTell me the truth, doll. You want this?â
You nod before you can stop yourself.
âYes.â
His smile turns sharp. Satisfied. Predatory.
âGood girl.â
He helps you onto the machine, guiding you carefully as you straddle it, your knees sinking into the padded base. The thick length presses against your entrance and you gasp as you slowly sink down, stretching around it inch by inch until it fills you completely.
Your hands grip the front handle immediately, thighs trembling as the vibrations bloom inside you, soft at first, teasing every sensitive nerve.
Bucky circles you slowly, like he is taking his time memorizing the sight.
âFuck,â he breathes under his breath, already palming himself through his sweats. âLook at you. So pretty like this. All spread open for me.â
The remote clicks.
The vibration deepens.
It rolls through you in a slow, heavy pulse that makes your hips jerk without permission, a broken moan slipping from your lips before you can stop it.
âThatâs it,â he encourages, pushing his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free, thick and already leading. âRide it for me, baby. Let me see how good it makes you feel.â
You start moving, tentative at first, but the ridges catch perfectly inside you, dragging over that spot every time you shift, whi;lle the external vibration presses insistently against your clit.
Your head tips back, a soft whimper falling from your lips as your body starts chasing it without hesitation.
Bucky strokes himself in time with you, slow, deliberate pulls, his grip tightening with every movement you make. Pre-cum beads at the tip, sliding down his fingers, but he does not look away from you. Not once.
âGoddamn,â he groans. âYou are dripping all over it. Soaking the damn thing.â
Your hips stutter, then pick up, chasing the pressure.
âYou like knowing I am watching?â he presses, stepping closer. âLike knowing I am getting off on how desperate you look?â
âYesâfuck, Buckyââ
Your words dissolve into a moan when the speed kicks up again, the vibration turning relentless. Your thighs start to shake, your movements losing any rhythm as your body just chases whatever feels best.
He is close enough now that you can feel his heat, smell the faint salt of his skin, the metallic edge of his arm as it reaches out and pinches your nipple just hard enough to make you cry out.
The combination sends you spiraling.
âLook at me,â he orders.
Your eyes snap to his immediately.
His pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling faster now, his hand moving quicker over his cock. The wet sound of it mixes with the buzz of the machine and your broken noises, filling the room with something filthy and overwhelming.
âI have thought about this,â he admits, voice strained. âComing home and finding you like this. All mine. Falling apart while I stroke myself stupid watching you.â
Your hips stutter harder, chasing the edge that is already right there.
âYou gonna come for me, doll?â he murmurs. âGonna let me see it?â
You nod frantically, words gone, breath gone, everything narrowing down to that tight, coiled pressure.
Your whole body seizes as the orgasm crashes through you, sharp and overwhelming, thighs clamping as you come hard around the machine, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your vision flashes white.
You barely register anything else except the feeling.
The pulsing. The clenching. The way it keeps going.
âThatâs my girlâfuckââ Bucky groans, his strokes turning messy, desperate. His metal hand braces on your shoulder, grounding you as you shake through it, and then he is coming too, thick ropes spilling over his fist, across his stomach, his breathing wrecked as he rides it out with you.
The machine slows gradually, but does not stop.
Soft pulses linger, keeping your body twitching as you slump forward, barely holding yourself up, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Bucky kneels in front of you almost immediately, hands coming up to cup your face, pulling you into a deep, grounding kiss. You taste yourself in the way your moans spill into his mouth, the way he swallows every sound like he needs it.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
You are still shaking when you manage, voice hoarse and breathless,
âHow do I feel about it?â
A weak laugh slips out of you.
âI think⊠I think I want you to do it again.â
