Summary// Captured by Hydra and forced into experiments, you are made for the winter soldier.
Pairing// Alpha!Winter Soldier x Omega!reader
Warnings// it’s smut. Don’t read if you don’t like the idea of torture.
Authours note// not sure if I like this one yet or not but I have some more ideas that are going to be coming soon! Stay tuned! If you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT! Do not steal or post anywhere else. Reblogs and feedback are encouraged.
You wake in a dark cold room with a pounding headache. You have no clue where you are, how you got here, who you were. You didn’t know your name, where you were from, your parents. Nothing. Your mind was blank. Scared, alone, lost. What was going on?
A sound of rattling keys pulls you from your thoughts. Two armed guards, and a man dressed in a white lab coat appeared in front of you. The guards each grabbed one of your arms and pulled you out of the room. You were weak, very weak. Could barely walk by yourself. They took to another room, this one bigger and full of medical equipment it seemed. The guards slammed you forcefully into a chair before strapping you in.
“Wait. No. What are you doing?” You start thrashing for all your worth trying to break free. However, it was a pitiful attempt, the doctor laughed at you. Shoving a mouth guard through your lips. Your screaming, knowing you can’t get away. What were these men going to do with you? You had no choice but to just take whatever it was. The doctor injects you with something. Your vision begins to go blurry. You’re screwed. “ночь ночь.” (“Night night”)Was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.
————————————————————————
You wake up again in a cold dark room this time naked. Shivering you curl yourself into a ball in the corner crying. You had no clue what they had done to you, how long you were asleep. A rustling sound from the other corner of the room startled you. You’re not alone. Slowly sitting up with your knee to your chest covering your body, squinting to try to see through the darkness. The person slowly walks towards you, a man. He’s tall, built like a brick wall. You curl tighter into yourself, not knowing what he’s going to do to you.
“I’m not going to hurt you” he speaks. His voice lower than you thought. He crouches a few feet in front of you. “Why am I here?” You weep. “They aim to please me with woman for my cooperation.” He says quietly. You were so confused, scared. Breaking down and crying, the man pulled you into his chest. You gave up and melted into the embrace. He hushes and rocks you in his arms. Sleep slowly talking over your weak body.
————————————————————————
Waking up you realize he had moved you both to the small bed. He had you covered with the thin blanket. Your body still naked, he wanted you to be comfortable around him. He had a feeling you were different than the rest of the woman the scientists have brought him.
You still weren’t sure why they chose you to satisfy the soldier. But you couldn’t deny the man was handsome. A strong jawline, beautiful blue eyes and the long brown hair that framed his face perfectly. His body rippled with muscles, all you wanted to do was feel them. You could feel them. Pressed against your body, holding you. He had been keeping you warm the whole night. The warmest you’ve been since arriving at this place.
You didn’t know he was awake, slowly you pushed back closer to his body. Your butt slid across his groin. He didn’t move, you weren’t sure what took over you but a rush of heat hit you like a brick wall. You needed to be touched. The heat had settled in your lower stomach making you whimper. Rolling your hips again, the soldier finally touched you. Grabbing your hip and turning you to face him. “What’s wrong princess?” He says with a slight smirk on his face as if he knew something you didn’t. “Hot, need.. you.” You whimper tears streaming down your face at this point. “Such a needy girl. A naughty Omega.” He growls lowly in your ear. You had heard about humans who were born as alpha, betas or omegas but you were not. It must have been in one of the injections, you thought. I had to have been.
The soldier had you pinned beneath him nosing over your scent glad. He just met you but he already knew that you were his, meant for him, made for him. He would bond you, but not until you begged him to. Your head was a fuzzy blur at this point, you dove straight into your first heat. Which then sent the soldier into his rut.
You wiggled your body against the front of his, whining as you felt his cock already hard through his pants. He growled, kissing the side of your neck up to your mouth. You kissed him with need, want. Not thinking much of it other than a simple fuck. Your hands worked the shirt over his shoulders revealing his chest. One arm human, one arm metal. Scars spread from the shoulder of his metal one. Your hands explored his chest then his abs, down to his pants where you began to work on the belt. His lips never left your body, sucking small marks into your skin. You pulled his pants down exposing his cock. He was big, thick, you weren’t sure he’d fit. You just wrapped your legs around his hips. He stopped, looking you in the eyes. “Are you sure about this?” He speaks quietly. Nodding your head doesn’t seem to please him. “Words, Omega. Need you hear you.” He says deeply. “Yes. Soldier please.” You say. It was enough to get him to move along. His metal hand crept between your body’s stopping at your clit, feeling just how much slick your body had created. He could have came on the spot just from the feel of how wet you were.
The soldier wasted no time lining himself up with your entrance. He slowly pushing into making sure to give you time to adjust to his size. He wasn’t sure if you were a virgin or not, hell he didn’t even know your name. You whined and moaned. The stretch wasn’t pleasant but you could handle it. He stopped once he was completely sheathed inside you. He waited until you had given him the okay to start moving. He slowly drew his hips back before snapping them straight back towards yours. Your mind went blank when his thrust continued to hit your sweet spot. Moans poured out of you uncontrollably. The soldier kept his face buried in your neck while snapping his hips into you at a relentless pace.
You felt a hot sensation in your stomach slowly growing to spread all over you. You couldn’t hold back your pleasure and he knew it. He could smell how close to cumming you were. He sped his pace up until your mouth was hanging open and you couldn’t breathe. Your orgasm crashed over you like a waterfall soaking the soldiers dick and the bed below you. The soldier continued to fuck you slower this time. You were sensitive and he knew. You felt the base of his cock swell, he was close. His hand once again crept between your bodies to slowly rub circles into your clit.
A new batch of slick replace the old stuff making it easy for the soldier to slip in and out without hesitation. He had you falling over the edge for the second time that night. His face buried in your neck sucking marks and moaning. His knot caught inside you as you were both cumming, locking you together.
He flipped you over so you were laying on top of his large body. You snuggled into him before slipping into a sleep again.
Waking up, you saw he ordered one of the guards to grab more blankets, snacks and water. He had some pull around the facility it seemed because within 15 minutes there was a stack of big fluffy blankets, food and drinks outside the door. In the mix was a pair of shorts and a tank top for you to wear once you were ready to go out.
You had a feeling this wasn’t the last time you would be staying in a room with the soldier.
Part Two
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Themes: Heavy Mutual Pinining, Heavy Sexual Tension, Longing, Yearning, Right Person-Wrong Time. Friends to Lovers, a bit Angsty but Happy Ending. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky being obsessed with tiddies, unprotected piv, creampie.
Summary: Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.
A/N: This is a Two Shot, so another one will be coming soon.
tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @classicrebound
The first time it really hits is when you see him with her.
It’s a crowded room, warm bodies pressed close together, the low hum of music barely louder than the thudding in your chest as you watch Bucky Barnes wrap his arm around the waist of a woman you don’t know.
She’s beautiful, of course—someone you'd expect to be by his side. Her laugh is soft, melting into his as he leans in close, whispering something that lights her face up, his lips brushing her ear like he can’t help himself.
You glance down at your drink, the sudden bitterness pooling in your throat harder to swallow than the wine. You tell yourself to look away, that it’s none of your business who he holds, but you can’t. Every time you look up, he’s there, still wrapped around her, laughing at something she’s said, his hand resting on her back in a way that feels too familiar, too tender. You know that look—the way his fingers splay protectively, pulling her close like she belongs to him. Like he’s finally let someone in.
It’s torture, standing there with a smile plastered on your face, pretending not to notice. Pretending that it doesn’t crush you.
Because when you’re alone—when you’re single—he’s taken. And when he’s got nobody, you do. Every single time. You’ve gotten used to seeing him across rooms, with someone else in his arms, with that look in his eyes that you wish, desperately, could be meant for you.
And he’s always looking at you that same way, that glance just a second too long, that warmth held back by a fragile thread of restraint. Just enough to keep the lines from blurring.
Tonight, he finally looks away.
When he glances up, catches sight of you, his smile falters. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and something soft flickers in his eyes—something like regret, the same regret you carry. But her hand tightens on his arm, and he turns back to her, his smile returning, wider than before. You hate how easily he can pull away from you, how quickly he can make you feel invisible.
“Hey, Bucky,” you manage, your voice steady though it feels like your chest is caving in.
He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Hey.” His gaze drops, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, that he might admit that this hurts him too. But then she shifts closer, and he wraps his arm around her more firmly, giving you a look that’s both a dare and a dismissal.
“This is Emily,” he says, and she gives you a polite, too-sweet smile.
“Oh.” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t know… I hadn’t realized you were…” You can’t finish, the words catching in your throat.
“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone is almost too casual, too final. “We’re together.”
The finality of it slices through you, sharp and clean. You nod, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity you have left, but all you can manage is, “Well… congratulations. I’m… I’m glad you’re happy.”
There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger? Hurt? But his jaw tightens, and he nods, looking away as if to spare you.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, his voice steady, controlled.
Emily pulls him closer, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she glances at you.
“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” she says, and there’s a challenge in her tone, a silent declaration that she’s won, that whatever you think you had with him is nothing compared to this. She presses a kiss to his cheek, her fingers curling possessively around his shoulder as she tilts her head, catching his gaze.
“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “Yeah, he is.”
And for a brief, desperate second, you think he might look at you—really look at you, see how much this is tearing you apart. But he doesn’t. His gaze is on her, soft and full of warmth, a look he’s given you a thousand times. And it feels like he’s choosing her, like he’s making the decision to let go of whatever fragile orbit kept you two circling each other all this time.
You turn away, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache in your chest is all-consuming, a raw, relentless reminder that he’s moved on. That he’s chosen her.
And as you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, the sound twisting like a knife in your chest, leaving you wondering if he was ever yours to lose.
And then one night, fate flips, and you’re the one with someone new by your side.
It’s been months since you last saw Bucky. You assumed he was out of your life for good, until tonight, when you walk into the cozy warmth of a private dining room in a restaurant, your hand firmly held by your boyfriend Andrew. It’s Steve’s dinner party, a small gathering of friends, and the lighthearted chatter fills the air, mixing with the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights.
You’re laughing at something your boyfriend said as you step into the room, but your laughter dies in your throat when you see him.
Bucky is seated across the table, leaning back casually in his chair, but the moment his eyes meet yours, a spark flickers there—surprise, mingled with something darker, something that quickens your pulse. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight, and judging by the way his gaze lingers, he hadn’t expected you either.
Steve stands, grinning as he greets you and Andrew, and you introduce him to everyone. You smile, trying to seem natural as you move around the table, your hand still resting in your boyfriend’s. But it feels wrong, the warmth of your boyfriend’s fingers against yours suddenly strange, like it doesn’t quite belong.
When you reach Bucky, he stands, his jaw tense, his eyes unwavering as he offers a hand to shake. You almost expect him to make some dry remark, to cover up whatever unspoken tension lies between you. But he’s silent as he grips Andrew’s hand firmly, while looking at you. His fingers are steady, a touch too tight, like he’s barely holding something back.
“So, you’re the boyfriend,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place.
Your boyfriend laughs, unaware of the tension. “Yeah, I am. And you’re the famous Bucky I keep hearing about.”
Bucky’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but his eyes remain cold.
“I’m sure you have.” He releases your boyfriend’s hand, his gaze shifting back to you, lingering a second too long before he forces himself to look away.
It should feel like a victory—that, for once, you’re the one who’s found happiness while he’s left to watch. But the second you meet his eyes, the air shifts. You feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the years that have passed with both of you just out of reach, orbiting each other but never colliding.
You take your seat next to your boyfriend, aware of every brush of his arm against yours, every gentle squeeze of his hand on your knee under the table. He leans close, murmuring something soft and sweet, and you offer a small smile, but your focus is entirely on Bucky, sitting across the table, his gaze flickering between you and Andrew, his jaw set with that same restrained tension.
As the night wears on, Bucky remains quiet, only contributing here and there to the conversation, but each time he speaks, his words feel weighted, almost directed at you.
“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the chatter, “I’m guessing you’re happy?”
The question is simple enough, but there’s a challenge hidden beneath it, a question he doesn’t ask outright.
“Yes, I am,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
Your boyfriend glances over, squeezing your hand, unaware of the undercurrents in the room.
“She’s stuck with me now,” he jokes, nudging you. “No escape.”
You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow, especially when you catch Bucky’s expression—something dark and raw flashing in his eyes before he schools his features again.
“Good for you both,” Bucky replies, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s about time.”
There’s a pause, the kind that seems to echo louder than any conversation, and you can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, filled with a thousand things he can’t say. Your chest tightens as the weight of everything unsaid settles heavily between you, filling the air with a tension you’re certain everyone can feel.
As people start to leave, you find yourself alone with Bucky by the door. Your boyfriend is across the room, saying goodbyes, and it’s just you and Bucky in the dimly lit entryway, a fragile bubble of space and time.
“So…” His voice is low, almost too soft, his eyes searching yours. “This is it, then?”
There’s a vulnerability in his words that pierces through you, a rawness you’ve never heard before. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to deny it.
You glance away, your voice barely a whisper. “Yep. This is it.”
A shadow crosses his face, and he just stands there, watching you, his gaze heavy. He doesn’t say anything for awhile, his hand lingering just inches from yours, as though he’s contemplating reaching out, breaking whatever boundary lies between you. The air feels thick, and you wonder if he can hear the frantic beat of your heart.
But he lets his hand fall back to his side.
“Guess there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, a bitter edge coloring his voice. His eyes linger on you, as if he’s memorizing every detail, every second of this final, silent goodbye.
You open your mouth, but the words die on your lips, caught between everything you want to say and everything you can’t. You reach out, almost instinctively, but Andrew calls your name from across the room, his voice shattering the fragile stillness.
Bucky’s gaze flickers, and he takes a step back, his expression falling into something guarded.
“Take care, doll,” he says softly, the words laced with both a goodbye and a promise. His eyes linger on you one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out into the night.
He’d spent years replacing your lips with so many others, all in an attempt to forget the mark you left on him.
Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled her in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.
× × × ×
Present
It’s one of those nights, another dinner gathering among friends, the kind that’s almost become routine. You’re already seated in the cozy living room, surrounded by the familiar warmth of Steve’s place. The soft glow of lamps and low bable of conversation wrap around you like a comfortable blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you’re truly at ease.
Beside you, Sam nudges your shoulder.
“Hey Boo,” he says, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “remember when you and Bucky were practically attached at the hip? What happened there?”
The question catches you off guard, and you feel warmth creeping up your neck as a few heads turn, curious eyes glancing your way. You roll your eyes, nudging him back.
“Leave it to you to bring that up, Sam.”
He chuckles, unrelenting. “C’mon, just saying. You two were tight. I mean, tight.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of a few more gazes on you, even if they aren’t pushing the question.
“It’s… complicated,” you finally say, giving him a look that tells him to drop it. But Sam just chuckles, clearly amused, like he knows something no one else does.
“Complicated.” He echoes with a slow nod, a knowing grin spreading. “Right. Complicated.”
“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, barely suppressing a smile, but you can’t deny the fondness in your tone. Sam just winks, nudging you again, and the others quickly move on, the brief moment of attention fading as conversation flows around you.
And that’s when the front door opens, and you hear his voice.
“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky calls out, his deep voice filling the space effortlessly as he steps in, slightly flushed from the cold outside. His eyes scan the room, and the moment they land on you, you swear the air shifts, that it crackles with something electric, something only the two of you seem to feel.
Your heart stumbles over itself as he walks further into the room, tugging off his jacket and offering smiles and nods to everyone. But it’s like a magnetic pull—his eyes keep flickering back to you, and each time it does, your stomach does a nervous, excited flip.
He looks good. Better than good, really. There’s a slight scruff along his jaw, and his hair falls just so, framing his face in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it. When he finally reaches the empty chair directly across from you, he stops, fingers lingering on the back of it.
“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission to be close to you.
You shake your head, trying to keep your cool, even though every part of you is screaming, yes, sit, sit right here and don’t you dare move.
“No, go ahead,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds steady.
He sits, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts over, warm and familiar, making your head spin.
As he settles in, he leans slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Long time no see.”
“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” you murmur, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. Every subtle movement, every small smile he throws your way feels like it’s weaving a thread around you both, pulling you in.
The conversation around you resumes, but it’s like you’re in a bubble, the two of you orbiting each other again. Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you bite back a smile. His hand rests on the table between you, his fingers drumming absently, and you find yourself staring at them, remembering every time those hands had nearly, almost touched yours.
After a lull in conversation, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways.
“So… where’s the boyfriend?” he asks, almost casually, but you catch the underlying question. His tone is light, but his eyes are cautious, searching yours, looking for an answer he can’t ask outright.
You raise a brow, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips.
“Well,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his gaze, “the lack of presence should answer your question.”
For a second, Bucky just stares, and then a slow, dawning smile spreads across his face, his whole expression softening, the guardedness falling away. He looks like he’s holding back from saying something, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, his knee pressing just a little more against yours as he leans in.
And before you can think twice, you match his question with your own, barely above a whisper. “And where’s your girlfriend, Bucky?”
“Nonexistent.” he said almost instantly.
His eyes hold yours, and something subtle shifts in them—a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn’t look away though he plays it off with a small, casual shrug. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right person.”
You nod, feeling the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“Nice,” you say, trying to keep it casual, though your heart’s picking up a pace of its own.
“Yeah… nice.” He lets out a quiet chuckle, raising an eyebrow as if he’s catching onto your attempt at nonchalance.
Deafening silence settles between you, but it’s charged, a silent exchange that makes you feel more breathless than words ever could. Neither of you seems to move, his knee still brushing yours under the table, and it feels like he’s lingering in your space, right on that line between friend and something more.
You glance around, feeling the tension rise, and blow your bangs out of your eyes, hoping it might ease the knot in your stomach. But when you sneak a look at him, he’s still staring, his gaze solid, unblinking, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of every tiny shift in the air between you. Your cheeks warm, and you look away quickly, pressing your lips together, but it only makes your heart pound harder.
Your cheeks warm instantly, and you quickly look away, focusing hard on the table.
A small smile tugs at his lips, his voice soft. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Your pulse quickens, and you swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
“Maybe a little,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
A spark lights in his eyes, and his smile widens, soft but undeniably mischievous.
“Good,” he murmurs, his knee pressing just a fraction closer to yours, enough to send a thrill up your spine. “Because, for the record… you make me a little nervous too.”
Your heart does a flip, and you feel a grin tug at your lips despite yourself.
“I make you nervous?” You try to keep the surprise out of your voice, but he just nods, his gaze intense, that teasing warmth settling over his expression.
“Yeah, you do,” he says, his tone light but honest, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Especially when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” you ask, barely breathing.
“Like you’re about to bolt… but part of you doesn’t want to.” His voice is low, and his eyes search yours, as if he’s daring you to deny it.
You feel the smile you’ve been holding back break through, your heart racing as the last of the distance between you seems to dissolve. Just as you’re about to respond, a voice calls from the dining room, breaking the tension as everyone calls you both to join.
“Guess we should go, huh?” Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, pulling back just slightly, though his gaze lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer.
“Yeah,” you manage, feeling a little breathless.
But as you both stand and head to the dining room, his hand brushes yours, just enough for his pinky to link with yours for a brief, secret moment. The warmth of that tiny touch lingers, and you can’t help but feel like something just shifted between you, something new and thrilling, waiting just under the surface.
× × × ×
As you both step into the dining room, Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There they are,” he teases, his voice just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We were wondering what’s taking so long.”
Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you catch Bucky’s gaze, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t say anything, slipping into the room to find only two empty seats—right beside each other.
Bucky gestures to the chair beside him, waiting until you sit before settling in next to you. He settles in beside you, his broad shoulders and steady presence enveloping the space, making you feel smaller.
Conversations swirl around the table, but you’re painfully aware of every tiny shift Bucky makes. The subtle brush of his arm against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his shoulder—it all has your heart racing. His hand rests on the table beside yours, fingers drumming lightly, and your pulse hammers as his knee presses just slightly against yours under the table, a connection so subtle yet electric that it makes your skin tingle.
Then he adjusts his position, angling himself more toward the group—and you. The small movement brings him even closer, and you’re immediately enveloped in his scent, something warm and cedar-like, filling the air around you until it feels almost overwhelming, in the best possible way. You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to close the distance even more, feeling trapped between wanting to be near him and feeling breathless because of it.
As Bucky joins the conversation, you find yourself watching him, captivated by the way he leans in, his voice low and steady, his easy confidence only pulling you in deeper. His lips curve as he speaks, and you can’t help but linger on every detail, the way his eyes light up, the rough timbre of his laugh, every tiny thing about him that’s impossibly distracting.
And then, in the middle of a sentence, his eyes flick back to you, catching you looking. You quickly look away, feeling your cheeks burn as you fixate on your plate, hoping he didn’t notice the way you’d been studying him.
But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His pinky grazes yours again, a gentle, teasing touch, sending a thrill up your spine as he continues his conversation, his presence unmistakable and impossible to ignore.
You try to focus on anything else, but his gaze keeps finding you, even when you’re not looking. And with every shared glance, every quiet brush of his fingers, the air grows thicker, charged with something unspoken, as if each tiny touch is daring you to lean in, to close that final distance.
You’re doing everything you can to keep your composure, to focus on the laughter and stories being shared. But Bucky’s presence beside you is inescapable, it’s a thrill that’s leaving you silent, lost in your own thoughts as the night goes on.
Sam’s voice suddenly cuts through, pulling you back to reality.
“Hey,” he says, smirking as he leans back in his chair, his gaze playful but sharp. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on with you?”
Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you force a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension simmering under your skin.
“Just… food coma, I guess,” you say, waving a hand and attempting a casual smile.
Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.
“Food coma? Really?” He drags out the words, as if he’s not buying it for a second, and you can see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pasta’s got you this speechless?”
Beside you, Bucky’s lips twitch, and you can feel his gaze, that familiar, subtle amusement making it impossible not to blush. You risk a quick glance at him, only to find him looking back with that same knowing smirk, like he can see right through every excuse.
“Maybe she’s just tired of all your talking, Sam,” Bucky says smoothly, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he speaks. The movement is so casual, so effortless, that it almost seems like an afterthought. But the warmth of his arm behind you, his fingers just brushing the curve of your shoulder, makes your heart race in ways you can’t ignore. His tone stays casual, but there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at Sam, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a subtle, grounding touch.
Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d check,” he says, throwing a playful wink in your direction.
You feel yourself sink back just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his arm, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers stay near your shoulder, steady and unassuming but unmistakably there. The conversations resume around you, but the space between you and Bucky feels even smaller, the quiet thrill of his touch pulling you in.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping so only you can hear.
“That food coma excuse was almost convincing,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with playful challenge as he watches your reaction.
× × × ×
As the night winds down, people start to gather their things, saying their goodbyes. You slip on your coat, waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes, but he suddenly turns to Steve with a grin.
“Hey, Rogers,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “How about we hit that bar down the street? Just a quick nightcap.”
You raise an eyebrow, deadpanning as you fold your arms. “Seriously, Sam?”
He flashes you an unapologetic grin, shrugging. “What? You’re always saying you’re an independent woman. I figured a little alone time wouldn’t hurt.”
“Unbelievable.” You shake your head, muttering, “You’re an asshole.”
Sam just laughs, looking over his shoulder.
“Hey, maybe Bucky can give you a lift. It’ll be like old times.” He gives you a wink, completely ignoring the way your cheeks warm.
You glance at Bucky, trying to keep your expression neutral. “It’s fine, really,” you say quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and heading out with Steve. “But you know Bucky’s free.” He gives you one last smirk before slipping out the door, leaving you standing there with Bucky, who’s leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice warm, that familiar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.
You open your mouth to decline, still feeling a bit of resistance. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just grab an Uber.”
Bucky chuckles softly, tilting his head toward the door. “I’ll drop you off. It’s fine.”
You hold his gaze for a few seconds, trying to gauge his sincerity, but there’s that familiar steadiness in his eyes, a quiet patience that leaves you with no real reason to argue. Finally, you sigh, giving in with a reluctant nod.
The car ride starts in silence, the engine’s low hum filling the tense quiet between you, only occasionally interrupted by the soft rattle of snowflakes pelting against the windows as the blizzard starts to gather strength.
You shift in your seat, fidgeting, your hands smoothing over your coat, your fingers picking at invisible lint. Nothing feels comfortable. Every second, your eyes flick to the window, tracing the passing streetlights, trying to focus on anything but him.
But you can feel him there. The warmth of him beside you, the steady, calm presence that somehow has you on edge, unable to breathe fully. His familiar scent fills the car—a mix of cedar and something undeniably him—sharp and soothing all at once, making the small space feel even smaller.
You cross your arms, uncross them, uncross your legs, then cross them again, pressing your back firmly into the seat as if that might stop the quick, relentless beat of your heart. But each turn he makes, each slight shift of his shoulders, sends a fresh rush of awareness through you, and your mind is racing, trying to keep pace with the pulsing tension that seems to settle between you like a third presence.
Finally, desperate for a distraction, you reach over and flip on the radio, hoping for anything to ease the silence. But the first song is almost too on the nose, the lyrics hitting like they were made for this moment:
"All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”
A breath catches in your throat, and before the verse can continue, you reach over and quickly press the button again, changing the station, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
The next station crackles to life, and it’s somehow worse.
“Cause when I got somebody, you don’t and when you got somebody, I don’t. I wish that the time would line up so we could just give in…”
Your pulse races, and you switch stations again, more urgently this time, and the next song fills the car with a familiar pop beat.
“You ain’t my boyfriend and I ain’t your girlfriend. But you don’t want me to see nobody else and I don’t want you to see nobody…”
You press the power button, cutting off the music entirely, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your coat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him glancing your way, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Bucky clears his throat, his voice a low murmur. “Trouble finding a station?”
You manage a quick, nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Yeah… something like that.”
He just nods, his gaze returning to the road, but you catch the lingering smile in his expression, like he’s perfectly aware of the tension simmering between you, the unspoken things filling the silence.
And as the quiet stretches, you can hear his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it only makes you more aware of your own. You try to breathe normally, in and out, but each breath feels too loud, too obvious, like you’re trying and failing to hide something you both already know.
× × × ×
Bucky pulls up in your driveway, and for a moment, the relief you thought you’d feel at reaching home is overshadowed by something else—something closer to disappointment. The quiet tension that’s been hanging between you feels almost unfinished, and you find yourself wishing the ride could somehow stretch on just a little longer.
He leaves the engine idling, the faint rumble filling the silence as you both sit there, neither moving to get out. After a few seconds, you clear your throat, glancing over at him with a small, reluctant smile.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say, voice softer than you intended.
Bucky nods, returning your smile, but you can see a similar reluctance flicker across his face as he glances toward the house.
“Anytime,” he murmurs.
Your eyes drift to the porch, and you remember the old habit the two of you shared, back when he’d drop by after a night out with everyone—those late nights with coffee and the dessert your mom always made, the one he loved and never turned down.
The memory brings a small smile to your lips, and before you can second-guess yourself, you look back at him.
“Actually… my mom made her chocolate tart. The one you like. If you’re up for coffee and dessert, that is,” you say, feeling a twinge of nerves despite the casual invitation.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, but you catch the hint of warmth in his eyes.
“Chocolate tart, huh?” he echoes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I can’t say no to that.”
You shrug, playing it off, but your heart races as you nod toward the door.
“Figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides,” you add, trying to keep your tone light, “it’s been a while since we did coffee and dessert.”
Bucky’s smile widens, and he cuts the engine, pocketing his keys before glancing at you with that familiar spark in his eyes.
“Guess it’s tradition,” he says, opening his door. “Wouldn’t want to break it.”
You step out, leading him up the walkway, and as you unlock the door, the feeling of anticipation settles back over you, even stronger now. It’s like the tension from the car ride has followed you inside.
As you head into the kitchen, Bucky follows, his gaze drifting over the familiar space. He takes in the room, noticing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. The same cozy lamp in the corner, casting a warm glow over the soft cushions on the couch, the same framed photos on the wall—but a few new things catch his attention.
A navy-blue jacket, draped over the armchair, too large to be yours. A set of keys on the counter with a small metal keychain that he doesn’t recognize. And a book on the coffee table, a spy thriller with a bookmark halfway through. He frowns slightly, his mind racing as he takes in these small, unfamiliar details, each one lighting a spark of jealousy that flares bright, unbidden.
He hadn’t asked about Andrew—hadn’t wanted to. But now, surrounded by small traces of him, the thought of someone else being part of this space, of sharing moments with you that once might have been his, digs into him with an unexpected force. The sight of it sparks something sharp and unbidden within him, jealousy flaring up like a match struck in the dark. He swallows, trying to ignore it, trying to remind himself that he has no right to feel this way, but the thought of Andrew’s things still lingering here sends his mind racing.
In the kitchen, you’re busy slicing the chocolate tart, setting two plates with practiced ease as you fill the silence with the familiar rhythm of preparing coffee. But every now and then, you feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching, like he’s taking in every detail of the room and of you.
Bucky clears his throat softly, his voice low as he leans against the doorway, watching you pour the coffee. “Things… feel different here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, but there’s a roughness in his voice that betrays him.
Your eyes follow his gaze to the jacket, and a flicker of understanding crosses your face. You give a small, almost sheepish laugh.
“Oh, that. He left it here ages ago. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but it’s… just kind of stayed.” You shrug, looking away as if embarrassed by the attachment. “Guess I’m just lazy.”
He nods, the answer somehow not as satisfying as he’d hoped. His gaze shifts back to the room, trying to reconcile this familiar space with the small hints of someone else.
“Ah,” he says, his tone lighter. “I get it. Hard to let go of things sometimes.”
You nod, a knowing look in your eyes, as if you both understand the layers beneath his words. You hand him his plate, the rich scent of chocolate and coffee filling the room as he takes it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief, lingering moment.
Settling down at the table, he watches you from across the coffee cup, the quiet tension between you only growing thicker. And as he takes a bite of the chocolate tart, the flavors familiar and nostalgic, he can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at something he’s been missing for too long.
You try to focus on your coffee, but Bucky’s gaze is unwavering, fixed solely on you. He takes another slow bite of the chocolate tart, and the way his eyes soften, paired with the slight curve of his lips. It’s like he’s seeing something he missed, something he can’t look away from.
After a beat, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, unable to take it anymore.
“What?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, but your heart’s racing too fast.
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, eyes dark, thoughtful, and a little teasing, as if he’s enjoying watching you squirm.
“Just… wondering why it took so long to get back here— it feels good to be here. With you.” His voice is low, quiet, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes your stomach flip.
You glance down, biting back a smile, but you can feel his gaze still on you, unrelenting, like he’s waiting for you to look back.
“It’s just dessert, Bucky,” you murmur, trying to keep the moment light, but your cheeks betray you, a blush blooming under his attention.
“Maybe,” he replies, his tone teasing, eyes glinting. “But it’s the best damn dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He takes a slow bite of the tart, watching you with that infuriatingly soft gaze that makes it impossible to breathe.
"Christ..." you mutter under your breath, barely aware you’ve said it aloud. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s peeling away every defense you’ve carefully built.
“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice, like he’s testing just how far he can push.
You let out a shaky laugh, glancing down at your coffee to avoid those piercing eyes.
“You’re not… it’s just—” You don’t know how to finish the thought, every word slipping away under his unwavering stare.
He lets the silence hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and heart-stopping. Then he leans forward, just a bit closer, his eyes still locked on you, the teasing glint in them intensifying.
“You sure about that?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. His fingers toy with the edge of his coffee cup, but his attention never wavers, every inch of him focused on you. “Because if I’m honest… I think I like watching you get flustered. Kind of makes me wonder what else I could do to make you look at me like that.”
Your breath catches, and you feel your pulse race, cheeks burning as his words sink in, every nerve suddenly buzzing. You’re caught, and he knows it, the challenge in his gaze daring you to look away—but you don’t, rooted to the spot, every nerve in your body humming.
But in that moment of stunned silence, something in your expression shifts, your eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not discomfort, but a soft vulnerability—an openness he wasn’t expecting.
He misreads it entirely.
Bucky straightens abruptly, his face softening as he lets out a quick, self-conscious laugh, breaking eye contact. “I—sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, his smirk fading. “I’m just messing with you. Didn’t mean to… you know, make things weird.”
Your heart clenches at the quickness with which he pulls back, his retreat sudden, like he’s trying to undo the last few moments. You open your mouth, words rushing to the tip of your tongue to stop him, to explain, to tell him he hadn’t made you uncomfortable at all.
“Bucky…” you say softly, reaching out before you can think twice. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he glances up, eyes wide, almost searching yours for permission.
And before you can lose your nerve, you let the words slip, your voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable… I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
The tension between you flares back to life, sharper, deeper, as he studies you, realization dawning in his gaze, as if he’s daring himself to believe what you’re saying.
× × × ×
The blizzard outside has intensified, blanketing everything in a thick layer of snow that doesn’t look like it’ll be easing up anytime soon. By the time you both finish your coffee and dessert, the wind is howling against the windows, and the soft glow from the streetlights barely penetrates the wall of snow outside.
You walk to the window, peering out into the swirling white, and let out a small sigh.
“Looks like it’s getting worse,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Bucky, the words carrying a quiet invitation you don’t fully realize.
Behind you, he steps closer, joining you by the window, his hand resting on the edge of the sill as he gazes out into the storm.
“Guess I might have to wait it out,” he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice, though his eyes flicker with something warmer as they meet yours. His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but the unspoken question lingers between you.
You turn to face him, folding your arms, trying to play it off casually.
“Yeah, probably not the best idea to be out there in this.” You pause, giving him a small smile. “I mean, I have a couch. Wouldn’t be the first time you crashed here.”
He chuckles softly, nodding.
“Right. Wouldn’t want to risk life and limb just to get home.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, like he’s just as reluctant as you are to let the night end.
You manage a laugh, a quiet, slightly nervous sound as you gesture towards the living room.
“The couch is all yours if you want it. I can grab a spare blanket.” The offer feels both genuine and like an excuse, a small plea for him to stay, if only a bit longer.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft, a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. “Appreciate it.”
As you disappear down the hall to fetch a blanket and pillow, he lingers in the living room, glancing around the familiar space. He’s barely acknowledged how much he’s missed this—missed you—and now, surrounded by small remnants of your life, it all feels heavier than he expected, like he’s on the brink of something he’s not ready to let go of.
You return with a thick blanket and a pillow, handing them to him as he sets them down on the couch.
“Here you go. It’s not much, but… I think you’ll survive,” you say, though there’s something tentative in your voice, almost as if you’re testing the waters, hoping he’ll stay a little closer.
Bucky chuckles, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands settling over his knees as he looks up at you.
“Yeah, I’ve handled worse, I think,” he replies, his gaze lingering just a bit too long.
A quiet pause stretches between you, neither of you moving. Outside, the snow falls in thick, relentless waves, cocooning you both in this shared moment, and you feel the weight of what’s left unsaid, lingering like an invitation neither of you dares to speak aloud.
Finally, you clear your throat, offering a small smile.
“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” you say, your voice softer than you intended, and you find yourself hesitating, like you’re reluctant to leave.
He nods, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, doll.”
× × × ×
Bucky was asleep on the couch. Your couch. Crashing at your place, as he had so many nights before.
The man you wanted more than you’d ever wanted anyone in your life.
You couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from you on the other side of your bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had you squirming beneath the sheets?
God, the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to yours—maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through you during dinner.
Whatever it was, you were suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been your friend since, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times—okay, a lot of the time—so what if you were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long.
Fuck.
You both had talked about this. Once—a long time ago. You had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do—look how many friendships were ruined by relationships.
You threw back the duvet and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wiggling your toes nervously as you bit your lip.
You needed a drink, that's what you needed. Not that kind of drink—although God knew you weren't far from it. You needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and maybe some splashed on your face for good measure.
Then you could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. You had an early start in the morning, you had to find some way to get some sleep. If you were really quiet, you could slip right past him and he'd never even know you'd been out of your room.
You creaked open your bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards you and you straightened, relaxing a little.
He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about you.
You slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntarily. You'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while your bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still.
Guiltily you cast your eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying with the blanket kicked to the floor instead to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.
And incredibly, almost achingly sexy.
Your eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He was a powerhouse of strength, with thick, chiseled muscles that seemed almost carved from stone. Broad shoulders tapered down to a torso built from years of dedication, and his arms were thick with veins and ridges that caught the light.
Your gaze slid down his powerful legs, the defined muscle of his thighs flexing beneath the hem of his shorts. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, intense and undeniably commanding. His stubbled jaw caught your eye, and you let your gaze linger on his lips—the lips you’d dreamed of tasting so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes you imagined the fantasy as if it were a memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot.
Only he wasn't hot—you try to tell yourself. You dragged yourself back to reality, frowning as you looked down at him. He was cold.
You went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as you draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.
“Hmmm…” Bucky mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. “Good morning.”
“It's not morning, it's two a.m,” you whispered. “I was just getting you another blanket. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmmmm…” he said, cuddling it around him.
He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. You loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. You loved watching him do anything, in fact.
“It's so cold,” You said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so you could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.
“Cold?” he murmured. “Just a second.” He pushed aside the blanket and reached for you, tugging you down towards him.
You gasped and lost your footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled you down and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.
He flipped the blanket over top of both of you. “There. I'll keep you warm.”
A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made your heart flutter rebelliously in your chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm and musky scent of cedar wood. He drew you in closer, molding his body against yours, and God help you, you allowed him. You settled in more comfortably beside him, your leg thrown over his, your arm stretched across his chest.
“I was saying you must be cold,” you whispered. “Not telling you I was.”
“I know.” Bucky said without missing a beat.
You lay there, entwined, quiet, saying nothing more. You rested your head against his chest and could feel more than hear the lazy beat of his heart, and the quiet, smooth passage of his breath. His hand languidly caressed your arm, the rhythm growing slower as he drifted back to sleep.
Sleep threatened to claim you, too, so you stirred, trying to disentangle from him. You'd have to be near your alarm clock or you'd never get up in time.
“No, don't go,” Bucky murmured as you tried to move. He held you tighter.
“I have to,” you whispered. “I have to get some sleep, I have to get up in a few hours.”
“Stay.”
“I can't.”
He was gradually coming awake, slowly becoming more oriented. He shifted position slightly so that he was more on his side, looking down at you as he rested his head on his bent elbow. He stretched his other arm across you and pulled you closer, gently caressing you back.
“Stay,” he said again. His voice was clearer now. He was fully awake. Still slightly dazed from sleep, but awake.
You hesitated, letting your gaze roam over his face. Finally you whispered, “We talked about this a long time ago, remember?”
“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I want you to stay.”
In the dim moonlight spilling in through the French doors his features were muted, but his eyes—his eyes were large and dark, taking you in with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Bucky moistened his lips, his pupils growing even larger as they roamed over your face and you could feel the pace of his heart pick up and his breathing increase.
His gaze moved down to your lips and his brow creased in an expression that could have been longing, or frustration, or both. He raised his eyes slowly to meet yours, the haze of desire stealing slowly into his gaze.
“You're not nothing to me,” he said, almost to himself. “That's precisely the problem.”
How on earth were you supposed to resist such a sensual, beautiful, soulful man? Stay? How could you not?
“Please,” he whispered. “Stay. . . I have something I need to get off my chest.”
Your resolve was crumbling as you felt your chest tighten. You looked into his eyes and barely managed to whisper the words.
“What’s that?”
“This.”
He lowered his head slowly and kissed you, brushing your lips softly, sensuously, as if in no particular hurry. As if he had all the time in the world to savor you, to taste you, to send pleasure rippling through you with every touch of his lips. He murmured softly as he gently nipped at your bottom lip, teasing your, biting and then kissing-better the lips he was bruising.
You could feel the pleasure he was taking in kissing you, the slow—tortuously slow—pleasure he was enjoying for himself and teasing out of you as he lingered in your mouth. Bucky’s hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face up to him, his thumb caressing your cheek as he kissed you. He broke the kiss and looked down at you in wonder, his eyes glittering in the dim light, then brought your face up to his and kissed you again.
You opened your mouth to him and his tongue slipped in to tangle sensuously with yours. He angled his head from one side to the other, exploring your mouth and pressing kisses along the edges of your lips. You kissed his cheeks, his chin, his light stubble gently razing your lips and making them all the more sensitive. When you found his lips again, their soft warmth was intoxicating and you deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with your own.
You kissed him back sensually, with equal possessiveness and enjoyment, and knew that your response was emboldening him.
Bucky tensed and pressed against you, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent. His mouth moved over yours expertly, wringing pleasure from you in breaths that came faster and little cries that escaped into the quiet of the room. Your soft moans made him tense even more, and you could feel his arousal along the length of your leg, hard and urgent like the rest of his body.
You were both warm now, and he threw back the blanket before settling back down on top of you, returning to the slow, rhythmic dance of kissing, teasing, and tasting that was just about driving you mad.
You slipped your hands up over your head, thinking to wrap them around him, but he found them and clasped your wrists together with his left hand and kept them there, holding you down with gentle pressure as he bent to kiss you more deeply.
The sensation of being held by him, of being pinned down, gently, but with no doubt as to his strength, rushed through you in unfamiliar torrents of excitement. He entwined his fingers in yours, easing up the pressure, dipping his head between your upraised arms to kiss you deeply, slowly, torturously.
As his tongue tangled with yours the fingers of his right hand trailed up the side of your body, stopping at the swell of your breast. He ran his hand over you gently, tentatively, feeling the weight of it beneath him and groaning softly. He slipped his hand inside your robe and cupped you bare flesh, his warm hand gently squeezing, caressing, as he groaned again and grew even harder. His thumb circled over your nipple and you gasped, arching against him at the sudden sting of pleasure. He pushed aside the robe further, revealing your breast with its tight nipple, unbearably aroused by his touch.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing at you breast. He lowered his lips to your nipple and gently kissed it, his tongue tasting and savoring it the way he had just been savoring your mouth.
The wet warmth of his mouth on your sensitive flesh made you ache with a tension and desire you had never felt before. When his tongue swirled around you nipple languidly, when he took the sensitive bud into his mouth and suckled softly, you felt the exquisite torture of it flow down through you body to you very core. How could this feel so damn good? Just the lightest brush of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on your nipple and you felt almost ready to climax.
His free hand slid around to the small of your back and he lifted you gently, sliding you further down the couch and farther under him. You were completely beneath him now, and completely held by him, one strong hand gently pressing your wrists into the sofa cushions and the other splayed across you back while he bent his head and kissed and sucked and teased you breast. You almost couldn't bear the sensation as your nipple grew harder, more tender, and the pleasure started liquifying between your legs.
"Yes..." you breathed. You arched again, wanting him to release you from his mouth and yet hoping that he never would. "Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good..."
Bucky lets go of your wrists and brings his hand down to your other breast, pushing aside your robe to free you completely. He caressed you, sensuously feeling the roundness of you, and trailed his lips across the rising swell, kissing and tasting and smiling at the way your soft flesh moved under his tongue. He gently grasped your breast and brought your nipple up to his mouth, which grew hard and exquisitely tender under his tongue. His fingers continued to tease your other nipple, the one still stinging from the feel of his mouth on it, still aching to feel it again.
You arched into him, sinking your hand into his hair and pressing him to your breast. The pleasure of his mouth and hands on you was making you weak, making you shiver with pleasure and need, all down the length of you and in between your legs. You could feel yourself growing wet and ready for him, the pleasure so intense, so unlike anything you'd ever felt before.
You heard yourself moaning softly, whimpering, making sounds you had never made before, all but dizzy with desire and sensation. With every little sound you made he groaned, or his erection surged against you, or he fell onto your breasts again with increased hunger. Your response to him was as intoxicating to him as his mouth was to you—you could feel it in his every movement, his every ragged breath.
“I need you, Bucky.” You pleaded softly. “Please.”
He rose over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His eyes blazed with heat as he looked down at you, at you eyes, your mouth, your breasts. He took your mouth expertly, hungrily, kissing you fiercely with a dominance that thrilled you. He moved to trail hot kisses down your neck, licking the sensitive skin near your collarbone, barely skimming you with his tongue as if wanting the merest taste. You gripped his shoulders, and turned your head to the side, aching at the sensation of his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting.
You moaned at the feel of his tongue on your neck and the gentle pressure of his lips pressing kisses against your skin. You needed to feel him, to taste his salty sweet skin, his maleness, him.
As if he could read your thoughts he lifted up from you to pull his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. You reached up and ran your hands over his chest, and as he fell on you again his mouth found yours hungrily and his hand slid into your hair, gripping the top of your head possessively as you kissed.
You had never felt so possessed, so taken, so overwhelmed by a man. You broke the kiss and sought his neck, his shoulder, his tense muscles straining as he held himself above you. You branded your own hot trail of kisses into his skin, felt him strain against you at the sensation. You loved the taste of him, so male and wonderful beneath your lips.
"Baby. . ." His voice was hoarse, breathless.
For one brief moment uncertainty flashed in his eyes and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But when your lips found his again he lost the thought and succumbed to the kiss, slanting over your mouth, teasing your tongue with his.
You ran your hands down his back to the waistband of his boxers, and dipped your hands beneath the elastic to roam over his flesh. He tensed at your touch and you felt him suck in a breath as you moved your hands around to the front.
He was very hard, and you curled your fingers—which couldn’t wrap around him fully—as you gripped his ass with your other hand. He groaned softly and kissed you even more deeply, surging against you with an almost desperate urgency. You began to stroke him, your fingers gently gliding up and down his smooth shaft until he suddenly let out a groan and broke away, stopping your hand with his own.
“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, heat blazing in his eyes. “I can't. . .”
Alarm flared in you. “What's wrong?”
“I won't last long. . .”
“Oh, is that all?” You gently pushed his hand away and began to tentatively stroke him again.
He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the pleasure. “If you keep doing that. . .”
“What?” You prompted, nibbling on his lower lips as you stroked.
“I'll have to fuck you.”
“Good.” You took his lips again and you fell into a rhythmic kiss, as if you had been kissing each other forever. He moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him, making soft noises of your own into his mouth.
Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing sharp and shallow, and gazed down at you, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Are you sure about this?” His voice was quiet, urgent, almost desperate.
“Yes,” you breathed, pushing his boxers down with your free hand. He lifted up his hips to help you and shrugged out of them, kicking them to the floor.
“I didn't mean for this to happen, at least not tonight,” he said, his breath jagged and quiet as you continued to stroke him. “I've wanted you for so long, but—”
“I know,” You murmured, kissing his neck as your hand slid over his thick length again and again. His body was rigid with tension and you tried to relax him with your mouth, your whispers, the feel of your body. But you knew he wouldn't relax as long as you were stroking him. You paused and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes still burning and his breath still came unevenly.
“Are you sure?” He asked again, his eyes showing fear through the haze of desire. Heat blazed between them, and you felt such a desperate need in him that you wanted to soothe him, comfort him. But doing so with words seemed the wrong thing to do.
"Mhmmm," You murmured instead, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He groaned softly as you ran your fingers over his shaft, teasing, tempting, letting you fingernails trail along the sensitive skin below. You cupped him and squeezed gently as he groaned louder, pleasure that sounded almost painful. you laughed softly, kissing along his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck.
“You know how I feel about you. . . ” he managed, his voice little more than a breath. “Don't you? That I—”
"Shhhh," You said, coming back to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable, and yet so filled with desire. You knew, then, everything you needed to know. And every word he needed to hear. "Please. . . Baby. . .it's okay. We can talk later. Right now. . .please. . . just shut up and fuck me."
His fear melted into a smile so warm, so open, so full of relief that he almost looked ready to cry. He took your mouth again, arching over you as he claimed you. Before his kisses had been searching and sensuous, now they seemed driven by pure desire. He ground his lips on yours masterfully, taking what he wanted, what he needed.
You could feel the raw need in him, the need for acceptance, the need to let pure passion overcome his fear. Every meeting of your lips sent another jolt through you, every taste of his tongue made you desperate for more, and you knew he was reeling from the same powerful sensations that you were. You could feel him starting to let go, to abandon himself to you, to enjoy making you abandon yourself to him.
Here was the lust you had always hoped was there, the powerful sexuality always just below the surface, the desire you had hoped and prayed he felt for you. It was here, pressed against you, an urgent cock and a hard, warm body, roaming lips and soft, male moans of pleasure and need. A careful heart revealing itself to yours.
You moved beneath him, pressing your hips against him to ease the heat that radiated from between your legs. The ache was exquisite, your need growing more urgent as you felt his erection surge and strengthen.
You felt his hand on your knee and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs, which parted so easily at his gentle persuasion. His touch was electric, yet soft and sensual, and wherever his fingers played you felt a fiery tingle that made you shiver. Finally his fingers trailed delicately over your sensitive cunt, teasing you, tantalizing you, until you cried softly, silently begging him to touch you most sensitive place.
With a smile that you could feel more than see, his fingers slipped into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure overwhelming you. He silenced your cry with his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours while his fingers slipped deeply inside you and stroked, as languidly and rhythmically as you were stroking him.
“Oh my g—” You cried, writhing at the pleasure of his fingers sliding slowly in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds. When his fingers danced over your clit you arched you back, your breath leaving you in a gasp. The electricity of his touch, so gentle and sensuous, sent spasms of pleasure rippling through you.
He didn't hurry the pace, just stroked you with an even, sensual rhythm as he kissed you. He was holding you, his arm surrounding you, pressing his body to yours, his mouth never far from your lips, your neck, your ear, his eyes never far from yours. You had never felt so close to someone, so protected in his arms, so cherished and adored.
His fingers dipped down to enter you again and his thumb continued the slow, exquisite torture above. Just when you thought you'd go over the edge he'd pull away, pause, caress a different part of you and send you on the upward spiral again and again, or slide his fingers into you over and over while his thumb swirled and caressed and rubbed, driving you mad with an aching desire.
He smiled down at you, nipped at your lips, pressed his forehead to yours and trailed kisses down your eyelids, your cheeks, until claiming your mouth again, his tongue mimicking the sweet, sensuous motion of his fingers and thumb.
He grew rock hard in your hand as you moaned with each breath, as you came closer and closer to the edge. You could feel him restraining himself, wanting only to pleasure you, anticipating your climax. But it wasn't what you wanted. On a ragged breath you stopped his hand.
"I want you," you said urgently. "Please, Bucky. . .fuck me."
He gazed at you, teetering on a moment of indecision. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breath, and he brought a trembling hand up to your hip and gripped you, holding you, moving to settle between your legs and pausing at your entrance.
"Please, I want you inside me." your voice dropped to a whisper so urgent you hardly recognized it yourself. "Please don't make me beg."
And whatever strength he had left vanished.
"Oh baby. . ." He moved forward and slid into you, a breathless throaty sound of pure male pleasure escaping his lips. "Oh my God. . ."
He paused for a moment, looking down at you with heavy-lidded desire, visibly enjoying the new sensation of being so deep inside you. You were slick and hot, more than ready for him, and as you body adjusted to him, to the exquisite, aching stretch he was causing, you squirmed beneath him on a moan of primal pleasure. He pulled out slowly, torturously, and slid himself in again, filling you completely.
You closed your eyes and moaned, gripping his ass as he lifted your hips up to him, angling you so he could fill you more deeply. He began to thrust, slowly, rhythmically, his hips moving sensuously, making you muscles tighten around him as he plunged into you again and again, your movements coming so easily, so naturally, so deliciously slowly.
You lifted your legs to wrap them around him, loving the way it tilted you back so that his every thrust felt deeper, felt like it was reaching new depths of pleasure in you.
“Yes, yes, yes. . .like that. . .oh my god, Bucky. . .you fill me up so good.”
He ran his hand possessively along your leg, pausing to look down at your joined bodies as he thrust into you. He raised himself up, his arms braced on the other side of you to keep his weight off you, and moved so he could thrust more freely, more quickly, building the tempo. He pressed his lips to your forehead gently as he drove into you, his breath ragged, panting, yours matching his intensity and need.
“Ugh—you drive me insane, I love hearing you moan my name—don’t stop.”
You could feel him getting close, nearing the edge of his own release, and he slowed, lowering his head to nuzzle your neck as the rhythm of his hips paused, and then resumed again, more slowly this time, building again, savoring you body the way his lips had savored you mouth, the way his tongue had devoured you breasts. His arm slid around you back again, holding you, lifting you up to him as he took your breast in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. His mouth was hungrier this time, sucking your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with such abandon that you felt it in your core. His passion was growing, and you could sense that his desire to be slow and tender with you was losing the battle against his raw primitive need.
You gripped him, lost in the dizzying sensations he was causing in you. His mouth on you, his hand roaming over you, gripping your ass as he thrust into you in a relentless rhythm. You were limp in his embrace, held in place for him to possess, to plunder, to pleasure. You had never been held like that before, and the primal intensity of it, the feeling of being so completely owned by his desire, overwhelmed you. You were his, completely, your body as loose as a rag doll in his arms. You gripped his straining arms as he sent pleasure coursing through you, gripping you as he thrust and withdrew, plunged and pulled out, drove into you over and over again in breathless ecstasy.
“Keep fucking me like that—Yes! Oh my God, harder, please. . . B-Bucky!”
Waves of pleasure grew stronger and stronger in you, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with increasing urgency as his rhythm grew faster and harder.
“Oh—like that? You like that?”
He groaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breast, and drove himself into you with such exquisite need. You gripped his buttocks, feeling the powerful muscles contracting with each thrust, drawing him deeper into you. When he tore away from your lips and looked down into your eyes you felt the waves rise, growing stronger and higher and faster until with a shattered cry you came, trembling as the pleasure spasmed through you.
His eyes never left yours as he thrust into you, groaning from the exquisite pleasure of your spasming pussy.
“Shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me come. Ohhhh—” Bucky moaned.
You were so incredibly tight, gripping his cock as you came, milking him as he struggled to last just a moment longer, lost in the heaven of you hot, wet heat. Your cries of pleasure echoed throughout the darkened room and when you whispered his name on a soft, sweet whimper he found his own release, jetting into you over and over again as he cried out in an agony of pleasure and a torrent, a chorus, of your name.
Finally, finally, his hips slowed and he lowered his head and kissed you gently, sensuously, as softly as he had when he had first pulled you down to him. Then he lowered his head to your neck and let himself rest there, lying against you, his heart thundering, his breath ragged and heavy. You lowered your legs from around his waist and wrapped your arms around him instead, cradling him to you. you rested your head against the top of his and felt your own breath slowing, your own heartbeat returning to normal. His cock was still hard inside you and he shuddered as you clenched around him.
"God, you're incredible." He exhaled a long, deep breath.
He rose up and kissed you, shuddering with each aftershock as his cock surged inside you. You could feel your inner muscles clenching around him, not releasing him yet, teasing the last drops of pleasure from him.
He lay his head down against you again, breathing out a sigh that was both release and contentment as the last tremors rippled through him. You loved this feeling, this sensation of his body trembling with the afterglow of pleasure, pleasure you had given him, just as your body was tingling from the intense pleasure he had given you.
He held you to him, sliding out of you slowly, and shifted slightly so that you fit against him perfectly, settling into the warmth and comfort of his arms encircling you.
“Holy shit,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to your temple and leaving them there for a long minute before letting go.
“I'm so glad you stayed over,” you said quietly, kissing the soft skin of his neck.
He stilled for a moment, and you looked up at him, trying to read whatever might be revealed in his eyes. In the darkness both of you were inscrutable, until he leaned closer and bumped your cheek with his nose before lightly pressing his lips to yours for a sweet, soulful kiss.
“So does this mean we're not friends anymore?” He asked, in between luscious nips at your lips.
“You tell me,” you said sleepily, unable to resist his slow, savoring kisses.
You felt his smile as he kissed you languidly, with deliberate slowness, each kiss deepening into something more intimate than the last. Finally his lips stilled and you felt him fall asleep beside you, his breathing soft and slow.
You wanted to stay awake, to freeze this moment in time, to make it last. you wished you could lay there forever, tucked in beside him, your bodies curled to get you. But even as you tried to stay awake, gently caressing the arm that draped over you protectively. you gradually succumbed to a peaceful, contented sleep.
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks.
Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.
A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.
Part One
You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.
Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.
Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.
You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.
You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.
You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.
You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd have to make the shower a quick one.
You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.
Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.
Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.
"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.
You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.
His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"
You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.
You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.
"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."
"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.
"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.
"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."
He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."
He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.
You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.
He lowered his head further and took your nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.
His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.
You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.
"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."
You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.
After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak.
“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”
“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.
“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”
He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.
"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"
He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.
"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.
“And you touched my fingertips…”
Of course you remembered; you'd run your fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your own hands.
Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.
Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.
“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”
You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.
“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”
“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”
You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.
“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your earlobe. “Please.”
He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.
He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.
Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.
His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.
Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.
"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.
He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?
Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.
Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.
He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.
“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”
You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.
And fuck did you like it, too.
"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."
He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.
Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you want to grind your hips against the pleasure.
“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”
His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.
He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your and nuzzling your neck.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”
“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”
God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.
He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your body.
You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.
You broke off the kiss and began trailing your lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.
“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.
You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your hands.
“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”
You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your tongue around the head, taking it into your mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.
You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.
You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.
He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other hand gripping your shoulder.
“Oh fuck—Baby...”
You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.
You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.
His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.
You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.
For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.
The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.
And he understood.
Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.
His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.
He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.
“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”
“Why did you?” you asked, running your finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”
He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”
He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.
As badly as you wanted him inside you again.
He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.
“Not nearly.”
“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your laugh.
“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”
Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”
“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”
Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.
He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.
You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.
He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.
You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.
He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.
“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.
You're mine...
You're mine...
Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.
“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.
Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.
Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.
He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.
He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.
He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.
Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.
And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...
You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.
You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.
As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.
“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”
“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”
“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”
And he could withstand it no more.
Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.
You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.
When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.
You felt him withdraw from you, and your pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.
This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.
“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”
You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe.
“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.
His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek.
“I love you.”
The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.
You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”
And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.
A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her
The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.
It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.
It never is.
You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.
The phone rings.
The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.
You answer, but don’t say anything.
“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”
The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.
“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”
You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.
“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.
He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”
“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”
He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.
The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”
“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.
You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”
“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”
Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”
“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."
You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”
“I’m already on my way”
You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.
You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."
And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.
"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."
"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."
He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."
The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.
You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.
You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.
He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.
You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.
He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.
He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.
He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.
His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.
"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.
He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."
And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.
"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."
"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."
He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.
"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.
You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.
He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.
He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.
"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."
And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.
He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.
The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."
You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.
"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"
But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.
He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.
"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.
Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.
“He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”
Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”
You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”
She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"
“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.
Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”
You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”
Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.
“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”
Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”
You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.
“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”
The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.
Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”
The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.
“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.
“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”
Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.
“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”
“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”
You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”
“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”
“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.
“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”
His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.
“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”
Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are—not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”
After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.
Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.
Bucky: You up?
The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.
You: Yes, just leaving the bar.
Bucky: Ill see you in 20.
You see his light flick on.
You: Okay.
You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.
“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.
You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”
“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”
You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”
“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”
Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”
“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”
Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”
You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”
Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”
The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.
That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”
You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”
Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.
You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.
“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”
-----------
The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.
Your eyes keep drifting to him.
Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.
You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.
They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.
And then he kisses her.
Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.
Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.
You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.
But the truth is, it matters too much.
You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.
You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.
But then his eyes shift.
He sees you.
For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.
You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.
The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.
You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.
The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.
But it stays. It always stays.
That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.
Until it’s not.
The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.
You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.
“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”
-------
You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.
The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.
“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.
He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.
You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”
He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”
The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.
“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”
He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”
The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.
“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.
You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”
He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.
But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”
The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”
His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.
You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”
“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”
“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”
“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”
“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”
The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.
“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”
“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.
The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”
You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.
But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.
When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.
Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.
The door slides shut with a quiet thud.
And Bucky doesn’t follow.
You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.
Bucky.
He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.
You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.
“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.
He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”
Neither of you stopped.
There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.
He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.
“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”
You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”
And in those moments, you weren’t lying.
But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.
You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.
When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.
“Hey. You good?”
No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.
And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.
But you didn’t. You never did.
“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”
You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”
The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.
“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”
You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”
“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”
“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.
“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”
You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.
“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”
He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”
He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.
“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.
And that was the worst part.
“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”
Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.
Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”
You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.
“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”
Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”
“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”
You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.
“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.
Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”
You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.
“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”
Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”
“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”
The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.
You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.
You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.
If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.
The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.
It doesn’t take long for him to snap.
Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.
“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.
“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.
By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.
“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.
“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”
“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”
He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”
“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”
You stop yourself, your breath catching.
“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.
“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”
His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.
You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”
He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”
“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”
The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.
“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”
The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.
“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”
He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”
Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.
He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”
The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”
Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.
Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.
The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.
You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling
Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”
Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.
Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.
The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.
Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.
That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.
His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.
When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.
“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.
The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.
But you can’t.
You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.
By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.
You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.
Until you see him.
You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.
His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.
For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.
But then your gaze shifts.
To her.
The woman standing beside him.
Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.
Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.
Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.
He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.
You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.
You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.
The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.
You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.
He didn’t follow.
You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.
When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.
But he doesn’t move.
And neither do you.
With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.
The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.
It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.
The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”
Summary: A high school reunion becomes interesting when your high school crush finds out that you belong to someone else. And that just won’t do…
Song: Tear You Apart – She Wants Revenge
Warnings: This one-shot contains explicit sexual themes. Nonconsensual, infidelity, 18+ readers only.
High School.
Four Years.
Whether it was the best years of your life, or the worst, just depended on circumstance.
Unfortunately for you, they weren’t the best.
You were awkward, shy, a book worm in high school. You wrote love stories on the side, sang in the choir, hung out with the band. It was a miracle you survived. It was an even bigger miracle that you ended up with Ben Davies, the captain of the lacrosse team. Those last few months of high school were the game changer.
Ben needed a tutor in history to help him get to graduation. Your history teacher had recommended you to him. After spending so much time together in the library, Ben asked you out the day before graduation. You spent the summer together and it turns out that you went to the same university in the fall. You have been together ever since.
Tonight is the night of your 10-year reunion. You were excited. You were no longer the awkward girl. You filled out and grew confidence in yourself. You had your dream job as a book editor. You and Ben were on track to get engaged as he was finishing law school. Your life was perfect. Or so you thought.
As you entered the ballroom, you headed over to pick up your name tags from the table. You saw all the names on the table and one stuck out to you: Ransom Drysdale. You swallowed on the name.
summary. | It’s a cruel, cruel world—but he doesn’t care. He has you, and you’ll always have him.
warnings. | DUBCON, dark themes, stalking, obsession, grooming, manipulation, yandere themes, physical assault (not towards r), angst, grief, divorce, mild mentions of anxiety + pain + throwing up, smut, innocence kink, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, virginity loss, Daddy kink, mild control kink, praise kink, dumbification, degradation/humiliation, age gap, size kink (andy’s cock is so big), lack of prep, finger sucking, creampie kink, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. | 12.4k
pairings. | Dark/Yandere!Andy Barber x Inexperienced!Naive!Reader.
author’s note. | this is a personal fic, based off my life. please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANYTHING from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit or ask for permission, you will be blocked, reported, and i’ll let others know. playlist for cruel world.
Jacob doesn’t beg for the Christmas tree to stay up a few weeks more like he used to. He doesn’t complain about the lack of snow or the terrible cold that burns his nose and cheeks red. The tradition is broken, and even if it was always bound to, nobody was ready for it to happen.
A particular sixteen-year-old can no longer experience holiday joy because he can’t even look at his father in the eyes and wish him a Merry fucking Christmas (‘ya filthy animal’ was always a necessary follow-up).
The hospital is dull—worse than any other part of this gloomy city. Even with a few cheap decorations that were haphazardly put up by the night-shift nurses, it’s still so sad. Flickering lights are begging to be changed, but everyone is either too busy mourning or saving lives to even bother. Andy is glad Jacob doesn’t have to see this sad place—he is so very glad.
Jacob has been spared the look in one way, and Laurie has it almost the same. Almost. She still stays in Massachusetts, but not with her original family, made up of one lying lawyer, one upset child, and one apologetic woman. They’re all scorned, but she has to be bitter as poison through and through. Andy’s drunken words are brutal, but he believes they tell the truth.
He’s painted her out to be the villain because he isn’t great at self-portraits.
When it’s May and a certain parental holiday creeps up, she is discharged. Not even a week afterwards, Andy hands her the divorce papers, and she gladly signs them. It’s the nail on the coffin of their marriage, and now it’s finally ready to be buried. Andy has the house and his Audi, along with everything else his money has bought. Laurie has her clothes (not the ones he gifted her, though), her Land Rover, as well as some personal paintings.
Laurie’s mother rang his phone and called him a selfish, vile man—among many profanities and false promises of harm.
It wasn’t bitter to see her walk out of his home and hope he’d call her name and kiss her passionately. It was healing, though Andy has never been one to bother bandaging his wounds. Once the damage is done, it’s done. There’s no going back; there’s only before and after.
Christmases aren’t the same, and neither are New Years’ or any other celebratory holiday. But Andy still decorates and hangs the mistletoe. He still counts down and sips on an alcoholic beverage before chugging it. And he still tries his best to put the pieces back together, with or without his son.
Though it’s hard in this cruel, cruel world, he now has you forever.
“Happy New Year, Mr. Barber!” the shopkeeper shouts as Andy pushes the door. The bell at the top swings, and the sound reminds him to purchase a nicer windchime for his entrance. “You too, George,” he calls back, and the door swings shut behind him. Though it’s well past the beginning of the new year, Andy doesn’t care. He’ll take any amount of kindness he’ll get, but he will never accept pity.
The brown paper wraps the book all too well. It’s better than anything he can do, and the lawyer finds himself smiling in remembrance of his terrible gift-wrapping techniques. His son would mock him, and so would his ex-wife. He misses them, but he knows that there’s no point in dwelling in the past. There never was any point to anything.
Inside the brown paper is a copy of a self-help book.
He hates them; he fucking loathes those dumb books. Why should one search for answers in a book written by trust fund babies who think they either found God or the loves of their lives? The cover is an obnoxious neon yellow, and the font is both black and purple. On it, though, is a flower. Andy doesn’t know the name of this beautiful plant, but he wants to. Andy wants plenty of things—he needs plenty of things.
And what you need is a little slice of heaven that’ll last you the rest of your life.
You sniffle on your little bench, trying to breathe through your sobs. You call it yours even though it doesn’t have your name etched onto the shiny wood. It’s yours because you always go to it, and it’s always waiting for you with no one else there. It’s yours, even though you can’t have it.
Those tears have been dying to fall since the beginning of time, and you’ve finally let them have their way. The nimble fingers at the ends of your palms are cold, despite your gigantic wool gloves that shield them from the frosty air of Newton, Massachusetts. It doesn’t snow anymore in Newton, not like it used to before. Everything is melted and wet. Grey snow is mixed with dirt, and you can’t help but turn your nose at the unpleasant sight.
It’s so sad, but nothing is more miserable than you.
You try to calm yourself down, but it’s hard. You don’t like those breathing exercises, and right now, you simply cannot name five things you can see, feel, smell, or whatever the fuck it is. You’ve never appreciated those solutions because you know you’re not the issue that needs to be fixed—it’s them. But you know you’re not okay, and you know you haven’t been for a while.
Crying in public has always been your thing, just like how being cruel is your coworkers’ thing. It doesn’t embarrass you as much as it used to, not since you’ve moved to Newton. Not quite a big city, but there were big promises here for you. You hope they’re still there and are simply just hibernating until the cold weather stops biting so harshly.
“Excuse me, Miss?” a deep voice calls, and you jump in your seat. Your heart—the one that is simply too big for yourself—is beating wildly. This is the last thing you need. You quickly wipe the tears on your face, and you dab your eyes with your scarf. “Y- Yes?” you question, turning to look where it came from. You hide a grimace, regretting not clearing your voice before you speak.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and the question alone has you on the verge once more. You force a smile even though the muscles in your face are pulling downwards to form a frown. “Oh… I’m sorry. I saw you were crying and I got worried. Are you hurt?” he inquires. Yes, yes, yes, you are hurt so fucking badly. You shake your head and try to press your lips together, but it doesn’t happen.
He sits himself down next to you, and you immediately move away from him. “I’m not going to do anything bad. Did something happen?” the older man presses, and you hesitate in giving your answer. He stares at you, waiting for you to say something—anything. But you remain quiet, and Andy holds back a deep, resounding sigh. “Okay… Well, you don’t have to tell me about that, but why don’t you tell me something good about your day?” he offers.
The idea is enticing, and so you think hard. Your perfectly toasted bagel this morning, the lack of traffic on the way to class, your cute panda socks. “Uhm… I think maybe my bagel, or my socks! Oh, and when I went to work today, there was barely any traffic,” you whisper to him as loud as you can. He nods and smiles at you, and you turn your head slightly to look at him.
Your eyes meet his, and you find yourself to be breathless. It’s worse than the time you thought you could handle a marathon, but the only difference is that now, you’re not suffering from a cramp. He’s beautiful, the kind of man you’d only find written in novels or played as in movies. Yet here he is, right in front of you. “Yeah, I noticed that too!” he exclaims, and you tilt your head to the side.
“That traffic this morning was nonexistent. I thought that we were experiencing some form of an apocalypse,” he jokes, and his words send you thinking. Could you survive the end of the world? You’ve got this terrible, terrible trait in which you think you can do anything. It’s as if you’ve always got luck on your side, but only in your mind.
You laugh, but it’s cut short and layered with sugar so that you can sound as sweet as possible for this cavity-inducing man. “Ah, thanks. I try, but I know guys who are ten times the comedian I’ll ever be,” he chuckles. But he’s a liar because he doesn’t know any guys (plural, note that); he only knows one guy who is just a boy. A poor, hurt boy.
“I, uhm, I think you’d work well with a stand-up show. Netflix hires anyone these days,” you tell him with a smile on your face. For once, it’s genuine. Teeth and lips and a little bit of gum, nothing fake. “I’ll be sure to send my resumé. Think they’ll accept men as old as me?” he questions, and your smile drops just a bit. “You’re not that old,” you laugh, thinking that he’s just messing with you.
Oh, how precious.
Andy’s heart jumps, and he finds himself so eager to break the truth to you. “I’m in my late forties, sweetie,” he admits, and you shake your head. The worldly lawyer follows your gaze as you look to the floor in shyness. He leans closer, and you turn back to look at him. He doesn’t miss the way your gaze falters again, and his chest puffs in pride.
He knows you’re mesmerized, and he is, too. “Oh, oh wow. I never would’ve guessed…” you shyly tell him, and you’re suddenly intimidated by him. Older is better; you remember reading in numerous Twitter threads back when you were eager to date and find the love of your life. You still are, but it just isn’t the same anymore. “I take it you’re quite young?” Andy questions, but he already knows the answer.
You nod your head, and you give him your years. He’s noticed your tears have dried up, but they’ve left a sticky surface behind on your skin. “I’m Andy, by the way. Are you new here?” he inquires, and his hand stretches out to yours. You’ve never given a handshake that’s actually been decent before, but you still slot your palm against his as best as you can.
Andy leads—you know he always will. Headstrong is what he seems to be, forever giving orders and rarely ever taking them. He gently moves both of your hands up and down for around two seconds while you give him your name. He repeats it, and his smirk is slanted. “Pretty. Just like you,” he whispers, and his words take a while to sink in. Once the weight of them hits you, you’re a flattered mess.
“T- Thank you, Andy. Thank you very, very much,” you tell him, and you know that’ll be something you’ll be thinking about for years on end. Albeit he’s a stranger, there’s nothing better than kindness coming from somebody like him. “You asked me if I’m new here?” you ask, even though you can swear you heard the question come from him. You can never be too careful these days, though.
“Yeah. I moved here in August. Staying for work,” you explain to him. As soon as you’re done speaking, you regret ever saying anything to him. He didn’t ask for the details or the particulars; why can’t you shut up for once? “Really? That’s nice! Do you like it here so far?” Andy asks, and he moves closer to you just a bit. Your brown coat more than covers his thigh.
You nod your head and press your lips together in a line. You love the city, but you can’t escape your unhappiness. Will it follow you to the ends of the earth? To the moon and back? You don’t know, and you don’t want to know. “You sure? Those tears from before seemed to say otherwise,” Andy softly interrogates, and it’s different from those times he’s sat across others when building a case.
A case he’s bound to win.
He looks you in the eyes, and all he sees is innocence. It’s almost the kind you’d only see in the accused at the stand in a courtroom, begging for freedom and trying to plead their claims. Almost. Yours is the kind that begs to be bruised and beaten up—the kind that Andy wants to smother and diminish its brightness. It’s so wrong to think, but it’s so right to feel.
“Oh, that’s actually something about where I’m from!” you try your hardest to exclaim, hoping your wannabe-loudness will scare away your tears. But not everything is frightened by high volumes and voices—not everything is like you. “Though, I don’t think I should tell you, A- Andy,” you start, and it’s so odd to just casually call this man by his first name. It’s not just that he’s a stranger, but he’s so… great.
You’re not friends. He must be treated with respect. “Why not?” he asks, and you can hear that New England accent ever so slightly. It’s not obnoxious or aggressive with the way it claims his words. “Well, I don’t know you, and you’re so kind, and I just- I don’t want to dump all my problems on you,” you express worryingly, and your fiddle with your fingers in your lap.
Andy sighs, and unlike the people you know more personally, it isn’t out of frustration or anything harsh. He says your name, and once again, it’s so different from how other people say it. His voice is gentle, and it carries love. “What if we became friends, then? You can tell me every little thing, I’ll never mind,” he offers, and you so badly want to lurch into a garbage can.
Claws that could possibly belong to any animal scratch at your stomach, and a nervous-stricken pain takes you over. When was the last time someone asked to be your friend? Possibly before your transfer, but it wasn’t outright and blunt. They had asked for your social media handles, and gratefully, you handed them over. It’s been months since you last spoke.
“You okay? You look a little spooked,” Andy questions, and his hand itches to rest itself against your forehead. His mouth has the urge to let out a hiss at the temperature of your skin before cooing a sweet ‘poor thing.’ “Y- Yeah, just surprised, that’s all. I’d love to be friends, Mr. Andy,” you admit shyly, and he lets out that small chuckle of his again. “Cute. I’ve got to go soon, but how about you give me your number? I’ll take extra good care of it,” he jokes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
You’ve met a stranger, and he’s so fucking kind. You speak to him more than you do your worried mother, who’s always texting you and asking whether you’re okay or not. You always lie to her and tell her you are. But with him—God, with him, you’re more honest than anyone in a confessional booth. You spill your guts out, and you let the words run as much as they can with the wolves.
This stranger is your dearest and quite possibly your only friend.
Good morning! Happy Wednesday :)
The message is the third-most thing you see when you wake up. The first is the ceiling, and the second is the ‘snooze’ button on your alarm. You’re smiling so brightly as happiness injects itself into your veins and flows straight to your swelling, ever-full heart.
Good morning, Andy! :) Happy Wednesday, or, well, Hump Day as you called it once.
He doesn’t forget the embarrassing time you terribly misspelt the name of your hometown, and he never lets you forget either. It’s all fair game.
Ah, yes. Hump Day it is. How are you, darling? Did you sleep well?
Ah, yes, knowledgable is he. Andy’s got your entire life etched like a tattoo in his mind. He knows you so well, better than you or anyone else ever will. His care never ceases to make your day, whether it’s the most simple question or a subtle reminder of something you’re bound to forget.
The notification comes up, and it’s the reminder for your presentation at work.
I’m okay, slept okay. I have my presentation today, and my stomach hurts :(
Andy prefers the little emoticons over the colourful emojis. You’re fine with anything he’s fine with. He’s fine with anything you desire and aren’t sure if you should be fine with. The mention of your stomach aching is something he knows all too well. It’s nothing a Tylenol or an Advil or an Aleve can fix; he knows this. And it isn’t something a sip of water or SunnyD or ginger ale can solve either.
Open your door!
He suddenly sends his message, and it’s so ominous, even when he knocks and calls your name. These damn walls sure are thin, aren't they?
You rush out of bed, and it’s truly a few steps because you can’t afford anything nice yet. Will you ever? The thought is nagging and often haunts you, but you throw a stick past its shoulder to keep it occupied. It goes and chases, but it always comes back. “Darlin’?” he calls out once more, and that fucking name is always going to make you yearn for something you want to be worthy of.
“Andy!” you exclaim as your door swings open. “You took forever to open up the door, darlin’. We’ve gotta work on that, okay?” Andy tells you, and you eagerly nod your head. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs, whatever he says—you’ll do whatever. “Sorry, Andy! I- I just didn’t understand at first,” you sheepishly explain to him, and he steps inside your home.
It’s not humble; it’s shameful. You’re an organized mess, one that Andy is keen on cleaning up. “Sorry, should’ve remembered you just woke up. You said your tummy’s hurtin’, so I got you this,” he mentions, reaching into the white plastic bag you barely noticed. You do your best to fix your shirt so that it’s not slipping halfway down your arm.
“Y- Yeah, what is that?” you question, looking at his hand. He holds something you’ve never seen before, and it seems like a rubber ball. It’s the kind you’d throw for your pet, or maybe even bounce around with your second-youngest cousin. “Stress ball. Put it in your pocket, and you can distract yourself with it during your presentation,” Andy explains, and his blue-grey eyes scan the room.
Oh, if only your landlord would take such a good look at your leaking pipe. “Where do you keep your clothes, honey bun?” he questions, and he hands you the toy. You immediately start to play with it, and you slowly breathe through your nose to try and make the pain leave for once. It never does. “Uhm, right here,” you point at the closet that is blocked by your mattress.
He raises his eyebrow, and you climb onto the large cushion. “See?” you tell him, pulling the doors apart until they fold up. Your numerous sweaters, t-shirts and dresses are showcased just for him, and he joins you on the bed. “Darlin’, this is no way to live,” he sighs in frustration, and you knit your eyebrows together in worry. You know he’s right, but the last thing you want is for him to look down upon you.
“How about you go brush your teeth while I choose your clothes? It’s pretty cold outside, but I know you want to avoid your puffy coat. Don’t worry,” he reassures, and his hand waves you away. You giggle and immediately head into your bathroom, placing your new favourite item on the countertop. “Good girl,” he praises in a low tone, and you almost miss it. Almost.
It’s so sweet—he’s so sweet. The way he drives you to and from wherever you need to be, making sure you get there on time without freezing your fingers off from the bitter Newton winter. Andy tells you, not so jokingly, to wait until it’s the known month of rain. When April rolls around, there isn’t a day where the skies aren’t gloomy, apparently. And you take his word for it, why wouldn’t you?
It’s so laughable—you’re so laughable. Andy chuckles as he watches you shove the remaining piece of your bagel in your already full mouth, even though your shift doesn’t start until the next forty-something minutes. Just like you, he prefers to be early for everything. “Careful there,” Andy warns, and he drives slower than ever. “Are you going to go over your cards?” he questions, and the harmless words are a bitter reminder.
“Uh-huh,” you say, struggling to chew all of your food. Usually, you’d just take a small cup of coffee and down that when you want to look especially busy in front of a group of people around your age. Anything to avoid snake eyes. “You wanna try them with me, darlin’?” he asks as he searches for a place to park. “Please?” you plead, and your hands dip into the deep pockets of the jacket Andy had chosen for you.
Underneath it is a knitted sweater, and you’ve got on jeans that brace your legs from the harsh winds for once. And if that doesn’t help, he’s got Advil and heating pads in the glove compartment. “You’re just doing it in front of a small group, right?” he recalls, and you nod. You’ve got too many damn things in your pockets and not enough things in your head.
“Take your hand out,” Andy demands, and he doesn’t even wait for you to listen. One of his big, strong palms wrap around your wrist, and he reaches into the left pouch of your coat. “Skip the introduction, start with the body,” he urges, and he shuffles through the small pieces of cardstock until he lands on the one with the most written on it. “O- Okay,” you reach out for the paper, and Andy hesitantly hands it to you.
Handwriting that belongs to the older lawyer is all you see as you stare at the card, and it’s not foreign. He writes your cue cards for you because you don’t know what information should and shouldn’t be fitted into those small blue lines. It’s okay, darlin’, he tells you. I’m here, and I’ll show you everything you need to know. And that he does.
“Andy, I can’t do it,” you suddenly wail, though no tears are leaking from your doe eyes. “Shh, no, don’t worry,” he reassures, and you finally notice that his Audi has long been parked. Andy’s hand—that damn hand of his that has helped you so much—unbuckles your seatbelt. He’s fed you with those hands so well, so much, you could never dream of biting them.
You’re pulled into his lap, an action that you find yourself longing for the late nights when you’ve got nobody except for those bad thoughts and a dumb movie on your screen.
You rest your head against his shoulder, and your legs curl into his lap. “Don’t say things like that, darlin’. Please. You’re going to do the absolute best. Everyone is going to be blown away,” Andy tells you, and he forces his words into your mind. Or do they force themselves?
“I read it last night, remember? You did better than any of my coworkers ever will.”
“Really?”
“Really, darlin’.”
The way you rush out of the building, squeezing the purple ball until the slime in it is close to leaking out, and mutter things under your breath is too worrying. Andy knows something has gone wrong, and that thought has him clenching his fist tightly. Did someone say something to you? Did the presentation go well? His mind runs wild with so many situations, but he doesn’t think to jump out of his car and hug you tightly.
He can’t. So he waits until you pull your phone out and call him and beg him to come and save his damsel in distress before it’s too late. And he always rides in on his black horse, covered in shining armour.
It doesn’t take long for your pretty face, along with your pet name and favourite heart emoji, to show up on his screen. Andy waits a few seconds, breathing out shakily, before answering. To fit the role he’s now playing, he looks around as if he’s waiting for people to clear from his path. “Hey, darlin’. Is everything okay?” he questions, and he listens for your answer.
All he hears is the wind blowing and the crossing guard guiding a gaggle of geese, and he watches the scene unfold. You’re staring at those birds, and you’re thinking of something, but he needs you to know that you don’t have to do any thinking, darlin’. Let him do everything. “Darlin’? Are you there?” he calls out, but he already knows the answer.
Andy is so tempted to get out of his car and run up to you, but that wouldn’t be okay.
“Yeah, I’m here, Andy,” you say, but you’re still distant. Your voice is distant. He smoothes down his shirt and holds back a curse word as you rush through the road, crossing and making your way to the parking lot. “Can you please pick me up?” you politely request, and you continue to squish the toy. “Of course, darlin’. Is everything okay?” Andy questions. You let out a small, breathy laugh.
“Yeah,” you tell him, and he’s not sure whether you’re lying or not. You’re not sure either.
“Really, darlin’?”
“Really.”
It’s another day in the pathetic hospital, and Andy replaces the flowers in Jacob’s vase. He throws out the lavender and places lilies in the glass. The doctors are losing hope, whether they want to tell him that or not. They’re loud, though, and this end of the infirmary is tranquil. Almost as much as you are.
Your responses are no more than a few words, and you don’t call him as much as you used to. When he tells you he’s coming over, you tell him you’re not home. And when he asks where are you, you respond only a few hours later, saying, oh, I didn’t get this message, sorry. You’re shutting him out, but he’s already got his foot in the door before you can slide the deadbolt.
Andy doesn’t stay long in the room. It’s too upsetting for him, and he knows he doesn’t have enough whiskey to wash away the image of Jacob lying on that bed. He leaves most often just a few hours after he arrives. There’s a routine he’s got for these days.
Drive to the hospital, sign in, change the flowers, sit for a bit, sign out, leave the hospital, have a drink.
But now that he’s got you in his cruel world, he’s changed his routine.
Drive to the hospital, sign in, think about the way your first name would look next to his last name, change the flowers, remember to water the blossoms he planted for you, sit for a bit, think about you, leave the hospital, have a drink, fix your problems—fix you.
“Mr. Barber, are you leaving already?” the nurse at the front desk asks as he signs his name for the second time in an hour. “Yes, got a busy day ahead of me,” he tells her in a promising tone. “You know, if you need any support, there’s a group meeting that takes place twice a week. I could sign you up for it,” she offers, and she takes the clipboard from him. “No, thank you, I’ve already got my own thing going,” he solemnly tells her.
“Really? Pray tell,” the nurse hums, and Andy smiles brightly. “Maybe another day,” he hums, and before she can say anything else, he walks out of the hospital.
It doesn’t take long for him to figure you out. You’re like those paintings Laurie would show him constantly. The backstory and meanings seem complex at first, but once you get a good understanding of them, it’s quite simple. Maybe it’s that, or perhaps it’s just his lawyer skills that lately have been rising to the surface despite his prior feelings of wanting to bury them away.
You’ve got these specific habits whenever a certain thing happens. If you’re uncomfortable, you keep a smile on your face, and you’re afraid to drop it. If you’re nervous, you bounce your legs and shake one of your feet. Oh, and if someone upsets you, you keep to yourself for a while.
Andy can’t let that happen, though. He pulls out of the parking lot and taps on his phone a few times. He contacts you again, and he knows you see his calls and messages. This time is different from the rest because he doesn’t want you to pick up. It’s the cherry on top of his perfect plan. “Good girl,” he praises once his lock screen comes up. You’re fast asleep in that picture, unknowingly cuddled up to Andy’s bare chest.
The skilled lawyer turns off his phone and smiles once he spots a coworker of yours standing on the sidewalk. There’s nobody else there, nor are there any cars. It’s idle—absolutely perfect. Andy parks right in front of him. The thirty-something-year-old has got shit for brains, and Andy wonders how the hell he’s gotten promotions before you. “Are you Anthony?” the man questions, stepping up to Andy’s car.
“Yeah,” he nods his head. “I gotta open the door; it’s got some issues. Sorry,” Andy tells him, and the man begrudgingly nods his head. Andy steps out of his side of the car, and in his hand is a crowbar. “Hey, man, do you mind if I smoke in your car?” Before the dumbass can even let out a scream, Andy wacks him in the head with the crowbar.
Blood spatters, and his body falls to the ground with a thud. On his now-broken phone screen is a porno someone has uploaded on Twitter. Fucking creep, Andy thinks to himself before even realizing what he’s done.
“Fuck. Look at what you made me do, man. What did you have to go and hurt my darlin’?”
You’re guilt-stricken and exhausted. All you want to do is dance around with Andy like always, but now you’re staring at your almost-dead phone and wondering whether he’d accept your call-back or not. He would, wouldn’t he? Andy always takes you back and keeps you for who you are. He cares for you, helps you, saves you—he does so much for you.
He calls the shots on your entire life, and you know that without him, you’d be back home and searching for a job that doesn’t fulfill your greatest potential. You’re so grateful for Andrew, and you’re so ashamed that you haven’t shown it to him well enough. You’re not good with your words, and while he understands that quite well, you still feel bad.
You bite your worries to scare them away for a split second as you press on his latest missed call. “Pick up…?” you whisper, and you hug the teddy bear he bought you a while back. It’s got one of his ties around its neck, and Andy had given the stuffie the name ‘Stephen.’ When you asked why he told you not to worry your pretty little mind. And because he knows best, you listened to him.
“H- Hello? Darlin’?” Andy answers, and you let out a shaky sigh. “Andy? I’m sorry I was so distant. I’m so so so sorry,” you whisper to him as if you’re in a room with a thousand important people. “Don’t be sorry, darlin’. I know how you get sometimes. It’s okay,” he pants, and you can hear the wind blowing in the background. “Are you busy? Did I bother you? Oh, God, I did, didn’t I?” you question, and you start to pace back and forth without realizing it. Andy shushes you, and the wind grows louder.
If it weren’t for his complaining calls and emails to your superintendent, the tree that stood right in front of your window would already be banging against the glass.
“Shh, no, darlin’, you didn’t bother me. I was hoping you’d call me. How’ve you been?” he questions, and Andy can’t lie. There’s a smile on his face, even as he sets up the crime scene. There are no cameras on this corner of town, so nobody can catch him. Nobody can touch him, not God, not the law. He sets the crowbar in the alleyway and smears blood on the concrete. At the end of the alleyway, he empties the cash from the wallet and dumps the rest on the ground.
It’s a daylight mugging gone wrong, and justice brought to light. Justice for you.
“I- I’m okay… How are you, Andy? Did you go visit him?” you question, and Andy wonders why your tone is so odd. “I’m great, darlin’. Especially now that you’ve called me. I did. Actually, I just left,” he tells you, and he gets into his car as swiftly yet quietly as possible. You laugh, and it’s the prettiest sound Andy has ever heard in his painful life.
“Back to work?” you inquire, and there’s a glimmer of hope in your voice. Andy can hear it, and he presses down on the gas pedal a little more. He inches closer to the speed limit than he usually would, but he doesn’t care. His darling needs him, whether you want to admit it or not. “No, darlin’. Back to you,” he hums delightfully, and he can already sense your beaming behind the screen.
“I’m on the road, but I’ll be there soon. Okay, darlin’?” Andy bids, and a goodbye rests on the tip of his tongue. Even though he’s mere minutes away from your home, he doesn’t want to end the call. “Bye, Andy!” you cheer, and the beeping of his phone snaps him out of his blissful reverie. It’s one in which he’s saving you from every little thing—one in which it is simply your reality.
The apprehensiveness in your tone makes him want to keep you by his side all the time so that you’ll never have to be unsure about anything. You’ll never have to worry about anything.
When Andy gets out of the car, he seeks you like a moth to a flame. He’s wiped his hands clean of blood, and his dirty jacket is buried underneath the driver’s seat. He knows you love it, and he knows you’ll be a bit upset when you don’t see it, but unlike his crimes, he can undo your hurt. The old lady who often cuts him the side-eye (and you as well) holds the door open for the man, but he doesn’t say thank you.
Those who are not kind to you do not deserve kindness from him.
Crows the size of heads try their best to fly around in your stomach. You’ve got the jitters, and they almost hurt. You’ve never felt this way about Andy before, and you’ve noticed that this nervous feeling comes around whenever you think about him. All those nice things he’s done for you make you wonder if he’s human. Surely there’s no way someone is as sweet as he is.
“Darlin’?” your friend calls from the other side of your door. It’s paper-thin, and you can hear the way he’s panting heavily. Did Andy take the stairs? Oh, the thought has you filled with guilt, which only angers those black birds inside your tummy. You’re quick to let him into your home, and you can see that his face is coloured with a slight hue of pink.
You grab the closest bottle of water, the one that you took out this morning to drink from. It’s unopened, and the strong man cracks it open without a worry. “Did you take the stairs?” you question, and you pinch the sleeve of his dark dress shirt. Your grip—despite its weakness—guides Andy towards your bed. He sits on it as he nods his head, but he’s got a smile on his face. “Why not? Don’t worry, darlin’,” Andy reassures, and he tightens the cap of the bottle until it’s almost as good as new.
You know you’ll have to ask for his assistance to open it once more. You always do.
“Is everything okay, darlin’? You had me so worried,’ Andy expresses, and he pulls you into his lap. It’s not weird because he’s done this so much. Out of habit, you rest your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, everything’s okay!” you tell him, and it’s a half-truth. Everything is great, honestly, but there are three things that just won’t leave you alone. Even if you leave the door open or crack the window, they still won’t go.
You have to show Andy your gratefulness, you feel funny things whenever you think about him, and this extra layer of clothing is so irritable.
“Are you sure, darlin’? You sounded a bit off the last time we spoke on the phone. Remember? When you were outside, and you called me while I was a work?” he questions. You furrow your eyebrows before letting out a small laugh. “How did you know I was outside?” you ask, and Andy gulps thickly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… “I- Heard the wind and the cars!” he explains, and you nod your head in understanding.
“The presentation went well. I mean, obviously, I stuttered, but I did great!” you exclaim to him, and he smiles down at you. Andy’s heart soars higher than those crows ever will. Seeing you so happy makes him feel the same. “Aw, I’m so proud of you, darlin’! I knew you’d do amazing because you’re amazing. How about we go out for ice cream? Are the places still open in January?” he wonders out loud, and you rub your cheek against the fabric of Andy’s shirt.
“No, silly! I- I was thinking of something else, actually…” you shyly whisper, and Andy raises one of his eyebrows. You move your head away from his body, and in a rare moment, you lock eyes with him. Is it a bad idea? Was the article wrong? You can remember staying up the past few nights doing research that has nothing to do with your work but everything to do with your feelings for Andy.
Numerous tabs were open, all with raunchy titles and images alike. Each subheading had you gazing everywhere except for your screen. You’ve watched more indecorous videos before, but something about those words with the thought of Andy in your mind made them so much more scandalous than they already were. Your search phrase was the least inappropriate, though.
How to show gratitude to someone you have feelings for and he has feelings for you too but you’re not sure?
It was protracted, and there were more spelling mistakes than hoped, but it got you the answers you needed. Buy fancy lingerie, seduce him, give him anything he desires—show him love in other means because while words are great, bouncing up and down his hard cock is much better. And because you’ve got nothing else other than a paragraph of ‘thank you’s and the repetition of ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
“What were you thinking of, darlin’? I’ll get you anything you want, don’t worry,” Andy reassures, and he doesn’t know what you think. He’s not scared of you telling him you don’t need him anymore because he knows you could never do that. You’re too dependant on him, and you love him too much. And even if that did, in fact, happen, he’s got some sweet sentences up his sleeves that nobody could silence.
“Uhm… I Googled it, a- and it came up, but I don’t want to make it weird!” you explain, and Andy’s face is twisted in confusion. You sigh heavily before standing up and fiddling with the end of your hoodie. You’ve got the heat turned up to the point where the frost on the windows might as well melt. The only things keeping you from revealing your surprise are your nervousness and the clothing that hides your lace teddy.
“Darlin’, please tell me what’s wrong,” Andy pleas, and his hands rest on your thighs. He’s never done this—not in that manner, anyway. It’s different because he’s got those palms and fingers under your teddy and his skin flush against yours, and fuck, he’s so close to touching that sacred area. You look down at quite possibly the most angel-like man—no—the most God-like man.
Suddenly, a burst of confidence fills you up, and you yank the sweater over your head. You throw it to the side, and like the woman in the photo of the 2013 article, you straddle his lap as best as you can. “Th- The writers all said that if I want to show gratitude without my dumb words, I should do this. Thank you for everything, Andy,” you breathlessly tell him, and your lawyer friend stares at you in shock.
Andy knew he scored the greatest jackpot that not even millions of dollars could get him when he first met you. But now, God, he wonders if he’s ever done anything wrong in his life. Shouldn’t karma find him by now? Shouldn’t he be repenting for his sins? A wicked smile cracks on his face; he really is a good man, isn’t he? He’s never done anything wrong. He only does good out of the kindness of his heart and his habits. And at this moment, he’s finally getting the proper ‘thank you’ he deserves.
“Oh, darlin’,” he whispers under his breath, and he takes in your immensely gorgeous form. Dressed down in a simple blue teddy that he recognized from one of your favourite clothing stores, you are absolutely divine. “I- Oh, I fucked up,” you whimper loud enough for him to hear, and you’re seconds away from bursting into a panicked apology and buckets of tears.
Before you can even wail, Andy pulls you down and locks his lips with yours. You let out a squeak of surprise and try to kiss him back as best you can. His hands come up to your face, and he holds your hands in his palms. He lays down on your bed, and the sudden drop as you gasping. He takes advantage of the opportunity and pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your chapstick is flavourless, and he makes a mental note to get you something sweet.
Andy’s wet muscle glides against your front teeth, and you can feel a bit of drool leaking from the corners of your mouth. Wet sounds fill the air, and you realize he wants this so badly. But do you? Yes… you do? You want to make him happy, don’t you? So do this, show him your gratitude and show him all of your love; don’t even let him doubt you for a second. You cannot hurt the man who cares for you.
Your nose bumps into his, and he turns your head just a bit so that it doesn’t happen again. Your lips glide against each other with each of Andy’s movements, and your heart beats wildly. The smaller kisses in this much larger one are passionate and filled with a motive that you can’t get to the bottom of. Your hands don’t touch his body; they brace you against the bed. You don’t know what to do.
Suddenly, Andy pulls away, and he looks up at you. You’re hesitant to meet his gaze, but when he tilts your head downwards, you listen to him. “Fuck, here I was trying to hold myself back, and here you are, jumpin’ my bones and lookin’ at me with those ‘fuck me’ eyes,” Andy growls, and his words have you apprehensive. “A- Andy?” you question, and his features soften.
“You said you wanted to show me gratitude, right, darlin’? You want to show Daddy how thankful you are for him, don’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head almost immediately—almost. It feels wrong, but it isn’t. Andy doesn’t wait for any other word from you, and he flips you over. You now lay underneath his large body, and in contrast to your reluctance a few moments ago, you remain in eye contact with him.
It’s only until his words have fully penetrated your hazy mind do you realize what he just said. You don’t even have time to react or ask him any panicked questions because he latches his mouth onto your neck. It’s almost as if he’s explored you before with the way he knows your body so well. Andy immediately attacks your sweet spot, one that you forbid anything to touch because it elicits such a wild reaction from you. So improper, so dirty.
His lips suck on your skin, and his teeth nip at that exact spot. His tongue then laves over the teased area, and you’re letting out gasps that you cannot hold back. Underneath Andy’s big, strong body, you have undoubtedly ogled from time to time, you writhe. The ticklish and tender feeling at your neck is too much, and Andy recognizes that. “Poor thing, can’t even handle a hickey,” he tsks, and you frown at his words.
“But it’s okay, it’ll be good, darlin’. I like you all sensitive. It makes me so fuckin’ hard,”’ Andy confesses, and a choked whimper leaves your mouth at his words. Andy, sweet, sweet Andy… You adore dear Andy, who has done everything for you. You’re glad he’s being selfish for once. Your gaze falls to his lips, and they’re so moist and pink, it drives you crazy.
Tilting your head up, you silently beg for a kiss that is soft and gentle. Andy brushes his nose against yours for a brief moment before shaking his head. He smirks down at you, and you assume it’s similar to the way he looks at those defence attorneys whenever he goes to court. He leans down and keeps his lips locked with yours while his hands make moves.
The skirt of your teddy is teased by his fingers—you’re teased by Andy’s fingers. The tips dance on your thighs, and you’ve never felt anything like this before. Your body is a stack of well-placed matches, and he’s lit you on fire with the last pump of his lighter. The flame starts out big, and it grows even larger. Andy enjoys watching you become speechless with his feather-light touches.
He pulls away from your mouth as he slowly pushes your skirt up. The bunched-up fabric stops right underneath your breasts, and the rest of your skin is exposed, all for him. You’ve got on lace panties that slightly match your dress. They’re a shade darker all around, but especially near your slit. Andy wishes to bully you just a bit and ask if the darkness is just how the undergarment was made, but the last thing he needs is you shying away from him.
You’re undeniably wet, possibly more than you’ve ever been (not counting the time where he held you close to his body and told you to listen to him). Andy steps off of your body and motions for you to move further up your bed until you’re touching those white walls. He doesn’t care if they can’t stop the sounds he’s going to pull from you because you don’t have neighbours anymore.
He’s given them such good housing prices across from town, and he’s made sure to ruin the already-poor quality of the apartments so that nobody can move in.
“This is how you wanted to thank me, darlin’? Spreading your legs to pay me back for all my love… Shit, you’re such a dirty little girl. I leave you for what, a week? And you do this? Don’t be surprised if I hurt you, baby. I just can’t hold back anymore,” Andy admits softly, and even though your stomach warns you of possible pain, you bite your lip. “Y- You can do whatever… I just want you to be happy!” you tell him.
Andy smiles down at you, and his touch leaves you. He makes quick work in removing his clothes until you’re marvelling at his body and he’s left in his black boxers. You always knew he had some muscle on his, but god, seeing him in almost-full glory is breathtaking. Sculpted by the Gods themselves, he might as well be fawned over by art majors of any kind.
The lawyer—once upon a time loving husband—pulls down his boxers at an achingly leisured pace. He’s got a trimmed patch of pubic hair at his base, and it’s enough to tangle your fingers in. It’s perfect; the carpets match the drapes. He’s perfect. The raging colour of Andy’s cock is revealed to you, and you nearly choke on air at his size.
He’s long and incredibly thick—better than those pornstars who were too much like themselves and not enough like him for you to enjoy their performances. You’re not sure if you can fit him anywhere because you’ve always struggled with your own pleasures. Your jaw slacks in awe of Andy, and it takes everything in him to not shove his cock into your welcoming mouth.
But he can’t. Not yet, at least.
“I’ll make it fit, darlin’. Don’t worry, Daddy solves everything, remember?” Andy reassures, and you nervously nod your head. Yeah, Daddy fixes everything. Daddy also ruins things, and you just happen to be the first he wants to destroy in a while. It’s not his fault! You were just begging for his help, and you even soaked it up, just like how you soak up his praise. “Good girl,” he husks, and he parts your legs as much as he desires.
Even though he’s pushing the limits of your muscles, you don’t complain or tell him to stop. You’re alight with excitement as Andy smirks down at you. “Good fucking girl,” the older man praises once more, and you smile brightly. It’s as if everything he says and does makes you dizzy with affection. It’s hard to give it back, though, so you let him take it from you.
“I can’t wait to buy you even more pretty things like this… ‘M gonna rip each one of them off of ya,” Andy chuckles, and even though this is your favourite teddy, you don’t mind the thought of him destroying it. True to his word, Andy’s hands pull the blue fabric in separate directions. The cheap cloth has turned to two shreds on your skin, and he only brushes them off your torso and legs.
The only thing hiding you from him now is your underwear, and he quickly rids of it, too. “Prettiest little thing…” Andy marvels, and your legs have remained spread due to your hands that hold them back. It’s the only amount of work he’s let you do so far, and you wonder when he’s going to ask for more. When is he going to take more? Wetness pools from your hole, and you have the wildest urge to rub your thighs together.
But in your compromising position, you can’t. Andy looks down at your pussy again, and the sight of your cunt glistening with slick has blood rushing down to his already hard cock. “Fuck, all that’s for me, yeah?” Andy questions, even though he already knows the answer. “Oh, your pussy is so small, darlin’. I’ll have to get really rough with you to even fit it in just a little,” he tells you, and you swallow in fear.
Just how rough does he mean?
“I mean, I could prep’ you, but…” His words have a break that is filled with a sigh. “I- I’ll make it good, baby—God, I’ll make it so fucking good I’ll have you crying, and you won’t even know why you’re crying. Either ‘cause of the way Daddy’s hurting you or the way he’s making you feel good.”
His words are… something. They send a slight hot sensation to your sopping core, and you feel as though anything he says or does makes you happy. Andy grabs the base of his cock, and he slaps it against your clit. “Andy!” you squeal, and a jolt of pleasure fills your body. “Daddy,” he intones, and his fat cock rests against your pussy. You’re so sensitive, and the sheer realization of your position has you whimpering.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been this intimate with someone, or perhaps it’s your love for Andy that makes it so intense.
“D- Daddy,” you repeat after him, and you’re filled with butterflies when he smiles down at you. “Good girl,” your only friend praises, and you bask in it as if it’s the first time you’ve ever felt the sun on your skin. You’re a good girl; you’re his good girl. Andy lifts the weight of his cock off of your core, and he slaps the head of it on your pearl a few times more.
Each slap makes you moan in such a pathetic manner. “Daddy!” you wail as the last hit makes your legs twitch and involuntarily close. Andy is having none of that, though. “Keep those legs open, darlin’. Don’t disappoint your Daddy,” Andy warns, and a few seconds pass until you finally collect yourself. You keep your legs parted, and you wonder if you’ll be able to handle any more from him.
The older man—as intelligent as always—is one thought ahead of you. He doesn’t care if you think you can’t handle it. He’ll make you take it. Andy drags his cock through your wet folds, subtly grinding against you just to see that glint in your eyes whenever he makes you feel oh so blissed out. “Daddy…” you whine to him, feeling his velvety flesh throb against your pussy.
“Fuck…” he moans, and the feeling of you on his cock is better than anything he’s ever imagined. Better than all those times he’s fantasized about you while you’d innocently undress in front of him. He moves his hips backwards until the head of his cock nudges against your drooling hole. “‘M gonna be the first, last, and only person to touch this pussy—right, darlin’? This isn’t your pussy anymore, it’s mine,” Andy grunts, and he can feel you get even more drenched from his obscene words.
You nod your head, and he has the urge to spew such degrading things over your behaviour. In his mind, he thinks about how much of a whore he’s turned you to already, and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. But Andy bites his tongue because he knows your gentle self will be hurt. He’s only got a little more to go until you’re truly looking at him like he’s hung the moon, even if he’s calling you all sorts of vulgarities. Slutty little baby…
Pre-cum mixes with your juices, and you can already feel the sheer largeness of Andy’s cock. “P- Please, Daddy,” you plead when you notice that he’s holding back from pushing into you. “All for you… Do whatever you want,” you pant, reminding him that you’re here to make him happy. Andy’s frown that wasn’t cleverly hidden quickly turns into a giddy smile, one that’s just so infectious.
You return his grin, but it disappears as soon as he begins to stretch you open with his cock. Your mouth falls open, and you squeeze your eyes shut. The head of Andy’s cock is only halfway into your cunt, and you already feel dizzy. Is it from pain, or is it from pleasure? “It’s too big…” you whisper to Andy, but he ignores your words. He doesn't mean to do it on purpose; it’s just that the sight of your pussy gripping onto his fat cock is so enchanting.
Andy continues to push into your pussy, despite your hesitance. You want this, you need this—you want him, you need him. It’s a mantra that both of you repeat in your heads, and the voice belongs to the once-again Assistant District Attorney. The entirety of his tip is sheathed into your pussy—his pussy. “Fuckin’ shit, darlin’,” he grunts, absolutely adoring the way your wet walls hold onto his cock.
When he exhales a sigh, your cunt lets out a squelching sound from just how wet you are. Sharply, you inhale at the pain in your core. You’re seconds away from begging Andy to take away the hurt like he always does, but suddenly, the fingers to his left hand are trailing up to your chin. It’s not odd; he’s done it before. But it was when he took you out for ice cream after your boss teased you with a possible promotion—you’re just a tad bit careless when eating delicacies.
Two digits are pushed into your mouth, and they remind you of the popsicles you love to buy during the summer heat. They press down on your tongue, and you can feel your saliva beginning to pool. “Suck on my fingers, darlin’,” Andy orders, and you obey his commands. You do your best to treat his fingers with as much skill as you can muster. “Good girl, such a good girl,” Andy grunts, and he shifts his gaze back to your pussy.
As he busies you with his digits, he snaps his hips forward until his balls are snug against your ass, and his cock is entirely inside of you. The skin of his spit-covered fingers soaks up your groans and whimpers of pain, and he further pushes them into your wet cavern until you’re gagging. “Oh, baby… Fuck, your pussy was made for Daddy’s cock,” Andy whispers, and his words make you clench around him.
That burning pain subsides, but it’s such a slow transformation from discomfort to pleasure. You’re so full—you’ve never felt anything like this. You eventually let out a soft moan around his slick fingers, and Andy chuckles. “But it’s not your pussy, darlin’,” he tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “S’is my pussy—Daddy’s pussy,” he slurs, and he slowly drags his hips backwards. It’s almost painful with the way you’re gripping him, and so he brings his other hand to your nub.
When Andy touches your clit, you swear you can see fireworks exploding right in front of your eyes. The friction and heat his touch brings—and god, the fucking euphoria of it all has you dizzy. Andy’s massive cock stretches you out, and the feeling primarily burns. It’s not the kind of warmth that you’d appreciate during the cold—it’s the kind that hurts, but you can’t get enough of it.
Andy slowly pushes back into you, and he gets you used to his member. Practically every crevice of your pussy has been filled up by his cock; in short, you’re stuffed to the brim. The tip that’s been raging and leaking now presses against a spot you’ve never touched before. “O- Oh,” you garble around his fingers, and the flesh beneath your lips is soaked with spit.
“Messy little thing… Can’t do anything right without Daddy by your side, hm?” Andy teases, and you’re not sure why, but his mocking words only make you giddier. “Yeah, can’t even take Daddy’s cock without tearin’ up. S’okay, darlin’. Let Daddy do all the work. Just be my good girl.’ Andy speaks down at you, not to you. He could say his words are falling on deaf ears, but your rambles suggest otherwise.
“Uh-huh, ‘m a good girl, Daddy! I’m good, I’m so good,” you tell him, and even though you can barely understand yourself, Andy nods his head. “Daddy’s good girl, letting Daddy take what belongs to him,” the lawyer husks, and he finally musters up the intrepidity to fuck you. It’s not that he’s scared to accept your gracious gift; he’s more worried he hasn’t savoured it well enough.
Andy drags his cock out of your cunt, and his flesh shines with slickness. He knows by the time he’s done with you for today, he’ll see a bit of blood and a whole lot of cum. You’re empty, and the feeling is odd. You’re seconds away from begging for his cock—even though you’re not sure how. But as if Andy truly knows everything about you, he pushes back into you roughly.
It’s almost too rough, too brutal. He splits you open, and you find yourself digging your nails into your skin. You slobber on Andy’s digits, and you let out a pornographic moan. His cock hits that spot of yours as soon as he fills you to the hilt once more. Your cunt grips him like a vice, and he calls your name under a breathy groan. He snaps his hips back and forth, but it’s not at a rapid pace.
He fucks you slowly and harshly, almost as if he’s punctuating your every noise with his thrusts. Your toes curl, and your body shakes with each clap of his skin on yours. It’s a breathtaking feeling, one that is almost overwhelming yet just enough for you. Those innocent, doe eyes of yours squeeze shut as electricity runs up your spine. Andy’s full balls slap against your ass, swollen and desperate to be taken care of.
Maybe he’ll speed things up a bit, the lawyer thinks to himself through his cloud of focus. He contemplates the idea of teaching you just how you can make him feel good.
The way Andy thrusts into you is almost animalistic, and you fear for your body ahead of time. The ache will be brutal tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it. You’re doing a good thing for a great man. He deserves this and even more.
Andy pulls his fingers out of your mouth, and he brings his drenched digits to your clit. He doesn’t apply that delicious friction he knows you’ll be craving, though. Instead, he just lightly touches you while roughly fucking you.
“I- It fit, Daddy,” you whisper in awe, and he chuckles. The older man brings his face down to yours, and he brushes his nose against your own. You give a smile at the sweet gesture, and in a contrasting, unrewarding manner, he stops his thrusting. You let out a sound of shock and offence, desperate for the pleasure to resume its blossoming in your body.
“Of course it did, darlin’. You were made just for my cock. Why wouldn’t it fit?” Andy mockingly questions, though you don’t see his rudeness.
“I- It’s so big, Daddy,” you say through a laugh that just makes you sound even more pathetic. “And Daddy made it fit in your tiny pussy, baby,” he counters with a grin on his face. You writhe beneath him, and unconsciously, you grind down on Andy’s cock. As he swears from the feeling, you toss your head back and whimper out a few pathetic ‘please, Daddy’s until he finally snaps.
Newton’s best assistant district attorney (not just your words) places his right knee right beneath your perched up-left leg. He remains hovering above you, and his eyes are locked with yours. The tip of Andy’s cock is the only thing inside you as he thrusts out of him. Then, he pushes back into you, and he starts to fuck you with that rough pace once more.
The pad of his thumb slides against his cock and collects some of your slick. Andy switches his fingers and places his thumb on your clit, and he begins to rub on your pearl of nerves as he fucks you into oblivion. His cock slides in and out of you—almost with ease, but your tightness and his largeness make it a bit more difficult. You let out a wail of pleasure, and your face is pinched from just how good he’s making you feel.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” you cry out, and Andy just knows your moans are now his favourite thing to listen to.
“Dirty, dirty, dumb girl. Letting me come into your life and ruin your cunt…” he mutters under his breath, and his new angle not only makes you weak. As he repeatedly hits your sweet spot with the fat tip of his cock, you tighten up around him, and Andy’s trying his best to not let his darkest desires take over. “Wearing that piece of fabric an’ thinkin’ I wouldn’t wreck you. So naive… S’okay, darlin’, Daddy’ll do all the thinking for you like always,” he slurs, and his words aid in the building of pressure in your abdomen.
Searing flames like at your insides—right above your pussy. In your mind, you’re thinking about begging him for rounds two, three, four, and five, even though you have yet to finish the first one.
You clamp down on Andy’s cock as he spears into you relentlessly, and when he nudges your sweet spot numerous times in a row while playing with your clit so skillfully, you know you’re done for.
With a loud wail of his title, you come undone for the first time at his doing—on his fat cock. Your hole spasms around him, and you writhe away from the older man, nearly running away from himself and the pleasure he’s given to you. “Good girl, such a good girl for Daddy. Coming all over my cock- fuck,” he praises, and he basks in your loud moans and harsh gasps that just don’t seem to come to a halt, much like his thrusts.
Andy fucks you through your overwhelming orgasm. You’re so sure you’ve never felt anything so good and powerful at the same time. It almost washes away all your doubts, just like he always does. It’s truly dizzying. You can feel everything; the mattress, his skin, the veins of his cock throbbing inside of you—everything.
“I’m a good girl. ‘M so good, Daddy,” you babble against his face, and he can smell the peppermint mouthwash and saliva emanating off your tongue. “Yeah, you are. Such a good girl. But you’re also a dumb girl, okay? Daddy’s dumb little baby,” Andy tells you, and he knows from the way you’re panting and frowning that you’re telling yourself that you’re done for the day.
No, no. You don’t get to call the shots. He does, remember? Daddy knows best—Andy knows best.
“S’too much, Daddy!” you cry out, and your dominant hand leaves your leg and splays itself against his stomach. You’re trying to tell him to stop; why? You’re not letting him take what he deserves. You’re being selfish. Stop it. “Shh, no, no, it’s okay! It’s not too much, baby. Just take it, okay? Take Daddy’s cock like the good girl you are,” Andy assures, and you nod your head although you’re already nearing another climax.
Andy’s cock spears into you, and that intensity mixes with the friction your clit is receiving. You can barely handle either, and you feel as though you’re seconds away from falling into a starry night’s abyss. “C’mon, be Daddy’d good girl and come around my cock again. Do it, keep coming, slut,” he spits, and on his command, you soak his cock with your cum once again.
“N- No, no, Daddy…” you whine out, and even though he graciously slows down his pace, he still keeps that brutality. Andy presses on your pearl even harder, and when he hits a specific nerve, you jerk away from him. “No, no. Don’t run away from my cock, darlin’. You’re okay, don’t worry. Daddy’s got you,” Andy promises, and even though his words soothe your battered soul, the tears still start to sting your eyes.
You blink them away, and you try your hardest to repeat your chant in your mind. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry… The lawyer presses up against your g-spot and holds his cock there, letting you become dizzy and conquered by the insane amount of pleasure Andy’s causing. He’s fucked you dumb—you’re a goner. The tears begin to flow, and your first loud sob leaves as a choked moan.
“Oh… Darlin’, are you cryin’ because a’ me?” Andy questions and he turns his movements into gentler ones. Andy’s sudden kindness makes you smile, despite the orgasm that’s ripping through you. You don’t answer him, not able to find your words.
“You are, aren’t you?” he asks once more, and you still don’t answer.
Suddenly, he’s pounding your cunt mercilessly, and a quiet scream involuntarily fills the room, along with the smell of sex. “Fuck, yeah. Keep cryin’. Cry for Daddy. Makes me so damn hard,” Andy growls, and he can feel the way you’re gripping him. He knows he won’t last any longer, but does that really matter? He’s going to take you over and over again until he’s the one telling you to stop, and you’re the one begging him to keep going.
The hand that had wandered moves up to your face, and you try to wipe away your tears despite the annoying jerking that your body does. “Don’t wipe your tears, darlin’. You’re so pretty when you cry,” Andy cooes. You obediently listen to him and whimper out a small thanks, following it up with a stutter of his title in a seeking manner.
“What’s wrong, darlin’? Huh? Is Daddy fuckin’ you too damn good?” he jokes, and before you can tell him that you’re nearing another release, your head snaps back. Your back arches off your lame bed, and your jaw slacks open. Heat builds up inside of you, especially at your apex. Darkness fills your vision as your eyes snap shut.
Andy can tell you’re seconds away from coming—and so is he. His balls tighten up, and his thrusts are sloppier than they usually are. He moans almost as pathetically as you do, except his sounds are deeper and quieter. “My pretty, sweet, darlin’... Such a good little girl. So good that you’ll let Daddy come in you, right?” Andy husks, and absentmindedly, you nod.
You smile at him with your eyes closed and your cunt gripping his cock like a fist. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
“My dumb girl, so good for me. Givin’ me everythin’ I deserve. I’m going to fuck you over an’ over again. And you’re just going to take it, won’t you? Yeah, you will. You’re my good girl,” Andy rambles right above you, and he swallows your battle cry in a kiss that you can’t reciprocate. Your legs try to snap shut, but Andy’s body keeps them parted.
Your poor, abused pussy spasms around Andy’s cock, making wet sounds that the older man is bound the savour. A ring of creamy cum surrounds his trimmed base, and a droplet of your cum leaks down to his heavy balls. You choke his thick cock with your tightness, and Andy wonders how he hasn’t pounced on you before this moment. “Yeah, fuckin’ cream all over Daddy’s fat cock. That’s what a good slut does; opens her legs, pleases me, and comes for Daddy.”
Every single thing happens with fervour and desire. His words, no less. Andy’s cock aches for release, one that isn’t at his hands and under a freezing cold shower. He stops kissing you and looks down to where your both connected. White strings of stickiness connect from his cock to your hot flesh. With his every slam, the ropes shift and turn into new ones. You’re a mess in all aspects.
“Fuckin’ creamy pussy ‘s gonna be the death a’ me,” Andy mutters.
The heavy shaft that drives in and out of your pussy stretches you almost past your limits. You’re ruined for all men, except for him. You don’t even need other men. You only need him.
“Daddy’s gonna come, darlin’. I’m gonna fill you up so good. You’re going to be leaking with my come for the rest of the fuckin’ week. Ya hear me? This pretty pussy is only gonna know me and my cum—nothin’ else,” Andy groans under his breath, and he pulls his hand away from your tender nub. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. P- Please, Daddy,” you beg, and Andy’s sure you have no idea what you’re talking about or what he’s saying.
Fucked dumb is what he’s done to you.
“Baby, baby, baby—fuck,” he groans in an uncharacteristically low tone. It sounds as though there’s a darker version of him coming to life. But this is your Andy! Your sweet, lovely Andy. He’s an angel and nothing worse.
Your friend breaches into your pussy for a final time (of this first round), and he stills his skillful hips. That swollen, weeping tip of his cock shoots out ropes of hot cum. His heavy balls tighten up and empty themselves out inside of you. He fills you up until you’re legitimately leaking with his cum—he’s fulfilled his promise. “Yes… Just like that…” Andy mutters mindlessly. He looks down to see his cum pushing past the fullness of his cock, yet still remaining where he’s impaled you.
“Daddy,” you whimper, and your hands search for purchase on his body. “Shh… Hold still for Daddy,” he shushes, and you begrudgingly yet obediently listen to him. The feeling of his seed coating your walls is unfamiliar, but you have to admit that you adore it. “Good girl,” he praises, and he slumps down onto your body. “O- Oh, uhm…” you stutter, trying to remember what some of the articles suggested you should say.
“T- Thank you, Daddy,” you shyly whisper. Your words cause him to flip you over. Andy’s cock slips out of your pussy, but he quickly pushes it back in before you can even register what’s happened. “W- What, Andy… What are you doing?” you innocently question, tilting your head to the side as you look down at him. He smiles up and you, and his grin makes your heart melt.
“Good girls don’t ask questions like that, darlin’. Don’t you wanna be good for me? Be good for your Daddy?”
You nod your head, but you’re still confused. No, no, you’re not just confused. You’re scared.
“Daddy’s right here, baby. There’s no need to be afraid. I’ll make it fit; you just have to work for it,” Andu reassures—something he’s always doing with you.
Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female Reader
Summary: A ring on your finger isn’t enough to satisfy Nick Fowler.
Word Count: Over 1.7k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, breeding kink, slight D/S behavior, brief porn with some feels (it’s me), Nick Fowler (he’s a warning, okay?).
A/N: Again, you all know this man owns me now. Partially inspired by my 😎 anon and beta read by the beautiful @sweeterthanthis (thank you, lovely) but any and all mistakes are my own. Also thank you to @sgt-seabass for providing one of my favorite lines in this fic! Banners by @its-just-may. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment if you feel inclined!
Nick was in one of his moods. Your fiancé wasn’t the easiest man to read, but you sensed it when he wordlessly shut the door and didn’t greet you with his signature smile or smirk. He removed his jacket, a slight tick in his jaw as he unbuttoned the sleeves of his button down shirt. When he finally swung his head to look at you, you found a pair of predatory eyes staring you down.
Summary: You’re a hunter but what happens when someone hunts you…
Author’s Note: This is for my wonderful friend Cassie’s @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms Make it Badass Challenge! I love this idea and I couldn’t stay away from my fav Vampire AU and thought a badass vamp chick would be fun and then I ran it by my wonderful friend Nix and she made a gorgeous edit for me and it all came together! Thank you for hosting this awesome challenge and happy birthday and anniversary my lovely! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤ Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics Thank you so much Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: mentions of blood, fingering, dirty talk, teasing, smut (18 + ONLY PLEASE!!!)
EDIT NOT MINE: this beautiful Winter Soldier edit was done by my friend Nix, you can find her Insta here, thank you so much my sweet! 🥰
The floor to ceiling windows hang open and allow a cool breeze to ruffle your hair as you lay in your plush bed, surrounded by the sounds of the night. It’s peaceful with the soft falling of the rain and the glow of the moonlight across the sheets.
Your mind starts to drift to memories of a life lived long ago, their potency overcoming you as if it were yesterday. But something startles you from your trance.
A sound. One only perceptible to your preternatural ears.
Could I request the next episode of the Backstagepass!stucky x reader be reader taking both boys at once? In the same hole (pussy baby)
*cracks knuckles*
Nothing like a nice double penetration to start the week, I always say.
Torture (Affectionate)
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Pairing: Backstage Pass!Bucky x Backstage Pass!Steve x f!reader
Words: 1550
Warnings: Piv sex, edging, orgasm delay/denial, double vaginal penetration, hair pulling, anal fingering, unintentional/accidental voyeurism, derogatory language: slut/fucktoy (affectionate), Bucky and Clint picking on each other, Steve Rogers is a fucking menace
A/N: BP!Clint is hard of hearing, and does have hearing aids. Bucky is only teasing when he tells Clint to turn them off.
If you like it, please support your creator by giving it a reblog. She loves that shit. <3
Backstage Pass Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Clint goes to the Walmart down the street from the bus to boost some supplies. He drags Bucky along with him, because he can fit a lot of shit in his big leather jacket, and two big, scary-looking tattooed dudes are always better than one when you're breaking the law.
They hadn’t even been gone fifteen minutes before you were bored, and stripping Steve down so you could ride his dick.
He thought it would be more fun to torture you instead.
He won’t let you move on your own. His obscenely strong arms have you locked down tight against his chest, and he keeps fucking you right to the edge of an orgasm, and stopping just before you come.
“Stevie,” you whine.
“What can I help you with, princess?”
“Just fuck me.”
“I am fucking you though.” He drags his cock out of you and pushes back in hard. Laughing when you mewl. “See? You sound well and truly fucked.”
“You’re so mean.”
“Oh no! Not mean!” he chuckles. “Do you want me to stop?”
You shake your head, moaning when he grinds himself into you.
“Mmhmm,” he hums. “Didn’t think so.”
He starts moving again, and drags your mouth against his with a fist in your hair. He stops just short of a kiss, his lips grazing over yours when he growls, “I’ll let you come when Bucky gets back. So you better hope and pray Clint isn’t so high that he’s distracted by everything that moves. You know how he gets—it could take hours. And I can do this as long as it takes.”
You whimper as he slides his mouth against your jaw to nibble along the hard ridge of bone. His lips graze your ear, his breath humid against it when he whispers, “I’m going to keep this cunt hot, and wet, and needy until he comes back, so he can fuck it too.”
True to his word, you’re desperate, weak, and openly begging him to let you come an hour and thirty minutes later when the RV sways as Bucky comes dashing up the steps, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it to Clint.
The bunk curtain snicks closed behind you, and Bucky curses softly. “I can smell you two out on the fucking street. Fuck.”
“Bucky,” you choke out. “He won’t let me come.” You make a mournful noise.
“Jesus, Steve. How long have you been edging her?”
“Almost as long as you’ve been gone,” Steve smirks.
“Oh, princess,” he kneels next to you, and wipes tears off your cheeks, “I’m back now. You must be desperate.”
You nod and whine his name. He sits to wiggle out of his jeans.
“Where do you want me, sweet girl?”
“Pussy. My pussy, Bucky, please, I need you there too.”
He hushes you quietly, telling you there’s no need to beg. Then the slicked-up head of his dick is pressing against your cunt. When the tip of his cock breaches your entrance, your eyes roll back in your head and you sag against Steve’s chest, both of you moaning loudly.
Bucky’s barely got half his dick in you, when the sensation sends you over the edge. You finally come, gushing over their cocks with a grateful curse.
“Jesus christ, Captain Denial,” Bucky growls at Steve, “you need to realize not everyone likes waiting to come. You’re gonna kill one of us with that shit one of these days.”
“Oh you're always fine, and she's fine too,” Steve huffs. “Aren’t you, doll?”
But you can’t answer, because Bucky slots the rest of his length into you, and all that comes out when you open your mouth is an unsteady warble. Bucky’s body curls over yours, and he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades, panting and cursing while they give you time to adjust.
Clint is on the couch snorting coke, and sorting through all the pilfered goods from his and Bucky’s jackets. There’s no privacy on the bus, normally there would at least be some music playing, but neither you nor Steve had put on any music when Clint and Bucky had left you two alone on the bus. And Clint couldn't play anything either, as he had yet to replace the cellphone he broke last week when he was climbing a street sign and it fell out of his pocket.
Clint’s only a few feet away from your bunk so he can’t help but hear the three of you. He mumbles to himself, “Damn, fuck that poor girl already, before you fucking break her.”
Both super soldiers pick up his muttered words. Bucky turns his head in Clint’s general direction and shouts, “What’s wrong? Can’t find something else to beat your meat to, you horny twat?”
‘Dude, fuck you,” Clint spits.
“Get in line, shithead,” Bucky grunts back at him.
“Dick,” Clint huffs.
Still, Bucky catches it. “If it bothers you, turn your fucking hearing aids off, or replace your goddamn phone, Barton.”
You squirm, trying to separate your sticky chest from Steve’s, and it shoves both men in even deeper. That’s when you start begging them to fuck you. Bucky pushes two fingers into your mouth to settle you, and you hum around them when he and Steve finally start dicking you down.
“God, princess,” Steve groans as he ruts into you, “feels so fucking good. Wasn’t it worth the wait?” He chuckles at your answering moan.
Bucky slips his fingers over your tongue, moving them in time with the motion of this cock. “Jesus, kitten,” he growls, “your fucking cunt. Christ. Such a tight little hole for us to fuck.” His fingers slide out of your mouth, and his hot chest is no longer pressed against your back. “But, then again,” he says, rubbing the pads of his spit-slick fingers over your asshole, “all these holes are fucking tight.” He hisses, and pushes his fingers past your rim.
You bury your face against Steve’s shoulder and choke on a groan.
Bucky tsks, and grabs a handful of your hair in his vibranium hand, and uses it to pull your head back, arching your torso, and pulling you onto their cocks. He twists his fingers deeper into your ass. “No hiding. Know you’re gonna come for us. Lemme hear ya, kitten.”
Your whole body tightens, and stars explode over your vision. With an incoherent cry you squirt on their dicks, soaking them with your juices. The bunk is full of the most obscene squelching sounds, audible even over the sound of three people groaning and cursing.
Bucky lets your hair go and you slump against Steve’s chest again. His deep voice rumbles against your ear, “Was that good, princess?” You nod.
Suddenly Bucky’s fingers pull out of your ass, and he folds down over you again. His metal hand curls around your throat, pressing your head against his shoulder so you’re looking right at Steve. “Now, now, kitten. You can’t just lie there drooling on Stevie’s chest while we fuck you. We’re doing all the work here, so why don’t you thank him by telling him how much you love having your tight little hole stuffed full of our cocks?”
You softly gasp so full. If you’d meant to say anything else it gets lost in a moan. Steve chuckles, and slips his thumb into your mouth. Reflexively you start sucking on it. “Look at our cock-drunk little fucktoy,” he purrs.
Bucky’s husky voice is right next to your ear, “Our pretty little slut loves to be full of our cocks, doesn’t she?”
You nod eagerly, then whine around Steve’ thumb as another orgasm sweeps through you. It's already intense having your pussy stuffed so full, but every thrust of Steve's cock drags against your g-spot. You come hard, gasping and sobbing wordlessly.
Steve surveys you, then asks, “Can our pretty little fucktoy come on our big cocks one more time before we fill her slutty hole full of come?”
He pulls his thumb out of your mouth so you can moan please. They rut into you hard, encouraging you to let go for them. You oblige them a moment later, gushing over them with a desperate mewl. Your pussy squeezing and milking them as you groan through aftershocks. Their cocks swell and twitch when they start coming together, fucking you through their climaxes, until you’re creamy and dripping.
You whimper softly when they pull out of your messy hole. Steve smooths a gentle hand over your head. “Shh. It’s okay, princess. You did so well for us. So perfect. Stay right here with me, and let Bucky clean you up, okay?”
You nod, and hum as he presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Are you okay, sweet girl?”
“‘M okay, Stevie,” you slur.
Bucky uses a soft flannel shirt to wipe you down, and Steve strokes a soothing hand down your back as you try to remember how to breathe again. They rearrange your loose-limbed body between them to keep you snuggly and warm. You nuzzle into Bucky’s neck and take big draws of his soothing scent.
Bucky pulls in a deep breath, and chuckles. His throat rumbles against your cheek when he shouts, “Hope you enjoyed the show, Barton. Go clean yourself up, you fucking perv.”
“Takes one to know one, dickhead," Clint’s breathless voice comes from his bunk, instead of the couch.
If you liked it, please smash that reblog button so others can find it too!
Plot: Trying to make a smooth getaway, you make it look too damn good.
Warnings: 18+. Smut and fluff.
Words: 3,1OO
Humming softly, you curl back up into your duvet, burying your face into the pillow. An unfamiliar scent hits your morning senses and you bury into the pillow deeper. Body feeling heavy, yet incredibly light, the feeling of utter satisfaction bubbles under your skin.
Eyes are yet to be opened as you try to figure out the situation you’ll encounter once you allow yourself to fully wake up. Butterflies erupt in your belly as you remember the dream you had, an ache between your thighs demanding attention at the sensual memory. You sigh contently, mouth curving into a smile that you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.
But then you freeze. Because the comforting scent wafting from the cushion below you is the very thing that triggers the memory of the dream. It’s connected to the dream.
It wasn’t a dream.
Eyes fly open and immediately scrunch shut after being blinded by the bright, morning light pouring through the sheer curtains hanging from the ceiling all the way down to the floors. Fingers tightening into the puffy duvet, you slowly turn onto your back and turn your head to the side, biting your lip to stop a gasp from slipping out.
Bucky Barnes. The most gorgeous man you might have ever seen in your life is snoring softly on the pillow next to you. That’s when the so-called dream comes back to you in flashes. Hot, steamy and vivid flashes. Heat creeps to your chest and face at the memory and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him, terrified that if you look away he’ll wake up and prevent you from making a quick escape.
Because that’s how this works, right?
Heated, dirty, world-shattering sex with a stranger means you have to get out in the morning before the homeowner wakes up. Right? You don’t exactly want him to wake up to you, realising he made a huge mistake and trying to reason with himself how drunk he must have been to drag you home.
He seemed so sincere last night and you truly believed him. It was so intense, so wonderful. You don’t want to give either of you the chance to ruin that illusion. Let yourself believe you’re one of the models he sleeps with and get out of here as soon as possible.
Peeking around the room, you dart your eyes around to find your clothes, realising that your underwear is the only thing here. You curse under your breath when you realise you’ll have to make you way home in a beer-stained dress that is on the floor near the bar in the living room. You’ll have to tip the Uber driver for tolerating the disgusting stench, you remind yourself before carefully climbing out of bed towards the thin sheet crumpled to the floor after you probably kicked it off the bed last night.
The soft carpet between your toes, the warm light shining in the room and the beautiful man laying in the bed you just crawled out of, all make it awfully hard to make your getaway. Reaching down quickly and grabbing the sheet to wrap around your body, you find yourself freezing when Bucky moves and mumbles softly. Circling over in your direction, all he has to do is open his eyes and he’ll see you.
You take a deep breath, thin sheet wrapped around your body and dragging over the floor, you lift your foot to take your first step away -and his eyes open.
“By all means, don’t let me stop you.” His hoarse voice grumbles as he hugs his pillow tightly, sleepy eyes squinting as they take in your frame.
Blood rushes to the surface of your skin once again as he takes you in, wanting him to just fall asleep and let you leave in peace. Spare you the embarrassment.
But Bucky is in awe. All he sees is your body wrapped in a thin sheet like the perfect wet dream, a bright morning glow emitting from the windows behind you, showing him a silhouette that doesn’t help his morning glory one bit. He wants to punch himself for thinking it, but you look ethereal in this light, like a goddamn angel. Your soft hair carrying a golden glow from the light and your skin exuding its own glow by his surprising performance from the previous night.
“I just… I was just about to leave.” You retreat to your spot on the carpet unsurely as you wait for his instructions. All he has to do is tell you to leave or stay and you’d follow his orders.
You remember how good it felt to follow his orders, to let go of that need to be in control all the time and put it in the hands of someone who made you feel calm, safe and cherished.
“Why?”
His question makes you chew your lip nervously. Why did you want to leave? It doesn’t seem like he wants you gone. But he might still be sleep drunk. But he is asking about you, not about him. But it doesn’t matter what you want.
You can’t stay over and bear the uncomfortable moments of him trying to be polite when he wants his embarrassing one night stand to just leave.
“Cat’s got your tongue?” He asks you, slowly sitting up as he quirks a brow at you.
Stretching his arms up to release the tension in his muscles, the sheet covering him drops to his hips and exposes his toned torso. You gulp at the sight, the heartbeat between your legs intensifying. You don’t know what to say.
Say something, just say something.
Bucky chuckles lowly, the sound triggering butterflies in your belly again and constricting your heart, and climbs over to the edge of the bed, facing you. There he is, three feet away from you and sitting at the edge of the bed in just his boxers as he leans back on his hands and looks up at you while you’re frozen to the spot.
His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as he looks you up and down, shamelessly checking you out and drinking you in. This is when you’re starting to suspect the sheet does nothing to hide your body from him.
“Bucky?”
His eyes snap up to yours, the bright morning light shrinking his pupils until all you see is two sky-blue eyes piercing into yours “Hm?”
“I should go… I think.”
“You think so?” He questions and you note the slightly teasing tone, testing you like he did last night when he caught you in the men’s room. He is testing you, trying to expose you for predicting his thoughts and opinions once again. Trying to call you out on the bullshit that the insecure little voice in your head comes up with.
You hate it. You hate how much room he gives you to screw up. Just as much as you loved him taking control last night, you hate him for handing it back to you now. You want him to send you off and awkwardly explain to you that you’ll never see each other again. That’s what you expect of him.
And he knows it.
“Don’t you want breakfast?” He cocks his head to the side curiously, his dog tags dangling between his pecks as he moves. The way he looks up to you from his seat on the bed, the way he puts himself below you quite literally gives you way too much power. Power you don’t want at all.
He slowly pushes to a stand, his eyes drifting down to stay on yours as he walks over in two small steps. His flesh hand grabs the edge of the sheet wrapped around you, tracing the seam up and down.
“Take off the sheet.”
Clutching your own hands to the fabric over your chest where you secured it tightly, you give him a pleading look, shaking your head faintly. Bucky tries to hide his disappointment and nods slowly, searching your eyes for something you can’t put your finger on.
“Have it your way. But this sheet isn’t keeping me from having my breakfast.”
“Huh?”
Bucky gives you a jaw-dropping smile before sinking to his knees, counting on the fact that you’re still frozen to the spot as he opens the sheet and crawls under it.
Briefly, the thought crosses your mind that there isn’t much he can do with your thighs in the way, but you let out a soft squeal when he grabs one of your thighs and drapes it over his shoulder, your hands flying to his other shoulder and his head to keep your balance as his hands grab a firm hold of your ass.
You don’t get the time to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing when your feel his soft lips against your folds and you sigh softly. His warm tongue wedges itself between your folds and drags itself up all the way to your clit, the touch of his mouth to your bundle of nerves electrifying you.
When Bucky notices you visibly relax into his frame, he gives you a satisfied hum and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with fervour.
A soft moan escapes your lips and your eyes drift shut, taking in Bucky’s desire to kneel between your legs first thing in the morning like there’s nothing else on his mind. His hot mouth works on you like magic, tongue swirling against you and lips engulfing you before sucking you closer to your impending high.
Your moans become more frequent and you part the sheet to bury your fingers in his chestnut locks and hold onto him for dear life. The feeling of your hands in his hair, tugging softly, eggs him on to feast on you with all the desire he feels in this moment, groaning against you as he drinks up everything you give him.
Hands having abandoned your sheet and your head thrown back in blinding, yet soft pleasure, Bucky smiles against you briefly before grabbing the white, cotton fabric in his hand and giving a light tug, the curtain falling from your body. Before you can protest and protect your modesty, one metal finger glides into you simultaneously with one harsh suck of your clit into his mouth and you keen,your knees wobbling.
Bucky has a firm hold on you, wanting you to feel completely safe to let go of your control one again as he adds another finger and curls them against a spot he realised yesterday is his favourite, because he won’t be far from pulling you apart from here on out.
“Bucky!” You gasp and grind against him.
A low chuckle reverberates through your body from below you and as if magnetic, both of you look at each other at the same time. The intensity of his bright blue eyes on you, his fingers dragging at your insides and his mouth tasting everything you have to offer, brings you so close to the edge, you let out something between a whimper and a sob.
When you start clenching around his fingers and he starts moaning against you more frequently every time you wheeze his name, he starts picking up his pace, his grip on your ass tightening as he desperately works you towards your high. He has completely lost his battle with patience, just wanting you to come apart and having decided he’ll just have you again if he wants to have more of this -which he will.
The knot in your belly tightens so much, you curl over and Bucky’s mouth chases your clit, not removing his mouth from you for a second and groaning against you at the realisation of how close you are.
That is when the tightness bursts apart and you throw your head back, clutching onto him as your orgasm surges through you like hell fire. The moans that drift from your mouth are pleading and praising, Bucky working you through your high generously before pulling away and steadying you.
When your vision reappears again and your breathing steadies slightly, you look down at a pleased man kneeling in front of you. When he catches you blushing again, he jabs at your knees and makes you buckle to the ground and into his arms. Letting out a gasp, he takes advantage of your parted lips and crashes his own onto yours, pulling you into him tightly and grinning mischievously against your lips.
You moan at your own taste and bury your fingers into his hair again, letting him pull you under with him. Laying down onto the ground and making you straddle his hips, you grind your wet core over the bulge straining against his boxers.
With every grind, his grip tightens on your thighs and a grunt pours into your mouth, making you smile against him. Trailing your lips away from him, you attach your mouth to his skin and suckle your way down. His breathing is shallow and ragged as he massages the skin of your thighs.
Letting you drift down his body, his eyes not quite sure what to latch onto, Bucky swallows hard when you look up from your position between his legs, your ass poking out from behind you. Peeling his boxers back, your mouth waters at the sight of him against his taut abdomen.
You lick your lips and close your eyes, flattening your tongue and dragging it up the underside of his hard length before taking him into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks. Wrapping one hand around his base and working your mouth up and down on him, you flutter your eyes open. The sight of him staring down at you with his pupils blow with lust has you pressing your thighs together harshly, clenching around nothing.
“Fuckin’ hell…” Bucky mutters under his breath, his eyes concentrated on you.
The heavy feel of him in your mouth makes you want to take him deeper and it takes all of Bucky’s will power to drag you off of him, sitting up on the carpet and moving you over his thighs again.
His mouth is on you in seconds, kissing you in a manor so heavy and overwhelming, you whimper against him. Mumbling against your lips, not wanting to pull away for a second, his voice sounds rough “Need to feel you. Now. Fucking now.”
You nod against him breathlessly and lift your hips up above him, your hand wrapping around him and you feel him throbbing against your palm. Lining him up with you, Bucky finally manages to pull away, his gaze fixated on where you’re about to connect as you focus your sight on his face. Lowering yourself slowly and letting the tip of him stretch you nicely, you sigh deeply and watch his face contort in pleasure and frustration.
"Good girl." He almost whispers, the words melting through the blur of your hazy thoughts like scolding lava "Put me in. Put me all the way in."
His words sink into your skin and you lose all your composure, deciding this second you’ll follow any fucking order he gives you and lowering yourself until he’s bottomed out and his tip twitches against your deepest wall. Wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his neck, you shudder and let out a long, breathy moan against his skin.
“I know… Fuck, I know.” He grunts and takes a few deep breaths, his large hands stroking up and down your back.
“Bucky, you’re so deep…” You whimper and he cups your face, pulling you from his neck and stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“Feel good, baby?”
You nod mindlessly and roll your hips slowly over his, a moan erupting from both of you at the friction. His hands guide you over him until you find a rhythm so perfect, you’re nothing but moans, heavy breathing and praises. It’s not long until both of you are sweaty and close, a rush rolling through you every time you clench around him and he gasps for air.
He’s holding you so tightly, you can barely move over him. His lips messily find every inch of skin he can reach, his hands covering the rest. All you can do is accept his generous touches and kisses and let yourself melt into the pleasure. Growing desperate, even though both of you want the pleasure to last as long as possible, your movements quicken and your vocalisations of pleasure turn incoherent.
Bucky tips you onto your back, locking your thighs under his arms. Rolling his hips into you with deep and filling thrusts, your vision starts to blur, your fingers weaving through the fabric of the carpet to dig your nails into something.
“Jesus Christ…” Bucky groans and all you can do is nod in agreement, the throbbing head of him hitting you so deep, your eyes roll away from you.
Bucky watches your face in awe and drives himself so deep with his next thrust, rotating himself against your clit so perfectly, you topple over the edge and arch up completely, your body shaking and convulsing through your high. Letting out a scream of pleasure, you sob his name over and over.
Bucky lets out a string of curses as he thrusts through your high and when your eyes open back up and connect with his, he loses his restraint and releases with one deep thrust into you, burying his face into your neck as he shudders through his high.
Laying on the carpet with him still buried inside of you and both of your sweaty bodies heaving as you catch your breaths, your mind slowly starts working again. But this time you manage to push away that strict voice in your head as Bucky’s praises echo through your brain.
“You were never going to let me leave…” You mutter with a newfound confidence.
Bucky shakes slightly from his chuckles, still resting on top of you and making you feel grounded by the added pressure on top of you.
“Not really. Not without making you come again anyway.” He admits with a voice so casual, it rings danger in your ears.
You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling. Part of you wants to explain to him how heavy this feels to you, even if he makes it seem so casual. The rest of you wants to bask in the normalcy of someone treating you like a prize and doing that so casually.
Bucky pushes up from the ground and pulls you up with him. Taking a quick peek at your body before giving you a boyish grin, he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips and shoots you a wink.
“Take a shower. I’ll get you some clothes and make us breakfast.”
And that’s it. Now don’t spoil it.
A/N: Because Spill It blew up so fast, I kind of wanted to write another part to it. I love how good it made people feel and I hope to keep doing that too ! Thank you so much for blowing up that post and all your honest and wonderful comments on it. You guys are amazing.
Plot: Both you and Bucky have some very mixed feelings about you. Maybe you can help each other clear things up.
Warnings: 18+. Smut and fluff.
Words: 6,7OO
Shaking your head in amusement, you watch as your friend boldly winks at one of the men at the bar. You never did understand how someone could have the confidence to flirt so shamelessly. Even if you had an entire bottle of wine coursing through your system where you’re slurring your words and stumbling on your feet, you never were able to shut off the voice in your head that made you hyper-aware of how much space you were taking up with your posture or that men talked to you differently than they did to your friends.
Men approach you to ask if your friends are single, or because you appreciate their crude humour because they don’t have to impress you. You’re great with men -the men willing to give the time of day anyway- but is it too much to ask to be the object of desire sometimes? To be flirted with? To have scandalous sex in a public bathroom with?
But then again, you’re probably too big to manoeuvre your way in a bathroom stall anyway.
Dropping your head down to the glass filled with a colourful cocktail, you watch the ice bob in your drink. You’re grateful two of your friends are already in a relationship, because otherwise you’d be the only one of your friend group who would go home alone.
You know your confidence is partly to blame for not being that much of a success with men, but your friends are skinny enough for men to want to fight for them. You, you’re not thin enough to expect for a man to go for you. In your case, you’re going to have to fight long and hard to even start and hold a conversation with a man. Especially a flirty one.
Frantic whispers across the table make you look back up from your drink. Your friends look giddy and shocked and a frown settles on your face. Looking around the establishment, which is a niche mix of a bar and club, your eyes fall onto a trio of buff men who you immediately recognise as the men from the Avengers. Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, if you remember correctly.
They strut towards the bar and take a seat on the stools, ignoring the obvious mumbles and stares travelling through the room. Sam looks in his element, exuding confidence and excitement. Steve looks out of place, his confidence not necessarily boosted by the ogling and drooling from the men and women around him. You feel for the old man. Even after all these years he must not be used to this at all.
And then there’s Bucky… With a broody look on his face and intimidating posture. He looks like he’s been dragged here by Sam and you notice people are scared to look too long at the ex-assassin, the crowd inside only stealing as much as a glance from the intense man.
But assuming men never notice you anyway, you peer across the bar and study the mysterious, god-sculpted man sitting next to Sam and Steve. You’ve always found his story intriguing -most people did.
It’s a big city and you never expected to ever be in the same bar as them, but you knew they went out quite frequently. Bucky and Steve were obviously trying to still ease back into normal life and Sam, you assumed, just really likes going out.
On top of that, they are the most eligible bachelors in the city. Who doesn’t want a strong superhero to manhandle you? Apparently everyone does. You know they aren’t innocent virgins, but they do well keeping their sexual and romantic antics private. They must have a strong PR team chasing their asses.
Lost in thought, you don’t realise you’re still staring until your eyes lock with the person of your intrigue. Your breath halts in your throat as Bucky raises his brows at you, cocking his head to the side almost in a daring way to ask you why the fuck you’re still looking. The distance is too far to accurately read the expression on his face or make out his features, but definitely not too far to see how handsome he is.
You want to look away, you fear you might have to for your own safety from the look he’s giving you, but you can’t. You must look completely bewildered as your stare remains on him, but he doesn’t look away either.
The slight nudge of your friend’s elbow in your side makes you finally divert your eyes from the soldier and you swallow hard, looking up at her.
“Hm?”
“Finish your drink, so we can order another round.” She chuckles at you and you take a deep breath, nodding.
Taking the glass in your hand, you gulp down the strong cocktail and add your order to the list the waiter was noting down. In between, you manage to sneak another peek at Bucky, who is long engrossed in another conversation.
“You okay?” Your friend asks when the waiter leaves with your orders and you give her a weak smile, nodding slightly at her.
Safe to say that most nights like these, you feel out of it. Only once in a blue moon do you feel confident and do the strict voices in your head disappear from your conscience.
“You look hot tonight!” She gives you a cheeky wink and your heart warms at her compliment. Your friends are lovely and try their best to make you feel confident, but they can only do so much until they focus back on themselves like they should.
Heaving a deep breath, you scold yourself internally. Get your act together. It’s not about the men. It’s about you and your friends having fun. You repeat the mantra over and over, taking a big swig from the fresh cocktail put in front of your nose.
“Let’s dance!” You cheer and drag your friends out to the dance floor.
Laughing and giggling, you and majority of your friend group manoeuvre yourselves to the dance floor. Lost in a joke, one of your friends gives you a slight shove as she holds back tears of laughter, much like you. Your back collides with the wall and you gasp when the wall moves.
Whirling your body around, your stomach completely drops as your eyes raise to the level of Bucky’s. Slowly, you move your hands up to cover your mouth, your eyes darting over his chest to find beer spilled all over his shirt. Oh no, no, no, no, no….
“Oh my God…” You gasp “I am so sorry.”
You can see him grit his teeth as he peels the fabric of his rock hard abdomen. Trying not to focus too much on his toned abs bulging through the soaked fabric, your eyes dart around his face frantically. Great, this is just great.
“Well… That’s not gonna help his mood.” Steve mumbles from his spot at the bar and you scrunch your eyes shut.
“I completely ruined your night. I’m so sorry.” You repeat yourself and chew your lip “Let me just - Just hang on a second!”
Not giving anyone around any chance to say anything to you at all, you sprint out of the bar.
Everyone saw you. Everyone saw the fat girl bump into the ex-assassin, making him spill his beer all over his shirt. Everyone heard Steve say that Bucky’s mood was officially ruined. Everyone looked at you.
Everyone saw you.
Heart pounding in your ears, you gasp for oxygen like a fish when the fresh air hits you. You walk and walk and walk until you round a corner at the end of the street and collide with the stone wall, burying your face in your hands.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” You groan and grit your teeth to stop yourself from spiralling into an endless cycle of complete embarrassment.
Opening your eyes, you adjust to the bright light of the neon sight across from you and after a few deep breaths, a ridiculous idea pops into your head.
…
Wrapping his hands around the fabric, he wrings out the fresh water as he watches himself in the mirror.
He should have never agreed to come along.
Sniffing the fabric, Bucky groans when he still smells the horrible stench of beer on the soaked cotton.
The music becomes a loud roar again as Steve and Sam join him in the bathroom, before reducing the music back to a dull thump when the door closes again.
“Dude, this sucks.” Sam mumbles, watching his topless friend attempt to clean his shirt a fourth time.
“This was supposed to be a good night…” Steve adds and Bucky rolls his eyes at their awful way of trying to make him feel better.
A loud knock on the door has the three men call out in unison “Occupied!”
“Please,” a gentle voice speaks through the door and the men frown at each other, before Sam walks over and pushes the door open slowly “I come in peace.”
The men look at you in utter confusion as they expectantly stare at you in the door opening. Tugging at the fabric hanging from your purse, you pull out a black t-shirt and hold the ball of cotton out to Bucky carefully.
You try not to make any sudden movements in case Bucky has decided spilling beer over his shirt is a crime worse enough to kill you for.
“You bought him another shirt?” Steve asks, amusement lacing his voice as he takes it from your hands and shoves it into Bucky’s bare chest.
“Of course…” You mumble, your voice not coming out nearly as strong as you want it to when your eyes briefly connect with Bucky’s again “I’m really sorry.”
“You said that already.” Bucky finally speaks and you look down in shame, blood rushing to your cheeks immediately. You would have gotten away with this much easier if you had been hot.
Pulling the shirt over his head and down his torso, Sam and Steve instantaneously burst out laughing.
It’s a simple black shirt, but with the words ‘Sexy Beast’ written in hot pink, capital letters on the front. Pursing your lips, you desperately try to hold back from laughing along with the two men. Eyes connecting with Bucky’s, his glare makes you want to laugh even more.
Sam walks over and slaps his hand to your shoulder “Oh, you have no idea how much I appreciate you doing this!” He chokes out through his laughter and you finally let a small giggle slip.
“They didn’t have any other shirts?” Bucky spits through gritted teeth, his eyes almost black with annoyance as he glares straight through your soul.
You shrug innocently “Well, they had one with ‘I heart New York’, but I thought it would be too tacky…”
Steve and Sam are breathless, both muscled men buckled over because they are laughing so hard and your blush deepens even more as you take in the state of Bucky. He looks like he could burn down this place any second. You’re sure this is his look right before he kills someone.
“Right. I should go.” You quickly mumble and scurry out of the men’s room, trying to find your friends.
Bucky stares at your empty spot with his expression baffled. Normally he would wring your pretty little neck for pulling a stunt like this, but it is like you put a spell on him.
He was ready to burn the entire bar to the ground when his beer collided with his chest, but the second he turned around and saw your shocked expression, all he could see was two pretty, wide eyes and a mouth so perfect he could do nothing else but imagine it wrapped around his cock.
And then his eyes trailed down.
He is sure you didn’t notice, but never in his life has he seen a body this tempting. Your curves were begging to be squeezed and grabbed onto, your thighs were inviting him into their warmth and your skin looked so goddamn soft. He just wanted his hands all over you and squeeze every bit of your flesh.
And then you turned around and bolted, giving him a perfect view of your ass jiggling as you ran.
He was aware of the beauty ideal put on women. It always had been the case, back in the forties as well, but the twenty-first century seemed both better and worse than ever for women.
And Bucky caught himself getting carried away with those ideals, chasing every woman that looked like a supermodel, because he could get them. Normally, he might have never noticed a girl like you, mainly because you will do anything to remain entirely invisible.
But something about you radiates so much light and energy that his focus settled only on you. The second he spotted you at your table with your friends and you locked eyes, his heart started thumping inside of his chest.
Your eyes weren’t flirty, narrowed in on him for a shallow night. Your eyes were piercing, intense and instantly irregulated his entire system. Bucky almost slid off his stool and dropped to his knees at the sight of you. It made him insatiable and most of all, curious.
He wants to feel you so bad. In his hands, on his mouth, around his cock -in his goddamn soul.
And the second he locked eyes with you again, your shocked face after discovering the beer spilled down his shirt, it triggered something else in him. It didn’t take him long to notice that you try everything to control yourself at all times. Try not to be too loud, not to show too much of yourself, not step out of the box you feel you are put in. You try to restrain yourself so badly.
He wants to completely disrupt that – disrupt you. He wants you screaming, begging, blabbering and lose control entirely, preferably by making you come over and over and over.
“It’s nice of her to get you a new shirt though.” Sam slaps Bucky’s shoulder and tosses the soaked t-shirt into the trash. Bucky nods slowly, not doubting his masculinity for a second and strutting out of the bathroom and back into the club with his natural confidence as he wears the shirt with pride.
The three men settle back at the bar and continue their night, Bucky and Sam laughing as they watch Steve navigate his way with one of the women that approached him.
Although, Bucky can’t help but glance around the room every few minutes to make sure you’re still there. His heart skips a beat every time your eyes lock, but Bucky’s curiosity is peaking again when you continue on with a smile on your face despite the death stare he is giving you.
His curiosity is cut short when his eyes drop down to your hips rolling to the sound of your music. He’s sure if he looks hard enough, he can feel the friction of your ass against his front as you grind yourself to the sound waves of a song that makes both your eyelids droop.
“You’re staring, Buck.” Steve nudges him lightly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile.
“Can you blame me?” Bucky growls back, forcing himself to turn his body back to the bar and down his beer in one big gulp.
“Not really. She’s pretty.” Steve admits, stealing another glance at you and your friends “Why don’t you go for it?”
“Really Steve? And how would you go about it exactly?” Bucky asks with his eyes raised in amusement. That earns him a punch to his chest from Steve, followed by laughter from Bucky. He just finds it very amusing that his friend just spluttered out the most insane words to impress a girl and then tries to push Bucky to start flirting.
“Afraid you’ll get rejected?” Sam comes up behind Bucky, obviously having caught up with the conversation.
Bucky’s silence is all his two friends need to hear and Sam immediately excuses himself, walking over to you and your friends. Stepping up to one of your best friends, the seemingly most approachable one, he invites you all over to come with the men to continue drinks at Steve’s apartment. You sneak another glance at Bucky and catch him looking slightly …nervous.
Eagerly accepting the invitation, your friend sends Sam back to his partners. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you chew your lip nervously.
This is exactly the time you should head home. This is the moment where it all starts looking up for your friends and you will end up somewhere in the corner, sipping your drink quietly and eventually letting yourself out. Not a single scenario in your head ends up with you having a good night.
This is when you leave.
“Nooo, please stay! It’ll be so much fun!” Your friend pleads and you give a pitiful smile.
“I-“ You fall quiet. Anxiety screaming at you, you decide to force yourself to enjoy your night “I need to use the bathroom really quickly.”
Your friend squeaks in excitement when you basically tell her you have decided to come along. Chuckling with a shaking head, you make your way over to the restrooms.
Luckily, it’s quiet there and you can think. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you keep yourself from letting out a frustrated groan. This outfit looked cute on you before, you thought, but now you want to rip it apart and dive into bed. If you knew you looked like this next to all the other girls at the bar, you would have gone home instantly.
Resting your hands onto one of the sinks, you drop your head down and close your eyes, desperately trying to silence the negative voice in your head and tell yourself to not give a fuck about what others think.
“You are on a roll today. Enjoying the men’s room that much?”
You snap your head up and your eyes widen when you see Bucky next to you, washing his hands. Wiping them on his new t shirt, he watches you with raised brows, obviously waiting for your explanation as to why you find yourself in the men’s restrooms.
“S-shit, I must have… Fuck. I wasn’t paying attention.” You stutter and run a hand through your hair.
“Yeah, that seems to be kind of your thing.” Bucky scoffs and you turn on your heel to face him.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you are not very aware of your surroundings at all.” He states, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Are you always this rude to people?” You ask him, offended.
“Ah, there’s your confidence!” He throws his hands up in the air as a grin forms on his lips. Taking a step forward, he looks down on you as he leans his metal hand onto the sink you were you leaning on, towering over you slightly “Did you know I’ve been looking at you all night?”
Frowning up at him, you search his face for anything you can work off of “Well, yeah. I get it. You’re pissed that I ruined your shirt. But I apologised, so you could have just let it go.”
“That’s why you think I was looking at you?” He asks curiously and it’s intimidating you how he doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by your attitude.
Your stomach sinks and your breath puffs from your chest in defeat at his insinuation before you roll your eyes and look up at him with the most unbothered expression you can muster, even though you want the ground to swallow you whole right about now.
“Seriously? I get that I’m not as pretty as my friends, but Jesus, this is some next level judgement.”
Bucky lets out a menacing laugh, making you shut your mouth instantly “I fucking knew it.”
Your eyes widen as you look at him and if you thought he was angry before, he is completely infuriated now. His jaw is clenched tightly, his eyes are dark and the handsome wrinkles in his face give away all the frustrated tension contorting his face.
However, the second he notices the defeat on your face, his expression softens so much, you barely recognise him.
His flesh hand raises slowly and cups your jaw “Do you have any idea how fucking mesmerizing you are?”
Throat going completely dry, your eyes widen even more if that is even possible.
“Stop. Please, stop.”
“-Why? Because you don’t know how to take a compliment?”
Opening your mouth to respond to him, you find yourself scrambling for the words. You heard those words a thousand times, but hearing it come from his mouth that you don’t know how to take a compliment instantly makes you shut up. His hand drops from your face and he sighs, his soft, round eyes searching yours as he looks down to you.
“Let me walk you home?” He offers and you frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest, not missing his eyes drop down to your cleavage quickly before rising back up.
“It’s not far, I can walk alone.”
“Do you give every man such a hard time?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at you challengingly.
“What men?”
He sighs again and gently, yet not-so-gently, rips your arms from your chest “Shut up and let me walk you home.”
You’re scared. Not because you think you’re in danger -an Avenger is walking you home- but because every other man would have left you alone after giving him such a hard time. Then you had always told yourself it was good riddance, since they couldn’t handle your feisty nature, but Bucky is getting a little too close for comfort. You aren’t used to this at all.
So with his strong hand wrapped around your arm, he drags you over the street until you reach a cross section.
“Where to?”
“I’m not telling you. I don’t know you.”
“You’ve seen me without a shirt, we’re pretty close.” Bucky rolls his eyes at you.
Ripping your arm away, you turn to face him “I don’t give a shit. I’m not telling you where I live.”
“Fine.” Bucky growls, not wanting to admit that your stubborn nature is triggering something in him “But you’re not walking alone, so we’re going this way.”
Before you can question him about the location, his hand is back on your arm and he drags you over the cross walk and in the opposite direction of your house.
After walking in silence for five minutes, straight into the busier part of the city, you suddenly stop walking to tell him to call you a taxi and get you home.
“We’re here.” He tells you and you look past the doorman to the massive entrance of the building in front of you. The entrance is large and modern and the doorman greets Bucky as he holds open the door for him.
Unable to stop your curiosity from overpowering your common sense, you step forward when Bucky ushers for you to follow him. Clutching your purse to your stomach, you give the doorman a smile and follow Bucky inside, looking around in awe at the size of the building.
“It’s not mine.” He mutters “I’m housesitting for a friend. He’s loaded.”
You roll your eyes and huff a laugh as Bucky pushes the elevator button “Sounds like something a kidnapper would say.”
“Last chance to turn around and get a taxi.” He responds, his expression stoic.
You’re not sure about the wave of slight arrogance washing over you and where it comes from, but your eyes lock with his and you narrow them playfully as you slowly step backwards into the elevator. Bucky can’t help but clear his throat to stop it from going dry from the anything-but-innocent look on your face, his eyes settling on the sight of your ass reflected in the mirror behind you.
Stepping over to the panel, you press the button saying ‘P’ for penthouse. Within seconds, Bucky is pressed against your back, your body stiffening instantly at the close proximity and your eyes fluttering when you feel his hot breath in your neck. His metal hand grabs your hip as his other hand slips around you to press the button a few rows below the one you pressed to the 15th floor.
“Hm, not that loaded then.” You mutter cockily, trying not to give away how much of an effect Bucky has on you.
He chuckles softly, both his hands resting on your hips now and you feel yourself tense even more at the realisation he must feel your hip dips by the way he’s holding you. Swallowing hard, you squeeze your eyes shut and chew your lip as nerves ricochet against the barrier of your skin to burst through.
“So cocky… Yet so nervous…” Bucky mumbles against the shell of your ear, making a shiver run down your back.
You feel your heart rate pick up and your skin burn with heat. Gravity surges through your body, making you feel lightheaded in combination with Bucky’s closeness and tempting words in your ear.
“Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” You breathe out and he chuckles softly, his hands squeezing your hips before turning you around and gently pressing you against the wall, his forehead attaching itself to yours.
“Hmm, I’m not nervous.” He clears up and you roll your eyes at him.
“Of course not. I’d never be nervous if I looked like you.” You blurt out, chewing your lip when you realise what you admitted.
Instead of arguing with your statement like he easily could, a smirk spreads over Bucky’s lips at your confession and a silence hangs thick in the air. Gulping harshly and chewing your lip even harder, your hands latch onto the holding bar behind your back.
You raise your eyes slowly and for the first time, really admire his face. His sharp cheekbones, straight jaw, perfect nose and full, pink lips. The biggest, blue eyes that would make him look like a puppy if he wasn’t so intense right now. His handsome wrinkles and stubbled beard making him look incredibly masculine and sexy. You take your time, admiring his face as your hands tighten around the metal bar and your tongue traces your lips enticingly.
The ding of the elevator makes you release a long breath and Bucky lets out a menacing chuckle before taking a step back and gesturing for you to step out first. Not being able to help himself, his eyes trail up and down you body as he curses to himself.
You might just kill him.
Stepping into the large, luxury apartment that might as well be a penthouse, your eyes widen. High ceilings and everything decorated with black and gold, floors and furniture shimmering because of how clean it is, you sigh internally. Just what you need, for everything to be a reflective surface. Dim, orange light glows throughout the space as Bucky turns on the technology, walking into another room quickly and coming back with two beers.
Sliding your coat off your shoulders, draping it over the back of the sofa and spinning on your heel to face Bucky, you take the beer he offers you. You lift the neck to your lips and wrap them around the bottle, taking a sip as you keep eye contact with him before lowering the bottle again.
“Why didn’t you go with Steve and Sam?” You ask him as you pace the apartment, admiring the sleek design of it.
“My night was ruined by some girl throwing beer on me.”
You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, giving him a quick glance before turning away and shaking your head disapprovingly. Circling back around, you make your way over to the bar Bucky is standing at. Of course this place has its own bar.
“Well, I could have done everyone a favour and not gotten you a new shirt.” You shrug, leaning over the bar as Bucky stands on the opposite side of the dark, marbled barricade.
“But you’re just not that evil…” He tells you sarcastically and you give him a smirk with an innocent shrug. All of a sudden, he presses his fingers to the top of his beer bottle resting on the counter, tipping it over and spilling it down your dress.
Letting out something that resembles the combination of a gasp and a shriek, you raise your hands up and jump back. But it’s too late. Almost half a bottle of beer has started soaking into the fabric of your dress and you slowly raise your head to give Bucky the deadliest glare you can pull off with the cold liquid dripping down your chest.
Bucky has his lips pursed and a devious glint shimmering in his darkened eyes, his vision darting between your face and chest as your nipples harden through the fabric.
“Oops.”
You grit your teeth and clench your fists “Oops?”
“It was an accident.” He shrugs and you shoot daggers at him with your glare.
“No it fucking wasn’t!” You spit at him and look down, peeling the sticky fabric off your skin. When you raise your head again, you notice Bucky is standing in front of you.
Halting your movements, you look up at him expectantly. The air between you seems to have changed significantly and he is looking down at you with a look you haven’t seen in anyone before. His face is hard as stone, his expression tense and his eyes hooded and dark. As impassive as his expression is, the intensity of him is burning into your skin, like coating you with hot lava.
“Take it off.”
It’s so soft -the command so quiet, yet so firm. You look up at him with wide eyes, every possible alarm ringing in your head that you are dealing with a situation you have never dealt with before.
It must have taken you too long to respond, because his hands slowly reach forward and grab the fabric, bunching it up in his hands until the hem is raised to your upper thighs.
When he realises you’re not stopping him, he gently lifts his hands further up, fingertips skimming your bare skin as the light fabric raises up with his touch. Your breaths are shallow and shuddery, his actions making you feel so many mixed emotions, you don’t know what to do with yourself. So you decide to submit to him, let him guide you through this.
“Lift your arms.”
His words are nothing more than a whisper now and you do as you are told, his command making you feel safe and submissive, especially since his eyes haven’t left yours for a second since he started lifting your dress up.
Gently raising the fabric over your head and leaving you in your underwear, you don’t realise you’re holding your breath as the fabric gets flung to the sleek, black tiles under your feet. Goosebumps instantly appear over the entire surface of your skin when one cold and one warm hand grab your sides. In a daze where you feel too vulnerable to find your voice, you let Bucky turn you around.
Your eyes instantly shoot to the ceiling when you’re face to face with a full length, darkened mirror covering the wall. Nervously chewing your lip, you want to evaporate completely after seeing yourself exposed like that. The low timber of Bucky’s voice brings you back to reality.
“Please don’t make me cover you up…”
His lips brush over the skin of your neck and you sigh deeply, finally letting out the breath you were holding. Hands sliding around your frame, they stroke over every dip and curve of your body, his touch so light, you find yourself craving more pressure.
Your eyes drift everywhere but the mirror, Bucky’s touches to your skin heightened by your self awareness. Thumbs brushing your nipples through the lace of your bra and teeth sinking into your skin gently before soothing the light sting with his tongue and lips, you slowly start to relax as your breathing evens out.
“Look at me.” Bucky mumbles against your skin and after a few second of contemplation, you let your vision drift to the reflection on the mirror, his eyes immediately capturing yours. His eyes are impossibly captivating and don’t allow yours to drift away for a second as his mouth continues its abuse to the skin of your neck.
“Bucky…” You whisper and he hums against your skin in response.
One of his hands strokes down the length of your body, over your belly and dips between your thick thighs. Tracing the edges of your underwear with his fingers, you find yourself tilting your head slightly to give him the go ahead to have you. Have it all.
Two fingers press through the fabric of your panties into your clit and for the first time since you noticed the tension between the two of you, does your body respond to the sexual craving he awakens in you, your desire completely overtaking your self consciousness. Tensing at his touch, his fingers start rubbing up and down your slit over your underwear.
When his fingers finally slip into your underwear and slide through your wet folds, you let out a shuddery breath, dropping your head back against his shoulder and closing your eyes. His nose trails across your shoulder, inhaling you when it nudges your neck as he drags his fingers over your clit in slow and steady circles.
“God, you’re so fucking warm…” He grumbles, sinking his teeth into your skin again “So goddamn soft too.”
Letting out a soft hum at his words, one of his hands working in your underwear and one playing with your nipples, you feel your stomach tense at his ministrations. Your breathing gets heavier and you’re almost panting as his pace quickens. The pressure of his fingers is perfect, changing up his tempo to keep you on edge and pushing you closer every time he accelerates. Attempting to speak every now and then, all you can manage is breathless whimpers as Bucky forces himself to be patient and pull as many soft little sounds from you as he craves. Which is all of them.
The coil in your belly is winding tighter and your body tenses as you’ve risen to stand on your toes, your hands reaching up to grab onto his metal arm which has wrapped itself around your ribs.
“Bucky, I-” You start, but let out an unstoppable moan, your voice raspy as it bursts from your lips.
He swears he’s never heard a sound sexier and adds more pressure, making sure to keep doing what he’s doing to get you where he so desperately wants: you coming at his hands.
Your moans raise in pitch as your face scrunches and your jaw hangs slack, the pleasure almost unbearable. Tightening your grip on his arm, you buck your hips to his hand and chase your high.
“Please, baby. Please come.” He almost begs and it’s all you need before you explode at his touches. Heat surges through your body, your muscles stretching and trembling as your orgasm courses through you like wildfire. Eyes glued to your body and face as your come, Bucky can’t believe the sight before him. Your body tensing and completely at his mercy after he caused you to completely give into him has him fighting to refrain from dragging you to the ground and fucking you into the shiny floor, cracking the tiles if he has to.
Bucking against him as he circles his fingers against you, you almost buckle over when two fingers sink into your soaking core. Bucky groans at the feeling of you fluttering and squeezing around his fingers, your arousal dripping into his palm before pressing it against your sensitive clit.
Slowly dragging his thick fingers in and out of you, curling them into your spot every time he enters you, you writhe in his hold. Unable to stop the moans and whines from rolling off your lips, Bucky licks a thick stripe from your shoulder up to your ear, taking your lobe between his lips and nibbling softly.
“Going to make you come again, clumsy girl.” He mutters, his voice like a crackling fire in your ears “And I want you to see how fucking good you look while you come for me.”
“Bucky…” You whine.
“-Because it’s so good. Fuck… It’s- You’re so good. So good for me…” He grunts against your skin, once again speeding up his fingers and you keen.
The arms wrapped around your body raises up and his metal fingers grasp onto your chin, turning your face so you’re staring straight into the mirror. Still keeping your eyes on Bucky, you feel like you’re fighting for your life to even keep your eyes open.
Abdomen tensing and your high surging toward you when you feel Bucky press himself against you to show you just how much of an effect you have on him, you gasp out another moan, driving Bucky to keep going and going and going until…
Sinking down onto his fingers, you let your second orgasm crash into you, Bucky’s name rolling off your lips like a prayer as you look at him. But you can’t help but let your glassy eyes drift over to your lingerie-clad body and the way it crumbles when you come. And it’s not the way you look or all the blemishes and dips you have spent way too much time looking at, no. You’re mesmerised by your body held into Bucky’s arms and the way you look like you have never experienced this much pleasure. The sight of you coming in his arms, combined with your own moans reverberating through the large apartment is turning you on.
“Good girl. Look at you.” He praises, his voice sounding astounded as he takes in the sight “Never seen anything this sexy before in my fuckin’ life.”
You barely get to come down from your second high before you are spun around and pulled into his chest roughly, his metal hand tangling into your hair and dragging your head up to mesh your lips with his roughly. The kiss is intense, greedy and warm, his lips and tongue sweeping onto yours like he wants to inhale you.
Your hands grabbing onto his shirt and grasping onto the fabric, you start scrunching it into your fists in an impatient attempt to pull it off of him. He grumbles against your mouth in reluctancy of pulling away before quickly pulling the shirt over his head and immediately pulling you back in, not wanting to stop kissing you for a second. Hands grabbing onto your flesh like you’re his lifeline, even Bucky is surprised at how absolutely feral you make him.
As needy as he is, his dominance and sturdiness doesn’t leave him and he guides you to a random bedroom, not leaving one bit of your skin untouched. Turning and sitting at the end of the bed, he pulls you down on his lap, his fingers digging into your ass greedily as he grinds you down onto him wantonly. His strength surprises you, but you can’t help but admit how nice it is to be manhandled when you never thought that was a fantasy you could live out.
The kiss is just tongue and teeth now, both of you ready to devour the other and impatience growing as you feel yourself throbbing over him. Grinding down to relief some of the pressure, the groan that rumbles through Bucky’s chest has your confidence skyrocketing.
“Bucky, take your pants off…” You breathe against his lips and he peels you off him.
“Keep saying things like that to me and you won’t walk for a week.” He tells you, his face completely dead serious. You bite your lower lip with a smile and stroke his chest softly as he holds onto your upper arms.
“I don’t feel like walking anyway.”
That’s all he needed to hear from his clumsy girl.
warnings: smut. dark themes {could be read as dubcon though it’s not implied}. blowjob, choking, face slap. mention/implied bootlicking. {nicknames — soldat & little sun/солнышко}
word count: 1k
from the writer: here it is! day one of kinktober lol. we’re starting off strong with tws, because he makes me feel very unholy things. enjoy xo
“у тебя на коленях.”
On your knees.
The soldier is rugged; full of jagged edges, and virulent fragments. Before him, you never thought you’d entangle yourself in a poisonous web. Now, you welcome the venom into the cuts and scrapes that litter your flesh — courtesy of a harsh grip, and sharp teeth.
Cool concrete meets your bruised skin, never having allowed for a chance at healing from the recycled action. It was a welcoming sting as it grounded your senses to the present; focusing them on what was important. Him.
A soft caress to your cheek has you preening, a gentle reminder that somewhere deep in that splintered heart of his, you were revered. It soothed you, knowing that your affections were returned, even if only in small glimpses like this. From him, you’d take everything you were given.
A finger taps your lips, pulling the bottom down before forcing its way into your mouth. It’s warm against your tongue, and you watch as his pupils dilate from the way you take it down your throat.
“будь добр ко мне.”
Be good for me.
You’d never deny him. Letting him take his digit away, and waiting patiently as he stares with an intensity that has you close to shivering.
The sound of his steel capped boot taps against the floors, echoing off the basement walls. You know what he wants — a sick, twisted game of his that you’re more than willing to lose.
Your exposed mound greets the leather like an old friend, and the hairs at the nape of your spine standing up straight. By now, you know that everything is set by him — the pace, the strength, the pleasure. It’s all curated by a man who would never let you see his entire face. Not without consequence.
At his instruction, you reach for his tactical gear, hands swiping over the nylon. The buckles coming undone easily, and you feel your nerve-endings buzz to life once the zipper is down.
He’s bare beneath the suit, and you take no time leaning forward to press a kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Your tastebuds hum at the familiar, musky flavour that’s balanced with a sweetness you think only belongs to him.
Wrapping your lips around the head, you hollow your cheeks, letting the pressure catch him off-guard — relishing in the groan the befalls him.
“солнышко.”
Little sun.
The endearment always causes a hurricane of emotions to wash over you, drowning you as you chase a memory you can’t remember. Too distant in the fog of your mind, but one gaze into his blown azure eyes, has your sights clearing.
You pull off his rigid member with a sputter, the spit drooling down your chin. “Soldat.” He knows what you want before you even ask, and you wonder if the huff he gives behind the mask is one of amusement or annoyance.
A steady palm rests on your shoulder, pushing you down against his boot without warning and you can’t help the loud moan that escapes.
That same hand, now wraps around your throat, his fingernails leaving crescent moons on the sides of your neck.
“поездка.”
Ride.
Hips rolling back and forth, the texture of the leather provides an absorbing pleasure. Your clit is still sensitive from your morning tryst, and it doesn’t take much for you to cry out his title with each press of it against the steel-toe. The metal reminds you of the fist that clenches by Soldat’s side as he watches you.
“Please,” you plead wantonly, “Can I touch you?”
His crotch moves forward, and he uses the hand on your throat to guide you back to his cock. Only this time, he doesn’t let you choose. Instead, pushing forward roughly, and ignoring your gags as he hits the back of your neck with little resistance.
The abuse of his cock driving in and out of your mouth continues, his hand tightening around your throat as he feels himself fill it. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you wonder if he does it on purpose.
He fucks your face with a consuming brutality, all the while you ride his boot in tandem. Feeling your puffy lips catch in the grooves, and your abdomen clenches as you feel the simmering of an oncoming orgasm.
Your juices flow freely, running down your thighs as they catch onto the material; making it easier for you as you slyly begin to work harder for it.
It doesn’t take him long to figure you out. Fingers pinch the back of your neck, pulling you off his length before a sharp slap has heat blooming on your cheek.
“не будь жадным.”
Don’t be greedy.
You promise him you won’t, and this time, he brings your face against his balls. With a grunt, he has you taking them into your mouth, massaging the heavy sack with your tongue; swirling and suckling as you breathe in his scent. It’s masculine, akin to woodsmoke and gunpowder, but it doesn’t deter you from your task.
His boot nudges your clit, smearing between your folds and you take the hint to start grinding again as your hands join your mouth in working over his length. The movements are timed; the perfect flick of your wrist and tightness of grip has the soldier growling.
From the way his thighs quiver, you know he’s close. So, you pull away from his balls and move your tongue down further; towards his taint and you relish the groan it garners before licking the underside of his cock and bringing your mouth up to take it down your throat once more.
He uses the back of your head, using you as a meaningless hole to get off. It makes you whine, knowing that once he was done, that’d be it for the night. Which meant you had to make yourself come before he did.
Bouncing up and down, you focus the pressure onto your bundle of nerves. Feeling your orgasm approaching, you match the movements of your hips to that of your throat. It isn’t long before your core seizes up, and your gaze goes to Soldat — the wild, feral look in his eyes making you tremble.
As your nose reaches the patch of dark hairs at his navel, he holds you there with no care of your oxygen.
It makes you come.
White hot pleasure consumes you, the orgasm ripping through your loins and you choke around his cock. It triggers his release, hot seed painting your tonsils as you breathe through your nose and swallow his spent.
Once he finally removes himself, and gasp in the missed air as you stare wide-eyed at him. He steps back, looking down at the mess you’ve made.
Dread swirls as fingers grip the cleft of your chin.
Summary: Ransom finds his own form of amusement during his Aunt’s wedding.
Warnings: Dark!Ransom, Noncon, Breeding, Unprotected sex, Public sex, Thigh Riding, Recreational drug use, Smut, Mean Ransom, Classism, Rich people being pricks, MINORS DNI!!
Word count: 7,412
A/N: here it is, y’all. my first ever Ransom fic, and it’s for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 ’s Shameless Hoe Challenge! i got an absolutely ridiculous combo of prompts, lmao. Ransom Drysdale, A/B/O, with the quote: “It’s cute you think you have a choice.” whew. i set out to destroy some panties hearts, so lets hope i did it correctly. divider by @whimsicalrogers
This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk!
💐
“You can handle that, can’t you?” Joni Thrombey looks at you expectantly down the thin line of her nose. You can see she’s waiting for confirmation, and you grit your teeth as you nod.
“Of course. A… swarm of butterflies to be released as you walk down the aisle.”
“But before I make it to the altar,” Joni leans in, her beady eyes resting intently on yours. “I mean, the vibe will be all wrong if it’s after, you know what I mean?” There’s a trail of white from her nose that you doubt she’s noticed, with the way her dilated pupils rest heavily on you. “My last planner had the worst energy. It was always can’t with her.” Her tone is casual, but you know a threat when you hear one, even if it’s dressed in designer jeans and wearing an Hermes scarf. “You’ll be better won’t you?”
